The Hero Daddy

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The Hero Daddy used to make me very angry. He would come home after a full days work at the office, and I a full days worth of in home war with two tiny toddlers.  I would be covered in peanut butter and jelly, a plethora of bodily fluids, and living in a sweat pants purgatory because nothing cute fit or because it  just wasn’t worth getting my one pair of jeans sticky.

And here he would come, Hero Daddy, swooping into the house in his clean clothes greeted by the sweet sound of tiny feet running and  little voices shouting “Daddy’s Home!”  When not two minutes ago those same tiny feet were trying to kick me in the face as I changed a diaper and the little voices were screeching things like “I don’t want to” and  “No Mommy” and just plain screaming.

Hero Daddy could all of the sudden make everything funny. All of the sudden when Hero Daddy tells you to eat your dinner its hysterical and a really fun game. When Mean Mommy asks you to its battle lines drawn. When Hero Daddy tells you its time to put on your pajamas its a laughable time filled with dancing while you jump into your jammies. When Mean Mommy tells you to put on your pajamas it really means its time to run away and throw your pjs into the dog kennel.

Hero Daddy

Mostly Hero Daddy made me angry because I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the one with whom the children laughed all evening long. I wanted to be the one to be able to solve tears with a joke and a playful threat of having to sleep in the chicken coop ( one of the children’s favorite). I didn’t want to feel like Mean Mommy all the time. The one who tells them to do everything and the one who seems to make them cry.

But then both girls finally started sleeping through the night, and it hit me, I’m not Mean Mommy I’m just Mommy. I am the one in the trenches every day with these little loves of mine and I am the one to enforce boundaries and do the disciplinary actions all day long. I am the one who tells them to eat every three minutes of every meal. I am the one who takes on the battle of what you can wear today and  how much TV you can watch and how far away you can run down the sidewalk and if you can eat those marshmallows you’ve just stolen out of the pantry.  But I’m also the one they call to in the middle of the night when they are sick or scared. I am the one they want to show their artwork to and the one whom they can ask to hang it on the fridge. I’m not Mean Mommy, I’m just Mommy and the more I realized that the more I loved Hero Daddy.

In truth, I have a Hero Daddy. My Mom was the everyday parent, the one I yelled at, fought with, laughed with, confided in and cried to. But my Hero Daddy was there every time I needed him to calm me down or make me laugh, teach me how to race a 400M or to sing harmony in a duet, take me out to ice cream before dinner and to make me feel like the most special little girl God ever created. And he still makes me feel like that.

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Every little girl deserves that. My little girls deserve that.

And Hero Daddy, with his clean clothes and loud dinosaur stomp as he chases them around throwing them into fits of hysterical laughter right before bedtime, does just that.  When he sneaks them cookies while I’m in the other room, makes jokes about stinky things and teases them out of a tear fest he really does make these two tiny girls feel like they hung the moon.

And as every child does, they deserve that feeling and will remember it for the rest of their lives.

Turns out, Mean Mommy and Hero Daddy make a pretty good team after all.

And it seems to be a pretty universal theme…

To quote Phil Dunphy from Modern Family “Let’s not play Good Cop/ Mom”

Repeat After Me

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Repeat after me:
I shall not judge my house, my kid’s summer activities or my crafting skills by Pinterest’s standards.
I shall not measure what I’ve accomplished today by the loads of unfolded laundry but by the assurance of deep love I’ve tickled into my kids
I shall say “yes” to blanket forts and see past the chaos to the memories we’re building.
I shall surprise my kids with trips to get ice cream when they’re already in their pajamas.
I shall not compare myself to other mothers, but find my identity in the God who trusted me with these kids in the first place.
I shall remember that a messy house at peace is better than an immaculate house tied up in knots.
I shall play music loudly and teach my kids the joy of wildly uncoordinated dance.
I shall say “sorry” when sorry is necessary.
I pray to that God I shall never be too proud, angry or stubborn to ask for my children’s forgiveness.
I shall love their father and make sure they know I love him.
I shall not be intimidated by the inside of my minivan – this season of chip bags, goldfish crackers and discarded socks too shall pass.
I shall not resent that last call for kisses and cups of water but remember instead that when I blink they’ll all be in college.
~ with love from one tired mother to another.

September Memories by GrandMomopoly Beth

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September  Memories

“In the end. it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years” Abraham Lincoln

As September rolls around, I am reminded that both my Mother and my Father  were born in September, 1907.. My Mother on the 13th. My Dad on the 18th.  He always said that he married an older woman!!

The last time I saw my Mother was in September of 1979. They surprised me with a visit on their way home from a train trip across Canada and the US.  I still see them standing in the window of the train waving to me as they pulled away..

I was 30 years old with a 6 yr old, a 2 yr old and a newborn… getting the oldest ready for school the Monday morning of October 22, 1979.. The phone rang. My sister was on the other end.. “Mother’s gone”, she said. Mother was 72.

Mother was a truly amazing woman. Grew up on a farm in Saskatchewan. A Nurse, Pastor’s wife Mother, lover of people and lover of her family. Mother went back  to work at age 55 after not working for 35 years. She took an RN refresher course , renewed her license and learned to drive a car all in the same year. She had always been there for me..

Now she was gone..

She left so many memories. How to dry 2 dishes at the same time, how to iron a man’s shirt, How to respond( or not respond) when someone spoke poorly of you . How to live within your means, especially when your means was meager. Mostly she taught me how to love unconditionally. She always saw the best in those around her and she loved me…

Mother’s death changed my life.. How I look at death.. “It can’t be that bad, Mother did it” to how I raised my Children and lived my life.. I also had to grow up and be an adult.. Cause now I was the Mom, not the child.

What would I leave behind?  What memories would my children have of me? Would it matter, when I die, That I had lived?

Losing my  Mother at a young age was incredibly hard for me. Just this year, 33 years later I wished I could talk to her a get her advice.. But it was also such a blessing  in forcing me to face hard things and live through them.. to accept that all life ends and that death is certain.

This September,  our  family is again looking the end of life square in the face.. Two precious women  are preparing  to step into the venture of eternity.. One , at 89 has lived many fruitful  years, raised a family, seen her grandchildren grow up and has seen 7 Great grandchildren born  with 2 more on the way.  She has served her God, her family and her community. She leaves a legacy of commitment, music and faith.

The other is a beautiful  55 year mother of 3 adult children whose journey   we had hoped would be much longer.. Wonderful wife, Mother, friend..with a tremendous sense of humor. Raised Godly children in a very anti God environment… Her legacy is family, friends and champion of the underdog..

Beautiful and funny . ( editors note: Our family lost our lovely Janna to Ovarian Cancer on September 9th 2012)

Again, today.. How do I live my life? What legacy will I leave behind? What will my children, grandchildren and friends say how I impacted their lives..?

” Take the blue of the sky and the green of the forest, And the gold and brown of the freshly mown hay; Add the pale shades of spring and the circus of autumn, and weave you a lovely today..for

We have this moment to hold in our hands and to touch as it slips through our fingers like sand; Yesterday’s gone and tomorrow may never come, But we have this moment today.”  Gaither Vocal Band

Live purposely so your legacy will be one that makes September memories.

Life is amazingly Good

 

 

 

 

Will this matter?

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Will this matter?

When its your time to say goodbye to your loved ones and to your life, will this matter? Is it worth the worry, the argument or the anxiety? Worth the harsh words or being unforgiving?   If it won’t matter in a year from now, it won’t matter ever.

Live, love , laugh and let  it go.

Words Matter. Learn the good ones.

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Drink, drank, drunk.

Swim, swam, swum,

There, their, they’re.

I love words and words matter so chose your words wisely.

Words can wound and words can heal.

Words can build you up or words can tear you down.

Words can make you cry or….

Word can make you laugh!

I love words. Little words, big words, and the way you can put words together.

words, words, beautiful words

I suppose I’ve always loved words because I’ve always been good at them. The same way someone with a penchant towards math, like Winnie from The Wonder Years, has always loved numbers. My abilities with numbers is laughable, in fact, it is one of our longest running family jokes. That and how Mom always burnt the last waffle on Sunday mornings.

I  regurarly find myself irritated with the people who have to use a cuss word to make every point they have. Seriously folks,  most of you are smart so get a bigger vocabulary!

All that said, I finally became a good parent• and bought my first flashcards for my children.

Big Words Flashcards

I’ve always felt myself to be Abnoramous. And my love of these Big Words flashcards may just prove that.  I find these big words to be Mellifluous and humorous, especially coming from a child’s mouth. Right now the most humrous words coming from my youngests mouths are the words Frog and Croc. To hear what they sound like when she says them ,take the r out of frog and add a ck and just take the r out of croc.

This morning as the neighbors rooter Ululated, I Preambled over to the coffee table and found my daughters preparing for their daily Shenanagins. With any luck, I will raise myself a few Loquacious children. They laughed at each others various Onomatopoeia, “Buzzz” “Bop” “Bang”. Not wanting to Lollygag, I Skedaddled over to the coffee pot for my morning coffee then returned to the Smorgasbord of big words splayed out in the living room. I laughed and basked in this strange joy words bring me.

Inspired by the words I was looking at I set about to write a piece about words. I’ve had to stop numorous times to take care of my Cantankerous little lady and stopping to Mollycoddle them, if only for a few minutes.

I don’t want to be a Nincompoop or a Rapscallion, or Persnickety for that matter, but I have now finished this post using all but six of the Splendiferous words in the Big Words Flashcards box.

To buy your own box and cause a Kerfuffle writing your own big words blog go to KnockKnockStuff.

Make that all but five.

Words matter. So learn the good ones!

• The term Good Parent should be read dripping with sarcasm. I find most flash cards HogWash and and am not at all Hoity-Toity about early education. Love your children, talk to them often, read to them regularly, play with them daily and they will learn what they need to learn by the time they go to Kindergarten.

A Letter to My Daughter by Tina Fey

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 Today I am yoga sore, my bank account is shopped out, my belly is sore from laughing, and my heart is filled with joy and memories and inside jokes from our girls only, no kids, no husbands, no sleeping, all female family reunion.
I am also spending the day wading through all of the  “Mommy’s Home Meltdowns”. So while I recover and download photos here is one of my favoritse to from the incomparable Tina Fey. Follow the funny lady on twitter here https://twitter.com/TinaFey123
                                                  A Letter to my Daughter by Tina Fey
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered,
May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half
And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.
Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes
And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.
Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long,
For Childhood is short — a Tiger Flower blooming
Magenta for one day —
And Adulthood is long and Dry-Humping in Cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever,
That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers
And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,
Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,
For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord,
That I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck.
“My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental note to call me. And she will forget.
But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.