All I Want for Christmas Is...

What I really want for Christmas cannot be purchased in a store.  Cue the sappy instrumental background music.  It doesn't come in a box and wouldn't even hold a bow.   

No.  What I really want for Christmas is one whole day.  One.  Whole.  Day.  Where someone else makes all the decisions.  Every single decision.  I don't want to be shielded from my life or to have someone take care of me for the whole day...that's not realistic right now.  I'm all for pitching in.  I can make lunch.  I just don't want to have to decide what's being served.  I'll change a diaper.  Just don't ask me to decide whether or not the baby needs to be changed.

I'm giddy with the thought of it.  To go one whole day and not have a single interrogative sentence aimed in my direction.  Not a single; Should we?  Which one?  Can they?  What will they?  When will?  What time will we?  How many?  Are we?  What's for?  Etc.

And if I can't have that, maybe someone could get a small buzzer for my stocking that I can zap at people when they ask me things like, "Should I make hot dogs or Pb&j for the girls?"  I don't care.  They are equally good and bad, satisfying and uninteresting.  I don't care, someone else decide.  "Do you want coffee?"  I don't care.  Would it taste good.  Yes.  Could I live without it.  Yes.  Bring it or don't bring it.  Someone else decide?  "Should we take the stroller?"  "Should they get water or milk?"  "What channel should we watch?"  "Jeans or khakis?"  I don't care.  I don't care.  I don't care.  I really don't care.  For this one whole day.  I don't care.


To the potential giver of this gift I will make this pledge.  I promise that I will, with a smile, choke down something I don't want to eat, participate in an activity that I would have passed on, watch a TV show I hate and wear clothes that don't match if someone else would just make the decision and leave me out of it.

That, is what I really want for Christmas.  Please Santa.  I've been such a good girl this year.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

Ok.  So I wasn't going to do this.  But it's my blog and I can write whatever makes me feel good.  AND THIS MAKES ME FEEL SOOOOOOOOO GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!  Whew!  Breath.






SOOOOOO GOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As of the middle of last week, when you type "The Middle Bit" in the Google search bar, my blog is the first hit!  WooHoo!   I keep searching it again and again because selfishly I love to see that my bit is now the first bit and secretly I'm afraid somehow it will stop working.

For the past few months I have been carving out a very selfish 30 minutes every few days to compose my thoughts.   That time is my time and I'm owed it for all the time I spend on everyone else.  That time is spent collecting my thoughts and ideas, my musings, rantings and witty attempts at poetry and putting them out there because I feel they are mostly worthy of your time.  Sounds very self-centered.  Noted.

I have come to realize that the only way to have a centered self, to feel good about what's left of my core after I take care of everyone else, is to be a bit self-centered once in awhile.  My self has weight that tips the scale back to level when I start leaning so far over with everyone else's needs that I'm feeling out of balance.  My selfless acts pile up on me sometimes and I begin to see less and less of my self.  The Middle Bit is the self-centered bulls eye right in the midst of it all that reminds me that I'm still here.

Who claps for me?  Today?  Some of you.  Thanks.  Google.com(and apparently google.uk and google.fr)  WooHoo!  And me.  I'm happy and I know it!  The best things happen in the middle.

Minnie's Beans

Minnie, my small black bean eater,

Off her high chair she did teeter;

When eating too much did discover,

Her bloats of gas, they made her hover.

Minnie, my small black bean eater,

Found another legume sweeter;

She switched her beans from black to jelly,

And found her toots were not so smelly.

Diamonds Aren't the Only Gem a Mother Can Use

Are you in need of some "bling" this holiday season?  Here a couple of pearls of wisdom no mother should live without.

If you ever discover that your child has inserted a small object (marble, pea, raisin, Polly Pocket purse, pebble, etc.) into any part of their body that you are brave enough to attempt retrieval from...check every orifice on that child and every orifice in the room on any other child.

If you ever find yourself some time to take a hot bath (forget the candles and the book, that won't be happening any time soon) and you think you're saving yourself time by leaving the rubber ducks and the naked Barbies in the tub...take them out!  It doesn't take that much time to put them away and I guarantee you will be bothered by the bobbing quackers and the plastic women whose thighs are smaller than yours.

Bring it!  Even if you're sure you won't need it!  When that little voice inside your head suggests something...listen to it!  Bring the extra diaper, the granola bar, the stroller, the extra undies (for everyone), the Bed Bath and Beyond coupon, the kotex, the umbrella, the plastic potty, the quarters for goat food at the zoo.  Just bring it and roll your eyes when someone has the audacity to tell you that you've brought too much stuff.

If you ever get the notion to clean the glass on the sliding door...clean the outside first.  If you don't, and you think you're saving time by starting on the inside, then by the time you get to the outside, your squeaking and rubbing will likely have attracted enough attention from little people who will want to press their jelly coated fingers and snotty noses against the newly cleaned glass to see what you're doing outside and all of your initial efforts will have been literally wiped away and you'll have to do it over anyway.  Start outside.

When the toy catalogs begin coming in the mail or the weekly flyers fall out of the Sunday newspaper resist the temptation to hand them over to your children.  Yes, it will buy you a few minutes of peace.  Yes, they will beg you for the chance to look through them and tell you what they really want.  Resist.  Even in the name of literacy.  The ToyRUs flyer is not a book.  The American Girl catalog is not a book.  Resist.  Then recycle.

If you want to like what you see when you look at your children...then watch yourself.  Your children will do what you do and they will say what you say.  But they will never.  Never.  Do what you say.  If you are how you want them to be, then you will like what you see.

Some gems of motherhood are like heirlooms that get passed down to you, others have always truly been owned by you, a few are borrowed from friends when you really need them.  Have you got another gem to add to my treasure?

On a Goose Chase or a Quest

Young Mommy Me, when

She wanted to rest,

Would dash off to yoga

In her fine Nissan Quest.

A gander too messy, in

A life filled with poo,

From the tips of her nails,

To the sole of her shoe.

The Quest is much better,

Like a symbol each day,

Of the journey of Motherhood,

Now, up and away!

The Big O

Sometimes they last longer than you expected.  Sometimes they become such a part of your routine that you hardly notice them.  Oprah?  Hardly. Overstock.com?  Nope.  It's not that other thing either!  Shame on you, this is a respectable blog.  I had a Big O today and the thing about it was, it started out as one kind of O and ended up as quite another.

I'm talking about obligations.  The O that rears its ugly head at this time of year and makes me do things like cry out in pain, cook overly large poultry and take multiple tuxedos to the cleaners.  What is difficult to remember when I'm standing in the kitchen for 4 hours making a Norwegian holiday treat that only I know how to make, or when I'm standing in line at Kohl's because they're having the Biggest Sale of the Season, or when I'm readying our home for yet another round of company, is that it's all about perspective.  When all I see looming over me are obligations that big O can be obnoxious.  Overwhelming.  But when my super powers are serving me well, I can see those obligations as opportunities.  And that's what happened yesterday.        

I had the opportunity to have 4 hours to myself yesterday morning while I mixed, rolled, grilled and assembled the obligatory Scandinavian treat.  I played holiday music too loud and did some shamelessly bad, braless dancing while I waved my lefse sticks in the air.  My obligations last week had me standing in line at Kohl's?  Opportunity?  One word.  Kegels.  No thirtysomething women ever wants to miss that opportunity.  Tonight after my children go to bed I'll be vacuuming again in preparation for the cocktail party we're having.  I'm actually looking forward to taking the time to enjoy how beautiful my home looks when its decorated for the holidays and will remember that it is nice to have people who want to be in my home with me.
 
Event + Response = Outcome

Math is not my gift, but this equation has the perfect solution.  I can't change the event, but I can alter my response.  Seeing obligations as opportunities.  Shifting my response so I can change the outcome.  That's a Big O I'll grab hold of every time.

Super Powers

"You're amazing!" he said to me.  "Moms must have super powers!"  Yes.  Thank you.  Moms DO have super powers, just not the ones he was thinking of. 

Super Power #1- The ability to NOT hear
The thumping tells you they're jumping on the bed, which they are NOT supposed to do, but they have been happily playing together for more than 20 minutes so you don't hear it.

Super Power #2- The ability to NOT see
Standing just around the corner you witness the little one standing up to the big one and belting her in the stomach after a toy is ripped from her grasp.  Nobody screams.  Nobody cries.  The big one gets what's coming and the little one gets her toy back.  You didn't see it.

Super Power #3- The ability to NOT feel
You don't feel the elbow in you neck when they come in at full speed for a crushing toddler hug.  You take the hug.  That tiny pause in the go go go lifestyle of a toddler.  They're wonderful.  You don't feel the gross wet spot leftover from open mouth baby kisses.  That little face coming in for love.  It's wonderful.  You don't feel it.  

Super Power #4- The ability to move VERY slow
In a classic foot race between you and the three year old who is running her little heart out, you convincingly run so slow that she is able to beat you over and over and over again.  The giggles of glee are too good to be missed and you can't outrun her.  You are too slow.

Super Power #5- The ability to remove stains, smudges and crust with only the power of your spit.
The cleansing powers of "Mom Spit" are truly miraculous.  Enough said.

Super Power #6- The ability to NOT remember
No matter what happened before the nap, or yesterday, or 5 minutes ago, moms have the amazing ability to forget about all of it and begin again.

All that being said, Mom Kryptonite can take many forms; exhaustion, being "on hold" with the cable company, puking kids, traveling spouses, in-laws, PMS, and several others.  Mom Kryptonite takes different forms and can weaken all powers instantly causing pain and suffering to all.

Yes, moms DO have super powers.  But I think I'll skip the skimpy outfit and just wear the cape!  Thank you very much!!!