Of All the Things I've Lost, I Miss My Mind the Most

I've mentioned before that "Old Timers" runs in my family.     My own grandma didn't recognize me at my baby shower and called me a bitch.  Oh yes.  We're THAT family.  :)  

Her father, who lived with them when I was young, used to believe that the Germans would bust into the house at any time and carry him away (no, he was not Jewish),  and so he hid all his money in a table-top cathedral radio. Sometimes, he would get agitated, and chase us around the room, screaming cuss words and "shooting" at us.  My favorite thing was when he peed out the window of his second story bedroom.   Yep.   Great-grandpa was a blast to hang out with.


There have been several incidents throughout my life that cause me to fear that someday, this may be my future.

Once after grocery shopping a few blocks from my house, I got in the Jeep and headed home.  Somehow, before I arrived, I managed to turn on the street before mine.   Instead of being rational and turning on the right street when the houses I saw weren't the ones I looked at every day, I freaked out.    *They* moved my house and ALL the other houses.   *They* were fast, because they did it in only 15 minutes. *They* had taken my family and I would never know where they had gone to.  These were literally my thoughts.   Not, "Hey, dumbass, you turned on the street before yours. Take a right, and you'll be at home."   Oh, no.   I'm freaking out because some unknown, nebulous THEY took my house.   

I would love to say this has only happened once. 

It hasn't.

*Sigh*  

Last night, something even more disturbing happened.   The dog wanted out at three this morning to pee or eat grass or chase cats or just piss me off or  do whatever it is she wants to do fifty frazillion times a night. I have a routine when she wakes me up.  First,  I keep the lights off so I'll go back to sleep.   I go and  do my own business in the dark of the bathroom and then curl up on the couch to doze until she barks for me to let her back in.    

This morning, however, as I lay snuggled up snoozing away on the couch, a strange thing happened.   

The dog barked her warning bark, my eyes shot open, and I was confronted with brown.  Somehow, in my sleep, I had rolled over and was facing the back of the couch.    Okay, no big deal.   Roll over and get up and let the dog in before her infernal barking wakes up the whole dang neighborhood.

Oh, if only it were that easy.

I lay there on the couch for a good 3 minutes, or 100,000 barks, trying to remember HOW TO ROLL OVER. 

I kid you not.  

My future is bleak, you guys.  Someday, you will walk by me at the store, greet me, and I'll think I am fighting in WWI and chase you all around Wal-Mart screaming cuss words a four year old should never hear.

At least Big Daddy has already bought me an old radio to hide my money in for when the Germans come.
 

Go Away Monster Spray

When The Toddler was between the age of two and four, she had the worst case of night terrors...not nightmares which are an occasional bad dream.  Night terrors consist of a child sitting straight up in bed,  eyes wide open, and  screaming bloody murder.  There is nothing you can do to console them, because they are caught in the midst of the dream.

We would go to her, and The Toddler would fight us, biting and clawing, as we tried to comfort her. All the while she was screaming in this high-pitched shriek that sounded as though we were ripping out her toenails.  Her eyes would be wild, and she would look about the room or her bed, trying to get away from something.  Her heart would be pounding.  She'd be drenched in sweat.  After about 10 minutes of constantly talking to her and trying to soothe her, she would finally "wake up" and then go back to sleep, exhausted.  We would have these once or twice a night, three to four times a week.

Big.   Fun.

When we weren't having night terrors, she was petrified that there were monsters in her room.  

I was getting zero sleep.   And a sleepy momma is a cranky momma.  

I tried rationally explaining that there was no such thing as monsters.   Those of you who have kids know how well that worked.    We tried showing her the movie, Monsters Inc.   Our thinking was that she would realize that the monsters weren't trying to kill her, just make her laugh.    Didn't work.    She started the night sleeping in her bed, but between the night terrors and the monsters, she was soon sleeping in our bed every, single night.

We were desperate.

I decided desperate times, call for desperate measures.   We had recently been invaded by ants.    The Toddler loved to watch me spray the line of ants with Raid.  Once they began to curl up and die, she would bust out in this crazy happy dance, jumping up and down, clapping her hands, wiggling her booty, and squealing.  I hoped the same thing would work with monsters.

I went to the dollar store and bought a can of air freshener that I wouldn't mind smelling every day for the next few weeks.  I took it home and printed out a label for it.

When the kiddo was out of Preschool that day, I took her to the dollar store for a one dollar reward for her good behavior in school that day.   As she was looking at all the beautiful "jewelry" and water balloons, I slipped my new and improved can of air freshener to the clerk.  I explained that I would want to "buy" it in a minute. She looked at the label, laughed out loud, and readily agreed.

When we got to the checkout with The Toddler's new treasure, I  excitedly mentioned the Go Away Monster Spray sitting on the counter. "Look baby girl, it's Go Away Monster Spray!   Just like the ant spray Momma uses, EXCEPT this kills monsters!  Want to get some?"

"Nope," she said, shaking her little head.  

"Are you sure?   No more monsters,"  I cajoled.

"Nu-huh, Momma,"   The Toddler restated.

"But it'll kill all the monsters!  It's Go. Away. Monster. Spray."

"Don't want it."

At this point the clerk was cracking up.

"Well," I said, "we are getting it anyway.  Just to try it out."

And that was that.

Later that night, after bath and stories, I asked her where the monsters are usually in her room, because I wanted to spray those areas.

"Behind da do-wa!"

I sprayed behind the door.

"Unda da bed!"

More spray under the bed.

"In da coo-na!"

Spray went into the corner.

"In da cwaset."

As I sprayed the closet, the scent of flowered fields filled the room.

"Smell that?  It means the monsters are gonna die when they try to come in here tonight," I told her, full of enthusiasm.

"Den spray in da dwesser draw-uhs. De are always in dere."

I opened up the dresser and soaked her clothes in air freshener.  

After deciding that we had sufficiently sprayed the monsters, we snuggled in the asthma-inducing, stomach-churning, sickly sweet, smelly room.  My child made a contented sound and snuggled under the covers, a smile on her little face.

All was good.

Until it was not.

Around one in the morning, The Toddler woke us with screaming.

"Dey are-ra back!"

I sprung into action.  "Where?"

"Da cwaset!" came her frantic little cry.

Bam!  Sprayed.

"Behind da doo-wa!"

Pow!

"Quick! In da coo-na!"

Splat!

I was a monster spraying machine.

"Da dwesser, Momma! Da dwesser!  Dey are dere!"

Zap!

"Unda da bed!"

Zing!

And  then....silence.

I was lightly panting from my unexpected midnight work-out. "Did I get them all?"

"Jes," and she snuggled back down for sleep.

Easy, peasy, lemon squeasy.  I could not believe it.

We repeated this another couple of times that first night.   As the days turned into a week, I had to go back to the store to buy more Go Away Monster Spray.  Each night, though, I was getting up less and less.   Then, we started skipping nights until it was only once a week.

After about three weeks, The Toddler told me as we were snuggling before sleep, "Dat spway works.  De Monsters don't come here any-mowa.  Dey are too afwaid of you."

And we never had a monster again.

OOPS....

Sometimes, a song strikes a chord with you.     Sometimes, when you hear it a smile will flit across your face as a memory bubbles to the surface.   Sometimes, you will cringe and remember one of the most embarrassing moments of your life.

I am one of those  cry-babies   soft-hearted people who can be brought to tears by a piece of music, a movie, a book, or a particularly sappy commercial.   Tears of joy or tears of sadness, it doesn't matter.  

I'm also one of those people for whom music is huge in my relationship with God.  There is nothing I love more than throwing up my hands, tilting up my face, closing my eyes, and  singing praises.   Sometimes, the moment strikes me while I'm at church.  Sometimes when I'm in the middle of doing housework, listening to music. Sometimes, it's while I'm about to get out of the car to go buy groceries.

This song in particular fills me up.

It's called "I Will Rise," and it's sung by Chris Tomlin.

I love it.   I especially love the chorus where the music swells, the background singers come in, and Chris Tomlin belts.

"And I hear the voice of many  angel sing
 Worthy is the Lamb.
And I hear the cry of every longing heart
Worthy is the Lamb"

It always gets me.  I always cry.    And I always belt right alongside Mr. Tomlin.

Unfortunately.

I have mentioned in-depth that I sound like a dying cat on crack when I sing.   When this song and a ton of others come on the radio or Pandora or shuffle into my playlist, it just doesn't seem to matter.

It was a rainy, miserable day.   I had to buy groceries.  Money was tight.   My stress was high.  As I was crawling out of my Jeep, that song came on the radio.

I froze and closed the door.

My eyes closed, and I was transported.   "There's a peace I've come to know...."   I needed peace.    As the words of the song washed over me, I started to sing earnestly.    My hands came up in praise.  It didn't matter what I was going through.  He was there for me.

Tears started to flow and I was lost in the moment,hands up, voice loud,  praising my Savior.

The song ended and my heart was full.    I slowly opened my eyes and looked to the semi-foggy driver's side window.  

There pressed up against the window, I saw this......

Now, I'm sure the woman didn't really look like that, but that's the image my brain saw.   

I did what most people would do when faced with something scary the second they open their eyes.   I screamed, "Oh SHOOT!"    

Except I didn't say "shoot."   That's right...... three seconds before I had been raising my hands, praising and praying, and the next second I was cussing.  

I'm sure the poor older lady heard my caterwauling and came over to see if I needed assistance, and I repaid that by screaming profanity at her. 

Good job, Kristi.

Angel Kisses

When The Kid was little, I was a busy mom.  I was the mom you saw at Wal-Hell dragging her toddler by the arm, The Toddler's legs resembling Fred Flinstone's driving his car, as she rushed to try to keep up with me.

I had errands, dangit.

Hurry up.  Ain't nobody got time for that.

I had to go to the bank and the cleaners and the grocery store and the post office.  I didn't have time for little hands to get grubby picking up every single tiny loose rock in the parking lot to put in a pocket.  How many times had I washed clothes and in the bottom of the washer there would be gravel or a coke tab or a dead bug or a wrapper or a piece of chewed gum? I didn't even let her chew gum!  Gross!   I didn't have time for her to pick up stray pieces of someone else's discarded gum for her to try to sneak.

I was busy with my child, dang it.

And I was totally missing my the best moments of our shared life, by being wrapped up in myself and my "busy-ness."

The Toddler had been talking since forever.  She started stringing words into sentences before she was a year old.    She was completely understandable before she was 18 months.  

On this day, she was rapidly approaching three years old.

I had her by the hand as we were walking through a busy parking lot.  I was in a hurry, of course, as I was every day, trying to prove I could be an awesome mom and a kick-ass housewife, unknowingly failing at both.

We were rushing through the lot, when I was jerked to a stop.   The Toddler was squatting in the trash that was piled up against the curb. To my horror, she picked up something, brought it to her mouth, hugged herself, and then shoved her now-dirty hand into her pants pocket.

Visions of digging someone's chewed gum out of my child's mouth had me retching as I demanded, "What did you put in your mouth?"

"Nuffin."

"I saw you put something in your mouth!  What was it?"

"Nuffin."

"Don't lie to Momma, baby girl," I reminded, as I was already leaning down to the finger sweep.

She was right.  There was nothing there.

"What did you swallow?"

"Nuffin."

Praying that "nuffin" wouldn't kill her, make her deathly ill, or give her explosive diarrhea before we could make it home, I continued on my busy way.

We made it into the store before the events repeated themselves.  I was jolted to another stop by thirty-five pounds of  obstinate three year old.  There in the middle of the frozen food aisle,  The Toddler began repeating her little ritual.  Something to her mouth. A beautiful smile.  A self-hug.  Hand in the pocket.

"Hey!  You just did it again!" I yelped.

The Kid looked up and, dangit, if she didn't give me the cutest chubby-cheeked grin.

"What's in your mouth?"

"Nuffin, momma.  Told you dat!" she replied, her tiny pigtails bobbing as she nodded her in head in agreement with herself.

"Let me see your mouth."

She obediently opened her mouth.

Nothing again.

We finished the grocery store with no more "nuffin" events and headed to the cleaners.

This time, we didn't even make it into the building before we crashed to a stop.    There was my kid digging through the muck and the trash on the ground. Another smile. Something to the mouth.  Another hug.  Hand in pocket.

Nothing had been in her mouth each time I checked.  Whatever she was doing, she had to be putting it in her pocket.

I'm a little slow, but I'll get there in the end.

As soon as she finished her ritual, I said, "Let me see what's in your pocket, baby girl."

Proudly, she put her dirty little hand in her pocket and pulled out a hand full of something, but kept her fist tightly clamped.

"Let me see!"

The Toddler immediately clutched it to her chest. "Mine, Momma!  Not yours!"

"Please, let Momma see?"

"They're mine.  You can't have them!'

"Honey, I don't want them.  I just want to see what they ARE." (And then I might want them).

"Dey are my Angel Kisses, Momma!"

I was confused.  "Angel Kisses," I repeated.

"Jes!   See, God tinks bout me all de time!  He loves me!   When he tinks bout me, he send an angel down fwom Heaven wit a kiss.  De angel leaves it fo me.  I find it and it makes me happy.   I give God a kiss, hug Him, and put His kiss in my pocket.  It makes me happy 'cause he tinks bout me.   He tinks bout you, too, Momma.  Do you find His kisses?"

"Let me see His kiss, baby girl."

She unfurled her grubby little fingers, and there in her chubby fist lay three of these.

I smiled.

"See Momma?  God's pic-sur  is even on it.  Dat's how you know it's Him!  Look for dem, Momma.  Dey are everywhere 'cause he tinks about you ...a lot."

I always wondered what God looked like.   Who knew the answer was Abraham Lincoln?

That moment taught me to slow down.   I didn't have to go everywhere and do everything.  I didn't have to try to be perfect.  I wasn't.  And that's okay.    I needed to spend time with my baby girl.    I was so busy looking to the next thing, trying to accomplish the next item, I didn't see what was right in front of me.  Instead of stopping and smelling the roses, I needed to stop and find the Angel Kiss.

When I found a penny this morning as I was walking in the school building, I smiled.  God was tinking bout me.

Look around the next time you are out and about and  rushing around.   I bet you find, he's tinking bout you, too!


**  Those of you who are super-savvy may have noticed that I changed the picture.   I realized that picture I had up was mislabeled and was actually the first day of Kindergarten and not the first day of PreK.  This one is the right picture.   :)