The Millennial Homemaker

The musings of a Stay at Home Mom

When the $h17 hits the fan…

The revamping of my brain

A lot has happened in my life in the past 6 months. I have two choices to peak your curiousity… (1) I can elaborate on the boring details; or (2) I can just apologize for the crickets over here.

Yes, literally, I’ve heard crickets in my brain these past 6 months. I am not sure if it’s because I am in a whirlwind of mid-life madness, or if it’s because my path is about to change. Anywho… it’s nobody’s fault but mine, but I’m not choosing to blame.

I’m choosing to move forward

Life has a funny way of throwing $h17 in your face. I don’t want to say the actual curse word, but if you can read Klingon, then I’m sure you can understand what I am saying.

Here’s a recap of what I’ve been through (bucket list, anyone?)…

  • I became a mom at 23 (so young)
  • I became a wife at 23 (again, too young)
  • I moved away from everyone and everything at the age of 26
  • I bought my first home at 27
  • I kept having more kids (age 25, 28, and finally 34)
  • I finally got my Bachelors degree at 39
  • I lost my dad at age 21, then my sweet mom at age 41
  • I lost my home, my two cars, and my financial credibility at age 36
  • And, the icing on all the cake… I lost the trust in marriage at age 42

I could be so bitter about all of these changes. And yes, there are times when the bitterness superceded the joy. “Consider all JOY my brethren when you encounter various trials… said James in the New Testament.” Maybe James never had to file bankruptcy, or hold his dying mother’s hand, or listen to the horror of his spouse’s affair.

But, when it’s ALL said and done, when I draw upon my final breath on this planet of green and blue, will I be satisfied with my life?

I have to say YES.

I have to say that no matter how much $h17 has been thrown in my path, that the dash between my birth year and death year on my gravestone will represent a life well lived.

And WELL LOVED.

I love people I know more than I should. That’s the codependent side of me. But, I also love humanity. I love that people are the only creatures on this planet that can truly change the trajectory of this planet for good or evil. I hope that it’s for good.

My intentions for living are for good.

I want my four children to know that I did the best damn job I could in raising them.

Model citizens? Maybe. Great humanitarians? I HOPE SO.

Love God and love others…. that is my motto. It may not be yours, and that’s okay. But I hope that you DO love something… or someone.

For even when the $h17 hits the fan and rains poop emojis on you, you can still smile. Just like the yellow t-shirt in Forrest Gump… Have a nice day!

 

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Lessons from the Boot

Almost six months have passed (gasp!), and I finally have the time/feeling/sense of urgency to write.

As of last Wednesday, I am temporarily immobile.  You see, I broke my ankle. boot

I am a middle-aged mama who broke her first bone. Ever.

Yes, it hurts. I thought a sprained ankle or a swollen knee hurts a lot. Nope. There’s not much to compare to a broken bone. Well, unless it’s a kidney stone. Then, that hurts worse than child birth. Oh wait, I’m digressing…

So, as I sit here, day after day, waiting for my avulsion fracture to heal, I have a lot of time to think. And, I am learning something from this dreadful boot upon which I re-learn to walk again.

1. REST is a four-letter word.

Sure, I love the occasional nap and a good night’s sleep, but continual rest day after day? It’s been emotionally painful to bear. I have actually viewed it as a new curse word, so to speak.  I am a busy, go-go-go mama, and the last thing I need or want to do is rest. Yet, here I am, on my bum, making the most of my time.

I want to be productive. I want to say, hey look what I can do! Ah, crap… there goes that prideful thinking again. I like a nice pat on the back as much as the next person does, but for some reason my EGO thinks that being busy equals being productive.

I am learning that RESTing is more important than BUSYing. If you get a chance to sit, be quiet and listen, you’ll start to “see” and “hear” the rest of the world around you. I am more conscious of my children’s conversations. I am more aware of time. I am more in awe of nature and its beauty. I am more close to my God.

2. It’s okay to be the passenger.

Taking a break from driving has been also hard on me. I don’t get to be in control at the wheel, and sometimes the journey is not as fun. I have to build trust in my driver (usually, it’s my husband). I have to keep my mouth shut, my tongue bit, and a smile on my face. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great driver. He knows where HE is going. I just don’t like the fact that I am Miss Daisy for the next five or six weeks.

But, the good part about being a passenger is that I get a break. I don’t have to concentrate on the road if I don’t want to do so. I can relax while I get to my destination. I don’t have to walk. And, it’s air-conditioned (thank goodness) so the natural elements of an Arizona summer aren’t bugging me (no pun intended).

Again, this little lesson is about SLOWING DOWN and taking a breather. I keep forgetting that LIFE is not a marathon race. Well, it’s a marathon, but it doesn’t have to be a race.

3. Kisses from strangers.

Yes, I received a kiss from a stranger for wearing my boot. I was sitting in church this past Sunday, and of course I chose an aisle seat so I could have extra leg room for my boot. As we were sitting and praying during the quiet part of the service, this older gentleman, an usher, came up to me and whispered, “Would you like to race?” I looked at him blankly and replied, “Why yes, that would be nice!” He laughed, and instead of giving me a hand shake or a side hug, he bent down and kissed me on the forehead. I was a little shocked, but my husband was appalled!

Who did this guy think he was to kiss me? For me, I smiled and felt so warm and snugly inside. It was as if my own earthly daddy had kissed me. I think he was an angel, sent by God, to tell me that everything is going to be okay.

So, of course, a person with a walking boot may get unwarranted attention. Take that, prideful EGO!

More to come…

I am sure there will be more lessons to learn from all of this mess called a broken ankle. I know it could have been much worse, as I fell from from the bottom of the stairs (versus the dangerous top of the stairs).

Until then, carry on. Walk well. Slow down. Enjoy a snail’s pace every now and then.

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