Rough Morning

This morning started out like most: The kids woke up before 6:45 and went downstairs to play quietly (and not wake mom). I woke up at 6:45, looked in their empty room and called downstairs to tell them it was time to come upstairs and get ready for the day. Both called out a resounding “no”. *sigh* Mr Siili chimes in that it is time to get ready and to listen to mom. Tadbit comes upstairs a few minutes later and starts getting ready. When Paxlet comes up, his first words are accusatory and angry that I have moved his white paper. It is always my fault when something goes missing or wrong. Even if I wasn’t anywhere near the place or situation. (This time I had actually cleaned the area in question the night before.) Our words immediately become snappy, heated and not pleasant for first words on a Monday morning. Mr Siili comes and separates us and calms the situation down a bit. Once I’m ready, I head downstairs to help Paxlet look for his white square of paper that is “this big”. I find all sorts of papers and then some, but not the paper he wants, which is actually a ‘package’ with treasures/jewels wrapped in it. I vaguely remember seeing something like that, but have no idea where it ended up. I spend 5-10 minutes helping him look for his paper. No luck. However, other pieces of paper are finding their way back to the floor! Every time I turn around there is more paper crap on the floor that wasn’t there literally 5 minutes ago. Paxlet insists he needs a specific conglomerate of taped paper/plastic on the floor, but he can’t tell me why. Can’t? Won’t? Doesn’t know how? I have no idea at this point. More heated words from Paxlet and I. Tadbit is sitting at the table very quietly coloring. I eventually end up back stairs to get the hairbrush for Tadbit’s rat’s nest. I tell Mr Siili that this must be how I was with my mom at this age. And I start crying because I miss my mom. Both kids come up stairs and hug me. All arguments are forgotten and they are only concerned now. Paxlet asks, ‘why are you crying?’ I tell him I miss my mom and want to talk to her, but I can’t. His eyes are concerned and a bit teary. He knows my mom is dead. Tadbit just keeps saying ‘momma, mom-maaa’ over and over again trying to hold my hand. We hug and calm down. Then finish getting ready for daycare and work and head out the door.

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Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth perfume

A couple of weeks ago, a co-worker and I were discussing smells. Particularly, perfumes. I said how I used to be able to wear perfume and essential oils, but these days I have become like my mom and I am extremely sensitive to smells. Many perfumes, hand lotions and fragrances actually make me ill if I have to be around them. I get a runny nose, headache, itchy-fevery eyes, which just makes for an over all yuck feeling. I have had to ask Christmas flowers to be taken out of the office and co-workers to not use a certain hand lotions or perfumes. I feel bad asking this, but if I don’t I feel physically ill.

All of this led me to remember Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth perfume that I got for Christmas one year. (Anyone else?) I loved that perfume! At least I think I loved it. Or maybe it was that my friends also had it and it was popular at the time. I grew out of it and I think I ended up tossing the last bit of it out. Years later, my mom reminded me of my love for it and how she couldn’t stand it. To her, it smelled like cat piss. Thanks mom! I’m thankful she didn’t tell me that at the time, I know I wouldn’t have handled it well.

Did you ever have Electric Youth or some other celebrity’s perfume?

MicroblogMonday For more microposts, go visit Mel’s post at Stirrup Queens.

Screaming and crying

As I lay on top of my bed, the clock reads 21:18 and Tadbit is still screaming, for almost an hour already. I’ve been (mostly) laying on this bed with her since 19:24. Bedtime started out as normal, but something has obviously gone wrong. Was it Mr Siili coming into the room for a bit while I sat with Paxlet? (Not a common occurance.) She has had both boobs, yet keeps pulling at my shirt. We’ve gone downstairs for more porridge and an impromptu game of signing “more” water to drink out of a normal drinking cup. Was it some gas that she has now passed? Have we had too much excitement these last few days?

I have no idea what the matter is, but I too have cried this evening. I would love to call my mom up right now and ask what she did when me or my siblings wouldn’t go to bed. But I can’t. Tomorrow will have been five years since I could call her. I wasn’t even pregnant yet then.

It’s now 21:45. Tadbit isn’t screaming, but she isn’t sleeping either.

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She’s happily and quietly putting clothes in and taking them out of plastic freezer bags. And I still miss my mom.

Update.
The clock now reads 22:17. I’ve let Tadbit play for almost 40 minutes more. I change her diaper, lay her down and she starts to scream again. I lay down next to her, trying to explain to her that it is bedtime. I need her to sleep so I can sleep too. As I start crying again, she holds my arm and falls asleep.

#MicroblogMonday – High School Graduation

High school graduation was this weekend in Finland. There were official parties and unofficial parties everywhere. At least that is what Mr Siili was explaining to me. I’ve not gone through a high school graduation here of my own or a close relative and my kids are still too young for many years. (Although I am sure the school years will pass by too fast.)

It got me thinking about my own high school graduation night. I remember there was an official school party. One last big hoopla with your graduating class, where those who wanted to attend were locked in the the school gym for the night and there were organized things to do.

I, instead, went to the beach with my closest friends. My mom loaned me her car for the night and we went to Lighthouse beach. We had a bonfire on the beach. We also just hung out, chatted, went swimming in the ocean and did whatever it was that we did at the beach when you’re young and free. Upon coming home, my mom told me I was home too early (midnight?) as she had loaned me the car all night.

What did you do on your high school graduation night?

MicroblogMonday For more microposts, go visit Mel’s post at Stirrup Queens.

Gone too soon

I got a FB message this morning from my ex that a mutual friend of ours from high school committed suicide yesterday. I haven’t spoken to this guy in years, but my heart is still saddened. He was a kind soul and truly wanted to change our world. Depression got the better of him.

My mom once told me*, everyone has a purpose in this life. We may not know what it is, but it’s still there. (Maybe one person’s purpose is to learn to get along better with their mom. Another person’s  would be to change the world.) And for those who decide to leave us before their “natural” time, maybe they have completed their purpose of what they are here to do. We won’t ever know, but maybe that is why they had to leave too early.

I find my mom’s words/concept soothing. It doesn’t take away the grief, but it does help me with the loss. In this case though, I’m struggling with his passing. Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m so sad. It isn’t like I’ve seen or talked to him in years (except for a line or two of text on FB). But, he is a past/former/previous life (when I lived in the US) friend. And when it all comes down to the bare minimal, it is just that: The loss, of a friend, too soon.

 

*I hope I’m doing her explanation/belief justice.

#MicroblogMonday – Can you…?

…roll your tongue?

…whistle?

…snap your fingers?

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Paxlet learned to snap last night. He was quite surprised his fingers made a noise! It was pretty cute. It got me to thinking about other things people can or can’t do. My mom couldn’t whistle for her life. It was kind of funny actually. She’d pucker up, but no sound came out. As for rolling one’s tongue, I know that is hereditary. It happens so, that my family (Mr Siili, kids, parents and siblings) and me can roll our tongues.

What about you?

MicroblogMonday For more microposts, go visit Mel’s post at Stirrup Queens.