I Just Can't Seem to Finish A...

sentence. project. chore. thought. beer. hobby. task. Any of these words, tacked on to the title of my post, complete a sentence which accurately reflects a bit about me.

Ask my husband. He'll point you right to our Home Office and you'll immediately understand. As I sit here and look around this little room, I can identify seven distinct attempts I've made at something and then ultimately left hanging. I see scrap-booking stuff (haven't touched it in at least 2 years). Jewelry-making supplies (haven't had time in the last 2 months to do any designing). The "To Be Shredded" pile of papers sitting next to the shredder (no excuse...just don't want to do it). Clothes bin full of boys' winter clothes that need to be returned to the basement until next winter. Filing (oh. my. word.). Bills (oh crud! I should probably not leave those hanging). Interior design ideas to be filed for future reference and future expendable income.

What's my deal? I could so easily blame it on having kids. Something like "I never have time now that I'm a mom". But, honestly, I think it's more innate than that. I guess I'll have to do some more analyzing when I get the time...but I need to finish the laundry first.

Social Networking Whobie Whatie

"To tweet, or not to tweet"...that is the question. Or...is the question really "To blog, or not to blog"? Or, perhaps, "To Facebook, or not to Facebook"? I'm not even gonna pose the one about MySpace...the answer to that is most definitely "Not in my lifetime."

I've officially dabbled in all of the above - minus the MySpace. And, I have to say...huh. It's kinda weird when you think about it. Posting your thoughts, your actions, your life for people to see. But, for me, it's incredibly cathartic, and I'm fairly normal so it's not like I'll be posting anything intriguing. Since I'm not inclined to share my innermost secrets (do I have any??) via the webisphere, I think I'll keep mingling in the various networking tools to see if I find my little niche...or, until I get bored, I suppose. "When in Rome..." as they say.

A Reluctant Soccer Mom

I don't do "Social". Well...I do it, but I don't like it. Actually...I do like it, but only when it's on my terms.

My entire life, I've been an introvert. I wouldn't consider myself "shy", nor "soft-spoken"...just introverted. I like keeping my little corner of the world quaint and familiar...solid and supportive...with an occassional dash of spontaneous "whim" to keep my inner extrovert quiet and well-behaved.

I grew up in a small family in Colorado: two parents, an older brother, and a younger sister. The majority of my extended family lives on the west coast, and a few more over in Florida. There were very few trips to visit those extended family members so, for all intents and purposes, I consider myself as having grown up in a small, somewhat sheltered*, family.

It comes as no surprise, in my retroactive self-analysis, that I have grown into an introverted woman.** Don't get me wrong; I love to be outside, chatting with friends and neighbors over a beer, watching all the kiddos play in the cul-de-sac. I really enjoy going out for pedicures and/or dessert with my close girlfriends. But, that's all on my terms. I socialize when I choose (usually it depends on 2 factors: (1) the weather, and (2) whether I'm wearing anything covered in stains, which were likely put there by my boys)...and I'm happy. I'm comfortable being an introvert. But there is a little inner extrovert in me that wishes I was an outdoor-enthusiastic & sporty, yet fashionable & social, butterfly who is, in the words of my cousin-in-law "grabbing life by the ears".

If I had a choice, I'd like my boys to grow into extroverted men, with little introverted personalities who occassionally like to read a book or have a heart-to-heart chat with their sweetie. So...for fear of breeding introverted sons, I've had to make very conscious decisions to involve them in various activities with their peers***...sports, playdates, birthday parties...those kinds of things.

I really love seeing my boys making friends and experiencing things that I never did as a kid, but really wish I had. I love going to their games and chearing on them and their teammates. I happily encourage them to pick out a little gift that their buddy would love for his birthday celebration. I have a great time meeting a compatible mom and her son at the park so the kids can get together and we moms can chat. But, with that parental support & encouragement comes the risk of...unsolicited socializing...with other parents...gah. It's not on my terms, and it forces me out of my introverted comfort zone. I find I'm reluctantly pushed into socializing on someone else's terms, and I really don't care for it. The snack schedules that the "Team Mom" forces on everyone. The "End-of-Season Pot Luck" that we're expected to attend and contribute to. The "Trophy Presentations" that we have to 'oooo' and 'awww' over when each kid on the team is acknowledged for all their contributions to the team's success...even though none of the leagues are competitive, it's all recreational, there's no winning team and yet, unfailingly, every single season each one of our boys comes home with a plastic trophy that instantly gets mangled in some little tussle because they were playing Star Wars and thought they'd use their trophy as an impromptu light saber. Or, the birthday party where parents are expected to stay and mingle with the other parents of all the kids, even though the kids are old enough to know they'd really wish Mom and Dad would just leave so they can have a good time with their friends and not have to be chaperoned by so many grown-ups.

I go through the motions...with a smile on my face, and making polite small talk with the other parents. But, inside I'm reeling in discomfort. I really wish my inner extrovert would hurry up and take over.

* As my siblings and I have aged and dissected our childhood experiences, I have concluded that we were definitely sheltered. Unfortunately, as I had few close relationships with anyone outside my family, I have no gauge to estimate just how sheltered we really were.

** This is not to be confused with "reclusive". I'm not one of those OCD, animal-hording ladies that you only catch a glimpse of through the window.

*** I wish I could say my boys get to see their extended family on a regular basis, but it's interesting how history repeats itself: my brother and his family live in California; my sister and her family live in Arizona; and I'm still here with my family in Colorado. Sheltered? Nah.

Biting Myself in the Butt

Wouldn't it be great if I could just call a jackass a jackass?

Sometimes I get soooo tired of being polite. And politically correct. And conscious of others. Sometimes, I wish I could just say what I think, and (1) not worry about offending someone, and (2) have comfort in knowing that the other person is such a strong, confident individual that they'd never be offended by my little comments. They'd just embrace my quirks as part of the complete Denese package & be totally cool with that.

What's prompting this post is (yet another) birthday invitation one of my son's received from a classmate. Here's the thing...the kid isn't even technically a class-mate. He's a grade-mate, if there is such a term. They're both in Kindergarten...and that's the ONLY thing these two kids have in common. Well, that, and the fact they both pee standing up. So why...WHY...did this kid feel compelled to invite my son to his birthday party? Or, more appropriately, why...WHY...did his MOTHER feel compelled to drag me into the wake of her son's birthday celebration?

Being the polite, politically correct gal that I am, I email RSVP'd* her back and said something about other obligations we had that day** and that we really appreciated the invitation but we were going to have to decline and have a great time and blah blah blah.

The next day, the mother sent an email to all the invitees saying how silly she had been to try and schedule her son's birthday party on a Saturday, a day when so many kids had other committments for things like sports, etc. She's going to be sending out another REVISED invitation this week with the newly rescheduled date and time of the party for her son. Frack.

So...here I am, biting myself in the butt. Why can't my RSVP*** just say "I'm sorry, but I don't know who the hell your son is, so why should I spend my husband's hard-earned money on a gift for a kid that my own son has never even mentioned before?" I just wish I could say what I'm thinking, and not worry about the message it conveys.

I wonder what the kid wants for his freakin' birthday...

* Thank GOD she provided an email option for me to opt-out in a quiet, non-verbal, non-committal kinda way.

** To be honest, we did have soccer games to attend. To be only partially-honest, the games were not even close to the same time as the birthday party...but still a somewhat valid "out" for us.

*** Or, better yet...not even RSVP! How about just deleting the whole event from my memory and having that be "okay" with everyone involved??

A Girl and Her Torch

As you probably know, I began dabbling in jewelry "design" a couple of months ago. I originally hoped to turn it into a reasonablly profitable little business,* but I'm finding it takes a LOT of time to market oneself on the big "www". I'll be totally honest, I don't have time to spend marketing my little beauties, so I'm not sure how "profitable" this venture will turn out at the end of the year.

Even though I'm anticipating a net loss on the old Lily Tree Studio** income statement, I still really enjoy having a creative outlet for myself. I love bending and hammering the metal. I love the endless possibilities in bead combinations. And, now, I've discovered I REALLY love torching beads. I'll explain...

Lampworking is a term for melting rods of colored glass in a flame, and wrapping the glass around a mandrel to form a glass bead. I took a lampworking class a week ago, and this is what I made:


I am many, many, many hours away from creating anything that's worth putting into a piece of jewelry. Regardless of how much junk glass beads I end up making, I'll treasure the opportunities to don those awesome welding goggles, crank up the propane, and mold globs and globs of molten glass into various shapes and colors. And, someday, I might get to update this post with a picture of beads worthy of my inventory.

* A little "whoot-whoot!" shout-out to those of you that took the leap and purchased a pair of earrings. I hope you aren't too embarassed to wear the earrings out in public :)

** Shameless plug for my business. If I'm gonna spend the time to blog, I may as well throw a little self-promotion in there, too, right? www.lilytreestudio.etsy.com

The Forearm Farts

It's a good thing I'm not a girly-girl...I don't think I could "hang" with my boys if I was.

My recently-turned 7-year-old, Ben, invited two of his best friends from school for a special birthday outting. He picked bowling, arcade games, and Red Robin for dinner*. I'm no 7-year-old, but I have to say, they seemed to have a blast.

Speaking of blasts...care to hazard a guess as to what the car ride home consisted of? Picture five boys (3 of whom are my own, 2 of whom were Ben's guests) all ages 7 and under, seeing who can make the most realistic sound effects by blowing wet raspberries on their forearms.

We all giggled the whole way home. I love my boys. It was awesome.

* His selections may have been slightly influenced by my husband and I. But, really...based on my previous post "Chicks Dig Scars...And Teeth", what was I supposed to do when Ben asked if we could go to House of Bounce for his birthday?!

Burn, Baby, Burn!

Did you hear how much snow we just got?! It's mid-April, and up until a few days ago, we've had one of the driest seasons on record. Now, we're above-average on the moisture stats for our state. I know we needed the moisture, and I know the old adage about April Showers and May Flowers. But, I also know that it's April and I'm sick of winter.

Spring is my favorite time of year. Yah, the flowers are nice and all*, and seeing the baby cows sprout up in the pastures makes me feel a bit giddy & maternal (weird, I know)...but, you know what I love most about Spring? It's the time of year when I get to bid a fond** adieu to snow. And cold. And gray skies. And even my beloved Gap Long n' Lean BLUE JEANS!!!

There is something so invigorating about lugging my Rubbermaid bins back out of the basement. The bins that have been holding my capris and t-shirts hostage for the last 7 months. It's like reaquainting myself with old, but never-forgotten, friends again...the memories.

So, please forgive me, Mother Nature, when I see the piles (and piles, and piles) of snow that remain from your recent wrath, and I shout "Burn, baby, burn!". If you want my gratitude, then bring on the flowers...and the baby cows would be nice, too.

* I'm down-playing my sentiment on this. I actually LOVE flowers - especially the real ones that grow out of the ground and everything!

** Can't you just hear the sarcasm in my voice?

The Mom-Me Affair

It seems that my boys permeate almost every aspect of my life...that's why I tend to write about them so much. They have become my life and it's inescapable. No, literally...no matter how fast I run, I cannot escape them.

However, there are a few, very precious, moments throughout my day and occasionally on weekends when I get to be Me...all Me...glorious Me. I'm not a very ego-centric kinda gal, but when I get Me Time, I find I enjoy spending time with myself and I fall in love with Me all over again.

Me loves getting pedicures, even when it tickles. Me loves to go shopping, though Me rarely finds anything that fits since Me is kinda tall and lanky. Me loves to sit in the sun* and let Me's mind wander and wonder. I look at Me and think "You're beautiful!" and I long for spending more time with Me. I equate it to a crush...wondering when I get to see Me again...what would Me be doing right now if I were with her...tell me that Me hasn't walked out of my life forever...you know, "crush-thoughts".

Am I scaring you? Sorry, blame it on Me...she can take criticism better than I can. I'm a mom and criticism might surely somehow reflect upon my boys in some way.

* No worries, Me has had three babies and will never horrify you with glimpses of post-baby-belly overflowing in a bikini.

Chicks Dig Scars...and Teeth (with Update)

I have three boys. There's only room for one princess (that's me, btw) in our home. I think God gave me three boys for a reason*...not only because of the princess thing I just mentioned, but because he knows me better than I know myself. Translation: boys are way easier, and I don't have patience for drama.** Not that my boys can't be dramatic at times - good grief, I've certainly had to deal with plenty of "Johnny Drama" scenes around here. But, the high-maintenance type of drama that usually goes along with girls...that just cramps my style.

Over the last seven years, there's been numerous adventures and mishaps that have resulted in one or more of my boys running and screaming (somewhat dramatically and ever so slightly screaming like a girl) in search of a Band-aid and a kiss to make it better. I always took care to clean the wound with hydrogen-peroxide, add a dab of Neosporin and a Sponge Bob Band-aid, and finish off with a kiss. But, I do confess, I don't ever recall thinking "Gee, I really hope that doesn't scar." Maybe, subconsciously, I was really thinking "Chicks dig scars" and left it at that.

However, I also know that chicks dig teeth, too. A few months ago, my middle son and I were enjoying an outing with a friend of mine and her kids. It was winter, cold and crummy out and we thought it'd be great to let the kids blow off some energy at one of those "bounce house" type places. It was great...up until my son's tooth made contact with her son's skull. Enter Johnny Drama - crying and running to find me...only, this time, blood is all over his lips and teeth.***

Turns out he damaged the root of his tooth, and the tooth has been yellowish/grayish ever since. His pediatric dentist has been watching it, and at the last visit she said we may have to pull it at his next checkup. Two things: (1) thank goodness it's just a baby tooth, and (2) I'm thinking I should forbid him to ever go to one of those bounce-house places again. I'm not neurotic, really...but, the thought of having a repeat episode once he has his permanent teeth...it just makes me cringe.

Not that I relish the thought of my boys developing an interest in girls someday...but, I know it's going to happen, and I know that chicks dig guys who have teeth. So, why wouldn't I take some extra precautions to ensure he keeps his teeth? Scars, however...bring 'em on.

* I admit I secretly hoped for a girl during each one of my pregnancies...even had girl names picked out just in case the image we had seen on the ultrasound wasn't actually a boy-part.

** I never knew I didn't have much patience. This is a quirk I've grown to embrace since becoming a mom.

*** I'm rather proud of the amount of patience I had in dealing with that particular injury.

UPDATE (5/13/09): I am proud to say I recently took all three of my boys to House of Bounce and there were no injuries! Hooray...I can still claim I'm not neurotic!

Yes, Officer, I Know My Roots Are Showing (with Update)

I drive a mini-van. I'll just get that out in the open right now. I never thought I would, but I do, so there...I'm a mini-van mom. Just because my mini-van is currently sporting two booster seats and one toddler seat (Britax, in case you're curious) and the floor is lined with Eggo remnants left behind during our busy shuffle to school each morning, does NOT mean I can't still rock out to some great tunes when I'm all by myself.*

Take today, for instance. Journey came on the radio, and I just don't see how anyone can restrain themselves from turning the volume up a notch or two, rolling back the sunroof, and singing along tune by tune (on pitch, or not). While singing along and driving to make my 2pm meeting, I was vaguely reminiscing about some 1980's bus trip to Girl Scout Camp during which someone had loaded her boom box with 8 size-D Duracells and a Journey tape, volume knob turned all the way to high, and the entire bus-load of girls hitting those high-pitched notes.

Anyhoo, I passed a motorcyle cop, admittedly glanced down at my speedometer to double-check my speed (not that I'm a speeder...but, I do tend to view Speed Limits as minimums, not maximums), breathed a sigh of relief to see that I was actually doing the Speed Minimum, and then panicked when I saw his lights flash & his hand motioning for me to pull over. What the??

Turns out the tags on our license plates had expired back in December - oops. Just to be clear, I honestly don't recall getting the usual reminder notice from our Clerk & Recorder's office...I'm guessing it got lost in the mail. Obviously, I need to stop relying on our county government to tell me when to renew our plates, and should perhaps put it on my calendar each December: "15th: Amidst the crazy holiday shopping, cooking and gift-wrapping, try to remember to shell out $500+ to the government for new license plate tags. 16th: return all the purchases at Toys R US, the boys don't really need gifts this year, anyway."

After filling out the pertinent info on my "citation"**, the officer glanced once more at my driver's license (presumably confirming whether my license "stats" were still holding true), looked up at me, and asked "So, is your hair blonde, or brown?" I'll admit it's been a couple of months since my last highlight appointment*** and I have been meaning to call my colorist to (1) remind her who I am, and (2) see if she can squeeze me in before summer, but to have a cop (a man cop, mind you) point out the fact that it's difficult to tell which color I'm going for...that's worse than the $93 fine I have to pay.

I'll post photos of my new highlights next week.

* This isn't entirely true. Occassionally, I force my 3 year-old to jam out with me...but, in my defense, he rarely protests.

** Using this term makes me feel better than saying "ticket"

*** Also not entirely true. I remember I had worn capris & flip-flops to my last appointment, which means it may have actually been August(ish) the last time I went. Which makes that how long? Oh, nevermind.

UPDATE 4/28: I decided on "blonde" (although, not necessarily "polished". Remember, I only get 12.8 minutes in the morning to primp & preen). Lovin' my new, much more consistent look now...

An Introduction to Me and My Mom-Guilt

Why on earth am I starting to Blog? Well...let's just say "mom-guilt" has something to do with it.

Shortly after my oldest son, Ben (now 7), was born, I decided to quit my job and be a stay-at-home-mom. It wasn't a tough decision...after my 12 weeks of maternity leave, I tried to return to work on a part-time, work-from-home basis. That lasted for a few weeks, until my boss told me she really needed me to be in the office. "Okay" I thought, "no big deal. It's just a few hours a week. Heck, it might be kinda nice to get out of the house and talk to grown-ups again." My then neighbor happened to be an at-home mom with a one-year-old and offered to watch Ben while I was away. I was thrilled that he wasn't going to be in daycare...but, also terrified that he would begin to think that the neighbor-lady was really his mom & what if he forgot all about me & what if he did something amazing while I was gone & how on earth would she be able to hold him just right, or be sure to do baby massage when he was fussy, or, or... I got a grip, gave it a shot, and told my neighbor "If he does anything amazing while I'm gone, don't tell me...I don't want to know that I missed it." Two weeks later, I came to pick him up and the first thing she said was "He rolled over!" That was it...I quit my job the next day, and haven't regretted it since. Sure, it's been tough not having the extra money...and, yes, there's been many days when I thought I'd kill myself if I had to watch Barney one more time & pretend like I enjoyed singing the "I Love You, You Love Me" song at the end. But, getting to experience all of Ben's (and Colin's, and Adam's) "firsts" SO out-weighs the tough times. I love that I've been able to be home with all of them. Which leads me to my "mom guilt".

I have been there for every milestone, every spit-up, (almost!) every diaper change. I've seen them go from newborns, to babies, to toddlers to little boys. I've kissed more bumps & bruises & scrapes than I can remember. I've played, wrestled, snuggled, danced, laughed, sang & cried with them. I have not, however, scrapbooked any of this. I think it's because I'm a stay-at-home mom that I've neglected to set aside time to chronicle and immortalize their every movements into a photographic timeline. I've often caught myself thinking "I should really write this down in (so-and-so)'s baby book", often followed by "I'll do that tomorrow, when I have more time". So many tomorrow's have passed, and I still haven't done it. I'm quite certain that my children are the only ones in our neighborhood who have no idea what they looked like as babies. Sure, we have a few framed photos on our walls, and I'm guessing that my oldest has likely put two-and-two together and at least deduced that one of those kids must have been him. But, it's not like they have piles of scrapbooks (or, heck, even photo albums...do they still make those?) to sift through whenever they feel like it.

Am I a crappy mom? Will they resent me when they're older? I like to think that my neglect will eventually play in my favor when they're in their teenage years...after all, what teenager actually WANTS photos of themselves as naked babies, tucked in albums on the coffee table for just anyone to see? But, someday, they might want to sift through a record of their childhoods. And, you know what makes all of this even worse? I actually have a ton (ton!) of scrapbooking supplies in my possession. The printed paper, the stickers, the pens...all acid-free of course. I even have printed photos from Ben's first 8 months of his life...that's as far as I got. I had GREAT intentions...it was just the follow-through that escaped me. Mom guilt.

At one point, I acknowledged that scrapbooking might not be my "thing" and perhaps I should try journaling instead. I know this because I have about 40 blank journals sitting in a box in my basement. I believe it was right after my second son, Colin (now 5), was born that I had the grand idea of starting a journal for each of them...a once-a-week recap of things they had done and said, with the intention of doing this up until their high-school graduation (hence, why I purchased 40 journals) and presenting each of them with a biographical 20-volume-set of their lives while under my care. I made 5 entries...the last one was about 4 years ago. Clearly, journaling isn't my "thing" either. More mom guilt.

So, now I have my third son, Adam (who just turned 3), and I feel exponentially more guilty because I haven't even attempted any type of record-keeping with him. I figure a Blog might just be the "thing" that will work, since I certainly don't have time to cut & trim photos on cute card stock, nor put pen to paper, what with three boys now. What more efficient way to chronicle their lives with an occassional little JPEG image to boot? I'll simply post an entry every so often, add some photos, and present them with the weblink at their graduations. Perfect! I feel my mom guilt ebbing ever so slightly :)