Here are my reasons #123 & #124 (because I’m sure that after 9 years together I already have up to #122 and I want Husband to get a little interwebby love) for why I love my husband.

Like many Americans we have been scaled back to a one income household and have had to do the money shuffle.  My student loan has laid dormant in deferment, we’ve had to scale way back and live more frugally, we figured out our credit card scenario very quickly and the biggest change was that we were going to stop having two kids in daycare/preschool and I was to become a SAHM (the biggest savings!).  I wrote about my earlier SAHM adjustment (or lack thereof) here, here and here.  Making all these changes haven’t been a joy ride, but it’s been a good learning lesson.

In our ongoing attempt to keep the belt tight, Husband did all the homework and majority of the paperwork for a mortgage loan modification through a government program called Making Home Affordable.  It was a big effort to jump through all the hoops and information to provide.  However, we did it and last month we were approved.  We’ve heard how incredibly lucky we are.  I’m so thankful that our mortgage has been cut to almost half.  Yippeee!

A week after the initial shock set in, Husband suggested that we get our once-a-month housecleaner back.  (#123)  The thought did cross my mind to take his suggestion as an insult, but after further reflection I met it with sheer relief.  What a tremendous help to have someone else clean the house all in one day!  I’m beyond delighted!  Clearly that doesn’t mean that I stop cleaning all together because isn’t the life of the SAHM all about routine and maintenance?  I’m just tickled to death that this was Husband’s idea and not my own.  Yeah Husband!

Poor dear stayed home from work today part for a mental health day and part because he was really sick.  Whatever.  He deserves it (a mental health day not the sore throat).  He works hard for us.  Anyways, it’s Monday and I’m doing my 5+ loads today.  Our washer ups and breaks.  Oh shit.  We’ve had some poor experience with Sears service calls so my handy Husband (#16) starts disassembling our front load washer.  If you’ve ever seen it done then you know it isn’t easy.  So many parts!  After 3 hours and some of my sheer brute strength and intellect help he fixed not one, but two things with it!  (#124)  Dammit and I was hoping to get out of doing any more laundry today.

I love that man of man.  Cheers Husband!

[done to a dorky dance...] You’re so awesome. You’re so awesome. You’re so awesome!

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I just watched one of the most smart, witty, romantic and ingenious movies I’ve seen in a long time, Lost in Austen. Very clever. If you are a fan of Jane Austen, have always struggled with understanding the attraction to Mr. Darcy, or get frustrated and still love the social rigidity of Georgian England, this movie is a must see.  Anyways, there was a part of the movie that literally made me laugh so hard (because it was incredibly unexpected) that I almost woke up Baby.  Husband later asked me what was so funny.  Yeah, I don’t think that was so funny to him. (For those that watch the movie-“Will you do me one little favor?”  OMG, that was a knee slapper!)

The other day, I was running errands and I always enjoy looking at people in their cars while we’re together at a stop light.   Just so happened, that I was behind a handsome older man driving a Porsche Carrera Convertible.  This happens a lot in Southern California; they’re not hard to find.  Ok, so I checked him out.  Then I looked at his license plate frame that read Kairos Prison Ministries.  Then I noticed the cross hanging from his review mirror.  For some reason, the license plate frame really struck my funny bone and I couldn’t stop laughing.

Now, please don’t get me wrong.  I’m glad that there are people out there in the world that do this work.  Seriously, God bless them.  However, I just found it incredibly ironic that someone that preaches the word of god drives a car that represents wealth, and some would even say excess.  Didn’t we learn from the faith-based fraud of the 80s?  I judge too quickly.  Maybe he came by the Porsche honestly.  Maybe he’s a man of former wealth who now can devote his time comforting and counseling others.  It still strikes me as funny ha-ha and funny strange.  Nonetheless, it kept me laughing all the way to Target.

Today, is one of those days.  Thankfully, I have quiet time enough to write this.  The boys just want to push each others’ buttons (and my buttons too!) and I have 10 loads of laundry to wash and fold and this awfully messy house to get in order or I’m gonna lose it.  I called some friends for advice, which has been great (thank you ladies!).  And in writing this, I know I just need to let go and laugh more with them.  I’ll find a laughing activity when they both get up.  I’m lucky to have the opportunity to be with them.  Look, we all know there will always be more laundry.

Is today’s post about letting go and letting god?  Or just laughing a little more with god?  I dunno.  But I know she likes to laugh too.  Cheers friends!

P.S.  Blogher of Hapiheart, I love you!  It was great to find you and I hope you don’t mind me “borrowing” you awesome laughing Buddha.  I’m a fan of yours and look forward to reading more regularly.  We need more of you and your conversation in the world!  Thank you!

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Here’s what I learned.  I need more quiet time.  Plain and simple.

I realize that being a SAHM (stay at home mom) means that you’re home a lot.  Sure you might leave the house during the week to run errands, go to the park, or to the library.  But when do you really have a day off?  NEVER.  You come home to “your work.”  Ok, I realize that some women may be offended by relating my kids and home to work.  But I take my job seriously (and not so seriously too!  We have lots of fun and laughs).  Nonetheless, for me, being a SAHM is WORK.  I’ve been having a hard time legitimizing that!

My husband gets to GO to work then come home.  My home (and family) is my work.  I live in my work place.  I think I’ve been feeling the effects of what it must be like to work to live.  Work is never done.  I have felt overwhelmed and equally underwhelmed of late.  I’ve lost a sense of myself (probably at the bottom of the toy box) and I’ve dug my head under books and Bejeweled Blitz (damn that game!) to hide out and wallow.  I feel like I’ve been dazed and confused.

I used to work (out of the home) and it cost me.  It cost my sense of humor; perspective of my family and finances; and particularly my relationship with BigBoy (we like each other so much more now).  I always felt like I was just barely dog paddling enough to keep my head out of the water.  For those working moms who are keeping it together, I applaud you.  It’s fast paced dance, so good for you if you can keep up with the rhythm with some sort of grace and joy.

So enough complaining.  Lola helped to lift the fog.  I see that if I spent some more time engaged in the activities that I know take care of me, I’ll be happier, healthier, and have my head on straight.  Enough of the hitting myself on the head for not getting everything done.  I’m not gonna get it all done.  I know that.  I will find more joy and ease in my life (not to mention a sense of accomplishment in my day) if I do my meditations (5 minutes helps), morning yoga (5 sun salutations), and journaling (blogging helps too!).  I learned some great techniques for staying on the positive side of life from another great friend and teacher, Rita Hovakimian, that I know work!  So I’ve pulled out my old notebook from her class and started reading and writing.  Yeah!

I’ve always been a big supporter of afternoon quiet time (for all of us).  BigBoy doesn’t have to sleep, but play quietly in his room and Baby goes down for his nap.  Recently, I’ve not been rigorous about the amount of time, but I’m reinstating the 1-1/2 hour afternoon minimum (but I’d like to shoot for 2 hours!).  This is when I get to do what I want, not laundry or dishes (out of obligation), but uninterrupted time to lunch, relax, write, and read (moderately).  And yes, I’m blessed because I have kids that can stay (relatively) quietly in their own rooms.  The truth of the matter is that I need my down time.  It helps me listen to the unending story of garbage trucks just a little bit longer in the evening.  It helps me not want to yell at my husband when he walks in the door.  It helps me complain less and love this life a little more.  Because I really do cherish this time.

I also have Annie Witzmann to thank for taking care of my boys on Fridays.  I call them Sanity Fridays.  I get to do my own stuff without the boys.  It’s like a weekend (pre-kids) crammed into 8-hours.  Sometimes I pay the bills (I’ve learned that uninterrupted time means that they go on time with the right amounts!) and clean house, but other times I go to the movies (saw Whip It and loved it!) or walk on the beach.  So thank you god for having me hear this message.  Got it.  Shhh!  It’s quiet time.  Cheers and THANK YOU friends!

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Oh no. Not you? Who’d it be? Certainly not me!

Yes, it’s true. I’ve become THAT woman.  You know the one. The woman you talk about with your closest girlfriend (who I call my “sistafriends”), where you can throw around the dirt and it’s safe – the conversation doesn’t leave the kitchen counter (or wine bar).  Not that YOU do that.  But THAT woman where you say, “poor thing, the kids have taken over” or “Wow. There’s too much crap in her house” or maybe even, “She’s losing it.”  I felt bad for THAT woman and wondered if she had given up or was just too overwhelmed?  C’mon, how hard is it to stay home with the kids?  I mean really, people.

Well, here I am.  I’ve become Her.  I used to say those things, but now I don’t.  I GET IT.  It’s hard to keep it all together – the groceries, the cleaning (what little I do of it…always pressing up against my line of what I can tolerate vs. getting away with), the constant flow of laundry (oh the laundry!), doing the dishes, making lunch, fixing dinners, wiping noses, changing diapers, applying band aids, picking up, picking up, picking up, not to mention the numerous interruptions when I’m actually trying to do something that doesn’t directly involve the kids (you know, like the bills, responding to an email, looking for a job, trying to blog, returning calls, scheduling a playdate, etc.).

How was I ever a full time working mom of two plus a husband?  I still cooked, picked up, read books, returned person emails, called friends.  But the truth of the matter is that a) I had a house cleaner and b) I didn’t spend anytime with the kids and in fact, BigBoy didn’t like me very much.  That wasn’t good.  So yes, there is a good payoff, but does it have to be my sanity?

So here I am.  My house looks like the toy box vomited.  Everywhere.  In the living room, kitchen, dining room, my office/playroom and on the stairs.  You’ll find toys in the master bedroom, hallway, guest room, boys’ bathroom, and all over their floor and in ever nook and cranny of their rooms.  Stepping on a piece of plastic at anytime (particularly at night) can send me on a fiery rage instantly, but no, I keep my cool.  But it’s pushing me close to the edge.  It’s certainly driving me to drink more (but not like Sally) and little tokey now and again, which certainly has been a hot topic around the Bloghersphere.  But we’ll address those issues at a later time.

I know people excuse the mess by saying, “what do you expect with two kids under five?”  Well quite frankly I expect a bit more organization and a little less chaos.  Thankyouverymuch. Oh I don’t mind a little mess.  You should see my desk or the linen closet.  But c’mon all over the house?  How many times a day do I have to pick up this shit?

And might I say, comparatively, we don’t have that much stuff.  I limit the toys to one toy box for Big Boy, one for BabyD, and one downstairs in the office/playroom.  Anymore than that is too much.  But it’s like Pandora’s box, once it’s opened, it goes everywhere!!!  Yes, I make sure the boys pick up right before Husband gets home, so he’s not freaked out when he walks in the door.  Really, I just want him to take the kids outside and play (read: away from me) so I can cook, have a glass of wine, and relax a bit, rather than him having to pick up after us.

Is it just a case of keeping calm and carrying on?  How do I untangle my sanity being related to all this crap on the floor?  I need a system or I will be driven to more substance use or the loony bin.  I did a good job this weekend going through Big Boy’s toy box eliminating the little pieces of crap, toys he doesn’t play with, and basically the toys that I hate.  I did receive good feedback like “hey Mom, I found my little man that I’ve been missing!”  But I still have the downstairs to do.  It’s like cleaning the toilets, someone has to do it.  It’s gonna be me.  I hate it.

Then I probably need to do this every six months.  And train them (and myself) to pick up before going to bed.  Nothing makes my day start out with a groan like walking downstairs and seeing the living room floor covered with toys.  Ugh jen, get a grip on yourself, woman!

Also, do you think it bad of me to ask guests to the boys’ birthday parties not to bring gifts of toys?  Will this permanently dement my children?  Both of the boys’ birthdays come right after the holidays and the expense and consumption of the season never really sits right with me.  I’ll tackle that one later.

For now, let me just say thanks to my sistafriends Bryn and Lola who help me with this craziness and those friends I have yet to meet, JerseyGirl and Mrs. FussyPants (and the other funny women on the blogosphere).  Thank you for making me laugh through my path as a SAHM and being THAT woman.  She’s not so bad.  I’m learning to not suffer through my insanity and love every minute of it.  Cheers ladies!

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Where am I these days? Am I lost? No. Well maybe a little bit. I’m working on finding my way through a storm.

Am I okay? Yes, but weary. I need to find my peaceful waters. I am close. I can feel it.

So, how do I get there? Writing. I can feel my way through. It always helps to write what’s working first. There are undeniable, beautiful things in my life right now. So I’ll start there.

Holy cow (as Drew is fond of saying right now)…Encinitas is simply beautiful! I thank god often for being able to enjoy my life here. The ocean, blue skies, palm trees (f’ing palm trees – sometimes I want to gag, sometimes I want to giggle) and the completely sublime weather. (I swear if I had a dollar for every person that complains about the weather here! There are so many complainers and I COMPLETELY do not understand what there is to gripe about!) It’s summertime and it couldn’t be more spectacular weather. Hell, I’m taking the boys and going to the beach today for a few hours. Not bad, eh?

Those boys – I was laid off in January and the blessing is that I’ve gotten to discover who these gorgeous little blondie boys are. I have two: BigBoy is 4 ½ and BabyD is 1 ½ . To me they are simply stunning and often they take my breath away with their smiles. It’s funny that I once couldn’t even think of myself as a mom and here I am blown over by two half pints. The boys are the best gift I’ve ever received – and wow, they are a gift that keeps on giving.

My husband – I’ve got a good’en (as Grammy would say). And I should be WAY MORE generous with him than I am (god help me). Husband is reliable, trustworthy, tall and charming, can carry on a conversation and is witty, he’s handsome and sweet-hearted, handy and a super-duper Daddy. He’s also a thick-headed guy sometimes who needs to slow down and listen and think more with his heart. But isn’t that most men? He’s my husband, we’re so married and we’re going the distance because I love him madly. And yes, I am challenged. It’s what I asked for I suppose. (cue Aimee Mann “You’ve got, what you want. You can’t hardly stand it.”)

These are the things I know to be TRUE. You should also know that I am a woman of faith. Not like in god with a capital G (tho I’m not opposed to using that word because it’s how most of us label our belief, but I’ll use a small g, thankyouverymuch). Maybe it’s more that I believe in Magic, but not like the capital W (tho I don’t rule that out either). It’s more that I believe in the beautiful, simple, small miracles. I believe that the world works, good triumphs over evil, words and thoughts can shape and shift reality in a blink of an eye. It’s a tingly feeling that makes things happen. It’s like all the good of Disneyland when you’re a kid and letting go of my adult cynicism of marketing, money and mouse ears. As my friend Victoria would say, it’s getting in the flow.

So what’s my problem? Like many of us – financial strain, of course. Finding what’s real for me as related to my next career/job. Ideally I want work that is authentic for me, a real expression of who I am. Can I just do a job and be thankful for a paycheck? Maybe, I just need to get over myself. I dunno, you tell me. This all leads me to my biggest struggle – many families’ dilemma. Do I work to put my kids in someone else’s care? I love the people that care for my boys, please don’t get me wrong, but often it’s just about equal: my pay would pay for day care and that’s about it. (and when I say day care, yes, BigBoy would go to preschool). This seems too crazy to comprehend.

And if we can make this work and I can stay home, will I finally lose my identity under a load of laundry? It could happen, trust me. For god sakes, I already drive a minivan. Sometimes I even am repulsed when I think of myself driving 80 down the 5 freeway with my venti latte in one hand and singing Madonna at the top of my lungs (Oh the cliché! Oh the horror! My kids may not play soccer yet, but it’s coming!)

I also will be going to hell (if I believed in hell) because I care about how I look. Vanity is a sin, isn’t it? It’s strange to live in Southern California where people barely wear clothes and 40 IS right around the corner! Really, I just want to feel good about myself, but aging in getting in the way. I know…from the inside out and all that stuff. But have you looked in the mirror lately and said, “Where did that come from?” The real question is where is it going?

And another thing…I need more sex. Let me be clear – with my husband. You know the emotional clogging that gets in the way of really letting it go? (women, back me up here) Well we’re in need of emotional Drain-O! And I struggle here. You’d think with all this writing and putting it out on the internet, I wouldn’t have a problem talking with my husband, but I do.

And that brings me back to the beginning…I write because I can’t afford therapy right now. Writing will help me find my calmer waters and fix my drains. So have a drink with me and let’s toast to the sea!

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