Who am I forgetting to be?

I need to find my passion, my purpose. It's waiting for me, I can feel it. It's on the tip of my tongue like a thought I can't recall. I can't put my finger on it. It's elusive, dancing in the corners of my mind. It's not my sole purpose I seek to find because I believe being a mother, wife, daughter and friend are all a part of who I am meant to be, but there is something I have yet to fulfill.
I am often jealous of those who have that one drive, their one focus, especially from a young age where they have time to hone it to perfection. Here I am, "middle aged" and I feel a clock ticking, a "now or never" whisper. My interests are many, my dedication are to few and my mastery... none.

I love to write, to create, to teach, to shop, to take charge...to drink wine. Yet sometimes I'm too tired to write, too stagnant to create, too impatient to teach, too broke to shop, too clueless to take charge, and yes...too hung over to drink wine.

I overheard my mother once say to my father that I was a dreamer. I considered this an insult and, at the time, it hurt to hear. But my mother was right, I am a dreamer. However, now I believe that being a dreamer is an asset. Perhaps I have the sense to acknowledge a potential, to give it a go and then to know when something isn't my "it".

Perhaps I'll stumble upon it one day. Someone once told me that if you are having trouble remembering something to stop thinking about it and it will come to you out of the blue. Maybe my purpose will find me when I'm not looking. Maybe the UPS man will bring it to my door one afternoon and ask me to sign for it. Or it'll be on one of those little pieces of paper you find stuck to your windshield in a strip mall parking lot. I realize this is not likely; a little intervention from fate would really be appreciated.

I do worry that my whole life could be spent floating, seeking, trying and never realizing. If I find the thing that satisfies my soul when I'm old and gray is it too late? Will it still make "a life fulfilled"? Should I just be satisfied with being the best mother, wife, daughter and friend I can be? Am I asking for or expecting too much? I hope not.

Pumping Iron

Collin has turned in his 2009 Christmas wish list. Kindly, he's decided to let Santa purchase the more expensive items so that we don't have to spend our own money. He's very thoughtful like that. There was one "must have" gift that I found to be very interesting...a set of dumbbells.

I questioned him about it and this was his logic:

he will bulk up -> beat his dad in wrestling -> impress a certain girl at school -> become her #1 boyfriend (as he is currently #2)-> be the envy of the entire K4 afternoon kindergarten class -> rule the entire free world....mwah ha ha ha haaa

#2 boyfriend? Apparently she said that her #1 boyfriend is a bit more exciting than him. I have to appreciate her honesty. But what exactly constitutes "exciting" in kindergarten? Making milk come out of his nose?

I told him that I didn't think kindergarten girls were impressed with muscular 6 year olds. He just shrugged and said,"we'll see".

I guess on the bright side I know what to get him for a stocking stuffer - a unitard, steroids and a subscription to musclemag.com.

He Really Does Love His Sister

Here is my favorite, yet concerning, interaction with Collin today...

Me: I'm taking Ana to the doctor's today for her shots.

Collin: Can I come?

Me: Sure, if you want.

Collin: How many shots is she getting?

Me: three

Collin: Do you think she'll cry?

Me: I hope not. She didn't last time.

Collin: I know (said with annoyance). Well I hope she does.

Me: Why?!

Collin: She's making me look bad!

PS - she cried and he walked out satisfied.

Woe Is Me

I took Collin to the doctor's on Thursday. He was diagnosed with a severe case of Hypochondria. It really didn't surprise me, all the signs and symptoms were there. The need for a cast when his new shoes hurt his feet, the ache in his leg caused by inhaling, the pain in his neck only when the dog barked, and the sudden bouts of nausea when it came time to eat his veggies. I never had genetic counseling when I was pregnant but I'm certain this gene is carried by the men on his father's side. Should I get him a medical ID bracelet?

I tried everything to make him understand the seriousness of faking an illness. I explained how it scares his father and me when he crawls on the floor moaning and hyperventilating until dessert is served. I even told him the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. But he looked at me funny and said "wolves don't live 'round here". It was a lost cause.

So I packed him and his crayon-written laundry list of ailments up and headed to the doctor. And after an hour of sitting among truly ill children coughing all over us we talked to the doc. I told her my suspicions very cryptically and let her exam him. Thankfully she found him to be healthy. But she was wise enough to know that he needed to have some course of action to follow. She told him that he could wrap his foot with a bandage and prop it on a pillow at night. He was ecstatic! He felt validated and I suspect somewhat "special".

As soon as we got home I had to wrap the foot. He asked me to start the wrap a little higher on his leg so that he could show the kids at school by raising his pant leg. When I was done he sat on the edge of the bed admiring his foot. He sat up a little taller, puffed out his chest and said, "this bandage makes me feel like a man!" A man?! I'm guessing he wants a shaving kit and power tools for Christmas?

I thought for certain that this bandage was going to be part of his identity for years to come much like Michael Jackson's glove. However, when he came home from school the next day he said that the s weren't really impressed with his bum foot. And later that night he reported that his foot felt better and he didn't need the bandage any longer. Hallelujah, you are healed! ...until he gets the flu from sitting in the germ infested doctor's office.

Thank You Tiffany!

Thanks to my friend Tiffany I found a new obsession. And thank goodness because all this free time was starting to get to me. I love www.xtranormal.com!!!

This is a peek into my daily life with Brian.




He told me to laugh it up now because it won't be so funny when he keels over. True, true.


And this just about sums up our dinner conversations:



Don't judge us...

Today's Twirling Thoughts

Here are some of my observations and thoughts from today.

I was riding behind a pickup truck that had it's left blinker on for about a mile. I was caught off guard when he finally turned. And I wondered, was it coincidental that he turned left while his blinker was still on or does he just like to plan ahead?

My cat was basking in the sun when I knelt down to pet her. I buried my face in her long, soft fur. It smelled remarkably like the hair of a new baby doll. It brought me back to my dollies, my childhood and to magical Christmas mornings. I reflected on this with a small smile on my face for a few moments. Then it occurred to me that what I was smelling was actually a mixture of cat saliva and "fresh scent" kitty litter.

I went to the recycling bins again today. I tore apart many cardboard boxes so that they would fit in that stupid narrow slot. I broke a nail, stepped in some mud and remembered that my brother in law told me recycling was a waste. He said the pollution and energy used in transporting and recycling the materials outweighs the benefits. I broke a nail doing it so he better be wrong.

I cooked mussels tonight. I never realized that the mussels are alive before you cook them. I killed them. Their tiny little shell lives weigh heavy on my conscience. They opened up hoping to escape the intense heat only to have the hot sauce (butter, white wine, garlic...mmm) boil them alive. It's all so cruel. When Brian didn't eat the last eight I thought I would cry for the lives that were taken in vain. I don't think I can make them again. But I will eat them again because it's important to know who you are and I'm a sensitive hypocrite.

The Path Not Taken...Yet

I'm antsy again. Brian came into our bedroom the other night to find me on the laptop very absorbed. He asked what I was doing.
Looking for a job.
A job?
Yes, a job.
Why?
'Cause.
Oh, uh...oookay. (aka-I'm not going to ask)
Of course I'm not in a position to have a career right now unless our mortagage and need for food require it. We have a new baby and a part-time kindergartener that I want to spend time with. But at the end of a day filled with diapers, time outs, dishes, missing socks, and messy snacks the idea of a career sounds so...well, glamourous.

I don't regret staying at home despite my need for accomplishment, feedback and a paycheck. I'm putting myself on hold for them. Call me a martyr. Of course, I'm sensible enough to know that if I worked I'd probably want to be at home. We always think the grass is greener. And we always want what we don't have. Or is this just me? If so,...how embarrassing. This is why purusing the help wanted ads satisfies some craving for me. It's like window shopping or walking through a beautiful showroom. I stroll through looking at all the wonderful things I could have- there's a little thrill or rush. The ideas, the changes, it's all so alluring. But when I calculate the price, I can't afford it. Emotionally, I can't afford it. And then I shut off the computer. I put the clothes in the dryer and let the dog out. I go upstairs and put my hand on each child's chest. I feel the up and down of their breathing and I know I am exactly where I need to be.