The Party. A Recap. Sort of.

K. Here's my kids. J11 HATES having his picture taken. D8 is a little bit better about it. This is from D8s birthday party Saturday. I took all your advice and e-mailed the 12 parents who hadn't responded. Eight more RSVPd and we ended up with seven kids showing up -- just the right number. Everybody had a good time and I managed to get through it without to many sips from the flask I had hidden in my purse.

Kidding.

It was in my pocket.

No really. I'm kidding. I didn't take a flask at all. I waited until I was home safe and sound.

ANYWAYS. The party was fine and I'm not going to have another one -- just family and they can have a friend or two over. Or we'll go to the beach or something. Something that does not involve RSVPs and me freaking out for two weeks.

Plus it seemed that D8 was a wee bit more excited about the presents part than he was the hanging out with friends.

The photo above was taken by one of the moms at the party. She took photos of every kid at the party and sent home a CD yesterday. So very sweet. And she's a woman I've kind of been critical and judgmental about in the past. I have such a problem bonding with the other moms at school and I'm having to admit it has way more to do with me then it does with them. Yeah, I'm gonna post about that tomorrow.

help me

Because birthday parties totally freak me out my children rarely have parties. In fact D7 has only had one. He's turning eight on Friday and he asked to have a party. He never asks for parties so we decided to go ahead and have one.

I sent out invitations last Thursday (FIVE DAYS AGO) and requested an RSVP. The party is Saturday. I have received two responses -- one kid is coming, the other can't make it.

I am freaking out. This is why I do not have parties for my kids. Every single aspect of it makes me a nervous wreck. The planning, the waiting, the actual partying. It's bad. I'm just not one of those mommies.

To make matters worse I gave them my business phone number to call and my e-mail and then Sunday evening I discovered I had UNPLUGGED MY BUSINESS ANSWERING MACHINE. So if anyone tried calling over the weekend they wouldn't get the machine.

So my question for you is this -- is it rude or to desperate for me to send an e-mail tomorrow to ask if kids are coming or not. MH says it's desperate. I'm kind of feeling pretty damn desperate at this point.

So I'm asking my bloggy friends for help. Should I just calm down and wait? Or should I e-mail them?

Word

I stole this meme from Furious. It's a one word meme....

Your cell phone? iPhone

Your hair? short

Your mother? clueless

Your father? gone

Your favorite food? chocolate

Your dream last night? nostalgic

Your favorite drink? southside

Your music? playing

Your dream/goal? expression

What room are you in? Office

Your hobby? needles

Your fear? now

Where do you want to be in 6 years? safe

Where were you last night? bed

Something that you aren’t? done

Muffins? blueberry

Wish list item? solitude

Where did you grow up? Minnesota

Last thing you did? tea

What are you wearing? sweats

Your TV? off

Your pets? content

Friends? plentiful

Your life? full

Your mood? longing

Missing someone? Forever

Vehicle? accord

Something you’re not wearing? makeup

You? strong

Your favorite store? etsy

Your favorite color? Orange

When was the last time you laughed? 7a.m.

Last time you cried? Yesterday

Your best friend? far

One place that you go to over and over? kitchen

Facebook? Yes

Favorite place to eat? Napoli's

Hope, Fear

Yesterday V-grrrl posted this beautiful piece of art (her creation). You need to click over and see it.

Now. Go do it and then come back.

The copy reads "Hope is a thing with feathers. So is fear, so is fear."

You might recognize "Hope is a thing with feathers" from Emily Dickinson's poem Hope. (No I didn't. I had to look it up).

This piece really got to me. The first thing I thought was that it's my choice -- hope or fear.

I am very much in the habit of choosing fear. From the very beginning, as far back as I can go it was scary. I kind of adopted fear and held onto it. Got to know it really well and now it's kind of a default.

Fear is a thing with feathers. It is. It takes off and takes me with it until I am functioning adequately well on the outside but on the inside I'm a trembling, fearful mess.

So here I am. Afraid to push ahead, push out, push on. Anytime something new arises I default and get scared.

I'm going to try to choose Hope every chance I can. I think it's moment by moment. For me I am often afraid of the little every day things and I let that fear take over. So today (and hopefully the next and the next and the next) I'm going to start grabbing onto Hope instead of Fear and see where She takes me.

Not So Much Bitter

Maybe bitter was the wrong word. (I'm referring to my last post.) I think it's more like I get up at 6:00 a.m. and the next thing I know it's 8:00 p.m. and I'm exhausted and all I can think of is getting the kids into bed so I can experience a little bit of quiet.

I feel like life has turned into one of those movie/TV scenes where the person stands still and everything rushes past them in super fast speed. I feel like that person and every once in a while I stick my hand out into that rushing past mess and make a meal or work on a project or run an errand and damn I'm not really keeping up but I sort of am.

I think I feel this way a little bit every day, but not all day. Like right now it is very quiet in the house and even though I have a couple of horrible work deadlines I'm taking a couple of minutes to post and just take a little break.

I find that most of the time I am pretty freaked out about the things I have to do and I think that is because I really don't enjoy most of the things I have to do (and now I'm talking about work) and then I start on the whole why do I still have this job trip which places me smack dab back in the middle of that damn movie/TV scene described above and I think I'll run to the kitchen and get another brownie and maybe next time I should plan on more than five minutes to write a post.

Me. With a Side of Bitter

Over the past few months J11 has really started drawing and making stuff and expressing himself in creative ways. This afternoon I said something like, "He's really taking off with art" to MH and he replied, "Yeah, he's an artist."

I was walking out to the laundry with yet another load of clothes to wash when he said it and as I set the basket down on the washing machine I thought to myself, "yeah, and I'm a Mom." Uh oh. There it was. A little bit of bitter.

I'm trying to find a little of myself in all this being the mom stuff but I don't feel like I'm managing it much. Then I feel stupid for not managing anything but the house/mom stuff. Then I realize feeling stupid for that is stupid because really it's a couple of full-time jobs all smashed into one person.

Then I start wondering if Mom's have always felt that way. When did we start resenting it? In the 80s? The 60s? The 19th century? Are we different then Mom's were 300 years ago or do we just feel free to express it, maybe even sometimes obligated to express it?

I suppose forty years ago you just vented to your friends over a cup of coffee, now we broadcast it over the whole dang internet.

The truth is that thought flashed through my mind and was gone by the time I pressed start on the machine. Now I'm writing this sitting in a rocking chair while my 7 year old hums in the top bunk and the 11 year old pretends he's not going to bed. You know. Cuz he's 11.

So no I'm not bitter now. I'm happy to be here with them and can't imagine life without them or who I would be if I had never had them. When I do try and imagine that person I don't think I'd like her as much as I like this me. Wait. Did I just say I like myself? Damn. I gotta go.

Almost

It's almost spring in the south. Just a few days away, maybe a week or two. The daffodils are blooming, the violets and pansies have been at it all winter. Yesterday I had my first sighting of a tulip magnolia beginning to bloom and the Bradford Pears are bursting open all over town. In a couple of weeks we'll have our Cherry Blossom Festival.

My baby is almost eight -- just two weeks from today. I'm not sure how that happened.

I'm almost 43 -- that's just a month away and I'm really not sure how that happened.

It's almost the weekend and tonight the guys are going to some Nascar race thing and I get the house to myself for the evening.

I'm almost ready to start a new exercise program that will for sure be the answer to all my problems. I'm almost ready to kill my beagle if he doesn't stop barking at whatever is outside. I'm almost ready to tackle a bunch of problems at work, as soon as I post this. Almost done with the laundry, almost ready to clean out the attic.

Almost. Honestly I thought there would be a lot less almosts in my life by this time. But they seem to multiply as we go along. I'm almost sure that's not exactly a bad thing.