My heart hurts

My heart hurts

The noise in my head is full of my children and how hard it is to be a mom. Sometimes. Other times it is the most glorious thing in the world. Moments, there are moments of pure bliss and then moments of despair with all the other emotions from A to Z thrown in just for good measure. But the noise in my head this morning is full of doubts and fears and worries. I can not think of anything harder than watching your children hurt. It’s been a weekend full of emotions and my heart hurts.

I was talking to Gweebaby last night because you know that sometimes a Mom just needs to talk to her Mom and I was saying how funny it was that my weekend was consumed with Triple P and The Thinker. It was different from when they were younger and my day consisted of cooking and cleaning for them, driving to and from practices and dance, play dates and the such. Most of this weekend was spent talking and then sitting back and worrying but none the less they were front and center this weekend. It just goes to show that no matter how old your children are or where they live they will always be my babies. This weekend was not easy and my heart hurts,

Having not slept for the previous 2 nights last nights full night of sleep felt like heaven. I feel like I could take on the world or at the very least back to back Kindergarten classes.

Remember when there was 4 feet of snow on the ground and we were looking for the light of day? Hello light of day!

I went to the Lynnfield Marketplace for the very first time on saturday. It was so great! How can it be that I have never been there before? I can not wait to go back. I also got to see a childhood friend. That was the icing on the shopping.

I am thinking I need to take a Field trip to Frugal Fannies. I think I will either be wicked excited or really disappointed. I am also thinking that Frannie and I would be BFF’s. Has anyone ever been?

Me on Saturday and Sunday. Thank you, Andrew. You so get me.

Me on Saturday and Sunday. Thank you, Andrew. You so get me.

I have had some really bad eating days lately. And before the haters start getting all up in arms about Weight Watchers I mean bad eating days for me. The beauty of WW is there are no bad foods. You can eat whatever you like. My issue has always been my trigger foods and sadly even 18 months later I still mess up. Cake, Cookies and anything Cadbury. I lose all control. I mentioned how stressful my weekend was so you can imagine what happened when I saw a plate of cookies. I am not proud. I am not happy I lost control. I definitely shame spiraled but I am grateful for the tools I have learned from WW that got me right back on track. Reset! Some people do the walk of shame home on a Sunday morning. I do the walk of shame to my WW meeting every Monday night. Ha! I crack myself up.

Walk of Shame made me think of Pink. I love Pink. The musician and the color. Just insert the word cookie every time Pink sings step and you will have a soundtrack to my weekend. Good Times.

Andi convinced me to spend a small fortune and buy a fancy shmancy bra. She said it would change my life. I have to admit its pretty good. The girls have never looked better. I sadly have to admit I know understand the little shimmy dance my Mom would do to get the girls into place every morning. It’s not pretty but it’s the only way.

Hot lemon water is the way people, it’s the way. I was going to say I drank the Kool Aid but I drank the lemon Water and its good. Read this.

The Apple watch commercial really confuses me. If I am following it correctly it is suggesting that my relationships will be so much more meaningful if I could communicate through a watch/phone thingy on my wrist. I don’t get it and I think I was born in the wrong century. I just don’t get it but hey if that’s the way you chose to communicate go for it. I will write you a letter. (I am sure The Thinker will explain it all to me later but the mere fact that he is not running out to buy one tells me that it can not be all that).

Speaking of technology, I am OBSESSED with my Fitbit. I am also OBSESSED with beating Corinne in our daily challenge. I have been known to do jazz squares by my bed at 11:00 pm to beat her number. Again, I am not proud just stating the sad facts about myself.

teacherThis week is teacher appreciation week. I am forever grateful to Miss Wrotniak (I am still not sure of the spelling) 3rd grade. Mr. Newman 5th grade. John Beattie, Jane Perkins, Candy Iampietro, C. Robert Wray High School. Bob O. (I will never attempt to spell his last name) College. I was a lucky girl and who I am is composed of all the things they taught me.

I am also grateful for the amazing teachers my children had. I could not have asked for better. I am beyond blessed to now call some of them my co workers. I get to see every day the amazing things they are doing. Which gets the noise in my head thinking about all the people who have an opinion about what teachers are doing without ever having spent a day in their classrooms let alone their shoes. YOU HAVE NO IDEA! Seriously, how can people who have never done the job be the ones making the decisions that color everything? And if you think you could do it better, you can’t. Trust me, it is not for the faint of heart.

 Ok, I have to get ready for work. There is whole lot going on in my head right at this moment but I am having a hard time getting it all out. I am sure it has something to do with worrying about the kids. I am also thinking this post is a little bit of a downer so please stop reading if I am depressing you. It was not my intention. I am just trying to quiet the noise without resorting to cookies, cake and Cadbury.

P.S. And in thinking of my favorite teachers I must apologize to them for my poor spelling and grammar. It’s not you, I promise. It’s genetics. If you have ever seen anything my Dad has written you know EXACTLY what I am talking about. And since losing my Dad (I still hate that! I did not lose him! I would never lose my Dad. Sheesh) I am happily embracing all the things I inherited from him. Even my receding gums.




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