Is it possible to be grateful for Poop?...

I thought to myself as I was observing the pile of poopy underwear awaiting my attention tonight. Apparently, it is.

Almost 2 months ago, during my last sporadic post, I swore I was going to post one thing per day I was grateful for. Well....I don't actually remember writing that post, so I can't be held responsible for forgetting, right? And, anyway, I'm here now. Grateful for poop.

Now that I have your attention...

I know you are on the EDGE OF YOUR SEAT, wondering what the H*ll I am thinking.

I'm not really sure, if you must know.

I just know that when I was getting ready to throw myself a pity party over the 10 pair of undies I need to rinse and the fact that I had to clean nastiness off both my sons multiple times today in PUBLIC, I just felt like I should be grateful. That they had clothes to wear. Food to eat. A roof over our heads. A paycheck. Education. Family.

That I had them to clean poop off of.

I gotta tell ya, it's hard not to live in a pity party when your husband is half a world away and your'e the temporarily single mama of 5 little beans. Some days, I'm in the penthouse suite of the pity party. Other days, I'm SUPER HOMESCHOOLING FORMER MARINE TEACHER MOM, ready to leap piles of crap in a single bound, teach with my eyes closed and little people underfoot, whip up a dinner (not frozen...) and not shed a single tear or down a half bottle of wine to make it all better.

And, well, I guess I didn't want to turn 40. Well, I take that back. By the time it rolled around, I was actually pretty laid back. It was the 6 months leading up to it that had me in a tizzy. I know it's just a number. I know 40 is the new 30 . I know my kids will keep me young. I also know that there is SO MUCH I still want to do. SO MUCH I haven't finished. Guess I better get moving, since I'm apparently half dead now.

HA.

I celebrated in style...with old friends, little kids and some really great food.

So here's to turning a Fabulous 40. Kiss my grits, 39. 40 is WAY better.

Still kickin' it and crazy...

love,

tiff

Type A...

go away!

Who can possibly be this type A? Who can possibly only ever see the thing that is not right...not just so...not the WAY IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE?

Well, I guess that would be me.

Me. That lady with 5 kids who are great. A really nice house. A great husband. Lots of blessings. All of which I see and am truly grateful for. SO, WHY WHY WHY am I such a debbie downer half the time? Do I have any idea how blessed I am? Yup. SO, again...I ask: Why can't I just be, um...content?

My Mom and I dissected this tonight and we came up with a few possibles. None of which I care to share. Suffice it to say I have issues. Ones that truly need some resolution. Is it possible to become a squiggle if you're really a square?

Man...I'd really love to be a squiggle.

How exactly does one become a squiggle from a square? Should I de-alphabetize my spices? Jumble my clothes so they are not in color/sleeve (or pant...or skirt) length order? Unschool my kids? How exactly does one RELEASE the pressure valve that type A seems to have me under?

I've GOT IT.

I'm moving into an RV. In a warm climate. With no yard.

Crap, that won't do it. My hair would NEVER be clean with that crappy water pressure. And what would I do with all those alphabetized spices?

Ok...plan B.

I am going to post one thing every day that I am grateful for. One thing that God has blessed me with.

Starting right now.

I am grateful for this house. Every square inch of it. Grateful. Grateful. Grateful.

type a, checking out for now...

clan mac mama

Writer's block + insomnia=

a very sad mama.

sassy and a smart a** i used to be...

then i lost the biggest part of me...

my brain has left me in a tizzy..

the words just fly & make me dizzy...

the only thing that I can pen...

are these silly, nilly....

well, stink. I can't even rhyme that one!

This is REALLY irritating. I can't even find a funny way to write about my littles. HELP...HELP...HELP...please return my brain to sender if you find it in your box....

I DON'T get the flu...

so what the heck is this sick business I've got going on here? On day 2 of the flu and it just makes me crazy to be stuck here on this stupid couch, staring at the mess around me...and I don't even feel like cleaning it up.
We have 4 weeks until the hubby leaves and there seems to be no end in sight for the piles of junk that need to be dealt with. The school room...the junk off the deck...the school planning...the wills...the POA's...
And my poor husband is perpetually exhausted and overwhelmed. I wouldn't blame him one bit if he was looking forward to the deployment just so he can get a little rest.

We need a vacation. Alone. Most of the time, we forget that before the clan mac, it was just Tiff and Charles. And yes, I love my life, I love my kids and I'm SO grateful for the blessing of them in my life, I just don't want to forget the blessing of my marriage.

Here's to praying for a smooth 4 weeks.

Clan Mac Mama

I just deleted all my unpublished drafts...

as a punishment for whining.
So, WOW. I was really in a snit there for a while. It must have been such a joy to be in the presence of such LAME-O WHINING PESSIMISM.
Funny story. I've been emailing my friend T about homeschooling stuff. Curriculum, planning and all that business. My blog is attached to my email and lots of my friends click the links to catch up. Well.....I forgot that during the lame-o pessimism phase I bashed my math curriculum. More than once. Actually, a lot. Oops. BIG LOL.

So, here's the deal. My husband deploys in 5 weeks. For 8 months. I, wacko woman with 5 kids, will be flying solo. So I guess I'd better put my big girl panties on, yank 'em up and get ready. (This does not, however, mean that I am not begging for visitors. You try spending 8 months as a homeschooling, cloth diapering Mama of 5 in a house too big to keep clean. The guest suite is complete, make your reservations now.)

Get this....I am actually excited about my school year. :-) I'm grinning, planning, brainstorming and clearing the cobwebs out of the mommy brain. Last year I was terrified, pissed, leaking milk, worrying and waiting for other shoe to drop...Thank you Jesus for flicking me upside the head and opening these eyeballs. I'm still learning how to ignore the dust, the piles and the phone, but I'm not giving up and I'm learning to love the little years.

Because if I don't? I'll miss it...all the innocence that is theirs, the pure hearts that are God's greatest gift, the unconditional love and the sweet cuddles of childhood.

As for now...I'm off to relax with the spousal and parental units. I love staycations. Casa De Lewis...5 stars!!

Love,
clan mac mama

just burst into tears...

when I stopped my Army Wives playback and was greeted by the special news report that Osama Bin Laden is FINALLY off this earth, burning in the fiery pit of HELL.
I cannot begin to imagine the relief this brings to those who have stood in harm's way in support of the hunt to bring an end to the terror he has caused. I cannot begin to imagine the joy in the hearts of those who have been suppressed and terrorized by his efforts. I can, however, tell you that this is the first time EVER in my life that I have burst into tears of joy when I learned of a death.
Thank you Lord.

Semper Fi to my brothers and sisters still fighting.

With Love,
Tiff

8 things to never say to a homeschooling mom...

1. Oh. Aren't you worried your kids will be weird?
Uh, no. Aren't you worried your foot will never come out of your mouth?

2. Oh. I could NEVER homeschool my kids, I'd just go crazy.
Um. What exactly is it you're trying to imply? Actually, I am certifiable, so I'm already there.

3. Wow, you're a better person than me! I'd kill my kids if I had to spend all day with them.
Well..... I do want to kill them some of the time. I just drink a lot of wine... Ok?

4. What, did you think you could do a better job than all those teachers?
I AM a teacher, thanks. Who do you think taught all these kids to eat, sleep, play, pray, and NOT act like they were raised by wolves? And by the way, have you taken a look at my college transcripts? The ones that have straight A's, multiple scholarships and published scientific articles and creative writing awards? Stuff it, smarty pants.

5. What, exactly, do you do all day?
Teach my kids. duh. Well, that and wipe butts, clean stuff, cook, run errands, drive the Mom's taxi, yell, read...

6. Are you one of those God freaks?
Sure am. Gosh, are you one of those satan freaks damned to eternal hell? Let me know what it's like there in your firepit.

7. Do you get a big tax break for that?
Nope. Why don't you write to your congressman and our esteemed leadership and let them know we wouldn't need one if they'd quite wrecking our school systems with their ridiculous "accountability" legislation, budget cuts and all the other things I think stink.

8. Are you CRAZY?
I believe I already addressed that one. You betcha. Just ask my husband, Kristina and Cassie. They'll vouch that I'm wacko.

Ticking...ticking....ticking....

clock.
uh oh, here is another dirty sock.
the hours of the day flew by
so briskly i often want to cry.
for in those tiny ticks of time
my littles morph like climbing vines.
the sweetness of the days is lost
amongst the chaos of all that is tossed.
i yell, pell mell, and change many a pant
until i am just too numb to rant.
i wish to collapse like a sack of beans
i am quite simply out of steam.
i long for hours spent reading rhymes
with no distress about the time.
i wish to take the road that is spent
loving my littles with no regret.

with love,
clan mac mama

A crossroads...

has presented itself to me. Either that or I've finally reached the blow point and now I'm standing at the crossroads, thinking I'd better pick a road or I'm gonna wreck...

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. Robert Frost

Have I chosen the road less traveled? You betcha. Is it easy? Not on your bloody life. Will I turn back and take the other? Can't tell ya right now. I only know this. I want the end of that poem to mean something to me. I want so badly to embrace this less traveled road. I want so badly to embrace this life, let it flow, learn to love the moments, good and bad. I want to stop resenting my choices and somehow accept that this is the life God planned for me. I love my children SO much more than I ever dreamed I could love another little human bean. And I'm watching it whizz by, like the paper on microfiche in a library reader, so fast...and I just want it to SLOW DOWN, just give me the time to iron it all out.
Please wait for Mommy, little macs. I just need a little time.

The dangers of living large...

1. You simply cannot find half of the crap you own.
2. You simply do not remember half the crap you own.
3. You simply do not need half the crap you can't find that you can't remember you own.
4. You simply cannot afford to spend 3 1/2 hours searching for a very small package of math crap that you must have to implement the ridiculously complicated math curriculum that you just had to have to make your homeschooling life oh so much easier.
5. You simply do not have the time for this crap.

CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP (said while banging head against wall while throwing random toys...but only at walls you haven't paid your painter to redo yet...)

Let this serve as a cautionary tale...

cut the crap.

HA.

clan mac mama

I hate days like this.

Days when I didn't get up on time...can't seem to get my head out of my proverbial behind...wonder WHY on EARTH I am homeschooling...crave the quiet that I never seem to get during naptime...am certain that I'll never get this house to feel like home...am overwhelmed just by life.

I often wonder what in blue blazes God was thinking when he decided 5 was my number. FIVE. CHILDREN. UNDER. 8.
I also wonder what He was thinking when He decided that I should feel called to homeschool those FIVE. CHILDREN. UNDER. 8.

Some days I am SUPERMOM. I keep the house clean, feel like I've kept my kids from being illiterate and uneducated, spent some QT with the littles, made dinner, did laundry AND I'm sitting by 8:30. (really, I only have one of those per quarter...just thought I'd mention it to remind myself that I have something to look forward to.)

Most days I am slugging through, trying to ascertain if I will ever get it together. If I will ever start using that completely overwhelming math curriculum I ordered in a fit of overachieving supermomness. If I will ever actually REALLY use the fabulous homeschool planner that stares at me from it's dusty spot on my desk. If I will ever get to work out again. Go on playdates with my littles again. Go to the store on the fly without having to call an army of helpers to watch my kids or go with me.

This life is a blessing and I know it. I just wish I could figure out how to make the most of the blessings. How to get things done. How to actually implement all my fabulous ideas. How to rewind the clock and build a different house. One that didn't feel like an uphill battle to live in. I really never thought I'd long for the days of renting or base housing. But really? Right now, I'd give my left arm to not be responsible for one nail in this wall. I really think sometimes that I'd rather be stuffed into 1800 sq feet and have a savings account and free weekends.

Aw crap. I'm whining. Yep, I know it. Yep, I know it doesn't really do a dang bit of good. But I'm gonna do it anyway.
THIS. DAY. IS. GETTING. ON. MY. LAST. NERVE.

Someone, anyone, send the supernanny. or any nanny. or anyone at all.

I think I'm suffering just a little bit of predeployment jitters. Some moments of Sh*t, seriously? I have to do this ALONE for almost 8 months? There isn't enough valium in the WORLD for that.
And I'm just irritated at myself right now for wasting this day, for deciding that I'd homeschool with FIVE kids and for having the attention span of a gnat.

That said, I guess I'll go pop frick and frack into their beds so they can jump and play for 2 hours and stress me out by not napping and I'll attempt to educate the bigs AND hopefully, I won't forget about Sam.

Hope your days sucks less than mine.

Clan Mac Crabby Mama

A Time for Everything...

Ecclesiastes 3:1-

A Time for Everything

¹ For everything there is a season,
a time for every activity under heaven.
² A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to plant and a time to harvest.
³ A time to kill and a time to heal.
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
⁴ A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance.
⁵ A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
⁶ A time to search and a time to quit searching.
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
⁷ A time to tear and a time to mend.
A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
⁸ A time to love and a time to hate.
A time for war and a time for peace.

To Everything there is a season. This might just save my sanity.

Perception...

is a facetious little punk. It's like the devil running around with a hot poker, zip, zap, hit you with a slap...

It can manipulate thoughts, change relationships, color what we think of ourselves and what we believe others think of us.
OH, how I've struggled such a very long time to overcome that demon.
OH, how miserably I've failed.
And lately, I seem to be constantly at the mercy of what I feel those perceptions are.
Really, I shouldn't give a flying crap. (now...that's a visual...) And sometimes I really just don't, but mostly, I'm just like everyone else in the world and I do care.
Could be my struggles in this last year. My emotions ache much like a raw wound, healing and scabbing over just a bit at a time. My protective shell has crumbled into itty bitty pieces and I'm still trying to find my way again.
Sometimes I think it's the complexity of female relationships.
Other times I think it is growing up in a VERY small town.
Mostly I think it might be this.
I've come back to the place I fell apart. On one hell of grand scale. Where I became someone I didn't know, someone I despised. A parody of all I didn't want to be.
And...
So much has happened in the 10 years since I last lived here. I don't think there is even a tiny shred of that woman left. Well, maybe one tiny shred.
A tiny shred that leaves such a gaping wound. A gaping wound that doesn't allow me to truly believe in myself. To trust completely in the Lord's plan for me and for my family. A tiny piece that still pushes me to invest myself in relationships that aren't healthy, productive or affirming. That always seems to push me back into the belief that the judgment of others far outweighs the purpose for which I'm here.

Well, I guess I could just stop overanalyzing it and finally decide to post this stinking ramble.

She told me I was going to pass out...

sh*t. She was right.
SO, to launch my new soapbox, I've decided to share a tiny tidbit (seriously? I don't do tiny anything,) of this particularly mortifying episode.
Picture this, dear readers. You are standing half naked, your boob pressed like a sad little pancake between 2 sheets of radiographic plexiglass. You've already had a few dizzy moments during embarassing pictures # 1 & 2. The tiny little radiographer has brought you water and waited patiently while you regain your wits. You have assured said tiny person that you are fine and ready to proceed. She proceeds with boob flattening and positioning of your parts. You again reassure her through the deafening rush in your ears and flashing lights in your eyes that you are just fine!
WELL. Since I woke up on my back, boobs flapping everywhere, and 4 people standing over me, CLEARLY I was not fine. Oops.
Fast forward to an apple, some water anda bottle of oj later and the 4th and final picture is done. And I am mortified, and still clearly NOT ok.
Mind you, my other half and 3 of my 5 offspring are waiting in the car, as just a short 2 days ago, he had a minor surgical procedure that prevents him from lifting our littlest chubster. SO. Now I have to go to the ER. Oh, by the way? That tiny little radiographer was the one who caught my dead weight.
SO. I bet you are all just perched on the edge of your seats, breathlessly awaiting the cause of my distress and embarassment.
I have 5 kids, I'm a bit nuts and my hubby was out of commission. That is essentially equal to low blood sugar, low sodium and dehydration. Oops.

The first voice I heard when I woke from my little incident? My therapist. That sweetly charming southern voice that somehow manages to be just the right mix of my mom, my mama in law and God's word, all rolled into one very wise package.

Now that you have an image of my flattened boob burned in your brain FOREVER, have a wonderfully lovely day.

And, hell yes, I know I need to take better care of myself. I also need a nanny, more money, and something other than a dorky minivan to drive. More tattoos might cover it.

Wine awaits me...
Tiff