Summa-Summa-Summa’ Time

My youngest at Lake Mohawk Beach 2011

It’s summa’ time! Time for Hawaiian shaved ice and sorbet. (my two favorites) Time to break out the swimsuit and shorts. (or in my case this year, just my capris) Time to keep a stash of cash in your purse for the never-elusive ice cream truck.

But, best of all, it’s time for vacation.

Va-ca-tion.

Ahhh, just saying those three precious syllables makes me drool. I don’t know why, really. It’s not like we’ve had a lot of true vacations in the twelve years we’ve been married. And since having kids, a vacation is not really a vacation. It’s more like an adventurous trip where you just spend lots of money to see stuff you haven’t seen before. And the beach? Not...the same...after kids.

I remember pre-kids just lying on my beach towel, with my stereo and a magazine, listening to the waves. I’d close my eyes, soak in the sun, and drift off to sleep. (And with my fair, freckled self; I had the lobster-red sunburn to prove it.)

Now, we tote beach bags, beach umbrellas, coolers, toys, arm-floaties, goggles, nets and beach chairs…and that’s just on the FIRST trip.  And by the time we get set-up, take a dip in the water, and dig a bit in the sand, it’s already time to reapply sunscreen and the kids are hot and ornery.  The worst is getting up and down from the beach chair chasing after a toddler. (all the while feeling like everyone within a fifty-yard radius is honed in with binoculars on my 'lily-white-not-quite-twenty-anymore' body)

I shouldn’t make it sound that bad. There is something precious about watching your adorable little babies in their swimsuits and sunhats running to the water and giggling every time the foam hits their feet. Those are moments that make all of the chaos well worth the trip.

In fact, looking back, I wonder how my parents made our beach vacations look so easy.  Sure, I remember an occasional argument in the car, but for the most part, our vacations were incredible.

How did my parents do it? Was it really that easy for them? How did they make it so perfect?

The truth is, it wasn’t. I didn’t see the behind-the-scene budget meetings where they discussed the nitty-gritty details of the trip. I didn’t have to problem-solve when something unexpected occurred. I was so caught up in the fun of it all that I didn’t have to worry about logistics. I was just along for the ride. My parents did the work-part for us.  Sure, they enjoyed it, too. But, after the vacation, we had summer break. They returned to work, hectic schedules and earning a living. They didn’t get a true break. The vacation was still work for them. But, they did it all with a smile on their face just so we could experience something together.

Now that I am a parent, I get it. In fact, I wish I could repay my parents with a true vacation as a way to say, “Thank you. For the vacations. For getaways when you didn’t have the money. For hanging in there when you probably wanted to strangle the three kids in the back seat.”  

Just so you know, my husband and I do practice the “tag system” on vacation, to make sure we each get some down time. We give each other time alone on the beach, with no kids, even if it’s just for an hour. Then once your hour is up, “TAG! You’re It!”

But, can I be real? As much as I enjoy the hour alone soaking in the sun, flipping through my magazine and sippin’ on my fruit smoothie (and I do), I cherish the memories with my kids. Their squeal of delight the first time they squish the sand between their toes or watch a crab shuffle across the shoreline. The look on their faces when they glance out over the vastness of God’s amazing, blue ocean.  That’s what makes it a vacation.

So, here’s to your summah’ time! Whether you are taking a fancy vacation or a ‘we-ain’t-got-the-money-to-go-away’ stay-cation (which will be us this year), remember to soak in the time with those around you. Because that’s what those getaways truly are for.

My husband and son at St. Simons Island, Georgia

My oldest with a sandy six-pack

Gimp Hip In NYC

Well, my hip labral repair surgery is officially over. I must say, for my first surgery, having it done in NYC was pretty cool. I mean, how many times do you get to go to the Upper East Side in Manhattan to have surgery at one of the top hospitals in the world? I am easily impressed, what can I say? I am sure there will be hurdles to jump through with recovery, (Eek, maybe "jump" was a bad word to use...) but thankfully, so far, everything has gone much better than expected.

I took lots of pics throughout the rainy day. You know you are officially a blogger when you are high on painkillers, but snapping photos in the back seat of the car to capture the ride home. HA! Enjoy!


 11:45 am. The Lincoln Tunnel. 

12:15 pm. Heading Up 42nd Street 

1:00 pm. Checked in at the Hospital for Special Surgeries in Upper East Side. (Insert The Jefferson's theme song here: "Movin' on Up, to the East Side...". And oh yeah, we did sing it. Numerous times.) Had to sign a Health Proxy, which gave my husband permission to pull the plug if anything went wrong. And ONLY if something went wrong. 

2:00 pm. Called into Prep Room. Dressed in sexy purple hospital gown, cozy green socks, and blue paper shorts. (I was rockin' it) Signed 500 papers confirming that it was the right hip that needed to be operated on. (glad they were very thorough on that note) Had hip bathed by some young male nurse. (and, no, he wasn't hot. Bummer) Answered a gazillion questions with three different nurses. (Geez) Had my hip signed by my surgeon (yeah. weird. I guess he signs all of his masterpieces) Blood pressure checked. (Squeeeeeze) IV inserted. (OUCH!)

My Hunter Green, Cozy, Double-sided Tread Socks. Lovely. 

4:00 pm. Led Into Operating Room. (Creepy) Strapped to a table. (AHHHHHH!) Oxygen inserted in my nose. (Annoying) 

Last thing I remember hearing: "I am putting this into your IV. It will make you feel like you have had a couple of cocktails." 

Two seconds later?

OUT. COLD.

That was WAY stronger than two cocktails. 

6:30 pm. Out of Surgery. Woke up in Recovery. My husband joined me and took this lovely picture for you to enjoy.....or laugh at. High. As. A. Kite. And my nose was red from me scratching it. Those pesky oxygen tubes made it itch.

7:30 pm. Ate and drank for the first time in 24 hours. The post-op meal of champions? Turkey Sandwich on Whole Wheat and a side of blueberries. Well, two sides of blueberries. I asked for thirds, but the nurse said there weren't anymore. She better be glad I had just had hip surgery or I'd have chased her down. 

8:30 pm. I was able to go to the bathroom, which meant my bladder was awake. (too much information? Sorry. I've had two kids. I don't know what too much information is anymore.) Since I peed to their standards, I was released to go home!  

8:45 - 10:00 pm. Contended with NYC traffic. Two of the three streets we needed to travel on were closed by police. Soooo, my amazing husband improvised and maneuvered around cars, yellow taxi's, tour buses and a sea of pedestrians who never obey the cross-walk signals. He was honking his horn like the best of 'em, too. If I wouldn't have been out of it in the back seat, I may have just had to kiss him. 

11:00 pm. Arrived home. Emptied bladder. (again, too much info?) Climbed in bed. Oh, how nice to be home in my bed. A couple more painkillers and Zzzzzzzzz....

This morning......

6:30 am. Can't believe how great I feel. (Obviously, I am on painkillers, but still....) The hubs is brewing coffee, cooking breakfast and taking care of my toddler who is getting into everything. Some might feel a little guilty for just sitting back doing nothing. Not me. I have no choice and no guilt. Beside's that, it's pretty cute watching Superdad in action. He is earning some major brownie points. So, for now, I will let him do his thing, assume my position and enjoy the view from here.

Thanks for all of the prayers and encouragement! I feel so blessed!




'Til Next Time, 


         BRI

Uh-Oh. Daddy's In Charge.

On Monday, June 4^th, I am having hip surgery. “Hip surgery?” you might ask. “How old is this chick?”

Well, if you must know, I am thirty-two. And I have a labral tear in my hip, which medically speaking, means my hip hurts badly.

It apparently happened around twelve years ago when I must have had some trauma to my hip. It has progressively gotten worse and most recently has had me stuck on the floor unable to get up. The pain is excruciating and forces me to cry out loudly, which scares my toddler to death.

So, we knew it was time to do something about it. I wondered, though, “How will I juggle everything on crutches? I have a toddler who loves his mommy and an eight year old who relies on me for a lot, too.” But, my wonderful husband was able to get two weeks off from work to take over Mommy duty.

That’s right. My husband will officially be my replacement for two whole weeks. He has been gearing up for the challenge by making spreadsheets for meals and snacks (I’m not kidding) and planning daily schedules. I have a little apprehension about his temporary role for a two reasons.

A.     I must let go of total household control.

Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. The works. I know he will do a great job, but there are certain things that concern me. Like, when he does the dishes, will he rinse out the sink afterwards? Sure the laundry will be done, but will he cross contaminate by putting the dirty clothes in the clean basket and the clean clothes in the dirty basket? These are all serious issues people. I mean, how can I rest knowing there might be food particles stuck to the sides of the sink?

    

B.     He might actually out-do me.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad nervous that his spreadsheet organization might just set a new standard for how this household runs. I mean, I am more organized than I used to be, but I am still a sanguine personality, which means I enjoy flying by the seat of my pants to some degree. What if he actually gets it all done and at the end of the day thinks, “Man. What does she complain about? She’s got it so easy. This is a cake walk.”

I know what you’re thinking. “Brianne, that won’t happen.” But, to some degree I guess I worry that my flaws as a household manager might be exposed in a rather dramatic fashion.

Truth be told, I do know it will not be easy for him. I know that no amount of planning I have ever done prepared me for the unexpected. Kids get sick. Recipes flop. Fatigue kicks in. Laundry gets backed-up. You forget to turn the crockpot off and cook your seven-hour recipe for thirteen hours. (Uh-oh. Did I just say that out loud?) 

Being a Mom is hard. Heck, being a woman is hard. Throw in our responsibilities, insecurities, expectations and our complex multi-tasking abilities and we tend to harbor on borderline skitzophrenia!

So, as I glance over my shoulder at my husband’s lofty plans for his two-week stint as Super-dad, I must remind myself to let it go. Whether he forgets to spot treat the laundry or vacuum under the edges of the rug, I am blessed to have a husband who is willing to be my hands and feet when I am down.

But, that doesn’t mean I won’t be doing inward fist pumps when he has to revise his spreadsheets.

My First Blog

I, Brianne, do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, the ugly truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

You wanna know something? I don't enjoy reading blogs.

Well, occasionally, I'll click a link on Facebook when something sounds interesting, but that's about it.

For starters, I don't have time to read blogs. I am a wife, a stay-at-home mother of two (one being a toddler who just so happens to be sleeping which is the only reason I am able to even be typing this), a volunteer, a control-freak, a Southern belle who was just transplanted to another planet (called New Jersey) a little over a year ago.

Secondly, I have viewed most "Mommy bloggers" as women who have it all together. I have viewed them as organized, crafty, picture-perfect, successful, fashionable, training-for-a-marathon, ain't-my-life grand, I-deserve-Mommy-of-the-year-cuz-my-kids-don't-eat-high-fructose-corn-syrup kind of women.

No thank you. I think I'd rather just sit and Pinterest for a while and see a thousand other ways I can't seem to compete with the plethora of supermoms these days. At least that way I can tell myself that those ideas came from lots of different people and not just one person.

I mean, really. Why can't I get it together like these women? I try and try to implement things, but I never seem to stick with them. My exercise routines are anything but consistent and the last time I even had time to make a craft, I hot-glued some buttons onto a onesie for Austin's first birthday. I used hot-glue because I couldn't use a sewing machine if my life depended on it. Sometimes I even imagine what life would be like living in a home where my kid's playroom toys are color-coordinated. A place where my kids could sit at perfectly organized craft tables painting houses surrounded by rainbows, butterflies and daisies. A place that could inspire my kids to grow up and become nuclear physicists or better yet, save the ozone layer. And later in life, when asked what the reason behind their success was, they would say, "That's easy. The three P's. The Perfect, Pottery-barn Playroom."

Now, don't miss what I am saying. I love Pottery Barn. I love decorating. Heck, it's what I went to school for, but, it seems that "supermom syndrome" has taken on a life of it's own, and those of us who don't measure up feel we must be lazy, unorganized or completely failing as a mother.

But, I am realizing the truth of the situation. These women don't have it all together. And their goal isn't to make me feel inferior or worthless. They are just figuring it out as they go, too. They have worked hard to find time to rediscover themselves and share their talents. They are in different situations. They have different abilities. They have chosen to share things they have discovered, things that might make someone else's life a little easier. Okay, maybe 'Ways to Cook a Great Leg of Lamb' isn't easier, but for some moms, that cranks their tractor. Hey, don't we all want to feel like we have more to offer than just doing dishes, wiping noses and folding laundry? (which alone are amazing accomplishments) 

Right now may not be the time for me to be making tissue-paper flowers, but one day if I decide to do it, it's good to know a mom out there has taken out all of the guess work for me! We all want to grow and be better at things. We should look at others and become inspired to be more than what we are, but not at the expense of our own self-worth.

So, there it is. My first blog. And by the way, if your kid's playroom toys are color-coordinated or you run marathons or your kids don't eat high-fructose corn syrup, then don't let me scare you off. Chances are, I could stand to learn a few things from you. That being said, I could stand to learn a few things from each one of you who even carved out the time to read this. In fact, I want you to share ideas or things that would be funny to hear about. I am open to suggestions.

I can't promise you amazing do-it-yourself crafts, for now. But, I can tell you how I pulled a rabbit out of my hat when I remembered that Jayden needed a craft for school ten minutes before the bus came. I can't promise you '10 Different Ways to Braise Pork', but, I can tell you that I keep a huge bag of dino-nuggets in my freezer for nights where I Just. Can't. Go. Any. More.

I want this blog to make you laugh. At me. At yourself. At life itself. I want to be real so no one thinks they are alone in their struggles. And if all else fails, you can read my antics and think, "Well, at least I ain't that crazy!"

I share because I feel the need to be real. An open book. Like a friend who always makes you feel loveable, warts and all. So stay tuned. I will be sharing lots of my crazy ways, my "Bri-antics", if you will. And I promise to tell the truth. The whole truth. The ugly truth. And nothing but the truth.

Believe me, I couldn't make this stuff up.