Sometimes Moms shout...

An Open Letter to the woman who shouted at me in the Michael's parking lot for shouting to admonish my 5 year old.

Hi there,

Thanks for shouting at me across the parking lot while I struggled to get my two boys out of the car and into the store this morning. It was especially helpful for you to berate and admonish me for shouting at my five year old after he quite literally slammed his door open into the fancy SUV we were parked beside. Especially since, just moments before, I said to him "Buddy, these parking spaces are small, make sure you open your door carefully, okay?"

Emotional rollercoaster

So, when I was young, we did a youth musical at our church (actually, we did a bunch of them, but this one sticks out right now) and one had a song that went like this "This rollercoaster ride of life, lifts you up and lets you down. This rollercoaster ride of life, spins you round and round and round. Heaven knows, wherever you go, He will be there by your side. On this rollercoaster ride, of life."

Now, obviously, as teens,  we all totally related to this. I mean, when in your life are your more on an emotional rollercoaster than when you're a teenager. But this past year has been as much of an emotional rollercoaster as any time in my life.

Right now, I'm in the process of switching to a new medication. Fun, wow - right? ugh.

Remember when they said, "Let kids be kids"? I do...

Ugh... so... dealing with some frustrations here blog-o-sphere... and I thought I'd share them with you.

First off: the big'un started school last Tuesday. He's 4, so that means that here in Ontario he goes to the "2 year Kindergarden Program"... that's school all day, every day. At 4 years old.

Now - I'm not actually complaining about him going to school everyday, because the big'un is one of those kids who really really really wanted to go to school. He loves it. Everyday he comes home and tells me he had a good day and he wants to go back tomorrow. Fantastic! He even decided after the first short week of school that he no longer wanted to come home for lunch (even though we live, literally, around the bend from the school) but that he wanted to stay all day and eat lunch at school with his class. No problem, done. He's stayed for lunch every day since then.

But then last night was "Meet the Teacher" night. We've met the teacher a couple of times already, spoke to her briefly on a few occasions of pick ups and drop offs, but yesterday afternoon she met the Hubs when he picked up the big'un and told him that they were having some "listening problems" and, even worse, that when she told him to listen to her and look at her when she was speaking that he "made a gun with his fingers and pretended to shoot at her.".

Fabulous.

Grieving and Moving forward.

It may sound silly, but I feel like writing this post is necessary for my current grieving process. Sometimes, the best thing about a blog is that you get a chance to get everything out at once. It's not a conversation with someone (though those are often awesome as well), you can cry and keep on typing, you can edit how you say things (without your readers ever knowing that you aren't so clever the first go-round all. the. time.) and you can blog about difficult things, and move that little bit forward in a tough situation without having to sound calm, and collected, and any other manner of emotions that you're not.

Dear readers, some of you may know, many will not, that I have had a "tough go of it" (as my Grandmother would say) lately. And I know that there will be parts of this story that get left out, there will be parts that aren't chronological, and to be perfectly honest, no matter who ends up reading this, the reality is, it may not be for you. The reality is that this blog post is for me.

As I sit here to write this, I am almost 2 weeks post-op for an emergency surgery for a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. Layman's terms: I had surgery because I had a pregnancy that implanted in the tube instead of in the womb, and it burst, and bled. A lot. It was dangerous. It was potentially fatal. It was scary.

Whoa whoa, back up the truck, you might be saying. Or perhaps you're just staring at the screen. Don't worry, I'm not going to use a lot of medical terms, and I'll try not to give out too many "gory details", because I don't actually want to talk about the physical surgery here much. Believe it or not, that's not the hard part.

Hard to fit?

Disclaimer: If you're a guy reading this you'll probably be either bored, confused, or weirded out. I suggest - if you're looking for something to occupy a bit of your time, other than reading my blog, that you click this link instead: Think Geek

Okay ladies - now that we're alone...

I'll start - my name is Tea and I am a hard-to-fit woman.

Now - I know what you're thinking: "aren't we all?" - and of course to some degree that answer is yes. But if you're able to walk into a clothing store at the mall and pick up ten items and have half or more of them fit the way they should - I'm not talking to you. It's not that you don't have fit problems, I'm sure you do - but the fact of the matter is that I'm totally completely 100% jealous of you. Just so you know.

No - I'm talking about women like me. Oddballs if you would. Now, usually I'm totally okay with being a bit
oddball - in fact, I relish it. I like being "different", and I'm a fairly confident person, so I can usually pull it off. But - brace yourselves ladies - I. Hate. Shopping.

Nope - not joking. Hate it. Ten-thousand percent, loathe with every fibre of my being, wish I could be just about anywhere else, would rather clean my bathroom than shop for myself. And here's why. I'm "hard to fit".

Here's the rundown so you know what I'm talking about:

The I want Daddy...s

It starts... hubby's gone, left this morning at around 5:45 am. We've been trying to explain to the boys for a few days now just how long Daddy's going to be gone (5 days, 1 work week, Monday until Friday, etc etc etc) and this morning I was thinking that our big'un (3 years old) was finally getting it. Nope... not so much. The I want Daddy's have already started.

This morning on the bus:
Big'un: Mommy, the kids wouldn't give me a high five and now I'm sad...
Me: Oh, I'm sorry Buddy! What would make you feel better, a hug?
*(nope)
Me: A glass of milk?
*(nope)
Me: A muffin?
*(nope)
Me: Well, what then? Anything you want.