I am sure I have posted about this before, but I just want to know…WHY is it that new mommies can’t seem to take a shower? I ask this because I can’t count how many times I have read, in a parenting magazine, how busy a mother is…how she can’t seem to get in the shower because she is so busy with her ONE five month old. Well, let’s see…IF showering is important to you, and let’s face it, who wants to smell like BO and baby spit up…take one while baby is napping. And as a mother of five, I KNOW babies nap, so you can’t say they don’t. IF you do have that one infant on earth that never sleeps, EVER…letting them cry for five minutes won’t hurt them, or you. Really, it won’t…I promise.

And why do they always seem to interview women about the ‘wiseness of motherhood.’ when they have a 2 and 4 year old. Now, let me say…I KNOW you learn alot about kids in those first two years, but are there NO other women out there with more than two kids, AND perhaps some of those kids are teens or even young adults? I want wisdom from someone that has been there and done that, not someone that might be there one day, and perhaps will have to deal with that.

I don’t get it!

I have met men that are breast men. I have met men that are butt men, leg men, etc. I even had a friend in high school that was all about the hair a woman had. But I only met one man that was a ‘me’ man. Let me explain:

Most of the time I will look at my husband and see the man that I adore. I can be mad as hell at him, but he is still the man that makes my heart skip a beat, that makes a tear well up in my eye as he plays with our three month old, but every once in awhile I will look at him and think, “I don’t deserve this man.” When I am feeling melancholy or morose, I will turn to my husband and ask him questions whose answers I KNOW will cheer me up.

I believe it was a Thursday, just your average Thursday, and I was sick. I felt horrible. I was sure my head was going to explode, my throat felt like someone had rubbed it raw with heavy duty sandpaper, and I knew I looked the part. I got out of bed, and marched into the bathroom wearing my nursing bra and well worn boy shorts. I did my business and came out of the bathroom to see my husband motioning me over to him. I smiled and walked around to his side of the bed, sat down and leaned over him, waiting to be enveloped in his sleepy warmth. He hugged me too him and rubbed my back, as I felt his hand creeping lower, I turned to him and asked if he was an ass man. His reply: “I’m a you man.” I thought it was sweet at the time, and showed him my appreciation. But later that day, as I was in the kitchen I thought about what he said, and it struck me…that was possibly the sweetest thing he had ever said to me.

Oh, he has told me he loved me many times…and I hold every single time dearly. He has told me I was beautiful, that I was smart, powerful, etc. But in that one short sentence he said all of that and more. He told me he loved me, that I was smart, that I was beautiful, but also that he accepted my faults, and dealt with them as best he could. He told me he remembered our past and was looking forward to our future. He was a “me” man.

I hope he knows “I’m a him woman.”

Our oldest son is almost 14, and while I wouldn’t say he is lazy, there aren’t many things he is truly passionate about. At this age, I am ok with that. He does well in school, he has friends, he is a leader among his peers, etc. BUT, he isn’t truly passionate about any one thing. The other day he visited his bio-dad, who took him to a gym about 45 minutes (with little traffic) from our house, of great. He comes home saying he would like to try Jiu-Jitsu, again, ok great. But, I asked him did you think about the logistics. He will be starting high school in a few months with a very full course load-four honors courses, Latin, PE, and whatever elective he decides to take. The gym is at least 45 minutes from our house, with traffic it could take us anywhere from 45-90 minutes to get there, then the class is two hours, that would put us home about 10 pm (if we are lucky) on a school night.

“Uh, well, no I didn’t think of it like that.” Was his reply to me.

Seriously, I want to smack my head against the wall. Not to mention he has four younger brothers at home. If Dad is home…ok, fine. IF not, that means we pack of at least two little ones, drag them all the way to the gym, they sit there for two hours, yeah, lots of fun.

A part of me wants to encourage this excitement for a new activity, what if this is the ONE thing he could become passionate about and I squash it. On the other hand, I feel that IF he was truly interested, why hasn’t he looked at the places closer to home? His bio-dad doesn’t live here, and while I am sure he can guess what things are like at home (controlled chaos is putting it nicely at times) C KNOWS that things are like here day to day. I didn’t grow up in a large family. It was my sister and I, and she came along when I was almost seven years old, so I don’t truly understand what it must be like to sacrifice time spent alone with their father and/or I. ON the other hand, I would say time is about the only thing in short supply here. Our kids rarely wear used clothing, though hand me downs are in our house they each get their share of new clothes that they picked out…especially our oldest who is at the age where he is starting to care about his looks. (our 12, 8 and infant could care less, and as long as it has a Power Ranger or Mickey Mouse in it our 3 year old is happy) We have six computers in the house (though to be fair two are pretty much off limits), we have ALL the popular gaming systems hooked up to a 67″ TV! The kids have iPods, we are fairly liberal in what they listen to and watch, etc. These kids aren’t hurting for things…but sometimes I wonder if that is because our time is limited? Do I buy these things because they have to jockey for time alone with us and material things appease them?

I think that would be a way to put it off on us…but in reality, my husband and I like these things too. Oh, sure I am not a huge fan of my husband’s PSP or the kids’ DS, but they get those things I get my magazines (course my mags are a LOT cheaper than a PSP, but hey that is what I dig.)
And yet maybe that is a family problem…we each have our own ‘thing’ and we don’t know how to have fun as a family. We do have season passes to Busch Gardens, we have taken trips to DisneyWorld (though even on that trip I was afraid of missing stuff I planned things each day and hubby had to remind me to chill out), but the day to day ‘family time?’

Perhaps that is something we ALL need to work on.

Excuse the disjointedness of my post…I am still getting things together with the baby and not getting enough sleep (though that is getting MUCH better).

I want to take a moment to write about something I don’t often see. Men and women in love will often wax poetic about their mates eyes, their smile, their hair, etc…but what about their hands? It was perhaps five or six days ago, I was up nursing our infant….around 2 am in the morning. I was exhausted, worn out, and my husband rolled over and put his hand on my knee. He gently rubbed his hand over my leg and left his hand there. I looked at it and surprisingly felt tears well up. I figured I was just tired and therefore over emotional, but I took a breath and looked at his hand again. Those hands have helped me through three births, they soothed my brow when I didn’t think I could push anymore. Almost ten years later he will still reach back while we are shuffling five kids through the mall, almost as if to say…I know you are there, and I will never forget or leave you. My husband is a tall man…almost 6′3″ (though he swears he is shrinking) his hands are a suitable size to his frame, and yet he will hold our tiny baby as gently as if he were holding an egg. Those hands have soothed countless tummyaches and headaches, poured cup after cup of juice, and changed tiny diapers. My husband has amazing eyes….a sort of sea green that will change from blue to green depending on what he wears. His smile is equally amazing, and occasionally he will laugh with abandon, throwing his head back and smacking his hand on his thigh (don’t get me started on those!), but his hands deserve equal attention because it is those hands that will carry me through the years when I need to be carried.