Enjoying life's adventures in a secluded mountain cabin

Posts tagged ‘worry’

New Directions

For the past few days, I’ve been contemplating my life and the choices I’ve made that have led me to the place I’m at right now.  My personal life, my identity as a Mother, my status as someone’s friend, my career, (or should I say, lack thereof).  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I wouldn’t change a thing about my life.  All of the choices I’ve made and things that I’ve went through have made me the woman that I am today and I’m proud to be that woman!  That’s not to say that things are perfect.  Far from it.  But, I decided a while back that things don’t have to be perfect for me to be happy and live in the moment instead of worrying about the future and all the pitfalls and doom and gloom that it might hold.  That doesn’t mean I still don’t worry.  Quite the contrary.

My mind sometimes takes hold of me and tries desperately to drag me down into the depths of the darkest, murkiest, most dismal ruins of my soul.  At times, I’ve found myself in this no man’s land and couldn’t even remember how I got there.  Other times, I’ve felt the descent coming on for days and tried to fight it with every fiber of my being.  But in the end, the darkness and sadness won.  It never lasts for very long.  After everything I’ve been through, I’m not willing to remain in that closed off space where despair and hopelessness lurk around every corner, waiting like a thief in the night to steal my joy and prove not only to myself, but also to the world around me, that my worst fears are now reality.  I’m way too upbeat and optimistic to remain in that horrid state of mind for long.

And so, this thought has led me to my current crossroads in life.  (I seem to have a lot of those!)  I’m at an age where most women are settling into a career, married, and beginning their families.  An age where most women are frantically trying to juggle motherhood, work, taking care of their house, carpools, PTA meetings, their kids sports, being a good wife, lover, and friend, and finally finding time for themselves.  I’m at an age where all of those things should be new and exciting for me, but they’re not.

My life is different than most women my age.  I had my children at a young age.  A very young age.  Too young.  And I got married at a young age.  A very young age.  Too young.  I’ve already done the juggling act.  I’ve already balanced home, kids, work, sports, and all that other jazz, plus college!  I’ve already been at that frazzled state where you’re just ready to run away from home to find a measly few little minutes of peace.  I’ve been to the depths of insanity and exhaustion that comes with the territory when you’re a working mother and wife.  And I wouldn’t trade a single second of it!  Like I said, my past is what has made me the woman that I am today.  But there is certainly a trade off when you make choices such as mine so early in life.

Long story short, after a little more than a decade in a loveless, hopeless, huge mistake of a marriage, I’m now divorced and my kids don’t live with me anymore.  One’s grown and the other decided on a much different path than I ever could have imagined for him.  One that lies with his father.  And, as many of you already know, I found what I believe to be truly and without a doubt, my soul mate in this world.  My Mountain Man.  My other half.  And with him, life has had new meaning and promise and hope eternal for my happily ever after.  There are still pieces missing, but none that one look from him, one touch of his hands on mine, can’t fix.  Even with him by my side, I still have things left in this world that I want to do before I die.  Like find a job, at this point!  Not just a job, but a career.  A way of life, if you will.

My life now looks more like that of the middle aged woman (not that I’m middle aged) whose children have left the nest and she’s now trying to create a new identity in this big old world.  It’s funny.  I used to think I would enjoy this time so much when I was younger.  I used to think of all the things I’d get to do when my kids were grown.  (And I am getting to do quite a bit of them!)  Don’t get me wrong, tho.  I love being a Mother.  My whole, entire adult life, that’s how I’ve most strongly identified myself.  As a Mother.  However, any of you out there who have survived a day, alone in a house with two small kids, knows exactly what I’m talking about.  We love our kids, and we cherish every moment we have with them, but we secretly, (or in my case, openly), dream about the day when we can sit down and read a book, have an uninterrupted thought, have an adult conversation, or (insert your “guilty indulgence here”), without having to change a diaper, or clean up spilled milk, or referee a fight between two brothers hell bent on killing each other over who took the last cookie from the jar.  We want to feel like a woman again, an intelligent human being, capable of anything she sets her mind to!

And so, here I am.  Looking for a new direction, yet again.  I’m not veering too far from the path I’m already on in life, but I’m looking for a detour that will lead me to a career that’s fulfilling, meaningful, and satisfying on an intellectual and emotional level.  I want to matter.  I want my work to mean something.  I want to make a difference in people’s lives and I want the end result to be a life well lived and full of promise and hope for every single person whom I’ve come in contact with throughout my years on this earth.  Even if it’s only through a smile to a stranger on the street.  I want to make a difference.

And I’m going to!!!

Right after I finish frosting those cupcakes I baked this morning!

 

 

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My Little Purple Book

I am a collector.  I don’t have shelves that hold my treasures and my walls aren’t covered with masterfully done works of art.  I don’t have rows of clothes hanging in my closet, nor do I have shelves of shoes.  I don’t have a variety of handbags and I always wear the same three earrings, never-changing them for any reason.  And yes, you read that right.  Three earrings.  Not two.  Not four.  Three.  I don’t have drawers or bags of make-up and I don’t have umpteen bottles of hair products.

But, as I said, I am a collector.

I’m a collector of words.  If I could afford it, I’d have a hard back copy of every one of my favorite novels ever published.  I’d have rows and rows of books on everything from cooking to painting to fixing anything.  I’d love to one day have my own little library in my home, complete with the little sliding ladder to reach whatever would be stored on the top shelves.  But, besides books, I collect words.  I collect other people’s words and I keep my collection in a little velvet covered purple book.

I’ve been jotting down quotes for about ten years now.  Anytime I see or hear something that pulls at my heart-strings, or appeals to my psychotic counterpart that dwells deep within, or beckons that little kid that I still am at heart, I write it down.  I have quotes on everything from love to bubble gum.  Quotes about death and being born again.  Famous words about living a humble life and being a strong woman.  Proverbs regarding raising children and song lyrics that can bring even the strongest of men to tears.

I seek these quotes out whenever I can and I always try to jot them down, even if I don’t have my purple velvet book with me.  I’ve been known to write them on gum wrappers, napkins, receipts, and pretty much anything else you can think of.  But they always find their way into my book.

Mountain Man still doesn’t understand my collection.  He’s inquired about it several times throughout our time together and I’ve tried to explain it to him as best as I could.  He still doesn’t get it, though.  And really, I understand why he doesn’t get it.  I cannot give any real reason for my obsession with words.  I can’t give a plausible explanation for wanting to write someone else’s words down and keep them.  It makes absolutely no sense in the grand scheme of things.

But, in my world, it makes perfect sense.  My collection of quotes, sayings, bible verses, proverbs, song lyrics, and thoughts from other people remind me that no matter what I’m going through, someone else has been there, too.  No matter how elated I’m feeling, or how unbelievably loved, or how God-awful rotten, or how absolutely pathetic and pitiful and sad, someone else out there has felt that way too.  Someone else out there has been in my shoes and knows my frustrations and pain and love and happiness and helplessness and grief.  Someone else out there gets it.  My collection reminds me that I’m not alone in this world, that it can always be worse than what it really is, and that perhaps I truly might be one of the luckiest women in the world.  For even though my life is far from perfect and things rarely ever go as planned, if I died tomorrow, I can honestly say that I’ve truly lived.

I’ve experienced so many things in this world.  I’ve felt the pain and sting of life’s hurts.  I’ve felt the horrible ache and emptiness from the death of the only man who was always there for me, no matter what.  I’ve also felt the butterflies and the highest of highs whenever my love’s lips touch mine.   I’ve felt the hurt that only a Mother can know when her children disappoint her.  I’ve felt the disappointment from not acting on a gut feeling and following my heart.  I’ve felt a love like no other and basked in the joy that only true love can bring.  I’ve felt the hurt of knowing my friend is making the wrong decision but supporting her anyway because she’s my friend.  I’ve felt the sick worry that comes when my children are ill or hurt and I can’t help them.  I’ve felt the love in a stranger’s heart when I’ve offered a helping hand.

I have lived and my collection of words in my little purple book are a reflection of a life well lived.  I’ll have to replace my book soon because the pages are nearly full.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to find another little velvet covered purple book, but like so many other things in life, it’s not the cover that counts.  It’s what’s on the inside.

The Mountain and The Rest Of The World

Not a lot of people like winter around here.  Most of them actually hate this time of year.  Even if they think the snow is pretty to look at, they hate having to navigate the winding mountain roads when the weather’s bad.  I am not one of these people.  I actually don’t mind driving in the snow.  And driving in a snow storm at night ranks right up there on my list of little things that I love so much.  I love Winter and everything about it.  However, that being said, living up here on the side of one of these mountains has given me a whole new appreciation for driving in the snow, or up here, driving anywhere from a few days to a week after the snow.

We can pretty much count on getting the fluffy, white stuff if there’s even the slightest indication of it in our local forecast.  It’ll snow up here when it’s not snowing anywhere else.  It’s really amazing.  At the bottom of the mountain, or civilization, as some like to refer to it, it’ll be dry as a bone and nothing going on.  About half way up the mountain, the flakes begin to fly and by the time I get to our house, it looks like someone’s shook up a snow globe!  For this snow lover, it’s really a wonderful life up here.

Looking at a mountain range far off in the distance after a snow storm and seeing that part of the mountain has melted and is back to its regular brown Winter color and the other part is still snowy white, blanketed in the glorious fluffy, white stuff has always been stunning and gorgeous to me.  Especially when the setting sun casts the last colors of daylight on one of these mountains.  Vivid, deep purples, bright magentas, and shades of auburn that appear to change with each curve of the mountain and the various shades of white and brown.  But after living up here, near the top of one of these majestic mountain ranges, I’ve found that I have a new appreciation for this phenomenon.

There are distinct lines between winter and fall after the warm, Winter sun has melted part of the mountain.  Driving along the windy road, one side of the forest floor will be snowy white, while the other side will be filled with all the rich brown, earthy colors of Fall.  And it changes with each twist and turn in the road.  At certain points, it’s Winter on the left and Fall on the right.  Then, as you wind your way higher, just beyond the next bend in the road, Fall’s on the left and Winter’s now on the right.  It’s really quite amazing.

The drawback to all this beauty is that parts of the mountain melt completely away, leaving no trace of the slick snow, ice, and slush, while other parts melt just enough to form what should be considered an Olympic sport arena where instead of wearing skates, people drive 4×4 vehicles, sometimes equipped with chains, to compete for gold medals.  I’m pretty sure Mountain Man would take the gold each and every year in this event.

I had never been afraid of driving on slick roads in my life until I started trying to drive on these roads up here.  Even on a good day, these roads aren’t for the faint of heart.  I’ve been told that there are grown men who won’t drive down our driveway in the snow!  But I have.  I’ve done it a few times.  It’s not that bad as long as you’ve got all the right equipment.  You know, a four-wheel drive vehicle, a really good set of tires, the ability to actually drive in the snow, and for me, the ability to pray and drive at the same time.  I get real close to God this time of year.   However, just because I’ve done it, does not mean I wanna do it again.

I’m supposed to go out this morning and I just really don’t know if I’m gonna try it or not.  I’m missing some of the necessary equipment required to get me safely to the bottom.  My tires are not the best in the world and the thoughts of going down the parts of the mountain that didn’t melt at all yesterday make me wanna go crawl back in bed and hide under the covers.

So here I sit, debating back and forth, the pros and cons of going out this morning.  The sun’s just coming up over the mountains to the East and the Carolina blue sky is dotted with a few high puffy clouds.  It’s another one of those beautiful NC mornings.  Snow or no snow, slick road or dry, I know just how lucky I am to live here in this little cabin, on the side of this mountain, with my Mountain Man.

 

 

 

Unexpected Happiness

How many of you out there consider yourselves to be Type A people?  I don’t fall completely into that category, but I do have strong tendencies toward it.  And I used to be a whole lot worse.  Little things would get to me so badly.  Spilled milk would literally bring me to tears at times.  Especially if the milk were spilled right after I’d mopped the floor which usually was the only time that ever seemed to happen.  Looking back, I can laugh now at just how ridiculous this reaction was.  I’ve lightened up and let go quite a bit in the last few years.

However, there are still things that just make my skin crawl and illicit strange reactions, usually laced with a slew of profanities that are normally reserved for the really bad things in life.  Things that don’t seem to affect the Type B people in the world.  Things like spilling something on my clothes; mud tracked on the floors, especially if I’ve just swept or mopped; mascara being smudged on my face instead of my eyelashes in a hurried, frenzied attempt to get ready when I’m running late; people who cannot drive and should not be allowed to operate a vehicle, but always decide to pull out in front of me when I’m in a hurry.

And then, there’s the one that inspired me to write today.  And this is something I’ve done more often than I care to admit.

How many of you have went to cook/bake something and only after you’ve started realized that you didn’t have all the ingredients needed to make whatever it was you were cooking/baking?  Now, you’d think as many times as I’ve done this that I’d look and make sure that I have everything necessary before undertaking anymore cooking/baking.  Nope.  Not me.  I still find this happening at least once or twice every few months.  And the stress levels are always higher during the holidays, which leads to me forgetting ingredients even more so than usual, which also leads into a much more dramatic meltdown when the moment actually arrives when I figure out that I don’t have what’s needed and necessary to complete my cooking/baking.

This year was no different, as far as the forgetting goes.

We made cookies for Santa this year, just like a lot of folks do.  We were going to make Mountain Man’s Mom’s sour cream cookies, but we waited too long and ended up just making some plain old sugar cookies.  I don’t think Santa has a preference on cookies, but those sour cream cookies are pretty darn tasty.  Well, that was strike one.  I really had my heart set on making those cookies this year.  But, I put all that aside and just went with the easier sugar cookie recipe that I could whip up rather quickly.  No melt down.  Not yet, anyway.

We got the cookies baked and set them aside to cool while we all got ready to go to my family’s Christmas get-together on Christmas Eve.  We planned to decorate them that night once we returned from the big family festivities.  Waiting until late Christmas Eve to decorate Santa’s cookies with a seven year old, strike two.  Last minute things always stress me out.  I’m a planner.  A doer.  I don’t like feeling rushed.  I get sweaty and I just wanna throw up.  But, I put all that aside and I tried just rolling with the punches.  Playing it by ear.  Enjoying the moment and not stressing about the time crunch.  Santa surely wouldn’t stop by while we were still decorating cookies for him?  Would he?  And surely he wouldn’t just skip right over our house if we were still up at midnight covered in frosting and enjoying a little sugar high from all the cookies and frosting we were eating and licking off our fingers during this little last minute Christmas project?

Now, for me, having these two things already going against every grain and fiber of my being to just slip into a full on holiday melt down, but refraining and actually relaxing and embracing the new and last minuteness of all this Christmas madness was a feat in and of itself.  I was so proud of myself at this point.

Then, it happened.

Somewhere around 10 o’clock, Christmas Eve, after mixing the four or five bowls of frosting up, I opened the cabinet to get the food coloring out so I could tint the frosting for the cookies.  See the pattern here, after mixing the frosting, then and only then, did I look for my other essential ingredient.  Bright red, vivid green, bold blue, vibrant yellow.  You know, Christmas colors.  Guess what we were out of?  Yep, you got it.  Red, green, blue and yellow food coloring.  And I just knew we had these items in the house.  I knew it!  I pulled every single item out of that cabinet looking for those elusive colors.  They weren’t there.

However, we did have a box of neon food coloring.  Neon food coloring.  Who has neon food coloring just lying around their kitchen?  I can’t even begin to imagine what I’d bought those colors for.  Oh, wait.  It just came to me.  I bought them for decorating little girl’s birthday cakes.  So anyway, in this box of neon colors, we had fabulous shades of purple, pink, yellow/green and blue.  Absolutely not anything that even remotely resembled Christmas colors!

I could feel the demon rising inside me.  I could feel the melt down coming on.  I’d been able to keep it at bay with the other two things that usually would’ve set me off.  Why oh why hadn’t I checked to make sure we’d had the right colors for Christmas cookies?  How could I have over looked something so important?  And on Christmas Eve!  Of all days to forget something so crucial!!!!  What was wrong with me???  How could I be so stupid!!!!???!!!!

None of these thoughts found their way to my mouth.  Thank God!  And about the time the sweat beads started to form and the nausea was just about to kick in and the words were ready to spill out, Mountain Man came to the rescue.  God love him.  He’s one of those Type B people.  At times like these, I envy him so much.  I think he knew I was fixing to just dissolve into tears because he walked over and touched me gently and started explaining how it didn’t matter that we didn’t have the traditional Christmas colors for our Christmas cookies.  They didn’t have to be bright red, vivid green, bold blue or vibrant yellow to be Christmasy.  We’d have funky, psychedelic Christmas cookies this year!

He explained to me that the best memories are sometimes born out of the most unexpected things.  And he’s right.  I knew in that moment that he was right and I could actually feel my melt down start to dissipate as he spoke.  The little beads of sweat just went away and my nauseousness disappeared.  Mountain Man talked about one day in the far off future, how his little girl would always remember the psychedelic funky Christmas cookies from the year we didn’t have any regular food colors.  And I really hope he’s right.  I hope we talk about the funky Christmas cookies for many years to come.  My youngest son still talks about the year that I sprinkled nutmeg all over the turkey instead of poultry seasoning because I was in a hurry and grabbed the wrong thing out of the cabinet.  I freaked out thinking the turkey would be awful, but it turned out to be one the best ones I ever made.  And he will always remember that.

Change can be a very scary thing for some people.  It can be a terrifying thing for us Type A people.  And even though I’m not on the extreme side of the Type A spectrum, I do know that I have tendencies to go overboard sometimes.  I like to think that our funky psychedelic Christmas cookies helped me overcome a great obstacle in life.  I hope that I can approach all future cooking/baking dilemmas where I’ve forgotten a seemingly crucial ingredient with a different attitude.  One with hope and optimism instead of profanities spewing and nausea inducing stress.  Perhaps it’ll even spill over to different areas of my life as well.

I’ve just got to keep reminding myself that it’s the little things in life that mean so much.  Especially the unexpected ones.

I have to thank my Mountain Man for pointing this out to me and reminding me that this would be something wonderful to write about.  I don’t know what I’d do without him.

What I Learned Today

I always try to learn something new each and every day.  More often than not, it’s usually just something little and mundane that really doesn’t matter at the time.  But in the long run and the grand scheme of things, all those little things eventually mix and meld together and they combine with all the bigger lessons of life and encompass all the knowledge and wisdom that I hold near and dear in this world.

Well today, my lesson wasn’t what I might classify as a little thing, but more of a life lesson, and it sometimes astounds me that there are still life lessons out there to be learned at my age.  Not that I’m old or anything, but sometimes I find that I’m a little full of myself and think that I’ve already learned all of the life lessons out there.  And it’s in those moments when I’m absolutely sure that I know all there is to know about something that God decides to put me in my place, as He should.

So my lesson in humility for the day….

I can only do what I can do.  No more, no less.

God has a way of quietly whispering this to me at times and screaming it in my face at others.  But He always gets His point across.

I made myself a promise a while back that I was gonna write something, anything, each and every single day.  Then, my world came crashing down all around me, and as usual, I poured my heart and soul into trying to pick up the pieces and fix everything.  I’m a fixer.  It’s in my nature.  I can’t help it.  So, again, I ignored my promise to myself and stopped writing… again.

While I was in the midst of picking up pieces and attempting to fix everything, I had an epiphany… again.  I had to learn the hard way that I have absolutely no control over other people, yet again.  It was an illusion that I whole heartedly believed with every fiber of my being concerning him.  I just knew that if I did everything right, I could shape his life and help him change his stars, and who knows?  Perhaps, I really have done these things and the fruits of my labor are just yet to be seen.  But right now, in this moment, I can only do what I can do.  No more, no less.

Do you know how horribly difficult it is for someone like me to accept this absolute truth in life?  God keeps trying to teach me that He’s the one in control.  But, sometimes that’s just so hard for me to accept.  But for now, in this moment, I think I’ve finally got the message, loud and clear this time.

I can only do what I can do.  No more, no less.

But that does not mean that my faith is gone.  No, no, no.  Far from it.  My perpetual hope in him to eventually find his path in life and remember all the lessons I’ve taught him and mature into the wonderful man that I’ve always known he was gonna be when he grows up is still there and I still believe.  I will always believe.

But…

I can only do what I can do.  No more, no less.

Secrets To Happiness

Here lately, life has been…

Ummm…

Well, I’m almost afraid to type the word for fear that I’ll jinx this new-found thing that’s going on around here.

Oh, what the heck.  I’m just gonna throw it out there.

I’m HAPPY!  I mean really happy!

Not that I’m usually angry or sad or anything like that.  I mean, yeah, every new day brings new challenges, disappointments, frustrations, and various other negative things.  I’m pretty sure that’s normal when you’re raising kids, taking care of a house and your family, trying to find new ways to save money and dealing with crazy extended family members.  But for the last little bit, I’ve just been super dooper looper giddy.  And it feels sooooooo good!

That doesn’t mean that everything is perfect in my little corner of the Universe.  Far from it, in fact.  But for whatever reason, it’s a lot easier to accept the bad when you’ve got the best surrounding you with love and acceptance each and every day.  I’ve known for a long time now that Mountain Man loves me for who I am, unconditionally.  But it never ceases to amaze me just how deep that love goes and just how much better things are knowing that he’s around.

So, I’m not sure if these are truly the secrets to happiness, but they’ve helped me immensely.

1) Don’t sweat the small stuff.

Things are not always gonna be perfect, no matter how hard you try.  There’s always gonna be laundry and dishes piling up, and from time to time, there’s gonna be “stuff” laying on every surface that will hold something.  That’s life.

2) You can’t fix everything, (or everyone).

You are one person and no matter how hard you try, you absolutely cannot fix all the world’s problems on your own.

3) You are not in control of anything!

When you stop and think about it, you really don’t have control over anything in this world except yourself and your own actions, and that’s even limited at times.  Once you wrap your mind around this concept, it’s easier to let things be and not worry about every little thing.

4) Worrying doesn’t help!  Period!

Seriously.  Does actual worrying ever fix anything?  No.  All it does is cause internal turmoil and angst.

5) Accept yourself.  

Don’t expect too much from yourself or other people.  Know your limitations and know when to say enough is enough.  Always strive for your best, but know that sometimes good enough is good enough.

6) Love yourself first and everything else will fall into place.

A very wise man has told me this repeatedly, but I’ve not fully mastered this one, just yet.  I fully see the logic behind this concept, but I’m constantly guilty of putting others in my life before me.  I think that’s an innate part of being a woman and a Mother.  I am starting to see the truth in this statement and I’ve put it into practice, just a little, here and there.  I kinda feel a little guilty when I do, though, so this one’s gonna require baby steps.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the first one to use these little tid bits and I’m certain I won’t be the last.  In fact, the very first phrase listed happens to be the title of a book!  These things just happened to enter my thoughts this morning and I thought I’d share.  Plus, there’s that whole thing I’ve got going where I’m trying to write something everyday.

Again, thank you for being patient with me.  I am, most definitely, a work in progress.

Am I Getting Dumber With Age?

Do you believe that as we age, we lose a certain amount of knowledge with every passing day, month, year, decade, etc.?  I’ve read several articles eluding to just that and here lately, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some truth to these findings.  I haven’t quite figured out what’s going on just yet, but some days I feel as though I’m actually getting dumber.

I’ll be having a conversation and I can see the word I want to use for just a split second and then, poof, it’s gone and I have to pause for a moment to try and recover it from somewhere deep in the recesses of my somewhat rather large head.  You’d think that having a head as big as mine is, there’d be plenty of room in there to adequately store all these words in some sort of organized way so they may be retrieved when needed.  No such luck for this gal.

Honestly though, there are times when I seriously debate whether or not I’m actually losing brain cells, or just misplacing them, as the years keep passing by.  I mean, I always thought that you’re supposed to get smarter with age, wiser.  I’ve really been wracking my brain about this over the last few weeks because my condition just seems to be getting worse with every passing day.

I’ve joked around for years now that Aricept is in my future.  For those of you that don’t know, Aricept is a drug that helps to slow the development of Alzheimer’s.  While I don’t believe I have early onset Alzheimer’s or some form of dementia, I just know there’s gotta be a reason for all this forgetfulness!

I’ve had an unhealthy relationship with Post It notes pretty much my entire adult life just to keep me on track and remind me of the little things that I just can’t seem to keep straight.  You know: what to grab before I leave the house in the morning, where I placed an item that I’ll be needing later in the day, what I need to do for someone before I go to bed, etc.  That’s not so bad, right?

Oh, and one of the best examples of my ability to possibly be the world’s most scatter brained, yet educated woman occurred shortly after I started college.  This story will undoubtedly be told long after I’m dead and gone.  And please bear in mind that during this period in my life, I was a married, full time, adult college student, working two jobs, and raising two boys, one just starting kindergarten and the other in second grade.  Neither of my boys rode the bus at this point, either, so to say that mornings were hectic at my house would be a gross understatement.  Looking back, I have a feeling this might’ve led to my forgetfulness at the time.

Trying, in vain, I might add, to get all three of us up and ready for school, was at times, some of the most difficult days of all of my years being a Mother.  It never failed, my youngest son was an early riser, so he was always up, ready and raring to go at the crack of dawn.  And he was always so happy.  He’d greet me every morning with a smile and a big hug and kiss.  I sure do miss those good morning kisses.  While my other son could have slept through a nuclear attack outside his bedroom window without ever even rolling over.  And he was the devil incarnate!  Talk about someone who’s not a morning person!  Wow.  Looking back, it’s a miracle we ever made it through any of those early school mornings.

Anyway, my morning had to start with coffee before I was able to function.  Until the caffeine hits the synapses, I’m completely useless as a human being.  So, I get about three sips of my coffee, while getting the kids dressed, fed, teeth brushed, getting myself fed, dressed, folding clothes that were in the dryer, re-loading the dryer, starting another load of laundry, putting dishes away, taking out the garbage, studying again for another yet another anatomy test, making beds, returning an important phone call, cleaning up spilled milk, assisting with tying shoes, packing lunches, making sure stray toys hadn’t found their way into back packs or jackets.  You know, just the usual morning stuff that every Mama has to go through.  Wait.  What?  You mean all Mama’s don’t do this every morning?  Seriously?  Hmmmm.

Somewhere in the midst of all the insanity and chaos that was taking place all around me, it occurred to me that I had only had just enough caffeine to tickle and tease my senses.  I could still smell the coffee lingering in the air, but for the life of me, I could not locate my cup!  I searched everywhere!  I’ll bet I made fifty trips up and down the steps in our apartment looking in every room, on every counter, dresser, and nightstand.  I knew I’d actually had a cup of coffee that morning.  I could still taste the last sip I’d taken.

I tried to retrace my steps to locate my missing java, but it was GONE!  Completely vanished into thin air.  I started asking the kids if they’d hid it from me as a joke, I was asking myself if I’d hid it from me as a joke.  This was getting serious.  I literally thought I was losing my mind that morning.

Just when I was ready to just wave the white flag of defeat and crawl back under the covers, I happened to glance over at the microwave.  And wouldn’t ya know it.  There sat my coffee mug inside the microwave where I had put it earlier to warm it back up.  I had to just laugh.  I laughed until I was crying because I felt like I might just truly be losing my mind.  My kids laughed with me, (not at me, of course), and then we headed off to school and work.

I’ve never actually lost my coffee again since then, but I have brewed countless pots of hot water and even recently made a big ol piping hot pot of nothing.  I remembered the coffee, but forgot the water.

I’ve always said that it’s a good thing I’m cute, ’cause God knows there’s gotta be a trade off for Mountain Man to keep me around.  For while I consider myself to be very intelligent and well read, these days my conversational skills just aren’t up to par.  I’m blaming multitasking and stressful parenting for all my forgetfulness.

I’m hoping that this too shall pass.

If not, let’s hope I stay cute for a long, long time!

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