Worry

I worry about my Peanuts so much.

Peanut One, especially.

He's having a tough time right now and doesn't have the words to tell me what is bothering him.

It feels like it is literally killing me to watch him go through this.

I want to fix it. I want to make it better. I want to make it go away.

What I realize is that I can't. Even if I could, something else would come up.

I need to merely be with him, let him know he's loved; care for him and let him know I'm here. I need to advocate when necessary, yet not step into everything. I need to relax and be a conscious parent instead of reacting and being a dazed parent.

It's hard.

So True

I was playing with Peanut Two yesterday and seeing how many of her senses she knew.

I asked her what she saw with and she pointed to her eyes.

I asked her what she heard with and she pointed to her ears.

I asked her what she smelled with and she pointed to her nose.

I asked her what she felt with and she look at me with her question mark face.

She thought about it for a while.

Then she pointed to her heart.

So true. . .

A Case of Mistaken Identity

I've cut back tremendously on my work over the past month or so. This was a conscious choice in an aim to step back from my professional life which was great or horrible depending on which day I looked at it.

I wanted more time with my kids, I wanted more time with myself, I wanted to enjoy what I spent my time on. . .

Yet here I sit wondering what I was thinking. I am spending more time with my kids, yet I also feel incredibly disconnected. I wonder what else work was giving me besides money and a resume pad.

Was it giving me a social outlet?

Was it giving me an escape?

Was it giving me a purpose?

Was it giving me an identity?

I am meeting a ton of new people right now and I thank God, Goddess, All That Is that I have something professional going on so I don't have to say I don't work.

I can't seem to accept it, embrace it or appreciate it.

I also find my life is filled with a new layer of anxiety. I think I used to hide from things I didn't enjoy or feel comfortable with by focusing on work. I've got nothing to pull me in that way anymore.

In short, I'm still unsure what the right path is. I think it might be good to give this a bit more time and see what doors open up as I close this one tighter.

On the other hand, I might go nuts!

Jabber Jaw

When I pick Peanut One up at school it is difficult to get a sense of his day. The most he'll usually give (without massive prodding and interrogation) is whether he liked his lunch or not.

Peanut Two is another story. She started play-school a few weeks ago and we now have a running commentary the whole way home about what she did today, what she said, what he said, what he did, what she said, what her teacher said, what they ate, what they will do tomorrow . . . .

In fact, she is upstairs in her bed right now still talking about things to herself.

Before I had kids I never thought boys and girls were different at young ages.

I was wrong.

The Best Game Ever

We are fully engrossed in the game of hide-and-seek these days at the Magical Mansion. Morning, noon and night we play this game with abandon.

It is the . . . perfect . . . game!

Last night J hid on top of our bed with some pillows over him. It took Peanut One a few minutes to find him, but then he promptly decided it was a great spot and hid under the covers.

Quietly.

For 10 more minutes Peanut Two searched and searched.

"Where's Daddy?" is all I heard from downstairs.

Finally I went up to help the poor girl. She tore past the bed for the umpteenth time looking anywhere but up. I think she even saw him a few times, but loved the search so much she wasn't ready to give it up.

In the meantime J got a 15 minute rest.

Gotta love the magic!

Oh My, Oh My, Oh No!

At one point during his second year, Peanut One started throwing paint all around. Whenever he painted you had to duck and cover because you never knew where it was going to go.

After a few colorful episodes we somehow realized that he was copying the 'dinosaurs bad' in Sandra Boynton's Oh My, Oh My, Oh Dinosaurs. (For those who don't know, the picture of 'dinosaurs bad' is of those little rascals throwing paint.) With much explanation about why we don't want to be bad dinosaurs - and much to the relief of the Magic Mom - the paint throwing ceased.

Fast forward two years.

Last night I was reading Peanut Two some bedtime stories. She desperately wanted to read a certain book, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. I tried my hardest to understand -

Drs owe it?

Die seer toe ate?

Delores sews pant?

Suddenly the light bulb went off -

DINOSAURS THROW PAINT!

I think we're in for a colorful summer!