And My Husband Wants to Know Why I Never Take a Shower.

This morning started out awesome. I woke up before the kids, I inhaled my peppermint essential oils and rubbed my blue potions all over my feet- I was on a lemon water high. The kid that hates cereal ate cereal for breakfast, the baby stayed happy in her high chair eating her organic puffy things, and nobody spilt milk. Nobody.

I gathered all 4 kids, and we walked down the street to the school. Everyone had clothes on, nobody was crying or fighting or yelling or arguing over who's "the baddest bad guy in the world"... it was almost like the heavens had opened up and shone a light down directly upon me and my morning.

...my morning, yes. (And I am grateful for that)
But there was absolutely no mercy for my afternoon.

Around 12:45 or so, I realize that my daughter has early release today. Parent teacher conferences, right. I glance at the mess of train tracks and ponies and markers (that appeared out of nowhere) on the ground in front of me, and then next to the half naked children playing in the pile of it all, and then a quick head turn down the hall towards the sleeping baby.

Well this will be fun.

Rush to wake up the red faced hungry baby, step on like 4 pieces of broken train track that I'm almost positive have impaled my left foot, chase a defiant red head and trick her into wearing shoes (who cares that they're two sizes two big and don't match) so that she can push the nothing-but-a-nuisance shopping cart that she insists on pushing around everywhere like an old bag lady, and convince my 4 year old that his legs do work, and he can walk.

Halfway to the school, in the middle of a crosswalk no less, the shoe hoarding trouble maker decides to ditch the nagging shopping cart, run around in front of me, cut me off (causing me to trip over my railroad injured foot), and climb up into the stroller. But not climb up like- "oh look at me, I'm sitting pretty and all strapped in and tra la la", but, climb up like "haha, we're in the middle of the street with like 20 cars piling up, and I'm going to try to lay upside down on the very edge of the seat and make this whole thing tip over! Also.. go fetch my shopping cart".

I swear to God, child.

"I love them, I love them, I love them" I repeated almost mockingly to myself under my breath while keeping my calm, wiping sweat from my brow, and super-momming the shopping cart and the bad-baby into the stroller.

We make it to Elie's school. I park the stroller in our usual cozy spot in the shade across from the stairs that she'll soon be coming down, and while I'm focusing on catching my breath, I somehow miss Charlie and Evelyn sneaking over to the drinking fountain to fill up their shoes with water and start dumping "puddles" all over the concrete.

"Please stop pouring water into your shoes. That water is for drinking".

Aaaand of course theres no response, as I'm sitting (panting like a wild wolf, trying not to let my mono get the better of me) across from them, using my nice voice. ...ok fine, so maybe lets kick it up a notch.

"Stop pouring water in your shoes now. Bring your shoes here".

And oh how they're laughing and giggling and splashing about.

So by now, all of the parents in the immediate area are staring (but I mean, when are they not?), I'm starting to sweat even more because I'm at like an 8 on the irritation meter, and then the dang bugle sounds. We live on a military base, and instead of a bell, they have a bugle. And instead of kids just going in and out of class like normal kids... everybody has to stop what they're doing, face the flag, and stand at attention. No joke, this is a real thing.

So again, my kids are filling up their shoes with water from the drinking fountains- and then drinking the water out of boots and covering the concrete in "shoe rain". Do you think they're going to stop rain dancing long enough to stand still and face the flag like the other hundred people that I can count from where I'm sitting? No. No they're not. They're going to take this opportunity to let the rhythym overtake them and pour water on all of the real life statues on every side of them.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" I tell everyone, as I scramble to get up (I thought I could get away with not playing by the bugle rules too- well that's what I get), and then I start lunging for the littlest one, who is ignoring my every command, running away from me, having the freakin' time of her life.

My good angel then surrenders to my bad angel, and nice-mama is no more.

"Evelyn I'm strapping you into the stroller, I've had enough".

Um... you'd think my adrenaline would be enough to power me through this, but, again- my mono is strong, and my muscles are weak. Second and third graders are flowing down the stairs at a steady pace, Charlie has decided to lay down in the middle of the walkway on top of his man made lake, making water hand prints on every square inch of available dry cement surrounding him, and Evelyn has somehow been possessed by a screeching, back arching, simultaneous arm and leg flailing, mini monster.

I'm doing everything I can at this point, to get her arms into those safety straps- but as soon as one arm gets in, the other arm gets out. I'm getting brutally beaten in the process, but after about 20 redos of the arm expedition, she learns that she can launch her entire body downwards, so that even though I finally got her arms both buckled, I can't get them secured into the crotch strap.

...This isn't happening.
Is this happening?
This is happening.




Please make it stop?

I have no idea what words are coming out of my mouth, if any. I have no idea where my water logged son has disappeared to (probably off in a corner covering his ears, because he can't stand loud noises). I have no idea where my 7 year old is. I have no idea who is or is not watching me. Survival mode, and go!

I do it. I did it. It happened. I got her strapped in. And in that moment, when the buckles finally snapped into place and I heard that beautiful "click" sound, I stood up, used my shirt to mop up the flood from my forehead (seriously, I am so gross), and I looked around expecting to hear a round of applause.

No. No you guys. There was no round of applause. There was not even so much as an invisible pat on the back taking place through eye contact from a sympathetic mom. ...nothing. It had taken me so long to get Evelyn strapped in, and the rest of the parents were apparently in such a big hurry to get their kids out of firing range, that I was completely deserted.

Come on, people.

Well whatever, I'm still pretty stoked that I won the epic battle at the drinking fountain, even if I did get pretty damaged in process, so I stand there leaning against the wall for a minute catching my breath (and continuing to wipe away my sweat), and then I announce over the still screaming child, that its time to go.

Well no. Charlie doesn't want to. Its too hot, and hes too upset from hearing his sister's shouting, so hes refusing to walk home. And when I say refusing, hes like... face first on the ground, sobbing into the dirt.

And have I mentioned how absolutely calm I am, during all of this? Oh yeah, I'm like Mandy Moore in A Walk To Remember- totally dying, but doing it in an annoyingly cute way. Only, with more sweat.

Hey did I mention that I couldn't stop sweating?

And sweat.

So I get Ruthie out of her seat, swing all 25 pounds of her onto my hip, sing out the good news to Charlie, who is stoked for his free ride, take a deep breath of "yes, this is happening, you're doing this", and begin the dangerous journey home.

Charlie weighs about 50 pounds. Evelyn about 40. That stupid shopping cart is not only hanging down from the handlebar in my way, constantly knocking into my knee, but it also weighs a good amount of awful plastic I-hate-this-toy weight. And the stroller itself is sort of a beast, so... alright, now is when I start losing it.

Eleanore was there too, by the way. Walking silently and observantly next to me. I would have asked her to at least give me a hand and push the bulky plastic cart, but last time I did that, she made it less than a block before giving up. And really, to get it down and argue with her and listen to her whining would have just been too much work for me. So I powered through, folks. I rocked on. I pushed those kids THE ENTIRE WAY HOME... all caps totally necessary. It wasn't until the end of my street that a friend stepped in and gave me a two minute breather.

Evelyn took a nap the second we got home.




How'd the rest of the afternoon go? Oh, well my oldest did everything she purposely could to make her little brother cry (if I hear "fine, then you're not in my club" one more time- I'm deleting all clubs from the world, everywhere), I got bit by like 10 mosquitos (because nobody knows how to close the back door, ever), when I took the kids outside to play none of them actually went and played (because they were too busy fighting over who got to put on a dance show for me, or fighting over the one toy that the baby had, or fighting over who made it to the end of the sidewalk first, or... please just go play!), and then of course when its time to go back inside, nope, now they want to stay outside and play. Are. You. Kidding. Me? Put down the chalk that you've covered yourself from head to toe in, and come inside so that I can make dinner. Your dad is going to be home soon, and I don't know about you, but I'm hungry.

It takes me forever to get them inside. And they're all so filthy- dirt and chalk and pieces of sticks and flowers in their hair. And I'm pretty sure there were a few tree beetles living in Evelyn's curls? And now that I look around- my house is pretty disgusting too. ...time to freak out.

Into the bathroom, everyone! We're taking baths, right, now.

Oh, but the baby can walk now, so shes not taking a bath- shes playing in the toilet, and eating garbage. Why! No! Stop! ...I know you hate it, and I hate it, but- into the pack n play you go.

While the baby is gob gob'ing in the living room, I bathe the other 3 one at a time in the bathroom, quick as I can. But of course I get water in someones ear, and somebody else somehow snorts a gallon of soapy water through their nose while trying to hide from my washing their faces, and- why did you just step out of the tub behind me onto the bare floor, instead of onto the bathmat?? Now I'm soaked, the floor is soaked, and... can I trust you to run around the house naked without peeing on anything? Really? Can I?

So I dry off babies and send them on their way to pick up their rooms in exchange for me making them dinner. Obviously I'm going to make them dinner either way, but... they're falling for it. Kind of.

Oh wait, and before I forget- earlier when we got home from school, Eleanore announces loudly to me that "Santa Claus isn't real. Its you who hides all of the presents!". ...the icing on my crap day cake, my friends.

So now I can get Ruthie out of her baby prison, poor thing, but before I can make dinner, I realize I need to sit down and give her some one on one time- also, nourish her. MMM, organic strawberry banana pouch food. Shes gobbling it up. The other kids are running around the house naked, screaming and being totally crazy, not cleaning their rooms, when- you know how on movies, when someone pounds their fist down onto a bottle of ketchup or something, and it splatters all over someone else, and its totally funny and hilarious and hahahaha? ...that. Ruthie is fighting me to hold the pouch, and I'm going along with it, so long as she lets me help, but then she takes it, throws it down on the tray, and smashes it, all, over, me.




Its on my face. Its dripping down into my cleavage. On my shirt. On my skirt. In my hair.

And shes staring at me, wanting more food.

So you know what I do? Yep... I'm scooping it up off of my face, and feeding it to her off of my finger. I'm not letting this fruit pouch go to waste, heck no.

And then from down the hall, I hear a chorus of "Evelyn peed on the floor!!!".

...of, course, she, did.

I don't even know how I made the kids dinner. I know I did, because I remember burning my hand on a bowl that came out of the microwave, and I remember being mad at myself for even using the microwave in the first place, but- the moment my husband got home, I told him I was taking my computer and my cell phone and my everything into the bedroom, and made it very clear that I did not want to be bothered.

Unless its to bring me Xanax.
Which he did.

So here I sit. A sticky, sweaty, stinky, stressed out mess. I can smell myself, and not the pretty patchouli part, but the #ThatTotallyJustHappened part. And while I know that I really need a shower- oh my gosh you guys, so, so bad- what I really needed more, was time to sit down and contaminate my writing space with my word therapy.

Today attacked me.
But I fought back.




...so this, my dear husband, is why I never get a shower.
Because I'm too busy spilling my anxiety through taps on the keyboard and enjoying the feeling of the mattress supporting my weight rather than my feet.

I Wore A Dress Today

Something weird happened today. I mean, weird things happen every day, to me at least, but- this was different.

Do you ever wonder what people think of you? Like maybe you're sitting around on the couch covered in a heaping pile of miscellaneous blankets and empty pudding bowls, watching The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, and then blurt out loud to your husband/friend/cat/alter ego... "What kind of an impression do I leave?".

But really.

What do people think of me?




What do the moms at my daughters school down the street call me? None of them know my name. Am I the lady with dirty dreadlocks? The lady who doesn't own a single pair of jeans and only wears skirts? The lady who sweats buckets every time she herds her four naked children down the street? ...or does anybody even see me?

A lot of the time in the real world, I feel completely invisible. Though I don't know how that's possible- I'm loud (always trafficking children and singing my every action), I leave an earthy glittery cloud of patchouli behind me, and I look like a patchwork swirl of rainbow from 5 miles away.

Anyways, I'll get to the point...

I woke up feeling half dead this morning. I still have mono. Week 9, I think? Or week 10? I can't even remember at this point, it feels like I've been sick forever (because I have), but- I drank 3 quarts of water, drowned my body in a mixture of every doTERRA product that ever was, ate something more than dark chocolate, and forced myself out of my way too comfortable bed to take my kids out to the Waldorfaire down in Honolulu like I had previously promised.

After the kids dug around in a giant sand pit filled with buried treasure stones, and went fishing for colorful magnetic trout, they moved onto whimsical sword and wand making (which cost like 19 scripts, might I add), and as I'm carrying my 25 lb bonnet wearing pink cheeked 11 month old on ye ol' hippie hip, a long haired organic looking grandma and her twin like daughter ring out, "Oh my gosh, how CUTE!". ...They're talking about Ruthie, you know, as is every other person that walks beside or behind us. Two people even stopped to take her picture today.

Enter weird thing here: so then the grandma with waist length beautiful grey silky hair says, "I don't know whos cuter, the baby, or the Mama".

I giggled my polite little thank you of a giggle, and then... wait, did a total stranger just give me a compliment? Because.. ? I'm so confused.

Yes. That totally just happened (#) ... I'm not invisible!

I wore a dress today. And my favorite turquoise spiral plugs that my husband got me for Christmas last year. And a pretty yellow floral scarf in my hair, kinda pirate style I guess. I don't wear makeup, so there was none of that nonsense- in fact, my forehead was covered in beadlets of sweat that I had to wipe off (with the tail end of my head scarf) approximately every 2 minutes because of how overheated and exhausted this adventure had left me. But what I'm saying is, I actually tried today. I wanted to look pretty. I sure didn't feel pretty, I felt like a walking parasite, but I wanted to at least put a little bit of effort into looking like a woman.

And that lady noticed.

And even if shes the only one that noticed. The only person on the entire planet who could see me.

I was seen.

Now... where are my yoga pants and pudding?
 

Says the Honu

I woke up yesterday in a bum mood. It doesn't matter why (though I'm probably going to tell you anyways), but I just felt like crap. It wasn't just the mono, or the fact that I had hurt feelings over a stupid facebook status or five (facebook anxiety is a real thing, I totally didn't just make that up), I just felt... hollow. I was slumping around like some kind of half monkey ancestral human cavewoman person thing, mumbling under my shortness of breath, and even pouting (even with a giant mug of my favorite fiery chai cupped in my hands- who pouts when they have chai?!) like a woman-child as I lay on the couch watching everything other than New Girl, because like I complained about in my last post, my nightly dates with my soul sister Jess have come to an end.

If you haven't started watching New Girl on Netflix yet, just go do it already.

In the midst of my one person Sunday morning pity party, I thought back to two weeks ago when I had driven myself down to the marina, in a rush of husband fueled fury (sweatin' the small stuff, ya know), and witnessed two enchanting spotted eagle rays dance across the breaking waves beneath the sunset. It was so magical (there is a video on my instagram feed, and I think you need to see it first hand if I haven't already shoved it in front of your face) that it snapped me out of my funk and opened my eyes, and lets go ahead and get mushy here, my heart, to so many things that I had been nonchalantly ignoring.

So yesterday as soon as we finished our lunch, I said matter of factly ..."I need to see something awesome. Like sunshine, or giant turtles, or... anything. Lets go somewhere".

My husband is home for a few days on personal leave so that I can rest, so naturally he argued (as he should have- I'm way too sick to be leaving the house). But I'll be honest- I tricked him into going along with my evil plan by telling him we would just go for a drive. And then I threw in a "maybe the kids can stop for shaved ice", and then this, and then that, and then- well the next thing I know we're all dressed in swimsuits packing towels and sunblock for a day at the beach. What can I say? Mono is making me crazy.

And then amazing things happened.




After stopping at the Old Sugar Mill, the absolute best place on the island for natural shaved ice (and black sea salt, which I am way too excited about) we followed a friend down some back roads to a never been to before beach. The sun was gentle, the waves were light, and man it felt so good to just relax and take in all of the beauty unfolding before my eyes. I still have such a hard time believing that this is truly my life.

Um, I live in Hawaii.

This is now.

#ThatTotallyJustHappened

Dot com, even.






Palm trees. And blue skies. Happy kids, happy husband, happy me. Total paradise.

And then the coolest thing. No this is seriously the best.




Oh hey whats up, I'm just a big giant real life Honu (that's Hawaiian for Sea Turtle- but for some reason I call them Hono's, because I like to make up my own language?) chillin' on the beach- feel free to get all up in my face like a total tourist with your giant waterproof cased in iphone, since you don't use your fancy big girl camera anymore. But uh, do you mind my asking why you are so out of breath? And raining sweat? Lady maybe you and your gross kissing disease better just back off, now that I think about it. But your kids are cool, so they can play around me. Until they start throwing sand at me. In which case, then I will eat them. Don't let them touch me. Seriously, if they touch me- I don't typically eat people, but your red head is being particularly obnoxious with the sand throwing that I asked you not to do, so as far as I'm concerned, dinner is served.

He said that.










I'm going to speak some of my ugly truth now, k? I'm not going to listen to the little voice in my head that's saying "no Tia the Tia, don't post how you're actually feeling, because then people will know how bat crap crazy you are- talk more about the sunshine!!", and I'm going to type whats really going on.

That day that the eagle rays so gracefully drifted to me- I was suicidal. I was sitting on a log out in the middle of a deserted seashore, staring out in the water for hours. I kept thinking about what would happen if I could just, jump. If I could stand up, pick up the slack of my skirt, let my dreads down, and just let it all go. And in that moment, with tears streaming down my face, I literally looked up to the open sky and begged the Universe for a sign. I was at the end of my rope, which I know we all say maybe more often than we truly mean, but- in that moment I felt so much despair from my lupus, from my mono, from my isolation and exhaustion, that I just wanted a release. And then there in the water, were the rays.

Thank you, God.

Thank you, Mother Nature.

Thank you, Life. World. Existence. Eternity.

Thank you, Grams.

So that's why yesterday when I was feeling so down, and I felt that pull to get up and get out- I listened. And it led me straight to what my soul needed in that very moment.

After we played with the Honu for half an hour or more, we decided to leave him alone to bathe in the sun. He had gifted us with his presence for long enough, we didn't want to overstay our welcome. A couple hundred backtracked sandy feet or so, we layed down our towels and together my husband and I sat, just basking in the glory of the then. Listening to the sounds of the ocean, gushing over how absolutely breathtaking the sea turtle had been, watching ghost crabs pop in and out of their hideaways, saying how warm the sun felt on our freckled skin, and then- two more turtles. Swimming directly in the waters in front of us, were two brilliant peek a boo turtles. Every time they'd pop their heads above the water we'd all shout with touchdown-like excitement. The 3 other people on the beach were either really amused, or really annoyed. Either or, same thing, whatever the whatever.









With a freshly cleared mind, a warm sunkissed cheek, and a translucent sense of good renewal, it was time to say goodbye to our perfect day. And it really was, a perfect day. There is no better way to describe it. From the way that our toes touched the sand as we walked from one end of the beach to the other, to the way that my springy red head (who luckily, did not get eaten by the talking Honu) giggled hysterically at the delicious stream of water at the sand shower- it was just a happy day.

And just when we thought it couldn't get any better...



The biggest, most vibrant, most... oh my gosh are you kidding me is this really happening, rainbow of all time appeared in the sky. It can't even fit in the picture (again, head over to my instagram and you can see a video of its full effect, complete with awesome narration by my husband), its so big. And then, it turned into a double rainbow. No shame in stopping on the side of the road to gawk at it, either. There I was, standing barefoot (I got a splinter in my heel, phooey), basically in my underwear on the side of the road, holding my phone up in the air like the intense spectator that I am. But it was just so, freakin', gorgeous. The best part... is that it followed us the entire way home. A solid hour of super-rainbow.
 
How is a day like that even possible?

...and then it hits me.

It would have been my Gramdma's 79th birthday. She celebrated her birthday, by letting me and my babies celebrate life. Celebrating in her favorite place, no less.

She was there on the beach with us. She probably bribed/lured that sarcastic red head eating Honu there onto the beach with her homemade cheesecake.

Happy Birthday, Grams. Thank you for one of the best days of my life. Thank you for guiding me. Thank you for saving me.

I'm A Lady

That's right, I'm a blogger again. Bloggin'. With mah blog. And my words. ...word art. A word artist. Yep. A wordist. 

I say this as I'm laying propped up against a pile of fluffy off-white pillows (because we don't do laundry nearly enough), dressed in frumpcore denim colored tights (which surprisingly, my husband has complimented like 3 times today) and a thin baby food covered Pink Floyd shirt. The little "Roku" symbol is dancing around on my TV, and I'm trying my hardest not to finish the 3 remaining episodes of New Girl on Netflix, because- once its over, its over. And I don't know about you, but I'll be devastated. Just like I am at the end of any season of anything that I finish. But how exciting is it when you get a new email saying that there is a new season of whatever it is- its like your birthday, right? A good birthday! The kind where you get to sleep in and have breakfast in bed and nobody asks you if you feel a year older, because coincidentally, I don't think anybody actually feels older on their birthday. People should stop asking that question.

Right so anyways. I'm bloggin'. Heck yeah!

Did I mention I currently have mono? Oh yeah, I do, because apparently that's a real thing. I'm 29 years old, I don't recall kissing anyone (because its called the kissing disease, ya know?) other than my husband (who is an excellent kisser- virtual fist bump, b), but- one day (the day after a colonoscopy, no less- I seriously have the best luck) I woke up with giant golf ball sized lumps on my neck, a bloody nose (for the first time in my life ever), and a fairly constant feeling of having a heart attack. So for the past 5 weeks, I've been sweating non stop, falling asleep while standing up, crying at anyone that asks me how I'm doing, and forcing myself to power through every day and every night like a total comatose-zombie-robot-lady.




...you know what I just did just now? I originally typed "comatose-zombie-robot-mom", but after re-reading it, went back and changed mom to lady. Know why? 'Cause this isn't a mom blog. Because I'm not just a mom. I'm a lady. An awesome wordist lady. I have knuckle tattoos, I'm tough, WHAT (ok but I'm not really that tough- and the knuckle tattoos really hurt). 

So here I am, chillin' on what I like to call "Mono Island". My husband has the next 6 day off from work, so I can finally get some rest. And by rest, I mean... so that my husband can play a lot of Yahtzee with me, while I don't watch New Girl, because I will have already finished it (and mourned its end). But that's okay. Because I've still got a whole season of Army Wives, at least 3 Halloween movies (The Witches, Practical Magic, and Hocus Pocus), and maybe every Zac Efron film ever made, with the exception of those singy dancy Disney ones. But maybe not. We'll see just how bored I get.




Ok, but the purpose of this blog is to separate myself from my motherness. Not always, but- I just really need a place to not be Tia the mom, but Tia, the Tia. So when I'm here, that's who I am. Tia the Tia. Um, and Tia the mom, because that's not really something that I can ever get away from, nor do I want to, but-

Ok I can't stand it anymore, I have to see what happens between Nick and Jess. And isn't CiCi supposed to get married? If you need me, I'll be wiping up my no-more-New-Girl tears with my dirty pillowcase (hey b, can we change the sheets this weekend? I'll add that to my list on avocado) on Mono Island, wishing I had Charlie St. Cloud and whatever it is that Zac Efron's new movie is called on DVD, as well as every season of True Blood, because I suddenly have a Xanax induced desire to say "Sukeh" over and over again. #ThatTotallyJustHappened