Chubby hands throw rocks unsteadily into the cold river water. Each rock is an adventure, how big is the splash? How far will it go? Eli could throw these rocks far longer than my patience will last, until the sun has set behind the mountain. He does this because he likes to see the effect he has on the water, what his strength can do.

Today as he was busily picking up rocks far too heavy for him to throw, I realized that we are all still throwing rocks. We are all giant, unsteady toddlers throwing our talent, ideas and heart out to the world and waiting to see the affect. Will we be strong enough? Will we make a big enough splash?

Sometimes we don’t throw ourselves into anything at all because we are afraid it won’t be enough, it won’t matter to the world. We hide the talent God gave us under a familiar blanket of self doubt.

Recently I realized that it doesn’t matter if I’m not the next big thing. I don’t have to be best at anything, I just have to be me. Flawed, wrinkled and without doubt, wholly mortal.

In the water’s reflection I see his blonde hair curling up around his elfish baby ears. I know that some day he won’t be content to just sit and throw rocks but instead he will be wondering if he can make the team, get the girl or earn the corner office. Wining is great, being the best at one thing must be an amazing feeling. I hope he gets to experience it.

However, more than anything I just can’t wait to see his impact on the world, even if it is just our small one down by this river.

I’ve been on a vacation from writing.

It was sort of a self-imposed vacation.

Then I realized that every little thing happening to me was processed in the form of a blog post in my head. I just can’t not write.

It doesn’t matter anymore if it is popular.

It doesn’t matter if people think I’m weird because I blog and I say the stuff that maybe they were thinking but wouldn’t say out loud.

I wouldn’t be me if I weren’t occasionally putting my foot in my mouth.

A friend recently told me that she can always call me for advice because she knows I’ve been there. It got me thinking… I have “been there”. Nothing extraordinary happens to me. However, a lot of the normal every day crap happens to me all of the time and I was meant to share it. If nothing else maybe I can make you feel better about yourself when you read this because I am sure you handle the situations better than I did – for instance, you probably haven’t called your toddler an asshole out loud recently because of his crazy devil child behavior. Feel better? You’re welcome.

So, this website has a renewed vigor and purpose. I will be my ordinary everyday self and you can come here to laugh at me or with me. You chose. This life isn’t getting any longer and for whatever reason, I experience it best in the form of words on virtual paper.

PS – Yes I did call my toddler a bad name. I felt terrible, blamed it on 3 days of sleep deprivation and immediately scooped him up and covered him with kisses. Sometimes, you just have to get it out of your head to realize you don’t really mean it.

My oldest child wants to argue about everything.

Everything.

He is only six, and already refuses to take direction without a complete run down of why he must complete said requirement and  by the way, might he suggest a different way to accomplish it? I cannot imagine how incredible his debate skills will be by the teen years. If I’m not careful, his father and I will be the ones with a curfew and Isaac will have taken over the master bedroom. After that, look out law school, Isaac is coming and you better have your student handbook in order, otherwise the Captain is going to find the loopholes.

I often have to tell Isaac to just.stop.talking. No, just stop. Nothing more, child, cease speaking. After 32 “buts” this mama starts to loose patience with my little arguer. He is smart, I will give him that. He sees the holes in my logic and hones in on the weakness like an eagle on its’ prey. I can’t even start to give him direction unless I make sure I know the answers to his inevitable follow up questions. Dealing with him is not unlike a game of chess, if I’m not thinking a few steps ahead…I will loose. I am not sure what happened to my little, precious baby boy but he has officially been replaced with a pint sized scholar, with an attitude. For example:

Isaac: Mom, are Storm Troopers good or bad?

Me: Bad, they work for Darth Vader.

Isaac: No, you are wrong.

Me: Isaac, I have seen Star Wars a few more times than you…

Isaac: Well tell that to my Leapster, the Star Wars game let’s me be a good Storm Trooper.

Me: Okay smarty pants, then why did you ask me if you knew the answer?

Isaac: To see what you knew.

I am proud to be Isaac’s mom. I am ecstatic that God gave him such a bright and engaged brain with which to turn the world upside down and around while he searches for flaws in logic and ways to challenge the world. But he drives me batty with this character trait as well. Sometimes I can see in his eyes that he just wants to be the boss, to give direction and be in charge because he thinks he knows it all. Some days, he even seems to get stressed out over the details, as though his brain is years ahead of his 6 year old heart.

Damn.

Isaac gets it from me. The arguing, the quest for justice and logic and fairness in everything. The desire to grow up too fast, to be the boss, to be in charge. All.from.me.

Now that I am the grown up, I am in charge, I wish I could go back. Be a kid, enjoy not having to know the details behind all the decisions. I think my job as Isaac’s mom is to keep him a kid as long as possible. To let him ask all the questions but to also let him know there are limits and that he is not the boss.

Seeing your weaknesses displayed on your children is painful. I know that Isaac’s strong personality and his quick mind will serve him well but it will also bring challenges. Challenges that I have faced and life lessons that I know come with grief.

I am 33 years old and I am just now really beginning to understand and accept the flaws in my personality. I am just now learning when to shut my mouth. How do I teach my child these life lessons, pass down my “wisdom” when I am still learning the lessons myself?

*UPDATE*: I am not even kidding that I received this email from my husband in response to this post:

You’re still not taking this as seriously as you should. No worries, I will prepare our family and let you enjoy the benefit of survival.

And then, this morning I receive this email at work:

                             Disaster Preparedness

 

                                1200-1300 

 

                    Director of the Naval Postgraduate School’s

                     Center for Homeland Defense and Security

 

                             ALL are INVITED. 

 

  Along with the presentation, there will be a table with preparedness materials for staff.

 

 

Holy crap. Between these conversations and the article today on CNN that high heels are bad for your feet, I am pretty sure we are going to be dealing with flesh eating zombies soon. And not the friendly kind.

The following conversation occured this morning while I was innocently blow drying my hair:

Husband (wanders in, coffee in hand): We need to have a disaster plan.

Me: um, okay? What’s up?

Husband: Well we need to be prepared as a family in the event of a disaster, you know a solar flare or nuclear fall out situation.

Me: ? Are you serious right now? You know I haven’t had any coffee yet, right? New rule, no talking about nuclear ANYTHING before I’ve had coffee.

Husband: I was just thinking that we need a plan, you know for food, water and the like. We don’t want to have to go to the store and face the anarchy that will be going on.

Me: ANARCHY? First amendment to rule, no talking about anarchy before coffee either. What have you been reading this morning? I thought you were upstairs doing your Bible study???? Were you reading Revelations or something? You know that after reading the Left Behind series I fully believe we will be raptured before all the bad stuff goes down – I mean LaHaye said so.

Husband (ignoring me completely): Well, we have the gun we just need food and a water filtration system. And a meeting point. Maybe the Big Sur Mountains?

Me: I am thinking of nothing but the movie Red Dawn. I can almost see myself hiding in the mountains with a can of beans, fighting the Soviet Army.

Husband: You aren’t taking me seriously. I’m going upstairs.

Me: WOLVERINES!

Last night I participated in a live “facebook” viewing of the Bachelorettte. People, it just doesn’t get more 21st century than what went on in my living room last night (and living rooms around the state). We all came together, with a common love: ridiculous amazing reality television. We were a rag-tag team of ne’er do wells and made our dream of finding someone to watch the Bacherlorette with a reality. Sure our husbands were rolling their eyes and wondering what in the world we were laughing at but we didn’t care! It takes a village my friends to truly experience reality television in the best form.

It all started with a comment about how psycho Frank is. What happened after that was FB history. I don’t know about you my friends but I went to bed with a smile on my face even though Ali is a shmuck for keeping Frank. In case you missed it, I present to you our awesome Facebook moment (names have been blacked out to protect the innocent and comments were cut off at #22 because I didn’t have room for more):

I found my glasses! My Dad got a job! Monday is almost over! YEAH!!!!!

I have been so down lately I decided I must report tout suite  on the good news. (NOTE TO SELF: must celebrate awesome french bilingual-ness) There is GOOD NEWS in the world today! I know that most of what I have been complaining about falls squarely into what people refer to as  ”white people problems” and they are more just annoyances. But tonight, oh tonight, the hubby is getting home early (BEFORE 7PM!) and we are barbecuing and the sun is out and my children are healthy and I JUST MIGHT BREAK INTO SONG!

I will stop now before this starts to sound less like a positive diatribe and more like a psychotic “break”. Which it most certainly is not because my mental illness diagnosis is not even remotely at the level of “severe.” I promise.  Wait a minute, that is MORE GOOD NEWS! Not entirely crazy, just partially, HOORAH for ME!