Turtles & Sewer Pipes, not the kind named after artist

Really, this is a typical morning for us. I truly cannot make this up. My precious Penguin has my active mind that just goes and goes, and this is what she came up with the other morning after using the restroom.

I’m standing in front of the mirror brushing Penelope’s nest on my head as she comes over and we begin this conversation:

P: I figured it out

SB: Figured what out?

P: Where all the water goes when you flush the toilet.

I give a confused look her way….

P: It goes down the drain into the pipes down below where the turtles are.

 So, in my mind I’m thinkin ninja turtles. I don’t mention this thought, I just assume she saw it on tv or talked about it on the playground.

SB: The turtles?

P: Yes, and the wipes you flush too.

SB: Very confused now…What do the turtles do with the wipes?

P: The people that sell them get them out. They get the wipes off of the turtles 

Realizing we have passed Donatello and the pizza at this point..

SB: There is a turtle store down there?

P: Yes, the turtle store is there. And when you go buy them they make sure the wipes aren’t there.

SB: Okay. Smiling on the inside because I just had a conversation with myself. 

We quickly switch stations, keep up!

P: Wow, the sandman visited this eye last night!

#southernbelleoncaffeine

My Holiday OCD is having to be tamed


I understand this might not make sense to some. I also understand some people probably don’t see me as having any OCD tendencies seeing the way I live now, with the laundry in piles and all, and I get that. However, those of you that are skeptics would be interested to find I have quite a few quirks that I’m sure a psychologist would love to figure out. Most of these I do keep within some type of ‘control’, or I had to adapt to having a penguin almost seven years ago. 

One of the biggest ones has been my holiday OCD issue. Before the penguin was born, I had holiday rules that had to be followed or my mind would just explode. Not just your run of the mill don’t-put-Christmas-out-before Thanksgiving issue either. There were no clothes to be worn except for that holiday, no movies to be watched, no food to be ate. One did not watch “Charlie Brown The Great Pumpkin” outside of the month of October, or occasionally the network would throw me off course and save it for November. All of the sacred Christmas movies were saved for December only! 

Then the penguin was born. As she got old enough to watch movies, one of her favorite groups to watch was “Frosty the Snowman ” and “Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer”. In ANY month. It took me a lot to get used to. I actually tried to talk her out of it. 

Now, I look down and find myself in July wearing Halloween socks. Gasp. What was once unheard of is just pure survival because the Halloween socks are the ones I can find clean. I just find it amusing that I’ve changed that much all because of my penguin. The best thing ever. The love of my life. I am still holding a strong front against wearing Christmas socks though.

Grape juice Explosion and ACV 


I know all about the benefits of apple cider vinegar. The real kind. I’ve seen it work personally. But, like most people, I’ve had a lot of trouble getting past the god awful taste. I attribute some of this to a CRAZY weight loss plan I did some years back. I could only eat about 6 different things with limited seasoning, however one of those was Apple Cider Vinegar. So, I cooked A LOT of things in a “stir fry” fashion in the stuff. I think I got major burn out.

So, I’m on my third try of drinking the good for you stuff again. I’ve taken surveys on Facebook to get advice on how the regulars take theirs. My mama is just balls to the wall and shoots hers like a sorority girl and tequila. Others say mix with a bottle of water and my daddy chases his with milk (but his LDL didn’t improve). But, I went to where any self respecting wanna be super mom would go-Pinterest. I found some great recipes that appealed to my tastebuds and didn’t cancel out the health benefits.

I stocked up on fresh pressed Organic grape, cranberry, and apple juice. No sugar added, not from concentrate, only the juice straight from the fruit. I carefully measured it out for and drank it for about 4 days. Then, this happened….

I was running behind so I thought, “I’ve done plenty of shots in my lifetime, this will be a breeze.” I prepared the shot glass and had grape juice as a chaser. I got the shot down and took a gulp of the chaser just as the acid hit my stomach. I literally spewed grape juice all over the kitchen counter and dripped down onto the floor. Because of the burning sensation in my throat I started coughing and couldn’t catch my breath. The penguin, who previously was very concerned for a patient on Grey’s Anatomy, didn’t even bat an eye. She stepped back to let me know I had gotten grape juice on the floor that “daddy had just fixed”. I finally composed myself and made it out the door.

Now, two days later, I am braving it again. Only this time I mixed it, shook it, and poured it over ice. We are watching “Barbie:Life in the Dreamhouse ” and the penguin said I could “close my eyes and pretend I was drinking it on Barbie’s jet”.

Cheer….

#southernbelleoncaffeine

Am I the ringmaster or the monkey?

This morning I was trying to take a bath and shave my legs before someone thought I was an extra for a Wookie. The penguin was sitting on the edge of the tub, Tommy was standing at the edge scrolling on his 📱. I asked “when you are in a mental institution, are there this many people watching you all the time?” Of course in my most sarcastic tone. Tommy replied, “yes, especially if you have a razor”. OMG! Somebody please help me. I’m in a cage.

#southernbellegoingcrazy

#southernbelleoncaffeiene

You can’t always win

As the penguin 🐧 and I “Raced” 🏁 to get dressed this morning, she would say “I’m going to win”! Then she saw me with my shirt 👚 half on putting on deodorant and said “NO CHEATING!”. I asked, “putting on deodorant is cheating?” “Yes!” She says. I replied in my usual dark and twisty mother of the year way, “you need to learn how to loose” 🤦‍♀️ 

The penguin replied, “oh I know how to loose”

“Do tell me your story of loosing that Lifetime will make a movie 🎥 about ”

“Loosing means you don’t win. You can’t always win”…

Well, there you go….

The Penguin tells me why I’m not a cool kid

Well, you know that I care nothing about being a cool kid. Never did, never will. I definitely don’t tell the Penguin about being cool, except for in the sarcastic way this conversation went this morning. But, it is alarming how even at age six she has some understanding of  cool vs. uncool.

We were discussing the pop socket I have on the back of my phone. You know, that really stupid gadget that is making someone a fortune because it is the latest thing to have. I guess I fall prey to propaganda, and I love gadgets! 

Penguin: I like this on the back of your phone. What is it?

Southern Belle: It’s called a pop socket, its what all the cool kids have (sarcasm oozing)

P: Ms. Sarah and Ms. Summer have one of those on their phone, but it doesn’t look like yours.

SB: Okay

P: Mama, you can’t be a cool kid (looking up at me like the emoji SMH should be above her head)

SB: Why not? (Very indignant, yet humorous)

P: Because you don’t wear a hat, cool kids wear hats

SB: Uh? Cool kids wear hats?

P: Yes, daddy can be a cool kid because he wears a hat

SB: Where did you learn this rule?

P: Dylan, he says cool kids wear hats. Sometimes they even wear them backwards 

Now, I’m the one with the face palm emoji above my head.

#southernbelleoncaffeine

The dust never settles

I guess I’ve gotten somewhat used to change in the last three years. Maybe I’m better at it at times than others. The schedule changes. The last minute “I won’t be home until tomorrow ” changes. Maybe I have just accepted not to expect or rely on anything constant. So, maybe I haven’t adjusted to change, I’ve just accepted there is nothing to rely on.

Yes, here I am. The cynical, smart ass Southern Belle you came to love. I have tried to hide that too. The cynicism. But, sometimes it proves to be too much and it overflows. 

The dust is stirred up on our dirt road as he drives in off the road. But, thinking about what we do with the short time he is home….

I don’t think the dust has settled from the trip down the dirt road home when it’s time to drive away again.

Roots can be big in a small town


My earliest memory of wanting to leave my small town was middle school. The feeling probably began earlier than that, but Jr High is when I remember it becoming a day to day goal. Spread my wings, see the big city, go somewhere that my unique personality would be appreciated. All of the cliche “I’m too big for this small town” reasons. 

I left. Graduated high school early and moved away for college. I stayed away for ten years. Then, another cliche event happened-I moved back after a difficult divorce. Cue the Julia Roberts movie now. In the last years of my marriage I actually had tossed the idea of moving back around. It seemed like a good idea. Maturity and life lessons had made me realize the advantages of a small town. But the stars were aligned differently and the blessing of a divorce came, so I packed up and moved ‘home’ to plant my roots.

I’ve been back in my hometown now for almost nine years. Almost equal to the time I was gone. I’ve remarried, built a house on my family’s land, and we are raising our six year old daughter. Our daughter goes to the same primary school I went to with some of the same teachers. We attend the same church my grandmother attended when she was alive. My daddy was born and raised in this small town also. There is a comfortable familiarity that is soothing and at the same time the reasons I wanted to leave sometimes rear their ugly head too. 

But, then this happens. My six year old breaks her wrist and is going to have surgery Tuesday. We have had such an outpouring of support and prayer from the community that can only come from this small town. A high school classmate of mine who no longer lives here has a son who is battling a rare form of childhood cancer. This small town is supporting her with fundraiser help, donations, etc even though she lives two hours away. But, she’s one of ours. Her roots are still in this ground of this small town too. That’s when I realized there is no place I’d rather be to raise my small family than here in this small town. 

Complacency and the F* Word


It’s no secret I have weight issues. Body image issues. Well, yes, issues in general. For the first time in a really long time, I really believed I had found a healthy place with my weight . Healthy in terms or my way of thinking about it most importantly. Turns out, I became somewhat complacent in my journey, and apparently when you struggle with the F* word, being complacent cannot be afforded. 

After a year long weight loss, monitored by a physician, I really was in a good place. Physically and mentally. But, around Christmas, when all of those treats start rolling in to the office I started thinking like a skinny girl and not like a chronic F* one. I am not shaming the thin. I also know there are plenty of thin girls who work HARD at staying that way. I’m referring to the genetically, weird universe joke, thin women/girls who really do eat what they want and amazingly remain thin. And by “eat whatever they want” I am referring to the fact that they may just eat. Period. Or they may eat the Christmas treats, not in excess, but enjoy them like all of the other “normal” people, not like the chronic F* ones. Yeah, so I thought somehow my 50lb weight loss put me in that category. As if the cosmos had shifted and I had never been the 8 year old at Weight Watchers, never been the chronic F* person. I thought I had a handle on it. I still felt the same and mentally I felt great because for once I was being realistic about food and not restrictive. 

For the past year I’ve only weighed at the doctors office. Just a pact I made with myself, that in order to overcome being obsessive about my weight it was best this way. Call me crazy, okay you don’t have to, I know I am, but I decided to weigh after the New Year. No, not because of some stupid resolution. There is no resolution when you are me. There is just life. I’ve learned that lesson over and over. The scale reflected my biggest fear. Weight gain! What? The thin girl I thought I was can eat within reason and not gain but a few pounds, not 15lbs!! That’s when the news flash hit me like the ton of bricks this emotional baggage is. I AM NOT the thin girl. I never will be. Complacency has no place with the F* word.

Now, I am trying to hold on so I mentally don’t tailspin out. Mentally tailspinning will only cause me to gain more weight believe it or not. I’ve got to take over my thoughts again and get back control of this. I have got to resist letting the scars that haven’t completely healed begin to ooze once more with toxic thinking. I realize now it takes more than a year for me to overcome whatever psycholocal issues I suffer from concerning my weight and body image. I realize that half my battle is in my head, not on the plate. I realize I am not and will never be the thin girl and maybe I’ll be okay with that one day. But, right now I’m working on gaining my control back.
**I am not and never would body shame anyone-even if they are the thin girl or the chronic F* girl like myself. These are just the thoughts on my head**

I watch her dreams take flight

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I can hear the small sounds of tiny snore and I know that all is right with the world for the moment. I feel the grasp of small hands and a small arm thrown around my neck that occasionally has a flutter and will pull my hair. The smell of sweat and childhood nestled next to me as the thought passes through Penelope’s wheel that this moment will not last forever. As Penelope turns that around I also pass on the idea that some may not “get” this sleeping arrangement. “She’s just too lazy to make her stay in bed.” “A child needs their own space.” “There aren’t enough boundaries.” But, then the heavy sigh of that peaceful being next to me is heard again, and both Penelope and I decide that none of that matters. The Penguin can stay here as long as she’d like.

Believe me, I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t try to make her sleep in her own bed. So, the “she’s just too lazy to make her stay in bed” thought could apply to me at some point during the last several years of this co-sleeping journey. But, one would have to look at the really large picture, like the Sistine Chapel size picture, to really get the idea of what’s going on. Our family did not go through a divorce, but to a small child the disruption to our family life three years ago defiantly could have some of the same impressions. My husband and I had gotten the Penguin sleeping in her own bed after the crib-to-bed transition and all was going pretty well. Well, if you’ve read any other post, then you may know our world changed, so did the Penguin’s sleeping habits.

The issue of having a child sleep with a parent through the night becomes even more complex in the case of a divorce. Children, especially pre-schoolers and early elementary aged children, are very shaken by a divorce and may become edgy and exhibit somatic complaints. They have lost the presence of one of their parents in their home and they may have great anxiety about losing the other parent, too. They are subject to bad dreams and need a lot of reassurance that things are going to turn out all right. When a parent allows this child to sleep through the night with them, they may believe they are solving the problem by offering a comforting presence. In the long run, the child may pay by becoming overly dependent on the parent and have greater difficulty in adjusting to any kind of change

http://www.beachpsych.com/pages/cc101.html

Yeah, well …….suck it. The Penguin was shaken by the sudden change in schedule with her daddy being gone on the road, hell so was I. Her room is on the other side of a great open space and she has my imagination. Who knows what she could’ve dreamed up was outside of her door? Who cares? In the beginning, I was the lazy mom. I tried making her sleep in her bed. But I was getting up at 3:30 for work. Honestly, between work and the emotional strain the whole change in my husband’s job had on me, I didn’t have the energy to keep taking her back to bed and no I wasn’t strong enough to listen to her cry. So, chastise me all you want. You can point your finger at me later when we are all on Dr. Phil’s couch. I don’t care. Sooner or later it just became routine. A routine the entire family got into. The Penguin realized that when her daddy was home from the road, she did have to sleep in her bed for at least half of the night. She also knows that if she comes to our room too early, she gets sent back to her room. So, there is no problem with adjusting to change or any of that other baloney. Well, there might be, but I can assure you it has nothing to do with her sleeping with me. I did not sleep with my parents, and I do not adjust to change at all, so just chalk that one up to genetics.

I read all of these articles to post and reference. But the main gut of this blog post is the beauty in sleeping with my child every night, especially when it is just the two of us. Right now our family life is somewhat unconventional. Ahem, unconventional does not me unstable or not regimented. We have our routines. She knows what to expect and what to do and how to behave. But come on, she is a free spirit and we eat in bed every night because by the time we get home and do house work and pug work and home work, that’s where dinner is. I make no apologies for it. I get to turn the light off, pull the covers up and smell that child that no one can love like I do. I get to hear her breathe and watch her dream. I get to feel the warmth of her against me when she gets too cold. That’s what I am here for. That’s what I was made for as her mother. We talk about her day, sing songs to one another, read books, face time her daddy, and then we drift to dream land together.

In the not so distant future, this will change. There will be slamming doors. “You are so unfair” yelled across the house. The battle of our wills as preteen looms in the darkness. There will be a “no parents allowed” sign on her door. The same door that she only goes in now to get clean clothes and to sleep in every 10 days. The sweet smell of this child next to me in bed will be exchanged with the overpowering scent of too much fruity lotion and body mist. No songs will be sung, no books to be read. Of course, I can only hope that even the Penguin’s preteen years may be as unconventional as we are now (laughing out loud).

Yes, all of those reasons mentioned above and many more that can’t be put into words. That is why I co-sleep. Because, that innocent picture you read about in the beginning of this post, that will not be forever. I can’t get this back. I can’t slow time. You know that Meredith Grey and I say “the carousel never stops turning”(you must follow my post to get my Grey’s reference). So I will sleep with my Penguin for as long as she will let me. I will let her throw her arms around my neck and hold my hair while I listen to her dreams take flight.

 

 

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