Multi-purpose nail scissors

Okay, so I suppose I must take some blame for this one... I had just given Claire and Nora a shower, after a quite tiring day away from home to help poor Victoria and her poor Vue, with little success other than being able to put Noah down for a nap this afternoon. I was worn out and itching to explore my creative inspirations that are attacking me from all directions at any given moment. I had a measuring tape out and my screen open to a website of arts and craft photos. Could lead others to explore their artistic expression, right?  It was the first five minutes of my day that I had sat down for me. I head some voices behind me, but distractedly mumbled, "Okay..uh huh... yeah. All right. Yeah, sure." This is when in hindsight, my parent guilt creeps in. For all I know, a 4 1/2 and 28 month old were asking me if it was okay to put the fish in the microwave, play with knives, call Cambodia, or... cut off all their hair. Most likely it was a request to watch a movie, eat, help them find a certain pair of fairy undies, or to have a story read to them.

While I do not have pictures of the direct aftermath, I snapped a few shots of their new 'dos. I hope my overpriced salon visits as an adult has taught me a thing or two about cutting hair.

So Claire has a kinda funky flair layered side swoop bang cut.  (Great, I'm going to have to do her hair every morning, too?!?)

And Nora ended up with a grown up, little lost baby curls, bob of sorts... 

(P.S. For quick photo upload purposes, these were taken with my phone...I'll upload the real-deals later.)

This is another time, a time which happens all too often, when I must realize my little girls are growing up.  They are individuals.  Independent.  Trusting and loving girls.  I guess that's not so bad after all.  

Insomnia...

Of the worst kind. What in the world is a mother of three children, a student with FOUR, yes... you read that correctly, but I shall type it again...four exams next week, doing awake? And may I carry on... who woke up just after 8 after an insomniatic (yes, it is now a word) night last night, to try to catch up with, well... life. Which is something I can never "catch up" on. It is absolutely impossible. I suppose that is the point of life, to keep a constant movement in direction... and even when you think you are "caught up", it is just a not-a-pause: A time when you actually have time to sit down and read a book or have a absolutely meaningless yet important conversation with your husband. If you could catch up with life like you can on the laundry or the bills, then where would you be? Left without...life? When I say, "I'm caught up on all of the laundry, honey!", that means there is nothing left for me to wash. No laundry at all. Maybe a washcloth or a towel, but when in the hell is that in a household of 3 children, a dog, and a husband.

Did you ever have conversations at the dinner table as a child, and your family would be talking about, say, homework, which could lead to Ben Franklin, and before you know it the topic of this conversation has become about how it is time to change the air filters?? That is how I am feeling write now... But as it says right up there... fingers hit the keys...

I Am That Mom...

This blog was inspired by Jeff Olden who in turn was inspired by Flo Gascon who was inspired by Ronnie Maier....  Or something like that...  At any rate...

I am that mom who doesn't have a plan.  I go to the grocery store without a list, I am carefree about bedtimes, and while I plan on taking my two youngest daughters to preschool tomorrow, I can't count on my plan. 

I am that mom who has come to terms with the fact that it is okay to wash my hair every four days and not even blow dry it when I do, weekly (self) pedicures are a thing of the past, as is the daily application of make-up.  

I am that mom who wants to be involved in everything.  I attend every parade, presentation, performance, and party, at least as an audience member, if not as a volunteer/leader.   I am that mom who is an over achiever, often putting others  and their children, before my own...  But I think that it is because I know mine are doing just fine.

I am that mom who breastfeeds until they are disinterested.... it certainly isn't the other way around...  

I laugh when I change my daughter's diaper, usually.  We have a little game we play... legs up, legs down, tickle the belly, and roll over.  I am that mom who had a serious problem with the buying/selling/exchanging of cloth diapers.  A new diaper in the mail was better than Christmas... and it wasn't even going on my ass.   I have, thankfully, overcome this addiction.  

I am that mom who loses my patience and freaks out and yells.  Often times over spilled (almond) milk... usually not the first through fourth time in the last hour,  though... it is that fifth time that makes me flip.  But I am that mom who apologizes.  

I am that mom who had an awful first labor/delivery, the perfect second labor/delivery, and the most fabulous of pregnancy experiences with both.  Being that mom has made me a doula, hopeful lactation consultant, and hopeful surrogate mother.  I am that mom who wants to share with future moms how great it is to be that mom.  

I am that mom who dreams.  I dream for me, and I dream for my daughters.  I dream of sitting through three beautiful weddings, of the three most amazing, beautiful, strong, smart, dreaming girls.  And I am that mom that wakes up to one of their nightmares, and joins them in their bed, to hold them.

I am that mom whose everything is Avery Elizabeth, Claire Maureen, and Nora James.  I am that mom whose children are my life and breath.

Well Jimminy "holiday"...

Boy, has it been an upper/downer kind of day.  I have been fixating on a certain event for the past few days.  Something of which I could not physically be a part.  Something of which I wonder if I ever was a part of in all aspects of being.  Something that I believe has altered my mood, in only a way such a thing of this proportion, emotionally,  can do, without my realization.  I sit and cry...  silently.  Hidden, to the best of my capability.  I kind of wish I wouldn't succeed in my ability to hide this, but, to my avail, I do a damn good job.  I have been trying to place blame on my emotions to be other than what they are.  What I know it is.  In the end, I am not all that great at hiding things from myself.

Where is mine?

My daughters, shockingly, are all in one bed.  No, not asleep, just entranced in a movie.  Brother Bear to be exact.  I pick up my book, and begin to read.  (While I cannot link the book as the website is down, or maybe my internet sucks,  or perhaps it was just not meant to be... Eat Pray Love). Well, I re-read, because I don't recall the last few pages as I would have liked to.  I am in India, now.  This is where I thought I would have had to hurdle an obstacle.  I am not particularly religious.  I really believe in nothing.  There is a Six Feet Under episode that embodies my thoughts on death.  How I envision the death of myself or of my husband...  Nature going back to nature.  The End.  This book has given me a perspective on life I have never thought of or imagined.  I'm not claiming "Born Again!!"...  However, she says in the first few pages of India, there is a Guru for everyone.  Where is mine?  Is he/she right in front of my face?  Did I miss her/him?  Can I just call out, "Guru, I am ready!!"?

Life is a funny, fickle thing...  I have come across many great people, some of which are moving on, and leave me afraid that I will loose them forever...  Then I look to the bottom of my boat.  I move on to someone who stumbled into my life, unexpectedly... and revel at how amazing that "chance", "fate", perhaps "random occurrence", has impacted me in such a short time of my life. 

I read and dream to write...  I read blogs that inspire,  I read blogs that catch me happily by surprise, and then listen to music that makes me love and appreciate life....  Maybe I have already met my Guru.  Maybe he is him - the one that I open my eyes to each morning.  Or the one I call after months of not speaking to, nervous of our conversation.  Those that I think of daily, that may not even think of me at all?

From the Heart

I mean, no surprise... all my posts come from the heart.  I suppose the difference here is that  I have 3 blog posts saved, ready to be completed and posted, but I chose those topics to defer my heart from it's true feelings.  That is why I could not publish them.  I assume, at some point, they will.... they still are my thoughts.  However, they were written as a distraction from my true, honest, open thoughts.  Every heart, the red construction paper heart, is different from all others.  I have had a hard time being able to see my red paper heart lately.  It isn't perfect right now.  It has rough edges.  Perhaps even holes cut out of it.  Maybe it isn't even red right now.  Those rough edges and holes, have a lot to do with my uncertainty of what it looks like right now.  I have had a hurricane, earthquake, tsunami, flood of emotions lately, and I am not sure where to categorize and place them.  They don't fit in my "schematic" reason of thoughts and emotions.  I feel loss.  I feel upset.  I feel sad.  I feel depressed.  I feel like a Queen.  I feel like a provider.  I feel like a back bone.  And I feel forgotten.  I feel second.  Quite a lot to deal with....  And for me, it is hard not knowing how to compartmentalize all of these feelings, which only scrape the ice.  I hope that soon, they will make it to their appropriate cubbies and boxes on their own, or at least, without much effort on my part.....

How and Why

Wednesday night, I was perusing my phone... late night as always. I opened my facebook and the first status update I read, was Top 5 most horrible news I have ever received. I never met this person, but I heard many great things... I facebooked with her... was supposed to meet her last summer, and plans fell through. I was so excited to meet her. I turned to my husband, who I was sitting right next to.. my mouth agape. He looked at me with funny eyes and a funny face. He knew there was something I had to tell him. "I have really bad news, honey." "What?" "Someone died." He immediately thought of his sick father, elderly grandparents.... you know, those that are supposed to die before you, no matter how much you want to punch the cycle of life in the face. But it wasn't. It was a 33 year old girl. His first girlfriend. His first everything. She was a pedestrian crossing a road, and hit by a van, at 8:40 in the morning, on the way to the bank. In broad daylight. A pedestrian.

I can't for the love of God figure out how to post an image on here...

My husband spent seven years of his life with her. High school, college, moving to be wherever she was during her successful fashion career in New York City. And in a split second, a precious life was taken away.
I have dealt with pain and loss before, but this time it is different. It is "uncopeable". I am so saddened with this news, and then look into the love of my life's eyes, and I feel his pain, too.
I have tried to be a backbone, a support, a counselor, a friend, and of course a wife. And when he falls asleep at night-I lose it. It becomes my time to be weak. To be sad. To be upset. I never even met her, but I know her. I know stories. I know photos. I know her. The lump in my throat never goes away. I don't understand. My dearest friend Ashley has been through so much in her life with this, and I have so much.... speechless... Love. Respect. Admiration. Courage. For her...
When will this end? When will the tears stop? I just wish... and think... what if? What if??

Donations for her arrangements, which are being set up with Jeff, myself, and her good friend Neevy, can be sent via Paypal to JillDavisMemorial@gmail.com