“I Don’t Know How You Do It!”

Many of the moms I’ve met since moving to my area in LA have just one child.  When I mention my three, they look straight into my eyes, sometimes shake their head slowly and say, “I don’t know how you do it.”

It mostly makes me feel validated for all that I do, since I often feel invisible and my “work” only gets noticed if I were to drop the ball.  Other times, it makes me feel like confessing, “If you only knew…I’m cracking these days.”  Wait, I did say that aloud, just this week, to my kids’ basketball coaches (dads of young ones) as they laughed about cracking too except I wasn’t laughing.

Summer parenting has been A LOT in a way I don’t have the patience to get into, and this is with the sons in various activities, not lounging around under my roof.  For one, I didn’t know how chauffeuring them around town, on a schedule, which sounds passive enough, would increase my anxiety.  Girl is two years old and ackin’ very two-ish from her middle carseat, demanding all the songs and snacks and no, different song!, and even hugs as I drive because Mom sitting in the driver seat is too far away.

I’d been feeling a nudge to CREATE SPACE for a while now as our lives are packed and when the nudge became a shove after a couple Facebook posts affected me, I removed Facebook from my phone.  The bad outweighed the good for me, for now, and there was no need for my already crammed mind to be filled with acquaintances’ summer travel or my heart affected again by seeing updates from those I was once close to, now like strangers from atrophy.

I’m not sure the point of this post but it has been TOO long since I’ve written more than To Do lists and I need to get back to doing the things that I love.

I wholly appreciate how the Lord knows what I need in big and small ways.  He sent me an unexpected encouragement through a stranger (a dad) who said he saw me at my boys’ sports camp, marching in, wearing the Girl, motioning quietly to the staff that I’m pulling out the boys to take them to swim.  He told me that he was so impressed that he even texted his wife about me, saying man, you should have seen this mom!  He added that he knows how moms don’t get affirmed enough for all that they do while dads get lionized for just being with their kids in public.  Seems like a small thing but it nearly made me tear up.

God also brought me a new friend I was able to walk and talk with, with a total of zero kids between the two of us, and it was such a gift.  After moving here about a year ago, I joined so many groups, thirsting for connection.  I think I found some support and community but not the deeper, individual connections that might take a while to build (it’s only been a year).  I missed the intimacy and natural chemistry of talking with a few someones who just get me and vice versa.  I miss the handful of close friends I did life with in NYC though yes, I know I pined away for CA while there.

I told the new friend about something enraging that happened to me yesterday and instead of the usual advice to just shake it off, reminders about how blessed I am otherwise, or other directives to please just make it all better by not spending one more second expressing truthfully how it made me feel, she gifted me with, “OF COURSE THIS SHOULD MAKE YOU MAD.  OF COURSE!  YOU’VE BEEN INJURED.”

And again, when I shared with an acquaintance, and he responded by inspecting my hand and remarking, “How bad were your knuckles bleedin’ when you hit her?” (I didn’t hit anyone but his deadpan question just made my morning after a terrible day yesterday).

Here’s to the rest of the summer:  creating space, creating, nature, quiet, nudges and shoves, deep breaths, letting go, and breaking bad cycles.  P.S. Facebook keeps sending me emails to jump back in, even asking me if I’m having trouble logging in.  That’s wrong!

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Happy 2019: Hashtag Blessed AND…

Happy New Year!  May your 1-9, be beyond fine.

On the first day of 2019, I found out that some friends are expecting their third child.  I was so surprised though I already knew that when people say they are SO done, that means nothing because life.

I became immediately excited for them and also nostalgic for that expectant stage I always idealize because hey, HUMAN LIFE INSIDE ME!

I wanted to tell my friends just how joyful being a mom to three is.  Joyful AND crazy.  Blissful AND overwhelming.  “AND’s” are always allowed.

The kids are still on Winter Break, which is a new phenomenon for these newbie Californians as we are used to going back to school promptly on January 2nd, immediately after the countdown and the dduk-mandoo-gook.

After fixing the baby some eggs and the boys some Spam kimbap for breakfast, we rushed to a local Japanese Tea Garden before baby’s nap hit.  This one doesn’t do car naps so we rush home for crib naps, a totally new experience.

The garden is a gem I was delighted to bring my family to, as it was one of my favorites decades ago when I lived in L.A.

“Don’t throw the pine cones into the pond.

Make sure they only land on the grass.

Don’t creep close to the water on that stone perimeter.  Back up.  More.  Watch out for your sister.

I said, no pine cones in the pond.

Olive, let’s walk around the lady trying to get her sunbath on.”

Clearly, a different experience from visiting alone as a single 20-something.

My thoughts are all over the place as I know the baby will wake up soon and the boys might break out into a fight even though they are currently playing quietly after consuming the ramen I made them for lunch.

When people repeat how hard marriage and parenting can be, I always want to hear specifics.  When they only repeat that it is hard, my ever-curious mind wonders what *they* find hard about either, and if it is similar to what I find hard about it.

I can’t tune out sounds, for one, so I absorb every noise, kid and otherwise.  Like the leafblower on turbo right outside my window as I type this.  So when I hear the boys just BEGIN to fight, I feel triggered as I know what awaits.

As their bodies grow bigger, their fights are more intense and frequent.  And guy-ish.  I was able to stomach their toddler fights because of the adorable and innocent factor.  They are louder and meaner now, pushing each others’ buttons on purpose.

And a 20+ lb. lightweight toddler sister might get caught in the crossfires.

As the “wise” “adult,” I need to not react and spew out the reaction I am tempted to spew:  “Shut up, I can’t handle this fighting!”  And when my bucket is beyond empty, I so want to say, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I have to pause, take a deep breath, and find out what made them escalate.  And most times, I just don’t want to.  I, too, want to go sunbathe at a public park and bounce when the kids make kid noises.

For me, the psychological toll that parenting takes is what comes to mind these days, when I think about parenting being hard.  I can’t hear myself think and it will only get louder once Olive is fully verbal.

I want to behave just like them at times but I must don this adult costume and not be reactive.  And when I do fail and say wrong things, I must apologize again, forgive myself and ask friends to remind me that there is no condemnation or else the shame spiral will take me for a ride.

For Year 1-9 to be Beyond Fine, both Kevin and I have to make sure our mental health gets put on The List.  This means more alone time for each of us, not alone time to pay bills, increase our household income while baby naps, email the teachers, schedule play dates, meet more family needs but alone time to NOT take care of tasks, alone time to do what delights us, even for half an hour, which is just what I got to do now, while baby continues to nap and boys dribble a ball, harmoniously, for now.

Sure, I want this to be better writing but nope, publishing as is or else I’d never blog.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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Quieter of My Soul

I failed again.  During a visit from my mom, I drove her away the week before Thanksgiving.  Only God can help us understand where the other is coming from despite the immense cultural, language, love language, and generational barriers.

I have to study the fight-or-flight response further because I tend to fight, as in attempt to tackle the recurring issue while my mom leaves the room and her eyes check out, which only triggers my escalation as I chase her, begging to be heard.

I don’t want to get into more of this as it is too raw and unresolved.  And not entirely my story to tell.  I just know that we need help and this unhealthy cycle has to stop.

How do I respect and navigate around her need to flee, which is just as dire as my need to be heard.  She just wants to retreat into a safe space whether it is to wash a dish or wash Olive’s socks DURING the communication I begged for, which only triggers me, as keeping occupied with physical tasks has always been her coping mechanism while I need to talk about it.  THIS IS SO PAINFUL and beyond hard.

I explained to my kids at pick-up that Halmoni and I had a painful conflict and that in light of that, can they please gift me with extra grace, as in please be on task with picking up after yourselves, not fighting, and staying focused during homework.

Needless to say, I still had to repeat myself, break up fights, apologize for lashing out due to my own emotional tank being depleted, rush, clean up Olive’s messes, pray for help, then take them to their church activity on time.

Looking back on yesterday, I realized again that for me, the toughest part of being a parent is not just the physical demands like feeding (so much feeding), driving, clothing, decluttering, and organizing but the emotional demands, like disciplining without lashing out and parenting while I’ve taken an emotional hit.

I thought about my girlfriend who has yet to process her baby’s death as she is busy meeting the demands of her first child.  Or even now, as first responders near the Woolsey Fire in Thousand Oaks, have not been able to grieve because immediately following the mass shooting of last week, came the massive fires.

Underlying the frenzy of yesterday was also gratitude for my kids needing me so I could not afford to “dwell” on my feelings of guilt and sadness, *BUT* it truly is a balancing act as I do have to find some still small space to find out how I can communicate wiser so that my mom does not resort to her coping mechanism of taking flight.

So, as Thanksgiving approaches and many of us will gather with our families, all of us imperfect and broken, I pray for quieting of our souls amidst the many voices, inner chatter, unmet expectations, and unresolved childhood wounds:

“The LORD your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;

he will rejoice over you with gladness;

he will quiet you by his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing.”  Zephaniah 3:17 (ESV) – emphasis mine

If you read this, please pray for me and my mom.  Happy Thanksgiving.

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She-Hulk Makes Tater Tots

This always happens.

When the boys are climbing where they shouldn’t or being too loud, I quickly go to “Calgon, Take Me Away” daydreams but when they are at school, I miss them.

I’m now laughing on the inside thinking about yesterday.

Yesterday was MY witching hour around 5 pm when I was making dinner and shuffling Baby O somewhere she can be part of our family scene but also out of brothers’ way.

I heard myself repeatedly bellowing, “Get out your homeworks NEE-OW! If Mommy has to ask again, you will regret it!”  In my frustration, I had forgotten the boys’ request to never pronounce “NOW” as “NEE-OW!!”  So you know Mama wasn’t having it.

Then I started judging myself because I knew I was becoming cranky when they were just being kids.

The boys had walked with me and Olive in her Snap n Go, from school to doctor to playground in yesterday’s weirdly-windy-but-not-yet-cold weather.

Everything took longer than I had imagined.  The doctor’s office staff seemed like they just did not want to deal with people, period.

And this is the easy phase as Olive has never had a diaper blowout or even needed me to change her during afterschool play.  All she does is coo and beam at us, our family mascot.

But the boys never just “walk” with me.  They gallop, run, pick berries and rocks, trailing far behind me even after I say, “If you behind me, someone can take you and I won’t even know!  A dark van can roll up looking for two Asian boys to snatch and I won’t even know if you don’t walk ahead of me!”

I knew I was getting cranky when I had to repeat myself, “Don’t run on the grass. People leave dog poop there!” By the time I had to repeat myself for the third time, sarcasm had kicked in, “Please continue on the grass!  Don’t even think about walking on the sidewalk.  Enjoy the fresh poop you will step in.” (I did manage to laugh when Micah pointed out, “But Mommy, that one poop is shaped EXACTLY like a duck!”  It was.)

By the time dinner and homework had to be done, I just wanted to sit down and do nothing.  Crack my toe knuckles and be done.  But we had the busiest hours coming up – dinner, homework, baths, clean up, prepare for the next day.

Every request was annoying me.

“Mommy, can we have some tater tots with the galbi?”

Sigh.  I could have said no but their galbi dinner could have used some potato.

“Sure, let me turn the oven on. And lemme warn you that Mommy is cranky because I’m just really tired. Can you pray for me so that I don’t She-Hulk?”

“Dear God, please help our mom not become She-Hulk.  Thank You.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Thank you, my beauties.”

Boys are whispering to each other, cupping ears. They both come up to me, beaming. Ellis is the appointed spokesperson for this exchange:

“Mommy, WE APPWEECIATE YOU!…Can we have some tater tots?”

“Thank you so much for telling me you appreciate me especially when Mommy is cranky.  That means so much to me.

Now, I said I have to first warm up the oven so yes to the tater tots but NO to asking me again. For some reason, Mommy gets annoyed when I am already making the food and you guys ask about it, aight?  Please be patient.”

16 minutes later:

“Mommy, I’m not asking about the tater tots, right?”

Epilogue: I took a 30 minute nap at 7 pm and emerged only with a growling belly and no trace of She-Hulk.

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At doc office:  “Come, let’s take a picture of you three.  I haven’t taken a Big Three picture in a while.”

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Dramatically awaiting M’s flu shot

A Husband’s Wisdom

I have supersonic hearing.

I can’t tune out noise.

I’ve cried before from a particularly gnarly subway and bus braking screech or loud-ass ambulance sirens that felt like someone was yanking out my intestines.

I empathize with children who have sensory issues as I probably do, too.

I feel so strongly that if I am at a gathering and someone is pissed the F off, I cannot just enjoy myself and laugh in the corner.

I absorb others’ energy.  I used to cry when I witnessed public proposals, once even hugging the couple I didn’t know.  When I see someone crying on the subway, I feel their sadness and depending on the situation, I offer them their space, a tissue, or some words.

I say all this because as a mom, it would help to be able to tune out noise.

When I asked Kevin how he doesn’t get as flustered as me sometimes, say, when he takes the kids grocery-shopping by himself, something I haven’t done in ages,  he explained, “Oh, I tune them out sometimes.  It’s great.  You should try it.”

“Really?”  Because I have this supersonic hearing and other sensitivities, I can NOT tune out my kids OR tune out other kids’ noises.

Also, when I’m spending time with my kids and they are not otherwise engaged or fighting, I try to teach them a li’l something by engaging them in conversation or when they were younger, even setting up a simulated kidnapping/Stranger Danger situation on our walks, which they enjoyed way too much, asking me to do it again and again.

This means that I am constantly engaging or repeating myself and it has got me fried at the end of the day.  “Don’t touch your sister.  Back up.  Don’t climb that.  Walk to the side of the street.  Watch out.  Don’t jump.  Mind your manners.  Focus.”

This is my job as a Mom.  I want them to hear my voice when I am gone.

So yesterday, we had a marathon afternoon after school let out.

Kids’ noises galore at the library, homework time for each son with my reminding them to stay seated even with sensory delights everywhere, my stroller can’t get past other kids’ backpacks strewn all over the floor, my kids are happy but fooling around with their friends and the energy is amping up, and other details too boring to type out.

We part ways from our friends.  We stop for snacks I had packed as we stroller over for our dentist appointment.  Another kid walks by with his mom and he kicks a rock as kids are prone to do and it hits me smack dab on my bony, ashy foot.  It hurts.

I growl as the mom apologizes.  I’ve been her before yet I still growl while sweating from the heat and then judge myself for becoming real crabby like a baby during his witching hour.  If I can cut out this judging of self, or at least reduce it lots, I’d be better off.  Micah tells me that the rock-kicker was his classmate.  I feel bad for growling at him.

I pass by familiar faced moms who seem to be way more patient with their kids for doing kid stuff like squeal and run off.

As I was going to bed after Kevin and I got to watch “This is Us,” and laughing to myself about how these days, “binge-watching” is equivalent to watching one show to completion, I said,

“Kevin, I feel like the angel and devil on my shoulders are always fighting and it is f*cking exhausting.  Kids are blessings, kids are blessings, kids are TRULY blessings but I can also hear myself repeating silently, kids are so annoying, kids are so annoying.  You know a counselor once told me that I should practice holding opposites in tension…something about both being true and being okay with that.

My brain already went to bed, I don’t know if you even know what I’m referring to.  I just feel bad that I go to kid gatherings and think, Damn, kids are so annoying…when they are such blessings!”

Kevin looked me square in the eyes in the dark with our two fans and AC going:

“Kids are annoying as F.”

What a perfect, pithy gift.  Husband spoke my love language and gave me a belly laugh.

The Power of “Me, Too”

Two weekends ago, I had to call my girlfriend from Six Flags to pray for and with me.  Because we’ve had our own disjointed, shorthand, can-talk-over-each-other language since seventh grade, she is the only friend I can still call without feeling like I am disrupting someone’s busy weekend, even though I *was* disrupting her as she set up for her daughter’s birthday party.

As soon as I heard her voice, I started crying, still holding Olive, first trying to find half a bench to sit on, then pacing so that I can have some privacy away from the benched Funnel Cakers.  I was holding her awkwardly, trying to keep her out of the sun while the sun kept following us.

After wasting our time yelling at each other and NOT hearing each other, Kevin had taken the boys to a different section of the park.  I felt abandoned but looking back, it allowed me to catch my breath and stop raging in front of the kids.

I was grateful that Olive was too young to later say, “Remember that time Mommy was crying at Six Flags?”

I continued to my friend:

“…on top of all that, I am now spiraling, feeling like WTF is wrong with me, looking around this dang park with today’s perfect SoCal-like weather and everyone taking selfies, Funnel Caking and heeheehee, able to enjoy themselves.

I feel like a f*cking failure ‘cuz I couldn’t put our fight on pause like a mature ass adult and parent but girl, I just felt so unheard and still do.  No matter how many times I tried, I could NOT just ‘snap out it,’ take a deep breath and re-emerge as Mom who is able to Funnel Cake and Batman ride right now!”

My friend and I talked over each other, which is what we do.  I told her that rehashing it won’t get us anywhere so let’s just pray.  But before she prayed, she shared with me, “STOP!  Stop it.  LOOK, I been there!  And it is OK that you couldn’t collect yourself to take your kids to the rides as a family.  It’s not fair to put such a time pressure on yourself for being OK.  It’s OK to show your kids that Mommy had to go collect herself and yes, even at Six Flags.  And if you think you the only one melting down, trust me.  Some of these families you comparing yourself to?  They already had their meltdowns on the way in or will have them later as they leave.”

She also shared just how “been there” she been, which helped spare me from beating myself up even more.  All while speed-talking before her girl’s birthday party.

Of course, as a friend, she couldn’t just co-sign on all my bad habits.  She did acknowledge that I can work on some thangs, but she let me know that I was not the only mom who had failed.  In this age where phone calls are obsolete, I’m so glad I was able to reach her.

Also, this past week, I’ve been chatting online with some dear mom friends and the power and beauty of that chat was all in the “Me, too.”

Sometimes, a “Me, too” is more life-giving than any, “I’ll pray for you” or “Have you ever considered…?” or “At least you…”  (Actually, no one enjoys an “At least you…” ever).

And I don’t know why my self-talk can be so damn mean.  “Snap out of it” is the worst message, something I would never tell anyone else after being told that when I suffered from clinical depression decades ago.

I don’t know about others but I am my own harshest critic and I would like to work on that.  If I don’t check myself and remind myself aloud, like Stuart Smalley on SNL, my negative self-talk can be downright fatal.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“How come other moms don’t experience such a range of emotions?  Why are you so extra?!”

“How come I’m not more like Kevin?  He can handle so much more.”

“How is that other mom so damn calm?  Does she ever yell?!”

And in the darkest moments, “What if my kids are better off without me?”

I’ve constantly asked myself, even on this blog, why I am prone to confessions while some are never prone to any self-deprecation.

I think I’ve always been drawn to the power of “Me, too,” to help others (and myself) know that we are ALL broken.

Sometimes, I hear church folk talkin’ about how we are all broken but for the life of me, I can’t imagine this person in front of me ever breaking down.  So when someone shares their weakness, it is downright life-giving.

This is why I can relate to addicts and recovery programs, though I have not been an addict myself – the opportunity and ability to share low moments with each other, to remind each other regularly that we all struggle.

And to be clear, “Me, too” is not to be mistaken for having a pity party where we bring each other down and stay there, or excuse bad habits together but to remind each other that we can be imperfect, that there is always more grace.

We can fail in big and small ways, but as long as breathe air in and out of our different-shaped nose holes, we can seek redemption for moments and narratives we want to shed.  And one thing is for sure:  we will mess up again, and His mercies abound.

Lamentations 3:21-23 “But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

 

Reaccommodatin’

Substitute my brother’s white Mitsubishi Eclipse from decades ago for our silver Honda Odyssey minivan.  And my 20-something self with my bigger 40 year-old self with pregnant belly protruding onto the steering wheel and basically, we have the same scenario.

When I was younger, I would blow off steam by driving in the familiar San Fernando Valley streets with music blasting.  I hadn’t realized that driving alone to de-stress was still an option for me until this past weekend.  Lemme back up.

Spring Break was upon us and this year, it went on for seven full weekdays.  So counting the weekends, it was for 12 days straight.  Kevin took one day off for our trip to local Bear Mountain.  I noticed during the break that my boys have grown much bigger in stature and presence.  I could not physically control them like I could when they were morsels I could lift in and out of their double stroller.

The most stressful moments of Spring Break were when we had to get somewhere by a certain time.

Like on Good Friday, the tail end of that first week of break.  The boys entertain each other so well these days that I am practically a third wheel to their inside jokes, songs, and secrets.  Until they fight.  Right when we had to go get the car to get to our parking-challenged church for Good Friday service, Fight Club was at it again.

Perhaps because this was the end of a fun but long week, I started seeing red.  I wanted to swat them.  We somehow made it to church and I noticed that en route to church, they had fallen asleep.  They must have woken up earlier that morning and that was why they were more rambunctious than usual.  But I didn’t care.

I needed to tap out.  I counted the minutes ’til Kevin could meet me in the church parking lot when he could tend to the sleeping angels and I could take just Me Myself and I (and obedient, compliant, quiet Belly Baby) into the sanctuary.  I hoped Kevin knew from my terrible mood to not try to find me once we were in the sanctuary.  BECAUSE I NEEDED ME SOME SANCTUAAAAARY!

I sat in the balcony, my favorite section.  I couldn’t even sing or pray.  I just kept fanning myself, just feeling beyond drained from the week of quality time with my boys.  I was at a -10 in self-care.  I didn’t know how to get them to listen to me, these growing, galloping horse boys in our apartment.  In some ways, this stage was much more taxing than a baby with no visible neck, just sitting there, with all of its delicious rolls and sausage arms to objectify and nibble on.

As I was fanning myself, Kevin texted me, “We are downstairs,” right after I saw them walking in.  Because I was so tapped out, my first instinct was to hide!  (Family – if you ever read this, I LOVE YOU.  But I am also human and I need to tap out and recharge).  My beautiful Denzel-smiling Micah located me right away and looked up at me in the balcony.  He beamed like he and his Fight Club partner hadn’t just put me through the wringer.  I smiled back but didn’t budge when he gestured for me to come down to their level.

I gazed down below at a family of six, sitting together, the youngest nuzzling into Dad’s neck.  Father, Lord, help me, I just can’t right now.

I was able to savor my solitude throughout the beautifully planned special Good Friday service.  I wanted to clap back with an exclamation of, “Glory Hallelu!” when Pastor Rich Villodas pointed out in his sermon that Jesus did not say, “You are a good good Father!” when He was being crucified on the cross.  Instead, even Jesus cried out, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?”  And we can take comfort in that because it gives us permission to be human and voice our anguish to God.

And man, I felt VERY human on Good Friday.  I couldn’t get over how hard of a time I was having just taking care of myself, Belly Baby, and Wrestlemania Kims.  As I was headed to different, interactive centers set up throughout our church for focused meditation and reflection, a couple people kindly informed me, “I saw your kids in the Elephant Room!” as a way of greeting me.  Usually, I would beam at any mention of my kids but this time I thought to myself, “Good, they there with they Daddy and Mama here in the Upper Stage Room, still ketchin’ her breath.”  I did peek in without being seen and was relieved to see that they were enjoying a jellybean Jesus activity instead of absorbing my Tapped Out Toxins.

I was still emotional even after we were able to enjoy an Easter Egg Hunt at twilight with our friends.  I told Kevin, “Hey, I know I am repeating myself but I am so tapped out.  I cannot repeat another day of Fight Club.  It sounds extreme but I cannot take care of anyone tomorrow.  Please.”

Kevin heard me but still said, “OK, but remember, tomorrow I have to check out open houses and all you would have to do is take the boys to soccer.”

Tread lightly, brother.  “All you would have to do?”

I got salty because that sounded tame for any other day but I was tapped out.  And taking the boys to soccer meant walking them over, taking them back home, feeding them, keeping them from fighting, and little details you don’t quite think about.  Suddenly, I had a lightbulb moment.

“Hey, *I’MMA* go to open houses and you will take them to soccer.  And I will return laaaaaaaate.”

That is how I found myself on the highway, blasting my radio and driving like a free bird.  I always thought I hated driving but I had to check myself and qualify that:  I hate driving in our congested neighborhood with my precious treasures in the backseat, demanding The Weekend and Ariana Grande at the same time, but driving ALONE AND UNENCUMBERED with full control of the radio on a highway to a land of parking spots galore!?

I NEEDED TO DRIVE ALONE BY MYSELF ON THAT SATURDAY!  Sure, I came back and reported to Kevin that one house was very close to a Taco Bell/Pizza Hut and that was cool so now he needs to go re-visit houses for me, but that Saturday of Solitary Driving saved me.

Added bonus:  Kevin reported back to me that his staying home with the boys was just what he needed to rest!

We reaccommodated our roles and were much better for it.  I drove home, loaded with gyros and Greek chicken soup that night and was able to miss my boys again.  Recharged for Resurrection Sunday.

Now we lookin’ for more ways to reaccommodate our roles after I experienced some cramping and contractions that we first chalked up to a rare Taco Bell consumption.

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When you feelin’ like this, REACCOMMODATE (but not like United)!