Sometimes... life is better in black and white

Saturday, May 31

Strange as it is I feel weird blogging

Okay I've decided the blog world is just really strange to me and I feel awkward here. I also feel insecure socially networking with people in cyber-space. I don't know why but it's almost like back in high school and I'm the pimple-face kid who likes a boy yet can't bring myself to talk to him in fear he won't like me back.

I'm not normally insecure. Nor am I one to hesitate introducing myself to others especially if it means I might make a new friend. I love people. But here in this world called the Internet, I regress to my teenage self fearful of rejection. So, consequently that's why I don't blog more. Well, let me rephrase that. I write a lot of blogs but rather than push publish when I finish -- I hit the delete button sending my work to the garbage can.

So I've resolved to change this by pushing myself to reach out. So what if I'm rejected? Been there -- done that and lived through it. I can do it again.

My new goal is to start responding to my email groups instead of lurking and blog at least twice a week. I also joined twitter and signed myself up to follow more than 200 people. Why? Because it's fun and I figure I can meet some people that way. Maybe with my new found aspirations I can get out of my shell and start becoming a member of this world, as I am the one away from my computer.

Sunday, May 11

A Tribute to My Children on Mother's Day!

It's the end of the day and after writing and conducting interviews for more than eight hours, I finally hang up the phone and shut down the computer. It's time to retire for the night.

But. . . as I look around me I'm reminded I have yet another job to attend to. My shift ended at one job but now I have yet another I need to go to. And by the looks of it, I should have probably clocked in for duty hours ago.

The kitchen sink is stacked with dishes and the counters look my children have been fingerpainting with peanut butter and jelly. Not to mention the Top Ramen that stains the counter -- how I hate that food. But. . . when it's my children's favorite dish the option of never buying it again would only bring loud protests. So I just need to grin and take it.

I've already spent an hour cleaning and picking up the kitchen, living room and hallway upstairs. I wander downstairs thinking I can finally relax maybe even watch a little TV. Nope! Downstairs
literally looks like someone threw a party and forgot to clean up after everyone disappeared.

This is the only job in my life I've had that doesn't offer me 15-minute breaks, lunch hours, insurance benefits, vacations, sick leave or even kudos. I don't even get any financial payment. My job here never ends. Regardless of how many hours I put in I still have more. The tasks are endless and so are the hours. And there isn't much appreciation or gratitude either especially, from my teenage daughters over the age of 15.

This job doesn't allow me a lot of interaction with other adults either. In fact generally all of my conversations center around teenage dramas, Barney the purple dinosaur, Tomagotchis and sibling issues.

It's now 1 in the morning and finally after cleaning up peanut butter and jelly, bread crumbs, dishes, clothes, toys and whatever else I have a chance to relax. But as I pass my children's rooms and peak in on them I see my three-year-old son peacefully laying in his bed asleep. It's the only time of the day he isn't going. I think about his smiles, his laughter, his kisses and his "I love yous," and I smile myself at the thought of how much I love him. I pass my other son's room and he too is sound asleep. Like his brother he brings a smile to my face as I think about his laugh and his nonstop questions about how the world works.

Then there's my girls. I look in on them and this time a teardrop falls. It's not a tear of sadness but of gratitude. And all of a sudden in that moment as my feelings overwhelm me I realize, this job is really the one that brings the most joy and happiness. The job of being a mother.