Author: Titanimom by Jennifer Scheidt

Titanimom by Jennifer Scheidthttp://www.titanimom.com/40-something work from home Mom with a husband and 3 kids living on the edge of stress, bless and a little town I like to call Wineville. I am trying to lift my eyes daily to the amazing and inspired happening within and all around. Celebrating the strength, humor, chaos and love it takes to be a woman and a Mom. Gonna roll with the ups and downs and look for the humor along the way. There will be some, right?? Did I mention I obsessively collect recipes I never make, paper clutter I never make time to organize and dream of ocean air, sand in my toes and the book I'm gonna write? There, now we are acquainted.

Don’t Sell Me Superwoman

Being the huge fan of browsing mail-order catalogs and trying to devise a way to have the ripped athletic physique like most of the models contained within is a special form of torture I subject myself to. So could there be a better time to do this than at the start of the new year, during “Resolution week” (which it’s already been established I don’t participate in.) Pages upon pages of sun-tanned, impossibly natural beauties with perfect smiles and glow-bright teeth? Looking disgustingly happy surfing some Hawaiian wave or photographed mid-acrobatic climb up the side of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Jealous much?

So I’m still loving the clothes. Dog earring page after page and so very subtly letting Ice know that I just might love a gift certificate for any upcoming occasions that might warrant it. And by the way, spread the word!

“When did they introduce that style?” I think.

“Oooooh, that would be so cute to wear to the next picnic or trip to the Zoo with Little Bee.”

So caught up in the piles and piles of cute things that I envision adorning my closet, I completely miss the captions on the multitudes of Super Women featured in this edition.

Looking closer I see descriptions of jobs, accomplishments and favorite pastimes of these ladies. A painting psychotherapist and a woman who faces down a mountain lion and professes surviving natural childbirth? Or how about a surfing environmental researcher who has a law degree and scales mountains? Let me tell ya, I can sooo relate.

All of the sudden I question if I am worthy of sporting these clothes. A picnic and the Zoo? Shouldn’t I organize an effort to raise funds for a new playground first or champion saving a species for which I visit at the zoo before I can wear these clothes? Geesh!

I share this with Ice and you know what he says? “How many kids do they have?”

I don’t seem to recall more than one caption mentioning anything about that…

2013, Thank you for the Lessons

This photo is a picture of Little Bee after she reaches in to the plant in the foyer for the 327th time to grab some dirt. Usually she makes sure to leave her mark by dropping something in there like a random toy or her sippy cup. She always makes sure to taste the dirt as well. And then begrudgingly Mom swoops in with the broom…

It got me thinking, at what age do we learn from our mistakes? At what age do we decide to try something different?

Every time I happen to notice her approach that plant I say “No.” VERY firmly.

Every time she doesn’t listen I say it LOUDER.

Then I start walking towards her and invariably she looks at me, then smiles and does it anyways.

It’s only through trial and error, mistakes and reflection that we learn. She is too young for the latter. Mmmmm… therein lies the difference.

I am no fan of New Years’ Resolutions. Near about five years ago I decided they just weren’t for me. Pressure myself into something I would abandon in two weeks? Gear up for a new habit that was way out of my comfort zone and thus why it was never a habit of mine to begin with? Or the scheduling of it all – whatever it is that now needs to have a time slot? Makes me exhausted.

BUT, I will take my cues from Little Bee and make 2014 the year of the conscious effort to stop “playing in the dirt.”

2013 was an amazing year on so many levels. Lots to reflect on. Lots to sort through and learn from.

It would be so great if the same broken record that plays in my head about any number of things would stop. Whether it is the harshness with which I judge myself sometimes. Or the myriad of assumptions I make about what other people’s intentions may be. Or the lack of attention I give my kids sometimes when I am distracted by the most unimportant of things.

It would be great if I could shed those bad habits and free myself from the bad energy they bring.

Instead of worrying about Little Bee’s dirt, I can be my own broom! It’s in my power to do so.

Happy New Year.

A Christmas Poem

The stockings might be hung by the chimney with care

But wait, three more kids’ sporting events I have to ride share

The children started winter break bickering and fighting galore

And I thought to myself “What did I stand in that Black Friday line for?”

And Daddy was stressed out by the Visa bill

And I was in heaven shopping and shopping still

When in my kitchen I felt the pressure to bake

All the other Moms made mounds of cookies to share, I must be a fake!

And the Christmas cards did not get out this year

What will friends think with no photo of my family in our vacation gear?

When in the mall parking lot there arose such a clatter

The last spot in front of the department store was such a matter!

Wait, where did I put my ugly holiday sweater?

It’s the new fad to showcase poor fashion choices of which people should know better

How many things can I cram into this week?

Where is the Tylenol, the coffee and the wine from Cedar Creek?

More rapid than eagles the years fly by

Christmas memories of my older kids’ when they were little make me sigh

Is the focus on presents, buying stuff and just “getting through”?

Or love, peace and joy to be shared with my crew?

For really how magical this time of year

There’s no need for unimportant details or frustration it’s clear

Be nice to the person in line at the store

Marvel at the music, the cheer and the good memories of yore

Make new traditions or honor the old ones

It really doesn’t matter as long as you enjoy loved ones.

It’s More Fun to Believe

“Santa Claus is really your parents”, she said.
“What?!”
My eight-year-old self stomped home from my childhood playmate’s house, stormed into the living room and demanded an explanation from my unsuspecting and caught-off-guard Mother. Duped, lied to, shocked and incredulous – that about summed it up. I wasn’t in on the secret and it made me mad.

As each Christmas passed by and Techno and Twinkle got older, thoughts of how the “big reveal” would play out with them were always brimming near the surface. So when Twinkle came home last week and said her friend didn’t believe in the Easter Bunny I thought “Door opened, walk in. This is it.”

After some pointed questions, a mix of her intuition and rational thought she figured out that Mom and Dad have kept the magic alive for the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy and St. Nicholas BUT…”I still believe in Santa Claus.” she said with a knowing smile. Well, we went this far – we were taking it all the way.

It was so bittersweet. She marveled at the new information, laughed a little and then the next wave of reality washed over her and with it came some tears. Ouch. She was finally in on the secret. But it’s one of those moments in a child’s life where a layer of innocence is slowly peeled back. It breaks the heart just a little. What’s next? High school graduation already? Thankfully not just yet.

But this was just round one! Her older brother still wasn’t in on the secret. A double whammy. A separate conversation ensued at just the right time days later. Techno informed us he’s known for a couple of years. He just didn’t say anything. I think a part of him didn’t want to peek behind the curtain and see the wizard operating the controls. It’s just simply more fun to believe.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect for this all to take place. Because by week’s end we would be sitting in a concert hall, in front of a symphony orchestra playing the score and watching along to the animated short film of one of the most nostalgic Christmas traditions from my childhood. It’s a film based on the book by Raymond Brigg’s entitled The Snowman.

I don’t know many people who are familiar with this tale. It always seemed kind of an obscure find that we stumbled upon more than twenty years ago. It’s the story of a young boy who builds a snowman one wintry night only to delight in the fact that he comes alive. The two explore the human world of the boys’ house, the world outside and many of the nearby animals in the countryside and then take flight for a journey to the North Pole, a snowman party with Santa and witness the Northern Lights. In the morning the boy’s new friend has melted with the sun and all that remains in the pocket of his pajamas is the scarf Santa had gifted the boy the night before. In the book there are no words, just pictures. In the movie the only words are those of the gorgeous song “Walking in the Air” sung by a British choirboy. I promise you if you listen to it once, the music will stick with you forever. I’m still humming it four days later!

The movie became part of my children’s Christmas tradition starting with Techno’s second Christmas. It was perfect to watch this with both of the two older kids last week accompanied by the orchestra and a local-cast choirboy because it put me right back to suspending disbelief, going with the story as its presented and finding joy in the magic of it all.

Ice said to Twinkle after the reveal “We still believe.” She was a little relieved to hear that. I was a little relieved to hear that. And this movie sealed the deal.

This link takes you to the You Tube page where you can enjoy this Academy Award nominated film if you’d like (please excuse the Dominos pizza ad or whatever you will be forced to watch for 15 seconds!) It’s 26 minutes in length. Watch it with someone special.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5A3THighARU

The Other Side of the Rabbit Hole

Having kids is a bit like falling down the rabbit hole in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. You are entering a zone of peculiar creatures. There’s no set of instructions to do it well. You come out the other side hoping you’re all in one piece. And (more than occasionally) you wonder “How am I going to get out of here?!”

I am terribly guilty of looking at a stage in life that I do not enjoy as if it will always remain the same. For example, my dreaded task of finding a babysitter for the last eleven years. Coordinating schedules with impossibly busy teens is not high on the list of fun things to do (because really, aren’t all the good ones uber-busy and sought after?) All while hoping their scheduled time with my little darlings doesn’t rate down somewhere with cleaning out the lint trap or taking out the garbage. And then panicking when their scheduled time DID rate down there and I am left holding the bag – a.k.a all ready and going nowhere fast? You get it, I have an aversion to finding babysitters.

But just as the seasons change, these times do not last forever. There will actually come a time when a sitter won’t be required. When my kids will be so grown up and responsible they will not need my constant protection, supervising or behavioral corrections. I can’t imagine that time, but I am told by those who made it out of the rabbit hole that it will happen.

Little glimpses do exist if I look hard enough. In the morning I enjoy simply waving goodbye to Techno as he shuffles his way to the bus stop down the street. It was kind of a big deal for his Mom last year when for the first time the bus did not pick him up at the end of the driveway. It was surreal that he would actually walk out of the house, go down the street – and out of sight – and I would not witness him get on the bus.

Of course he enjoyed the independence. Hanging out with the neighbor boys, talking about whatever fifth, sixth and seventh grade boys talk about (do they actually talk directly to one another at this age?) and realizing himself how much he is growing up.

Some mornings he runs so late there isn’t even time for goodbye. But he is the best waver. Not once, not twice but some days three times over the shoulder I get that sweet smile and a wave. And I am reminded that it still feels like I have lots of time left with my peculiar creatures. But I know that is just a fantasy land.

It’s a Juggling Act

It is nothing to look around and find unopened tuna packets on the floor in the living room and not bat an eye. Little Bee just discovered how to open the lazy Susan cabinet where they are kept. And apparently it is her newest toy. Like the toy’s box or the wrapping the toy is in that is way more interesting than the actual toy itself, this is par for the course when it comes to holding her attention.

I found myself clutching (and eating) a Klondike bar one-handed the other night sitting on the floor of my laundry room changing the wash over to the dryer. My escape for mere minutes of quiet and the inevitable multi-tasking? Kinda pathetic but I am owning up to it!

Visiting the bathroom in the middle of the night I fought with the roll of bath tissue on the wall because it was recently thrown overboard into the shower, got wet and became oh-so-complicated to untangle. Good times at 3am.

Yesterday while taking a shower there was a plastic Fisher Price figurine that was hurled in behind me from the playpen. Her signature is everywhere. This one is no wallflower.

Yesterday she proudly stood (smiling of course) on top of her wheeled Minnie Mouse choo choo train on the ceramic tile. Moments later she climbed up onto the hearth of the fireplace and while I firmly said “No!” she proceeded to shake her tushy in reply and ignore me.

Knowing these antics will end at some point and move on to other less heart-attack-inducing issues is comforting and a little bit sad. I do so enjoy a good shake of the tushy and a little dance break in my day.

Still Evelyn

“What if I see you, and I don’t know that you’re my daughter, and I don’t know that you love me?”
“Then, I’ll tell you that I do, and you’ll believe me.”
― Lisa Genova, Still Alice

You know the task that hangs over your head? The one you just can’t bring yourself to start because you know once you do, you are in for it? You have opened the Pandora’s box and there is no turning back, You’re committed.

That task and I met up last Saturday and it’s still a work in progress. Cleaning out my office in order to make a more user-friendly space for Techno and Twinkle Toes. A reading nook or a homework room is the goal. The idea sounds delicious. But standing in my way is eleven years of business – files, folders, conference notes, reading material and journals. Childhood memorabilia, photos, cards, magazines, knick knacks and books grace the shelves. It’s been a walk back in time; many different memories to relive and enjoy. And always present is the decision to purge or save. To toss or keep. To dream further or let that idea go for good. It is exhausting.

I stumbled upon an envelope torn open. It was addressed to my Mom. I pulled out the contents and remembered. Memory is such an essential thing. Almost like breathing. Aren’t we blessed to have it?

The envelope contained a letter from my Aunt to my Mom. It shared some things that had become routine for my Grandma as she traveled from daughter to daughter to be cared for before Alzheimer’s disease took too much of a toll and her care was left to the professionals.

I thought to myself how odd was it that I found it today? November is National Alzheimer’s Awareness month.

Excerpts from Highlights for the Month of April

“Mom likes a hug each morning when she wakes up and when you come home from anywhere

pink nails, not red

sing-alongs

big band songs

to hold her hand wherever you go out

fresh flowers

to look outside

to peel her own apple each day after you have cut it into four

fast organ music

to iron – she does a great job with tea towels, small tee shirts and handkerchiefs

dancing around the room with you

her pearls

perfume and lipstick each day

to “reach for the sky” when undressing her

telephone calls with some “news”

hot chocolate on a chilly night

her scarf if there is the slightest wind outside

her warm bathrobe in the morning while she has her coffee

to sit outside when the weather allows

for you to fluff her pillow every night

to be asked which color she wants to wear each day

to have her purse in sight at all times

to put on her own nylons and shoes

to be told what day of the week it is each morning

to meet your co-workers or friends

to be led back to bed when she gets up during the night, tucked in and told you will come get her when it’s time to get up.”

How many of these things are so different from what I would do with Little Bee as she is just starting out her life? And what my Grandma experienced as hers was ending? It was unexpected but Grandma found me in my office today. And she made me stop and remember. I miss her. How blessed I am.

Impossible Standards

You know the friend who always shows up with the home-baked batch of cookies that makes you look at your store-bought cardboard ones and sigh? Or the woman who can run circles around you when in your mind you are really an Olympian? Or the neighbor who is always put together and would never be spotted in the produce section with two-day old mascara and bed head? How about the Mom who has got the most well-behaved, smart, good-natured and well-adjusted kids? How does she do it and how much does she charge for revealing her secrets?

I visited one of those Moms recently with my kids. We happen to be lucky enough to be related to her and her awesome offspring. Here is how part of the visit unfolded.

“Mom! She’s touching me!”

“He touched me first!”

” You lie!”

“Stop it!” Angry eyes. The Look. Clenched teeth. I Have Had It Up To Here.

And one embarrassment after another for three days…sigh.

Where did it go wrong? How did this little person who snuggled while we read The Very Hungry Caterpillar become so sassy and defiant?

And what is my relative thinking of my stellar parenting skills and obvious lack of anger management?

At some point in the weekend I revealed the pedestal on which her rock star parenting and impeccable (almost-all-grown) children had been placed. And she was oh-so-quick to correct me and take herself down from her post up high. She proceeded to share some snip-its that revealed some cracks in her armor and some flaws in my thinking. Bless her.

Really?? Had I got it all wrong? Was there really a time when she didn’t have it all under control? I had never seen anything of the likes she described. And having changed some of their diapers along the way, I have been around these kids for Y.E.A.R.S….and witnessed a lot of interactions between them. When did these transgressions happen?

Well, they did.

A little relief. A little reality check. Thanks for that.

Moms, give yourselves a break.

However, this one did opt to make her fabulous cookies…Something to strive for!

Pass the Art Smock

Want to have some fun? Put six women in a situation they probably haven’t been in since the first grade, add wine and stir. A recent trip to an art studio/bar for a friend’s birthday celebration was a welcome surprise. However, I was so confused about the concept. I drove her crazy trying to conceptualize what we were all getting in to.

My side of the conversation went something like this: “We’re going to paint and drink wine?” “How are we going to paint?” “What will we paint?” “I can’t paint!” I knew one thing – I was in for the wine and girlfriend time. Bring on the art smocks!

We had the choice from a menu of several different works of art complete with the accompanying colors mixed and presented to us, a set of brushes, a canvas, an easel and the most important choice: white or red? (See photo. We prefer red.)

Now what? We’re supposed to make our canvas look like the one in the brochure? Sure. Five easy steps to Van Gogh.

Would I ruin the canvas with the first stroke?

The process from start to finish was so satisfying. Some conceptualized what they were going to do first and plotted and planned the first stroke. Some just dove right in and started splashing paint on the canvas. There was doubt, giggles, comparison, uncertainty and concentration to go around. One friend felt the pressure to create something worthy of her daughter who had seemed quite incredulous that Mom could go out and actually come home with a recognizable piece of artwork. (Mission totally accomplished by the way.)

Was it the wine or the child-like enthusiasm that kept us having so much fun? In retrospect it seemed like the sheer joy of creating something that wasn’t there, and each woman adding her own spin to it, was the MOST fun. No matter what our backgrounds or experience, we were undeniably all artists that evening. I highly recommend the experience to anyone given the opportunity.

And wouldn’t it be amazing to challenge yourself to do something, anything creative in the upcoming weeks if you haven’t tapped in to that side of yourself recently? What would YOU do? Leave a comment – keep me posted!

Good Call

A few days ago I went for a long walk with my Dad and Little Bee. It took a week to coordinate schedules but it was a call that was long overdue. As summer nears its end, it was a gift of a day. Beautiful and comfortable. Now having a very busy family life, I am ashamed I don’t make time more often to experience such a simple and satisfying activity as a stroll with my Dad.

It was great to catch up on all the important and even mundane things going on in our lives. I took some time afterwards to reflect on the lessons learned from him when growing up in the hopes of being more intentional to pass them on to his grandchildren.

1. It’s always nice to greet people with a smile and say hello. Each person we encountered got a sincere greeting and a smile from my Dad.

2. Be on time and be ready. I can always trust that my Dad will be somewhere when he says he will. And because it was so ingrained in my own upbringing, many times I am unfashionably early or on-time for things. Maybe a little socially uncool…but It’s hard to curb the tendency to be so punctual as the daughter of a military man!

3. Protect your health. Exercise. Take vitamins. Long before GNC’s and juicing were en vogue my Dad was touting the benefits of vitamin C and the like. It has definitely made life easier and more enjoyable to have that example to follow.

4. Enjoy the spice of life. An appreciation for good food and good music is essential to my existence. From a slice of Chicago-style pizza to the funk and soul of Earth Wind and Fire, I can’t imagine how awfully vanilla my life could be if little influences like these had not been on my radar.

5. Be willing to work…hard. Starting with a dose of effort, adding some elements of detail and purpose and finishing with a dash of pride and any project he was willing to put his name on was done right.

6. Make time to goo goo and gaa gaa with the baby. It’s completely endearing how much joy and sweetness are wrapped up in a greeting for Little Bee – or any of my children when they were babies. There is no care or concern for who’s watching or how un-masculine it could be perceived. Babies grow up fast and there is no time to waste a kiss or a squeeze.

7. If you want something in life, find a way to remove the obstacles and make things happen. My Dad started out on a college track that didn’t satisfy or suit him. He made some changes and ended up with a long career he loved as a corporate pilot. When I was little I remember him telling me that one of the best parts of his job was that he could see the sun almost every day. Pretty cool.

Dare I hope there might already be a few seeds of these great tools for living starting to grow in my kids? Glimpses of some of them are already visible. And while on a walk with my Dad it was with great joy that I reminded myself exactly where they came from. Good call.