Who is this lady?

Please bare with me on this post, it is going to be a ramble.

This year I became something I swore I would not become.  I became one of those moms.  You know, the ones that scream for their kids when they are in an athletic event.  I became a wrestling mom to a scrappy 6-year old boy.  That is right, the Boychild is wrestling.  So, I support him 150%.  I am that crazy lady hollering for him to do his best.  Hollering for him to give it his all, to not give up, for the other player to earn their points and pin.  I jump up and down when he scores points.  

Notice above there that I am not hollering for him to win.  I am not hollering at him if he makes a “mistake.”  I am not hollering against the other 6 year old wrestler.  I am hollering for my child and for him to give his 100% at what he is doing.  

It hit me this weekend that the last 6 months have changed the dynamic between my children and me.  The last 6 months have changed the dynamic between my husband and myself.  The reason is, I killed Super Mom.  The Bitch is dead and disposed of in Lake Berkley.  I was the Super Volunteer!  I was Mrs. Can’t Say No.  I was to show my kids what a woman with a outside of the house career should be like.  I was trying to be everything to everyone else, but myself and my family.  I wanted to show the Girlchild what a strong woman does.  In September, all the balls I had been juggling started to crash around my head.  I had a breakdown.  It took my husband and parents stepping into the mess for me to  finally realized how over extended I was.  I realized I had lost focus.  My kids didn’t want Super Mom.  They just wanted Mom.  They wanted plain old Me.

So, I killed Super Mom!  I buried the crazy lady that needed to be involved in everything, volunteering for everything, doing everything, and was getting nothing accomplished.  I found a new way to be the strong female role model my kids needed.  I became just Mom.  I became the lady that just sits and cuddles- I have no where more important to be.  I became the mom that colors and plays school.  These things may sound like they should have been happening all along.  But, they were not.  I was letting the most important things slide.  My career now takes backseat to my “salon” time at the House of Girlchild.  My volunteer activities no longer interfere with saving the Lego City in the Boychild’s room.  My outside activities are second to the time I spend with my husband.  I am happy to report that my career has not suffered.  My volunteer activities are fewer in number but more meaningful.  My husband is no longer second fiddle to everything else.

I took on a new title after that, Just Mom.  But, after last weekend it now include the subtext of Wrestling Mom.  I want the Boychild to win.  That would be AWESOME!  But, more than that, I just want him to give 110% of himself when he out on the mat.  I want him to know how proud he makes me just by being himself.  I want the Girlchild to know how proud I am when she doesn’t cry during a tooth extraction and when she is just herself.  I want my children to know without a doubt that they make me proud and they are loved without me saying it.  Intil then, I will tell them it every day.  I will tell it to them in front of friends and family.  I will shout it to the world and Facebook.  I want my kids to know that I really like who they are.  I want them to know that I enjoy their company.  I cherish their insights and wisdom.  I adore their innocence and the truth they speak.  I am in awe of their curiosity.  These are all the things I lost when I was trying to be Super Mom.  These are the things I found when I became Just Mom.

Whoever said we had to have it all never tried to have it all.  Whoever said that we need to be Super Mom needs to be kicked in the shin.  I think I can handle just being Just Mom.  I am learning the ropes as Wrestling Mom.  God save me, though, the Girlchild wants to be a cheerleader, and I may have to add the subtitle of Cheer Mom.  That one may take some getting used to.  I think I can do Cheer Mom; so long as Cheer Mom reminds her daughter that Smart is better than Ditzy, Girls do math and science, and Kindness looks best on people.  As long as Wrestling Mom doesn’t preach Winning is everything, teaches her Boychild that losing is not failure but something to learn from, Boys do science and math, and kindness looks best on people.

This is going to be a long and learning journey.   But, I think I can do it as long as I remember that I need to be Just Mom.

I Shouldn't Be Here

I shouldn’t be here.  I shouldn’t be alive.  Thank You God for letting me live.

Those three sentences have been a constant mantra of mine for the last fifteen years. 

I shouldn’t be here.  There is no explanation for why I was not killed.  People have died in less severe accidents than I experienced.  I shouldn’t have survived.  I should have died.

My life and the course I was on were forever altered that fateful September day in 1997.  I should have died.  I should have been crushed to death.  I should have lost limbs.  I should have been decapitated.  But, I was not.  I lived.  I have all my limbs.  I only suffered broken bones and a minor (in the scheme of things) brain injury.

At that time, I was engaged and planning on that being my last year of school, so I could get married and become a wife.  However, the worst laid plans have a way of being blown up.  Blown into smithereens.  Shattered.  And then a new path is shown to you down that broken road.  You see, I was in a car accident on I-15, mile marker 189 on Monida Pass in south western Montana.  I rolled my Ford Bronco II five times while going 75 miles an hour.  I should have died.  Yet, I did not.

While I was recovering at my parents’ home and even to this day, I wonder, “Why did I not die?  Why was I spared?”  My mother and paternal grandmother Martha always had the answer during those days.  It was simple.  “God has other plans for you.  You are needed on a different path.  There are no accidents or coincidences in life.”

During my recovery, I experienced even more  loss.  One of my dearest friends was killed.  I broke off my engagement.  I almost flunked out of school.  I would experience lapses in memory and find myself somewhere I had no recollection of getting to (no alcohol needed).  I felt that I was at rock bottom.  I did want to die.  I contemplated it.  I was so scared.  I could not see that path I needed to be on. 

However, during that time, hope was given to me.  A new path was shown to me.  The man that is now my husband entered my life.  Better plans were made.

So, I go back to there being no coincidences in life.  Life has made that quite clear to me.  Our daughter was born on September 8, 2005.  However, her due date was September 5, 2005- the 8 year anniversary of my little car accident.  My new path and new life had a celebration on the anniversary of what could have been the date of my death.  New life was being celebrated.

My Grandmother Martha passed away on April 4, 2006.  She was a strong willed woman.  She and my mother always pushed me to be more.  Never settle.  Our son was born on April 4, 2007.  Again, we were celebrating life on a tragic anniversary.  

When I get up in the morning, I look in the mirror and wonder, “Am I dreaming?  Is this real?”  It is real.  This is my second chance.  This is my path.  I shouldn’t be here, but I am.  I shouldn’t be alive, but with every breath I know that I am.  Every tear and laugh I still can share, I am alive.  I know that my path may be broken, but it is the path I need to be on.  Thank God I am still alive.  Thank God for second chances.  Grasp every first chance you get, because there may not be a second chance.

I am not THAT kind of Mom

Over the last seven years and half, I have had to acknowledge and embrace my human nature and where I fail.  Why seven and half years?  What changed then?  Well, an amazing little girl was brought into this world after 28 hours of labor.  I did not get to hear her first cries or see her take her first breath.  I was unconscious.  Emergency C-sections happen that way.  I used to count that as my first failure to her.  I wasn’t there for her when she took her first breath in the cold, bright, harsh world.  I did not get to hold her and reassure her.  Two hours after her birth, I finally was awake enough to hold her.  I refused to let her go.  The nurses had to pry her from me when they had to go do check her over again because of the stress we both endured the last two hours of the labor.  I cried in joy every time I held her for the first two weeks after she was born.  I finally let go of that “failure” when I moved onto the next one.

Nineteen months later that amazing little girl was joined by a screaming red faced little boy.  Another “failure” here was I panicked.  I did NOT want to have a little boy.  I wanted two little girls.  Boys were alien to me.  I grew up with a sister and mostly girl cousins.  I KNEW that I was not going to have any idea how to handle a boy.  Then I held him.  None of the doubts mattered anymore.  This was my little boy.  Then he peed on me.  We were back to not understanding boys.  I am learning though.  He is a GREAT teacher.

Over the last almost eight years, those failures have been many and sometimes make me wonder “Who in the hell let me be a parent?”  However, some of those “failures” have made for great stories and growing experiences.

I am human.  I curse like a sailor.  I occasionally drink too much wine.  I am short tempered.  As I get older, I do not suffer fools.  I am selfish.  I am addicted to coffee.  Did I mention I curse like a sailor?

Both kids have learned their first “bad” words from Mama (as I am called).  They have busted them out at the most inopportune times (or most memorable).  Shit!  That is my FAVORITE cuss word.  It has many uses.  I am sure my kids know most of their uses and how to use it properly in almost all situations.  In fact, they have on occasion.  

By now, you may be wondering what I am getting at.  We as parents are always going to have failures.  We are human.  But, one thing I have learned this past six months, I cannot truly fail my children as long as I love them and give them my best.  My best may not be stellar and it is never award winning.  I am often frizzled.  I will never be one of those moms that has all her shit together.  I am ok with that.  My kids still get my best and they know without a doubt that they are my priority.  They KNOW that I love them to the moon and back.  They know that they are the greatest gifts God has and will ever give me.  I have quit comparing myself to the other mothers out there.  I don’t want to be super mom.  I just want to be Mom.

Every day, I tell my children sorry for something I have FUBAR’ed.  EVERYDAY!  The words “I’m so sorry” are not foreign to me and my children are used to hearing it from me.  I hope that by hearing me say those words to them, they do not see failure as a sign of weakness.  I hope they see it as part of being human.  They do not see the stumbles, trips, and falls they take as failure, but a chance to grow and learn.  I know that because they forgive me and let me grow every day, they have made me a better person.

What was that little white pill, again?

I have an addictive personality.  This does not mean that I am addicitve.  No, it means that I have urges everyday to give in to my demons and wallow in the booze or the pain pills.  So, imagine my joy after undergoing oral surgery that one of the pain pills is Vicodin.  That lovely little white pill that could take me to a happy place.  Have I taken the Vicodin since the surgery?  You bet I have.  I also have taken Advil 800.  Do I like taking the Vicodin?  Oh heck no!  I do not care for what it does to me.  I am flighty(more so than normal) and it rips my stomach up.   

Do I crave more than one of those pills during the day?  Oh yes.  I crave that happy floaty feeling.  It is the same one that I get from alcohol.  It takes me to a happy place where there is no pain and unicorns fart rainbows.  9 years ago, I would have willing took those pills and craved every minute of their rapture.  That was 9 years ago.  A lifetime.  That was when Tom and I were on the rocks.  That was before I had a daughter that makes my heart soar.  It was before I had a son that reminds me to smile and laugh.  That was before I really clued into what an amazing man I married.  It was before I clued into what marriage meant.  It was when I was still lost and struggling.  The pills would have made me the fun party girl.  It was the place that people liked me because I was fun.  It was before that time Tom and I were going to file for divorce.  It was a lifetime ago.

So, I did take the Vicodin at night when my mouth hurt so bad I was in tears.  I felt guilty with every pill I took.  I cried everytime I took the Vicodin.  I crawled into bed and wished the urges to disappear.  I crawled into bed feeling like the scum of the earth.  Tom found me in the kitchen having a stare down with the Vicodin bottle on night.  He said nothing.  He just gave me a hug.  A big hug.  He knew my inner turmoil.  He then said to me, "You're not that scared girl anymore.  You are a mom, wife, and strong woman.  That pill isn't going to win.  Take it so you can get some sleep and not be in pain."  He was and is right.  I am not the scared girl anymore.  Now, I am a scared woman.  But, I wasn't going to let the damned Vicodin and happy floaty feeling define me any longer.  I just wished I had figured that out the first time I had the blasted surgery.

Broken Hearts and Adulthood

One of the most hollow feelings as a person is to be forgotten by those that claim to love you.  However, this past year I have learned that is not the most hollow feeling.  One of the most gut wrenching and hollow feelings I have experienced is seeing your children being forgotten by family.  I am not talking about extended family such as great aunts and uncles.  No, it is seeing your children being forgotten by your siblings and your spouses' siblings.  Seeing your amazing kids forgotten by those that you made a point of remembering in the past.  I have cried myself sick and drank myself sick this past year over this.  As an adult, I can cope and deal with being forgotten by the charlatans that proclaim loudly what great family they are, how caring they are, and how unselfish they are.  These are the same people that have no use for me when I serve no purpose in their schemes.  But, this past year has had me witness the apathy that others have for me be reflected in how the do not interact with my children.  I guess that since I am not in their thoughts or register on any level of significance  my children do not exist.  It cause me great heartache.  I have no explanations for my kids except some adults are poopheads.  I saw my son's heart break and shatter into pieces this weekend because he noticed those that don't notice him.  All I could do is remind him of how amazing he is and that those that truly care about him, remembered him.  Those people were here for him, even if they could not physically be here (damn flu and traveling sports (I kid there)).  They remembered him.

This past weekend I told a family member, someone of my blood, that I divorce myself from them.  It stings like hell.  It is an open and gaping wound.  It is going to scar my soul.  I saw no other option.  I still see no other option.  It was like the story of the Ice Queen and the glass/ice shards, but I would not let those shards penetrate my children.  Those shards have frozen my heart to this person.  I am numb.  I am not apathetic though.  The opposite of love is apathy.  The ability to not care.  That is what has been shown to myself and my children.  However, I still feel the pain of caring.  There are days that I wish that I had the apathy.  But, I know that will never come.  Apathy is like a disease.  It is not isolated to one person or one topic.  It is all consuming and will eat your soul.  I can not afford that disease.  So, I divorced myself from someone that I have loved for as long as I can remember.  I divorced someone that was at one time my best friend.  I divorced myself from their apathy.

But, in the same breath, i was reminded over and over and over and over and over and over again by my sisters here in Butte, my other mom's here in Butte, and my own biological mother that I matter.  That my children matter.  That my husband matters.  It doesn't depend on your age, we all want and need to know that we mean something to others and to those we love.  We matter.  We are cared for.  I thank God for those that care for me and my children.

By the end of the weekend I still hurt.  I bawled last night.  But, I got up this morning knowing that my children are loved and so am I.  Heartbreaks come in many different shapes and sizes and forms.  Heartbreak can come from those that we have loved since childhood.  But, I hold fast to the knowledge that I matter to someone.  I am not forgotten.  I am not invisible.  I may never be visible to the one that I divorced, but there are others out there that give enough damn to see my children and myself.  I just hope those amazing people know how visible they are to me and how much they mean to me.  Those amazing sisters, moms, and husband matter to me and my children.

Lightened up Omelette "Muffins"

Some of you know, that at the begining of the year, I joined the "Lighten Your Load" challenge at our local YMCA and began the resolution of losing weight.  Well, this hasn't been a diet.  No, it is much BIGGER!  THis has been a lifestyle change.  A HUGE lifestyle change.  To date, I am at a weight that I have no been at since before I was preganant with our daughter almost 7 years ago! So, I have been lightening up recipes, trying new recipes, and diving the Norman family completely bonkers.  I think they have wanted to kill me at some points.  However, I am feeling wonderful.  With this lifestyle change, I am more aware of what my kids and Tom are putting into their bodies.  I want them to eat healthy ALL the time.  I want breakfast to really matter to them.  However, during the week, we are short on time in the morning (school and work).  So, I adapted some recipes I had found and made omelette muffins for them tomorrow morning.  Just bake them the night before, cool and refidgerate, and heat in the microwave in the morning.  We have had them before, and the kids like them.  So, it is a win! Here is the recipe:

Omelette "Muffins"

1 c. egg substitute
2 Tbsp fat free milk
2 oz. fat free smoked turkey lunch meat, diced into small pieces
6 Tbsp reduced fat meican cheese
6 muffin liners

In a bowl or 2 C measuring cup, mix the egg substitute and milke.  Line a muffin tin with the muffin liners.  Evenly distribute the egg and milk mix between the 6 liners.  Spinkle the diced meat in the six filled muffin liners.  Then to each well (muffin liner), add 1 Tsp of cheese.  Bake at 350F for 20 minutes.  Remove from oven and allow to cool.



You made what with Saffron?!

When I moved to Butte, I never imagined making anything but rice with saffron.  It was an expensive spice that I knew nothing about.  Then, I started to become ingrained into the Butte culture that is rich in history and many ethnic dishes.  I had a dear friend introduce me to saffron bread.  It is a delicacy she only makes at Christmas.  I was HOOKED!  Then, my wonderful husband came home with the "Butte Heritage Cookbook."  There, in the Cornish section were the recipes for saffron bread (cake) and saffron cookies.  I wasn't brave enough to make the saffron bread (yet).  So, I made the cookies.  I fell in love with the delicate, uniquely flavored shortbread cookies.  They are a beautiful golden color and require a minimal amount of saffron.  Now, here in Butte, we have a grocer- Front Street Market- that sells saffron for $3.50 a packet.  So, now that Christmas is approaching, I have purchased my saffron and the saffron cookies are on my to do list.  This recipe comes from page 18 of the "Butte Heritage Cookbook'" int he Cornish section.  I hope you enjoy it as much as we (and our neighbors) do.

Saffron Cookies

1 C. Softened butter
2 ½ C Flour
¾ C Sugar
½ tsp baking powder
1 egg
1/8 tsp salt
¼ tsp ground saffron (soaked in 1 Tbsp hot water)

Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg, then saffron tincture(tea). Gradually add in the flour, baking powder, and salt. Refrigerate until form. Shape small pieces of dough into balls, place on baking sheet and flatten into round cookies with the back of a fork. Bake at 400° for 7-10 minutes.