Monday morning, as I lazed around the house, taking my sweet time to catch up on social media and enjoy my morning caffeine, I reflected on a time -- not so long ago -- when mornings at the Hobgood house were absent of any sign of tranquility.
{I think it's fair to say that FRENZIED would be an appropriate adjective to describe that chapter in my life.}
Now that the boys are a little older, and my husband is home some mornings, life before the sun rises isn't so bad. In fact, I quite like the early morning hours and all the SILENCE they bring.
Most days anyway.
This month's blog post is a little different. There was a time -- again, not so long ago -- when the boys were younger, and thus totally uncooperative in the mornings. One particular morning was so distressing (or so I thought at the time!), that I actually sat down at the computer to write about it that evening. Because, clearly, I choose strange methods of stress relief.
{Essentially, I wrote a post for a blog that just never found its way to the World Wide Web. I had baby brain at the time, as I'm sure some of you mommas can relate.}
Here is the throwback post, which makes me laugh (and cringe!) now five years later. Yes, it is lengthy. And corny. And ever-so-dramatic.
{If you've ever conversed with me for more than seventeen seconds, you know that I am ALL THOSE THINGS and more.}
So even though I can’t “blame it on the train” like in those Bangles lyrics, I managed to have yet ANOTHER manic Monday. Story of my life. If I was a betting woman, I’d bet that in seven more days I’ll have a similar story to tell.
{I think it's fair to say that FRENZIED would be an appropriate adjective to describe that chapter in my life.}
Now that the boys are a little older, and my husband is home some mornings, life before the sun rises isn't so bad. In fact, I quite like the early morning hours and all the SILENCE they bring.
Most days anyway.
This month's blog post is a little different. There was a time -- again, not so long ago -- when the boys were younger, and thus totally uncooperative in the mornings. One particular morning was so distressing (or so I thought at the time!), that I actually sat down at the computer to write about it that evening. Because, clearly, I choose strange methods of stress relief.
{Essentially, I wrote a post for a blog that just never found its way to the World Wide Web. I had baby brain at the time, as I'm sure some of you mommas can relate.}
Here is the throwback post, which makes me laugh (and cringe!) now five years later. Yes, it is lengthy. And corny. And ever-so-dramatic.
{If you've ever conversed with me for more than seventeen seconds, you know that I am ALL THOSE THINGS and more.}
________________________________________
Just Another Manic Monday – 8/24/09
“I wish it
was Sunday. ‘Cause that’s my
funday.”
Clichéd, I know, but there’s no better way to describe this morning than lyrics from the classic Bangles song. Too bad I couldn’t “Walk Like an Egyptian” right back to bed after I saw that it was shaping up to be one bad Monday. I know, I know. So corny…
First off, let me just remind you that I rocked Cane from the time he was born, until I reluctantly ventured back into the working world six weeks later. Lucky for the little guy, I am one of the privileged who enjoy summers off, so I rocked him again from the end of May until the start of August. Ninety-nine percent of my friends and family told me what a mistake I was making by rocking this child day and night. The one percent who told me otherwise consisted of grandmothers who I cursed this morning at 5 A.M.
As I rocked Baby Cane and watched a little Fox News, I was mesmerized by his angelic face and ruffled “bed head.” I gazed at him as he nursed his bottle and soon his eyes drifted back into a sweet dreamland. I thought to myself that I am surely the luckiest gal in the world. Once the little man was fast asleep and peaceful, I gradually stood from the rocking chair to slink back to Cane’s bed where I could carefully lay him down and go relax with my morning java. No such luck. Curse the grandmas and their sage advice. The kid just wanted to ROCK. That's it.
Each time I tried to place Cane in his crib, as soon as he touched the sweet-smelling sheets, he would awaken as if a night tremor had traumatized him. Seriously. I would pick Cane back up, soothe him back to sleep in the rocking chair, and repeat the process again. By the fourth or fifth time I had repeated this exasperating process, I was irritated to say the least. Bad, bad words were on the tip of my tongue. (Or maybe bad, bad words were flying out of my mouth, but that's beside the point.)
At long last, I placed a sleeping Cane in the middle of our bed to rest. Before I could go any farther in the routine of getting ready for work, coffee was a must. I deserved an extra cup, for sure. I moseyed to the cabinet to search out the coffee filters, only to discover that they were gone. Missing. NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. My mind suddenly flashed back to a time Sunday night when I adoringly watched Cane crawl all over the linoleum kitchen floor, batting around the package of filters. Somehow that cute memory wasn’t so endearing anymore. I had to skip my cup of joe and proceed with the morning rituals. Not cool.
Just when I thought I had things under control, Dramatic Dalton arose from his slumber, only to have come down with a case of the dreaded "belly ache". He grumbled, mumbled, and grouched about Derek’s 3:30 A.M. alarm waking him up a few hours earlier, as if I had somehow missed the blaring rendition of “Life is a Highway” myself at that hour. I fetched the Tylenol for Dramatic D., only to be faced with more frustration. Apparently “bubble gum” wasn't the preferred flavor of Tylenol this go-round. I begged and pleaded with Dalton to swallow the pink goo so I could move on about my morning business. Just like the rest of my morning – no such luck. After fussing and arguing with him, I finally left him hovering at the sink, head in his hands, pouting about the nasty medicine.
Finally ready for work and all set to wake sleeping Cane to load the car, I rounded the hall’s corner to find Dalton still perched at the kitchen sink, with only 1/3 of the liquid consumed. Somehow this child can manage to be slapped in the back with a baseball and happily take a base, but he can’t swallow three teaspoons of kiddie Tylenol. Give me a break. I must have ranted, raved, and maybe even cursed a little again, because before I knew it the medicine was ingested and the issue was over.
I loaded up the little Hobgood brood and dropped them off at their respective places for the day. Amazingly enough, this task was carried out without fuss or fight. The smile that spread across Cane’s face as he was placed in the sitter’s arms spurred a momentary pang of jealousy as I envied her for getting to spend the day with the little rascal. I stepped back into my car to enjoy the ten-minutes of calm bliss that I look forward to every morning as I ride to work, and looked down at my phone to see a good morning text from Derek that I had somehow missed hours earlier: “Rise and Shine, Valentine.” The madness of the morning vanished into thin air. LOVE. THAT. GUY.
Clichéd, I know, but there’s no better way to describe this morning than lyrics from the classic Bangles song. Too bad I couldn’t “Walk Like an Egyptian” right back to bed after I saw that it was shaping up to be one bad Monday. I know, I know. So corny…
First off, let me just remind you that I rocked Cane from the time he was born, until I reluctantly ventured back into the working world six weeks later. Lucky for the little guy, I am one of the privileged who enjoy summers off, so I rocked him again from the end of May until the start of August. Ninety-nine percent of my friends and family told me what a mistake I was making by rocking this child day and night. The one percent who told me otherwise consisted of grandmothers who I cursed this morning at 5 A.M.
As I rocked Baby Cane and watched a little Fox News, I was mesmerized by his angelic face and ruffled “bed head.” I gazed at him as he nursed his bottle and soon his eyes drifted back into a sweet dreamland. I thought to myself that I am surely the luckiest gal in the world. Once the little man was fast asleep and peaceful, I gradually stood from the rocking chair to slink back to Cane’s bed where I could carefully lay him down and go relax with my morning java. No such luck. Curse the grandmas and their sage advice. The kid just wanted to ROCK. That's it.
Each time I tried to place Cane in his crib, as soon as he touched the sweet-smelling sheets, he would awaken as if a night tremor had traumatized him. Seriously. I would pick Cane back up, soothe him back to sleep in the rocking chair, and repeat the process again. By the fourth or fifth time I had repeated this exasperating process, I was irritated to say the least. Bad, bad words were on the tip of my tongue. (Or maybe bad, bad words were flying out of my mouth, but that's beside the point.)
At long last, I placed a sleeping Cane in the middle of our bed to rest. Before I could go any farther in the routine of getting ready for work, coffee was a must. I deserved an extra cup, for sure. I moseyed to the cabinet to search out the coffee filters, only to discover that they were gone. Missing. NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. My mind suddenly flashed back to a time Sunday night when I adoringly watched Cane crawl all over the linoleum kitchen floor, batting around the package of filters. Somehow that cute memory wasn’t so endearing anymore. I had to skip my cup of joe and proceed with the morning rituals. Not cool.
Just when I thought I had things under control, Dramatic Dalton arose from his slumber, only to have come down with a case of the dreaded "belly ache". He grumbled, mumbled, and grouched about Derek’s 3:30 A.M. alarm waking him up a few hours earlier, as if I had somehow missed the blaring rendition of “Life is a Highway” myself at that hour. I fetched the Tylenol for Dramatic D., only to be faced with more frustration. Apparently “bubble gum” wasn't the preferred flavor of Tylenol this go-round. I begged and pleaded with Dalton to swallow the pink goo so I could move on about my morning business. Just like the rest of my morning – no such luck. After fussing and arguing with him, I finally left him hovering at the sink, head in his hands, pouting about the nasty medicine.
Finally ready for work and all set to wake sleeping Cane to load the car, I rounded the hall’s corner to find Dalton still perched at the kitchen sink, with only 1/3 of the liquid consumed. Somehow this child can manage to be slapped in the back with a baseball and happily take a base, but he can’t swallow three teaspoons of kiddie Tylenol. Give me a break. I must have ranted, raved, and maybe even cursed a little again, because before I knew it the medicine was ingested and the issue was over.
I loaded up the little Hobgood brood and dropped them off at their respective places for the day. Amazingly enough, this task was carried out without fuss or fight. The smile that spread across Cane’s face as he was placed in the sitter’s arms spurred a momentary pang of jealousy as I envied her for getting to spend the day with the little rascal. I stepped back into my car to enjoy the ten-minutes of calm bliss that I look forward to every morning as I ride to work, and looked down at my phone to see a good morning text from Derek that I had somehow missed hours earlier: “Rise and Shine, Valentine.” The madness of the morning vanished into thin air. LOVE. THAT. GUY.
So even though I can’t “blame it on the train” like in those Bangles lyrics, I managed to have yet ANOTHER manic Monday. Story of my life. If I was a betting woman, I’d bet that in seven more days I’ll have a similar story to tell.
________________________________________
See. Told you it was chock-full of the DRAMA. Because if there's one thing I've learned about being a momma, it's that every situation with the little ones seems like the most PARAMOUNT event in the whole entire universe, when it's SOOOOO NOT.
It's embarrassingly comical now, to look back on that blog post and know that, at that moment in time, I really, truly felt like a fussy baby, a stubborn little boy, and no coffee were going to bring me to my breaking point. WOE IS ME.
Which brings me to this month's Stitch Fix critique.
Do you know how I felt after seeing the five items in my box? WOE IS ME. That's how I felt.
Why did I feel that way? Because I knew I would have to send some of the items back. And I loved them all.
Yes, First World Problems at its finest, right here. I'm so ashamed of myself.
Do you know how I felt after seeing the five items in my box? WOE IS ME. That's how I felt.
Why did I feel that way? Because I knew I would have to send some of the items back. And I loved them all.
Yes, First World Problems at its finest, right here. I'm so ashamed of myself.
You'll have to excuse the poor quality of all these photos. I misplaced my camera. I also had a 14-year-old boy taking the photos. Enough said.
This shirt was cute. Just not cute enough to keep. The photos don't do the colors justice, but the pattern was a fucia and navy diamond print. I'm normally not a fan of the dolman sleeve, but this one was pretty cute.
Status: Sent Back
ITEM #2: Ronaldo Graphic Print Lace Detail Tunic (by Collective Concepts)
The back of this top was what made it so cute. Most of the back was made of navy lace, which was adorable. I would have gladly shown you the cute back, but......the aforementioned 14-year-old boy deleted the picture before sending it to me.
Status: Sent Back
ITEM #3: Bixby Bird Print Tab Sleeve Blouse (by Pixley)
Status: Kept
I pinned this top on Pinterest, and.....here it is! I love it to pieces. It's a little bit weird, just like me. I love the silky material, and the little pearl and gold buttons on the sleeves. This was also the cheapest item in my box, so....SCORE!
Status: Kept
ITEM #4: Presley Colorblock Button-Back Sweater (by 41Hawthorn)
Love, love, love the bold color in this sweater. I had also pinned this on Pinterest, so I was stoked to see it in my box. It's also very soft and comfy! Dalton said it was the ugliest piece in my box, but I disagree. He was mortified when I told him I had just worn it the day before to his ballgame. I don't think it's ugly at all. {The male species is a weird one.}
Status: Kept
ITEM #5: Elissa French Terry Moto Jacket (by Market and Spruce)
Last, but not least, the "moto jacket" I had pinned on Pinterest. I had high hopes for this one. I had high hopes that I would love it, that it would look okay on me, and that it would be something I could afford this month. Well, two out of three ain't bad. Against my momma's advice to keep this super cool jacket, I did decide it was a little out of my price range. Dang it.
Status: Sent Back (*sniff, sniff*)
Before starting Stitch Fix, I kept hearing that the Stitch Fix boxes will get better and better over time. That is the truth, all right. My stylist this month promised that the spring pieces will be cheaper, and I hope she's right!
