This is a true statement. I haven't. My answer, to those that ask why, has been that I just haven't been feeling all that inspired.
That really isn't the truth.
The fact is this blog began sort of as a public journal. I wanted to start up again my love for the written word as well as to be frank and open about the deep, dark, beautiful, heartbreaking, soul altering, hilarious gorgeous mess of Motherhood. I wanted to leave a mark about my early role as a Mother. I wanted to tell touching, funny, insane, real stories about my boys.
I wanted it all to be recorded and written and read. For their future as well as my own.
If I'm going to be super cheesy about it all, I will quote the words from Aerosmith's song, my view as a Mother is, 'I Don't Want to Miss a Thing'.
Although every moment I spend with them is certainly not always a treasure...it's ours. The moments are all ours. Unique, chaotic, challenging as hell. Sometimes so ridiculous and frustrating that I have no choice but to laugh and cry at the same time.
And that's all perfectly how it should be.
A lot of the super sweet and hilarious times have been written about. Now that they're older there seems to be so very many moments in a day that happen that I say to myself, "I must write about this. I have to get this down. I can't forget it." So really, my inspiration is daily. Sometimes minute to minute. My children are incredibly entertaining.
So perhaps the problem is that I'm too inspired?
The night comes and I'm so freakin' exhausted that to even open a book some nights and read one page is too much. I honestly don't know how I wrote so much 3 years ago! With a one and two year old at that. But I suppose back then there were such things as naps.
Aha. Now I know.
These days when I hear Finley say something like, 'Upsy-side down', I think, "Oh! Oh! I have to write about that!" Or when he's accused of being or doing something he yells, "NO I AMEN'T!" instead of no I'm not. Or how he calls frost 'frosting'. Or pretty much any dream that he has which are incredible in detail. In fact both my boys are huge dreamers.
But really, who cares about how damn cute all that sounds other than to me and his Dad? Or the unsavoury parts of Finley's childhood when all of a sudden he's terrified of even the most remote dimness in a room. God forbid there's a light off in a room in broad daylight. Shadows are not his friends. Or what about that time recently when he got so pissed off at me that he bit me in the ass and left a red welt and almost made me cry? Or that other time when he was 2 and somehow got a hold of a paring knife and stabbed me in the butt? Only to find out seconds beforehand he was wielding it threateningly it in front of his older brother and I completely ignored the yells because I was too busy making dinner and well...brothers yell at each other? Like all.the.time.??? Perhaps that was a far worse than bad factoid to share about my Mothering skills. But I'm honest. And I can't possibly be the only Mother in the whole of this world that's been pierced with a knife in the buttocks by her 2 year old child as he screams, "HI-YA!"
Right?
The other night as I lay with Adrian he asked me, as he often does, about what toys we played with as kids.
"Did Uncle Russ have Hotwheels Mummy?"
"He sure did. I played with them too."
"You did? What else did you play with?"
"Well when we were little we didn't have nearly as many toys as you guys do..." Yep. This is the sentence that comes out of your mouth when you realize you've become your parents. "But I had a couple Cabbage Patch dolls and I played with My Little Ponies. I also had an Easy Bake Oven that I loved." I recall vividly the 70's style yellowish-hued oven sitting atop the red shag carpet as I sat on my knees in front of it, metal utensil in hand waiting impatiently for it to cook.
This must be where my interest in culinary came from.
Obviously.
"You did?" This was very exciting news for my huge sweet tooth of a son. "Did it really bake cakes?"
"It sure did. Tiny little ones. With a light bulb! I can still remember what they smelled like in my mind."
I can. It's almost like I can actually smell those cakes a bakin' right now.
Adrian takes a deep breath in through his nose, "I can smell candy in my memory. Lollipops. And what Luke and Cole smell like. And Justin and Branden. And I can smell Daddy too. He smells like hair gel. And something else...." He sniffs the air. He is a major olfactory freak. He has a nose like a bloodhound. Just like his father.
"Maybe his deodorant?"
"Yeahyeah! His deodorant. And you smell like..." he sniffs my arm, "Coconut Oil."
Indeed I do.
You see? This is a little moment in time that I am so happy I just wrote down. How perfectly lovely was that?
Tonight as he played Mr. DJ (I have no idea where he gets this obvious and awesome talent from) perched atop the kitchen counters playing an eclectic mix of Green Day, Justin Beiber, Pink and One Direction he announced, "Finley this one is for you!"
On came 'When Can I See You Again?' by Owl City. My baby boy got down like a little Mister and the moment was priceless.
Then there are the every morning moments when they cuddle up to me in my bed and we watch Arthur (best cartoon EVER) or at night when we read book after book and after book...and now my 5 year old is reading which is really too precious to even handle sometimes. He wants to be a doctor you know. He has been saying this pretty much since he could talk. Specifics of the area in which he wishes to practice have recently and alarmingly come into play.
He states, "I want to cut people open."
Future surgeon is the less disturbing way to put it. I've no doubt in my mind that IF that is what he wants to do than certainly with his ingrained determination, perseverance and amazing little brain he will. And if he wishes to work at 4cats Art Studio 'when he grows up' as he mentioned this evening than by all means he should do that too.
"I want to work there too when I grow up!"
He leaned into me, his nose touched mine, "You already are a grown up!"
"Says who!?"
Really...says who? I feel no more older than an awkward 13 year old girl some days.
I suppose if this were to be the last entry I wrote, I hope (if they ever read these) that my sons' can see the one common thread throughout my entire blog; how much I enjoyed them even on the days when I really didn't. If that makes any sense at all. I hope they can see the insane amount of gripping, all encompassing, exponentially second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year growing love that I had, have and will always have for them. And how proud I am of the sweet, energetic, funny, polite, smart, thoughtful little boys they have become so far.
And if you read this whole entire blather and are still here reading, thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you so, so much.
Good night.
Oh and also this...Adrian's first text to his Daddy...
PS...he so cried.
