The Chair

I have this chair that belonged to my grandmother. It’s a terrible almost crushed velvet in emerald green. The arms are well worn and the head rest is covered in years of White Rain hairspray from when she would rock in it while drinking her umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. It was her favorite piece in her living room, and it has now become my favorite piece in my living room.

It was given to me shortly before my grandfather’s passing. As dying people do, he was giving away the less meaningful or not previously claimed items in his possession and gifted me the chair a long with a well loved vanity and two retro end tables. I hadn’t really wanted the chair but he insisted I needed it even though I already had been given my mother’s wooden rocker. I brought the green chair home and sat it up next to one of the end tables in my living room and soon found myself sitting in it frequently. It didn’t take long before I was rocking Robbie in it at nap time. It was comforting. It was almost like having my grandmother there with me, as if she was somehow getting to be with her great granddaughter and I during those precious moments.

Sometime later I moved into my current residence and the chair found itself neglected and covered in unfolded laundry and toys. I had completely forgotten its power and warmth until one evening Josiah was fussy and I was struggling to calm him on the couch. I shoved everything into the floor and took to rocking him. Soon he was softly snoring in my arms. Since that day I have rocked him at almost every bedtime in the chair while telling Zach that we can never get rid of it.

Tonight after putting Josiah to bed, I gathered Robbie up in my lap and rocked her to sleep for the first time in a few years. As she nuzzled her sweet little face into the crook of my arm and drifted off peacefully, I thought of my grandparents and how they couldn’t have known that the chair would make its way into my home and be used to comfort my babies when they purchased it over two decades ago. I thought of my grandmother with her chipped white coffee mugs filled to the brim with microwaved instant Folger’s and a napkin pressed to the bottom of the mug, gently rocking while resting before she would go out to bring the cattle in to milk in the afternoons. I thought of countless hours spent cross legged, computer in my lap, with my phone resting on the arm softly playing music as I typed out stories, read, or studied. I thought of my husband and children and how I want this chair to be significant in their memories when they look back. I thought of how something so ordinary can mean so much, which lead me to share my feelings with you, Dear Reader. If you don’t already, I hope that some day you find an everyday item that has great sentimental value and you reflect on the emotions and memories tied to it.

A Day on the Farm.

Happy first day of fall, Dear Reader. Here in Oklahoma, it's still hotter than hell on a bad day for Satan, but the meteorological professionals on the television keep promising cooler weather is on its way. I know better, however. This is Oklahoma for cryin' out loud. We get two seasons, Quakenado (Summer), and Blizzaquakenado (Winter). I'm not even kidding. Last Christmas Eve we had a tornado warning and a winter weather advisory for the same areas all day. In true Okie form, no one paid any mind to the warnings and we all celebrated our holiday.

Anyway, I'm not here to tell you about the Oklahoma weather patterns, or lack there of. No, my friend, today I'm going to tell you a little story about my grandmother, and a gorilla.

So many years ago there used to be an animal farm down the road from my house. Actually, the animal farm is still there but it is owned by a different person now. And they call it a sanctuary I believe. Anyway at the time it was one of those drive thru zoo attractions but it had a petting zoo and a few caged beasts. It was great fun, for me anyway. My poor Grandma took me there frequently and was probably bored to tears every time we went, except for the last time.

The very last time we went started out pretty normal. We drove through and saw the camels and zebras and the handful of llamas the farm had roaming around. We went to the petting zoo and I fed the baby llama that wasn't really a baby anymore. It chewed on my ear, and then spit at one of the fawns that was running around because that llama was certain that the fawn was going to steal its food and my attention. The llama was right. Eventually we migrated to the big caged animal area where there lived a giant, and I mean giant, monkey. I said earlier that it was a gorilla, and in my mind it was, but in all actuality, it was probably a chimp. This dude was old. He was rather grumpy and just ignored visitors when they came by. But for whatever reason, he was full of piss and vigor that day. He did a few typical monkey things, made some noise, threw around his toys, acted generally silly. I guess all that showing off made him thirsty so he reached through the cage and grabbed a piece of cut up garden hose, stuck it in his stock tank full of water, and got a big cool drink.

Of course I thought this was the best thing ever. I had yet to see this primate do much of anything but sit around and ignore everyone. I told Grandma how neat it was and she agreed. We stood there examining him for a bit when out of nowhere that old asshole spit that big drink of water he had taken all over my poor elderly grandmother. The monkey smiled a big yellow toothed smile, and laughed to himself. I'm certain I fell over from laughing so hard. But poor Grandma, she was mortified.

She marched straight over to the visitor's center and told the receptionist all about the monkey's awful behavior. Of course everyone in the office found the incident to be hilarious, but still, Grandma was not amused.

Later that day when my mom came to pick me up after work, Grandma told Mom what had happened. I distinctly remember Mom stifling her laughter as my distraught grandmother shuddered and said "And, oh, he smiled with those big yellow teeth!"

I will never forget that last trip to the animal farm, and I will never forget the look on my grandmother's face as that monkey spit all over her!

Ahh, Sunday Morning.

Good morning, Dear Reader. It's a lovely Sunday, AND I FINALLY HAVE A DAY OFF FROM WORK!!! I was even able to sleep past my typical 4:45am wake up call, without the help of a sleep aide. I don't know if you can hear it but, there are angels singing songs of rejoice in my honor. It is glorious.

You know what isn't glorious, though? Sleeping next to your toddler.

Per her usual routine, Robbie woke up at 5am, got in our bed, and we all tried to rest peacefully. And at first we managed this. But then I started dreaming about the book I've been reading. (Gary L. Stewart's account of trying to find his birth father, and discovering his father was the Zodiac Killer. Super creepy, but I can't put it down.) Being that I am quite the sissy and couldn't return to sleep, I laid beside my sleeping toddler, quietly, when out of nowhere, the smelliest of smelly toddler feet smacked me right in the face.

Unsure of what to do, for fear I might awaken my child, I just suffered and suffocated under her toes and foot stank. It was awful. But it gets worse. Soon I found my face being crushed by BOTH of her stinky feet. Unable to stand the stench anymore, I rolled over to face away from her. At last I could breathe, and I was beginning to tire, so I decided to go back to sleep.

I'm certain I was starting to snore about the time the kicking to my back began, so I am sure I deserved that. But what came next was unjust. In my half asleep haze, I rolled back over believing I would cuddle with my sweet sleeping baby. But there were no cuddles to be had. Oh no. In place of the cuddles that should have been, my child gave me the gift of possible decapitation. She slashed her arms through the air, coming down directly on my windpipe. Still in fear of waking of the child, I tried to cough and sputter in to the blanket. My attempts were spurned by my child's head butting straight in to my chest. Such action surely left a bruise on my sternum. In my head I screamed in pain, but only bit my lip to keep from crying out and awakening the storm that is my offspring.

Blankets and pillows began to fly as my little darling pelted me with anything that was within her am's reach, and I began to realize that the entire time I believed my child was sleeping wildly, she was in fact very much awake.

I was hurt and insulted by her mischievous behavior, but I was unwilling to get out of my warm bed at the time, so I continued pretending to sleep. It was not long before I was found out, and demands for cereal and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse began. Defeated and battered, I limped into the living room to provide the solution to my child's demands and begin typing this for you, Dear Reader. In the event that I should pass away due to my injuries, or am suffocated by my toddler's beloved blankie at nap time, please remember me as I always was, dramatic, sarcastic, and over caffeinated.

Alex Laments. Episode 522.

Well hello, Dear Reader. Fancy meeting you here...I really shouldn't say that. I'm not entirely sure what it means, and obviously you're here because you read, and you like reading what I write. Soooo...

I believe some time ago I had promised I would write more when things calmed down in my life. Unfortunately my life has just gotten crazier and crazier. I finished out my last term in school for the year, in August, while working full time. That was, um, fun? But I did it, and I finished with like a 3.6 GPA. So pat me on the back and tell me I'm special. Because I am special, dammit. Now I'm working all the time. No seriously, like 6 days a week. That has not been fun. But it is necessary. There is hope on the horizon though. My employer has hired more staff, so I shouldn't be at work all the time anymore, and I've been working the job market a little. Pimping out my resume, if you will.

Wait, can you pimp out a resume that isn't impressive? Isn't that the point of putting your goods on the street? Because they're impressive and everyone wants them? I have no idea. My milkshakes DO NOT bring all the boys to the yard, so I'm probably going about this all wrong.

...anyway...I've been searching for gainful employment. Which basically means I've been thinking about how I wish I could work part time while receiving benefits and getting paid at least $1000.00 per hour. #realisticlifesgoal #igotsem. Obviously that is not going to happen. But I really have been considering what to do next, and what will be beneficial in my career path. I think I mentioned before that I had previously been majoring in surgical technology, because I couldn't afford the nursing program, but when the school announced it was closing I decided to pursue a creative writing degree? I still want to do that, but my heart is very much people oriented, and I need face to face interaction with folks to survive. I love people. So I've been tossing around majoring in healthcare admin or maybe a business focus of some sort, and minoring in writing. I mean, I've got to brush up my composition skills if I'm ever going to publish something note worthy. I still need to remind my brothers that I am better than they are and that I'm famous, and they're just butt faces. So a minor in creative writing is important. But trying to figure out my actual career path is hard. My heart  wants to be a healer, my wallet wants to be full, and my soul wants something that has family friendly hours. It's been a rather large task weighing the benefits and downfalls of everything, but doing so has made me realize just how much I really need more balance in my life.

I have NEVER been a balanced person. I zoom from one extreme to the next. I'm a workaholic and I prefer to always be busy. So when I started my current job, of course I offered to step up and work myself in to perpetual sickness (no really, since I started I've caught illness after illness, along with the majority of my coworkers). While this personality trait was a blessing before I had my daughter, it is now a curse. It leaves no room for family life, but it does improve the quality of the little bit of time we get together. The TV is playing more music, and we are all spending our time together instead of vegging out in front of Bob's Burgers re-runs. I just need and want to be home more. I'm missing out on so much. 

This time last year I was waking up to watch the sunrise and drink coffee while Robbie slept peacefully in bed. I was spending afternoons snuggling and playing with my little love. I was cooking every recipe I could get my hands on, and baking a new treat on the weekends. I didn't place enough value on those moments then. I knew they wouldn't last forever, but I didn't realize just how much I would miss them once they were gone. Now I am gone before Robbie or Cameron are awake in the mornings. I get home in just enough time to slap together dinner and spend maybe half an hour playing before it's time to go to bed. There is no meal made out of love. There is no baking. The sunrise is viewed in my rear view mirror. There is no rocking my girl or playing tea party with her. It's a strange place to be in. It isn't miserable. It is just unsatisfying. 

Which is sort of ironic, because this time has taught me so much about myself I didn't know. It has somehow made me into a better mother, a better person, a better student, a better employee, and strengthened my soul and my faith. I find myself almost admiring my growth. I am proud of who I am. 

I just want to enjoy who I've become with the ones I love more. 

So now I'm facing a very the very large project of making a path that will allow me to soak in those special moments again. I have no idea how or where to start, but I am going to make it happen. Some way, some how, I will get that balance that I need between career and family, and I will continue to grow. 

30 Days of Gratitude: Day Four.

Day four! I'm not going to lie, now that I've started this challenge and am about wrist deep, I find myself thinking "what the hell was I thinking?" Then I remember I was thinking that I am changing my major and will be doing something with creative writing so I need practice in any way that I can get it. Thank goodness I am also in comp 2 this month while I do this challenge, so I will get all the practice. If I could instert an eye roll/laughing emoji here, I so would.

Anyway. Today is all about what food I am grateful for. How is a person supposed to just pick one food? Shouldn't you be grateful for any food you get? Lord knows I am. In my adult life there have been plenty of times that I didn't have enough money to pay my bills and buy groceries so I went without food. It was rough, but I made it through to have a better understanding of what it is really like to go without. Now there is always food on my table, even if it is just fried bologna sandwiches.

I don't know that I could pick just one food that I am grateful for. Italian and Mexican are my favorite styles of food. But I wouldn't say I am thankful for either of them, because they give me horrible heartburn. I also love seafood and some fish. But again, not really something I'd say I am most thankful for. I guess I would have to say that any meal that I can make for my family is the food I am most grateful for.

Since Robbie was born, I have really come into my own in the kitchen. I've always been able to cook well, I just didn't like it. But having family meals everyday seem to make the chore of cooking a little more enjoyable. Especially when Robbie actually eats what I make, and Cameron goes back for seconds. All that hard work slaving over a hot stove and scalding my hands in boiling dishwater suddenly become one of the most important parts of my day. Funny how that works isn't it?

So there you have it. I'm most grateful for the food that I prepare for my little family. What food are you most grateful for? 

Mom: Why We Love Her.

My mother is pretty cool. She raised three kids completely on her own, is obsessed with health and fitness, teaches Zumba, runs half marathons and 5ks, and places in the top three at the 5ks, has a huge knowledge for crap no one cares about (this must be where I got that talent from), is a gifted writer, is always open to offer up advice about anything, and is the grandmother who sends cards/candy/loud toys to her grandchildren at every holiday because she's out to spoil the kids and drive the parents nuts.

That's a big list of cool stuff to love her for, but that's not even the tip of the iceberg.

This past Thursday was my mom's 58th birthday. It was a good day, but at the same time it was particularly rough. My newest niece was born (that's a good part, obviously), but my grandfather was in the hospital, preparing for a surgery that could have very well ended his life, and then we ate at a Mexican joint that didn't serve margaritas. Terrible, how can you eat fajitas and not wash them down with tequila?! Anyway.

My mom, being herself, had to be everywhere at once. So off to see my brother and his family, we went. She never once let on how stressed she really was, or how she, along with everyone else, was a ball of nerves about Pa's surgery. No, instead she smiled, laughed, took a gazillion pictures, and carried on. She did the same thing, minus the pictures, when we visited Pa. 

On her feet, my Ma is admittedly, not always graceful, just watch her two step after three margaritas and a beer, but that day, she handled EVERYTHING with a grace and strength that can't be taught. Way to go Mom.

The next day was the old man's surgery. And again, everyone else had fear written all over them, but Mom on the other hand, just did her usual; handled all this business, asked questions, went with Pa to pre-op, and did it all without even a ripple in her sea of poise. I don't know how she does it. I sat there next to her just waiting, fidgeting, talking way too much and too fast, and she was calm. 

We love Ma for this. She's the glue that holds our family together. My Grandma passed that position down to my Mom many years ago, and it's a position that fits her well.

Of course there are many other things Madre is special for. For instance, her Adam Sandler version of Good King Winseslas that stops my kid from crying every time, or the rocking chair she let me borrow, that she rocked my brothers and myself in, her homemade chicken and dumplings when I catch a cold (yes 23 years old and Mommy still makes me something to eat when I'm sick), or how she remembers EVERY.LITTLE.THING. the grand kids tell her, and she buys them gifts based on what they told her. She still goes to every ball game and event she can make it to that the grand kids have. She takes amazing care of my Grandpa, her dad, which is hard because he doesn't complain unless he's starving. And the list STILL goes on.

My point for this post is, all moms are special to their families, they/we all bend over backwards at times to take care of everything, but no one has a mom like mine. Mine does it all for everyone. Always has. I know one day she'll tire of being the old bottle of Elmer's and it will be my turn, I just hope I can do half as well as she has. 

It's Only Bed Time!! These Tears Aren't Needed!! Part 2. The Mom Cryer.

Tonight's bed time was exceptionally cry-y (I couldn't think of any real adjectives to fit the situation, so made one.) Typically after I take the baby out of the bath, she cries for a little bit, (This kid LOVES bath time.), and as usual she cried some. But shortly after she calmed down, the dam broke, and dear old mom here just lost it.

It's been an emotionally charged month. Especially the last two weeks. Lots have happened, and then today we had a great event, it was my mama's birthday, and my newest niece was born late this afternoon. (By the way Baby J, the new little, is cuuuttteeee! I'm so excited!)

Seeing this new little teeny tiny made me realize how big my little teeny tiny is, and how small she was. Since she was born I have reminded myself daily to take it all in, to cherish these little times because it will go fast. Thankfully I can enjoy it to the fullest because I'm one of the few lucky moms who get to be home with their babies. But it just seems like I closed my eyes, two months passed, and now there's this big little girl with a head full of hair and the brightest smile, and I just don't know where the time went.

It all just hit me at once. I had rocked her, laid her in her crib, because I thought she was sleepy, then her pretty eyes sprang open, and the smiles and cooing started. I'm not sure what she was telling me about, but she was pretty excited. This is when I started crying.

I think she knew I wasn't really sad, just a little nostalgic, grateful, and a little stressed. So, as if to say something along the lines of "It's okay Mommy, I love you. I'll always be your baby." she gave me a big smile, a few more coos and then snuggled in to sleep.

I really didn't want to leave her side. I wanted her to keep telling me all about it. And I did stand there for a few more minutes and listened to her, but I knew it was bed time and she was clearly fighting sleep. So I turned the light off and stood in her doorway, and she talked for a few more minutes, then sighed really big and was asleep. This made me cry even more. I just love her to pieces.

This kid, she melts my heart. I never really wanted to be a mom, but then baby happened, and man, my life is 1000% fuller and happier with her here. 

I know children aren't for everyone, so I won't say that life really starts when you have kids. But, if you do have babies or will eventually, just remember to hold them tight, give them lots of love and kisses, but don't spoil them, and above all else remember that time goes so fast. So fast, that sometimes you just need to be the mom who stands in their bedroom doorway and cries about how much they love their sweet little miracle.