Five Minute Friday: Grateful

Every week, a whole heap of fabulous women get together and write for Five Minute Friday. Today's prompt is...

Grateful

Go.

All I have to do is look around me, and I count the blessings before me. Three of the most different, frustrating, wonderful beings on this planet, two of which we made together.

I'm grateful for mommy-daughter dates, afternoons full of sun and water and giggles, helping daddy, sharing toys. I'm grateful for those five precious minutes of reading a book meant for only me. Grateful for a husband who encourages my alone time, encourages me to be just me whenever I feel I'm about to lose my identity apart from "mom."

And he just totally interrupted my five minutes! And now we're both giggling about it. And now I've lost my train of thought....

Somehow I've ended up as this stay-at-home mom, thrown my degrees aside, given up my adult-ness in exchange for diapers and tantrums and tears-for-no-reason.

But they're mine and I'm oh so grateful. For the ability to give life. For the husband who works beyond measure to give me this chance. For the support of strangers in this new town. For this precious life we've been given.

Stop.

I've been a little absent lately, mostly just because I haven't really found the time to keep my head on straight, much less write a decent blog post. In addition to my sweet family, I am SO grateful for all of the love I've received from my dear friends in our new town. Thankful this week for the reminder that we are all in it together as moms, and we must continue to encourage one another!

Until next time,

Mrs. Kuda

Five Minute Friday: Glue

Every week, a whole heap of fabulous women get together and write for Five Minute Friday. Today's prompt is...

Glue

Go.

Today, my brain is glue. Sticky. Slow to move. Then stuck.

Stuck in the haze of this season of life. Not remembering the minutes of the day, but know I've run yet another marathon. Longing for alone time, then longing to smell the sweet scent of spring in the hair of the little ones surrounding me, needing every part of my soul. Selfishly yearning for moments of freedom, then running after those moments wishing I could hold them tight in my palms so they make an imprint I can't forget.

I am glued to this place, to this moment in time. Wanting out, but then aching when I can't have more of it. More of the constant questions, endless giggles, silly silly girls and boys, running without abandon, trying things new. I pray these things are glued onto my brain, in my mind so I have access eternally.

Stop.

Until next time,
Mrs. Kuda

Five Minute Friday: Paint

Every week, a whole heap of fabulous women get together and write for Five Minute Friday. Today's prompt is...

Paint

Go.

We're all artists if you think about it. We all paint the picture we want others to see, whether it's family or friends or those in the community. But we do it, because sometimes we just don't want to let others in. We do it because our own reality seems too hard to let others see. We brush strokes of perfect careers, of perfect children, of perfect lives.

We went out for lunch today. I've had a bit of a rough winter, and I'm trying to be less serious, more spontaneous, trying to remember what childhood is all about. And Mr. C. had already napped in the car this morning, so I knew he wasn't going to nap again today.

So we went. And they were so good. So sweet. So well behaved. I'm sure I had some sort of smug look on my face. I was so proud. But wasn't it just a facade? Wasn't it me just hiding the fact that I haven't slept in days? Or that Miss E had a 45 minute tantrum this morning because I had asked her to go downstairs to get her shoes on (the horror), making us late to school?

And then, after we had played in the little play house, as I silently nodded to myself, you're such a good mom, someone landed on someone in the tube slide. There was crying and shrieking. Mommy saying we have to go. MIss E throwing a fit because she wants ice cream. Then really throwing a fit because I say no.

Paint splattered all over Chick-Fil-A. A mess of my emotions. Of my patience. Of my fear of judgment and loss of control. Of everything. Spilled all over the floor. And as it happened, our lives became more exposed for what they really are. Our beautiful composition revealing its true colors. A momma who is tired, just trying to get through this day, praying to our sweet Lord for more than a few hours of sleep, for the patience I don't have.

As we drive away, I'm able to take a breath. To look in the rearview mirror, tantrums subsided. The beautiful illustration of our lives, one paint stroke at a time in refreshing, vibrant new colors.

Stop.

Until next time,
Mrs. Kuda

Five Minute Friday -- Writer

This week's Five Minute Friday writing prompt is writer. Which is funny, because I've never considered myself a writer. But I have a blog. And I write on it.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that this has been on the back-burner. It has been that little secret burning in the back of my mind... I want to write... But I was too afraid. But since this year I'm moving on from my scared places, stepping out from the ledge of my secure place, and putting myself out there in a real way, why not write? Why not do what I've been hearing the little voice in my head say for as long as I could remember?

Writer

Go.

I grew up in a small town outside of Chicago. I knew everyone I went to school with, everyone knew me. I didn't really need to learn to make friends outside of Kindergarden because I had already made them. I was comfortable being the shy girl in the corner, kind of awkward, kind of strange. But because I didn't make a sound, a splash, or anything at all really, it didn't matter.

Until I turned 14, and my mom and I moved to Georgia. The first day I showed up at my new high school, there was so much tension in my throat from being so terrifyingly terrified of speaking to anyone I didn't know (which was everyone), I couldn't choke out a single word. I shook the entire day. Actually, physically shook, not knowing if I'd ever find a comfortable place.

But I wrote. In my diary, in notes under the door as apologies for being an indignant teenager to my mother, for assignments in class. And I eventually came out of my shell. And it's funny, because people who know me now would never guess that I'm actually a shy introvert, trying to get through this life without making too much of a ripple, too much sound.

Apart from my father, Mrs. Calhoon, my sophomore lit teacher, was the first one to say it out loud: Kristin, you're a writer.

But I didn't know what that meant or what it looked like, "to be a writer," so I continued on. I continued on a path that was comfortable, that required no baring of my soul because that would be too hard.

Until I heard it again in college. It was my senior year and I was applying to graduate school to become a speech pathologist. I had been a sociology major, and my professor Dr. Toshi told me, Kristin, you're a writer. You sure you want this?

Was I sure I wanted this? To only have to write reports and conduct objective tests? To talk to others for a living and to touch lives in a way I never thought possible, all while staying inside myself, never letting anyone know the depths of my heart and soul?

YES! That sounds great! (If only I knew how vast the speech pathology field was at the time, if only I knew how different and amazing and wonderful my life would be because of becoming an SLP. More on that another time...)

I actually heard it again from a professor in graduate school, but it never really stuck. Not until I started this blog, and not until my sweet Gran died. And for the first time I publicly poured my heart out. I wasn't kitschy or silly or funny. I was honest about where I was at that time. And it was comfortable and wonderful and terrifying, but it was the real me. Since then I've been trying to find that girl. The one who doesn't hold back. The one who speaks truth lovingly, but with conviction.

And here I am, a writer.

Stop.

Until next time,
Mrs. Kuda

Toddler Tantrums vs. Preschooler Tantrums: A Commentary

Toddler Tantrum:

Mr. C (pointing, screaming, tears streaming): Ugh! Meh! Nana! Ugh! Meh! Nana!

Mrs. Kuda (calm voice, hiding smile because it's so darned cute but I know it's bad to laugh so I don't): We're eating dinner soon. No nana now. Would you like to play with your train?

C: (pointing, squealing toward train, smiling, laughing)

End of tantrum.

Preschooler Tantrum:

Miss E (whining, with the threat of tears): I want my peanut butter sandwich.

MK (calmly, but only because my eyes are closed I'm and breathing deeply because this is the fifteenth time today she has both whined and demanded something without using please or thank you or anything kind that she said when she was not giving me previews of what she'll be like when she's sixteen): Let's try that a different way.

E (whining, higher voice, tears in eyes): I want my peanut butter sandwich on a plate and carrots and an M&M. NOW.

MK (eyes still closed, calm but strained voice): That's not how we ask for things. Try again.

E (full blown tears, now hanging off side of her chair): Saying PUH-LEASE is so HAAAARRRRRD. I want my lunch!!! I am so hungry!!!

Tears continue. Sent to room. Thirty minutes later, Miss E starts laughing, comes down stairs: I'm so sorry mommy! I love you! May I please have my sandwich now?

End of tantrum?

Sigh.

Until next time,

Mrs. Kuda

Wednesday Confessional

The other day I had a hankering for chocolate. And that would be fine if I had nap time to count on, but since that's gone, I'm really finding it hard to indulge myself on my vices during the day. Seriously. Do you know how hard it is to sneak chocolate past a two year old?

We were headed out for Rock & Read last week, and we were running a bit late. Since we were going out that day, I decided it best for me to actually shower. Unfortunately sometimes that means no breakfast for me. What better option than to grab some Dove? Now if only I had the perfect device to sneak it out...

Why, Mr. C's hat, of course! Since Miss E sits behind me in the car, she had no idea. It was the perfect cover. Until her Spidey-like hearing detected my opening the wrappers.

"Mommy, what's that noise?

"Nothing, honey."

"What's that noise?"

"It's the radio honey. Don't you love this song?"

"What's THAT noise?"

I could see her eyes in the rearview mirror, and it was clear that I had been found out. But I ignored her. Because I didn't want to share (clearly, I hadn't learned anything at all from the other day). And because she's never had just a plain 'ole piece of chocolate before (but so you know she isn't deprived, she has received it from a plethora of other vessels), so she didn't really know what she was missing.

She eventually dropped it. After all, she couldn't really suspect Mr. C's hat, could she?

Please tell me I'm not the only one guilty of this...

Until next time,

Mrs. Kuda