A Matter of Life or Death

Allow me to put myself out there. I'm afraid of death. It's a fear that I've had since I was a kid. I'm not sure where it originated because nothing ever happened to me during my childhood that sparked the fear, it has just always been inside of me, organically. As a kid, I remember waking up in the middle of the night crying that I didn't want to die. I also remember my mom pulling me into her lap, hugging me, and telling me that I was going to live a long time, probably well into my 80's. I'm 31 now.

If I'm really being honest with myself, being afraid of death is not so much a fear of mine but rather a severe phobia. I can force myself into the throws of a panic attack anywhere, anytime at the mere thought of it. Typically, what happens is that someone mentions something about death or I hear a song on the radio that alludes in some way to it and my mind begins torturing me, "When you die, you're dead forever...and ever...and ever...and ever," you get the idea. I explained my fear to a guidance counselor in school once. She told me that whenever I start to think about death, I should try to squeeze it out of my mind with a thought of something that made me happy. Back then, it was roller skating. To this day, whenever those bad thoughts creep in--which is pretty rare now that I'm old enough to control it--I still picture myself roller skating as a child. It's all those "forever's" that have always freaked me out because if you think about it, you could say "forever" forever and it still wouldn't be even close to the amount of time that will pass once we're gone.

My life is full, chaotic most days. With three kids, I'm on the go from sun up until sun down cleaning, chauffeuring, babysitting, cooking, doing laundry, playing tutor, and doing a million other odd jobs around the house. By the end of the day--which usually doesn't begin until almost 9pm most nights--while I would really love to take a long soak in the tub with a good book--I'm instead happy to spend the last few minutes of the evening with the hubs of whom I haven't seen all day before I finally collapse into bed. Don't get me wrong, I love my crazy life despite the exhaustion it brings me. I was telling the hubs the other day that at the end of my life this exhaustion will have me welcoming death, ready for that good, long nap.

Perhaps a crazy life is just the remedy I need for my phobia of death. I started thinking more about this on Christmas Eve. We spent the evening with the hubs' family, attending a children's service at their church before heading back to the house to open presents and have dessert. His great-grandmother was there. She is in her 90's. I can only hope that one day I will be able to say that I have had the privilege of enjoying 90+ Christmases. As we were leaving the production and walking to the car she began crying. Although I didn't catch everything that she said, I was able to make out, "I'm so blessed." I realized that she was crying bittersweet tears. Happy in that she has been given the blessing of so many years with her family. Sad in not knowing whether or not she will get another Christmas with us. I also realized from now on whenever my fear of death starts creeping into my mind that instead of roller skating I want to think of that moment. Of how I want to focus on making my life so rich with the people I love and making memories with them that when the time comes--and let's face it, the time will come--that instead of being afraid of death I will embrace it, satisfied with how I have lived my life and the abundance of blessings that have been bestowed upon me. So for that, thanks Grannie.

Our Christmas Newsletter

Dear Loved Ones,

Well everyone, we finally managed to get all under the same roof this year! We’re currently residing in a quaint little townhouse in the middle of no where. From the chaos of shuffling to get the kids ready for school in the mornings all while balancing the baby on our hips and having the dogs under our feet, the change in our lives has been drastic, but amazing:

Lewis is still working as a police officer. This year, he was honored with an Officer of the Year award for the entire state and also received an Officer Intervention award. We are all incredibly proud of him! When he isn’t working hard, he is helping around the house and spending time with the family.

Christy is “working” as a stay-at-home mom and loving every minute of it! When time permits, she is still creating jewelry and selling it in her Etsy shop. In addition, this month she finished the last of the course requirements for her Masters degree and has only the student teaching internship left which is scheduled to begin January of 2013.

Caleb turned 12 years old this year! He is enrolled in public school for the very first time and is doing fantastic! He has made a good friend named Ben in his class who conveniently lives in our new neighborhood! Caleb has also joined two clubs in school: the Cooking Club and also Battle of the Books, where they read a list of selected books and then have meets to discuss and debate them. A few of his favorite things are Star Wars, reading, playing video games, and any subject other than Math.

Ryleigh turned 6 years old this month! She is loving kindergarten where they are in the beginning stages of reading, identifying sight words. She gets so excited when she can spot these and read them; her favorites are “the” and “see.” Ryleigh also became a Girl Scout this year, a Daisy to be exact, and loves making crafts and hanging out with her new friends during meetings. A few of her favorite things are Sebastian (her classmate boyfriend of whom she was recently caught holding hands with during lunch one day), being read to, her Daddy, and Transformers.

Wyatt turned 9 months this month! He received his two front teeth for Christmas this year! He is currently standing up, even walking along the couch, and he also invented the concept of speed-crawling, keeping us on our toes as we try to keep up with him. A few of his favorite things are opening cabinets, musical instruments, pulling clean clothes out of the dryer and onto the floor, and standing at the back door while the dogs are outside (sometimes licking the glass along with them).

We hope you enjoyed reading about our chaotic but fabulous year! We hope yours was just as wonderful! Making up an annual Clements family newsletter was a last-minute idea that we came up with. In future letters, we also plan to include a current family photo. As for this year, well, we’re all just as cute as you remember us! :)

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Love,
Lewis, Christy, Caleb, Ryleigh, and Wyatt

A Week in the Life...

Elf in the What??

Panty drawer. That's right folks, this is where I found our little Arthur this morning...sitting in a sea of women's underwear. Something tells me the hubs is having a little too much fun with this job of hiding the elf for me...lol

Arthur's Christmas

I took it hard. Personally. A new Christmas tradition, one that extended the excitement of Christmas Eve over the span of the whole month. Elf on the shelf. I was so excited when that shiny white box arrived in the mail, the contents a new hardcover story to read to the kids and an adorable little elf perched on a cardboard shelf. The kids were also excited when he arrived. Our entire dinner revolved around choosing a name for the little guy. Each of us was to choose two names that at least three family members liked--majority still rules, right?--and then the top two of each of ours were placed in a hat that the littlest munchkin, Wyatt would draw from. Wyatt stuck his pudgy little hand in the hat and pulled out a name, carefully written on a piece of Christmas tree stationary. His name was to be Arthur.

We jumped into bed that night and read his story. He was Santa's helper. He would leave every night after the kids were in bed to travel to the North Pole with a report on whether or not they had been good that day. On Christmas Eve when Santa made his rounds, dropping off presents and enlarging his bowl full of jelly belly with mounds of chocolate chip cookies and whole milk, Arthur would make his final trip the North Pole until next year. I passed out hugs and tucked the kids in for thier long winter's nap--ok, for the night.

In the morning, I crept into their rooms and woke them up whispering, "Where's Arthur?" Ryleigh leapt from the bed and met Caleb in the hallway where they went on a scavenger hunt for our little elf. They asked for a few hints to which the hubs provided them clever riddles. Then,they spotted him...


This routine went on for three or four other mornings but this morning when I asked them as usual, "Where's Arthur?" the excitement was gone. The novelty had already worn off. Ryleigh, instead, wanted to get in a show or two of Spongebob Squarepants before having breakfast and getting ready for school. She didn't have time to look for an elf, and she didn't want to. Caleb found out this year that Santa isn't real and because of this and the simple fact that he is older, his excitement was linked to hers. Without her excitement, his wouldn't even spark. I was crushed.

I truly wanted this to be a tradition that would bring a little bit of the thrill of Christmas Day to every day in December rather than just being limited to one day. My hope was to increase the magic of Christmas for them. I guess as a mother you try to do things that will excite your children, make them happy, and in turn, keep them kids longer. It doesn't always work out that way. The fact that they are children means that they can be easily distrated by something or that they can quickly lose interest in something else. Even though it's hard, we should try not to beat ourselves up about it, because as parents, everything we do is to see a smile on their sweet faces. It's really all we can ever do. Try. And even as I say this, inside I'm still bummed.

Having said that, I'm not ready to give up on Arthur just yet. Sure, this year was a crapshoot but next year the kids could be busting at the seams to read his story again and see him sitting patiently on our mantle the next morning, waiting to be found. Then again, they may never mention him after tonight. I guess the magic of Christmas is a lot like childhood, you have to really enjoy it while you have it because it can vanish with the blink of an eye.

It's morningtime again and I left my blog last night to sleep on it before posting, the ending just didn't seem poignant enough. I followed my typical morning routine of putting the baby in his play area and making my way to the kitchen to select a coffee mug. I opened the cabinet...


The hubs. He's good. He overheard me yesterday desperately trying to coax the kids into finding Arthur, attempts that went in vain. He must have found Arthur in the closet where I put him after I realized that tomorrow morning when he wasn't hiding, the kids wouldn't even notice. The hubs. I love that guy. He makes me smile. Perhaps the magic of Christmas isn't entirely gone this year after all.

The Mom Bob

So, I just stumbled across this hilarious Glamour article while traveling to my email account via Yahoo: http://shopping.yahoo.com/articles/yshoppingarticles/758/what-your-hairstyle-says-about-you-according-to-guys . "What your hairstyle says about you according to guys." Did I really read things like this before getting married? Does anyone? Ok, I admit I did read things like this but it was usually for one of two reasons, the first being a good laugh--I mean c'mon, what woman in their right mind living in this day and age actually cuts their hair according to what a man thinks--and the second reason being sheer boredom.

Don't get me wrong, my theory here isn't to say that once you become a wife and/or a mother that you should entirely let yourself go. No, in fact, I took pride in the fact that while there were some days during my pregnancy where I could be found in public donning comfortable lounge pants and a stretchy tee, for the most part I wore the same clothes as I did before I was pregnant, sans a large bell at the bottom of my jeans because let's face it, most people my age aren't still rocking bell-bottoms, a trend that maternity clothing manufacturers clearly albeit sadly adhere to. I'm simply saying that you should be yourself and fulfill the desires of your own personal style, whatever that may be, without allowing the opinion of men, or a man, or anyone for that matter, hinder you.

I can certainly sympathize with the need for change, especially following the birth of a child. After carrying around additional pounds for almost an entire year, not to mention an additional human being, it's reasonable, even necessary to expect a woman to need a change of some sort. Changing our hairstyle is the easiest, most temporary, and if need be, the most drastic change that we can offer ourselves. We can go from platinum blonde to fiery redhead in the matter of 30 minutes. We can make a hefty donation to locks of love in a matter of just 5 minutes. There are so many options for hairstyles that the possibilities truly are endless, and perhaps that's the point.

Once Wyatt got a little bit older, a few months after he was born, he got into the adorable stage of pulling hair. Ok, yanking and jerking hair. At the time my hair was long, several inches past my shoulders and I had already retired my beloved Farrah Fawcett style during my pregnancy, in the name of low-maintenence. At that time I was leaving it straight, flipped out at the edges, the front tendrils tucked behind my ears. I needed a change. To nix the temptation for Wyatt to pull on my hair anymore, which I have to admit was really starting to hurt everytime I picked him up, and just wanting more of a fresh "mommy" haircut, I was in need of a change.

Here's the before, the photo of inspiration that I took to the beautician, and the after shots:




After I got the cut, I was excited! The beautician styled my hair and although I didn't look quite as much like Ashley Williams as I had hoped--only a complete face alteration would have accomplished that--my hair still looked pretty cute. All of my split ends had vanished and my hair had a volume and bounce that would make Wierd Al Yankovic a little jealous. But much like that episode of Friends where Monica invests a thousand plus dollars on a pair of boots that she just absolutey had to have only to find out that they made her feet feel like she was walking on spikes, the novelty wore off. I discovered that shorter hair is almost more maintenance than keeping my hair long and just curling the ends out. Sure, the results look great, but with 3 kids running around, who really has time to flip out layer beyond layer with a curling iron. So, right now, I'm back to the "before" photo and feeling great. The baby no longer pulls my hair. I'm in serious need of some more red hair dye, but other than that I don't have the desire to change it up again just yet.

In closing, no matter who you are, even if you're not a mother--my primary audience here--do with your hair what you will. If you saw that recent awards show on television and just have to have the hairstyle of that fabulous celebrity on the red carpet--get it. If you just want to add some layers to the bottom or chop off all of your hair completely--go for it. If your man says something to the effect that he doesn't like it, reply with the fact that you do, and also add in there that unless he wants you to announce at the next family get-together the appearance of that flesh-colored yarmulke that's beginning at the back of his head, he should support your need for change and your fabulous new look.

A Week in the Life...

Looky what I found sitting on our doorstep yesterday afternoon. Elf on the Shelf. He was supposed to arrive shortly after Thanksgiving but told me that he passed a Starbucks on the way and just couldn't resist getting a Gingerbread Latte. He enjoyed it so much that he got another, and another. In a nutshell, that's where he's been all this time. I can't blame the little ......dude. Not one bit. Personally, I think he inspired me to write a new children's book based on the "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" series; "If You Give an Elf a Latte," but that's beside the point.

Tonight, at dinner, we will hold a family conference to determine the name of our wee little elf. I've devised a plan--each of us is to come up with two names that we and also the rest of the family like and then we will throw all of the names into a stocking and draw for it. I'm already thinking up ways to manipulate the family into saying "to hoo-ha" with the drawing and choosing the name I like best, Patch. He was my favorite elf of Santa's when I was growing up. I remember one year even leaving an orange out for Patch along with Santa's cookies. I wrote on it in a permanent marker just how much I loved him.

I'm hoping this elf will bring the kids lots of fond memories, just like this.

Dog Days of Winter

I found myself in tears this morning. I took an extra long bath so that I could cry it out. At one point, I wasn't sure which part of my warm bath water had run out of the faucet and which had run out from my eyes.

I take Dinky--my four-legged son--to the vet tomorrow. Over the past month or so he has graduated from dropping random clumps of hair onto the floor to scratching sores all over his body. To accompany these symptoms his nose has been drying up, he has lost quite a bit of weight, and although he seems better today, yesterday he was pretty lethargic and still. When I was speaking to the technician and booking the appointment, I explained these symptoms to her. I told her that he is about 12 years old and while it could be that his health is simply deteriorating I also think that he may be depressed. Over the past few months, not only has each of our lives changed dramatically, but so has Dinky's. He went from being the only dog on the block to having another dog in the house, not to mention a new baby and a very rambunctious 5-year-old. He went from getting pet and played with significantly each and every day to not getting played with at all, it seems. The technician agreed that Dinky being depressed is a great possibility but I still can't help but wonder in the back of my mind if this is it.

This morning, Ryleigh came up to me with a book that Caleb has about different kinds of dogs. It was literally dog-eared in several places and opened to a page describing pugs. Very matter-of-factly, Ryleigh asked, "Christy, when Dinky dies, can we get this dog?" It was like a punch in the stomach. I didn't take this comment very well and curtly snapped at her for talking about Dinky like that. She informed me that it was Caleb's idea to which I responded by taking the book from her hands and tossing it to Caleb telling him that what is going on with Dinky is not funny and that it is serious. I told him, probably louder than I had intended, that we would not be getting another dog if something happens to Dinky. He is irreplaceable.

Sitting in a tub of my own tears, partially because there is a real chance that tomorrow I may have to make a very grown-up decision about Dinky that I don't want to even think about and partially because I snapped at the kids, who innocently just have no comprehesion about this situation at all, especially Ryleigh, made me realize just how tough it is to be a parent sometimes. Being a parent means always remaining strong, even if your heart is breaking on the inside. That certain kinds of pain and adult issues in any household, whether they be financial or marital in thinking about Ryleigh's situation with her mom and dad, are to be shielded from kids as best as possible until they're old enough to fully understand.

The technician told me that because it has happened so suddenly there is a good chance that his problems are a result of all of the changes around Dinky and that his body might just be responding negatively to the stress and that he will be fine. Of course there is always the other possibility. Either way, I could have handled this situation better with the kids.

This reminds me of another time something like this happened and I was left having to tell Caleb, who at the time was knee-high to a grasshopper at the ripe young age of 5, that my grandfather had just passed away. I bent down to his level and prepared myself to tell him. I had to leave the room before being able to do so because I broke down in tears. After composing myself, I returned to tell him. I told him in the only way I knew how to tell a child about something like this, that Grandpa went to Heaven. He innocently responded, with more understanding than I ever expected from him, "I know someone else who died, Mr. Goodwin." Mr. Goodwin was my mom and dad's neighbor when I was growing up who had passed away a few months earlier.

I don't know what the magic formula is for handling such sensitive and sometimes tragic situations with your children. I'm not sure one exists. If you know of one, please let me know. All I keep thinking about it how I should have had my game face on this morning, despite all of my inner heartbreak, and how I failed miserably.

No Apologies

Kurt Cobain had it all wrong.

There's a current status chain on Facebook that says something to the effect of "When you come to my house you will see dirty dishes, this proves that I feed my kids. You might also see piles of laundry which proves that my children have clean clothes...etc." It finishes with a bold, "If you are coming to our home to visit us, please come any time. If you are coming to see our house, please make an appointment." Surely, if you're a mom, you can find the humorous truth in this.

I planned to make my way back to this blog, having abandoned it for months, to offer a sincere apology for how I have not made any new posts in over half a year. After thinking more about it and seeing this Facebook status being published over and over by almost every fellow mom on my friend list, I decided to do just the opposite and instead, create a post about how I refuse to make apologies for not having been here. Aside from my three grad classes, my time has been consumed with breastfeeding, helping with homework, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and playing chauffer before and after school, not to mention tending to illnesses including my own nasty bout with bronchitis a mere week ago. To apologize for my absence would be to apologize for not having extra time because all of my time has been devoted to being a mom.

So, I changed my mind about apologizing. I think, at the moment, that my blog only has one follower anyways--not that I am in any way minimalizing the feat of his or her interest in or dedication to my blog--but aside from a few Facebook friends, I don't think many people really ever see my posts. Having said that, I still think it is appropriate to continue the chain here, although somewhat edited, and say that if you are visiting my blog to get some down-to-earth, honest stories about life and how it is enhanced by albeit revolving around children, the please, stop by any time; but please hold no expectations about my posting consistencies or rather inconsistencies because my life belongs to my children and they come first, no apologies.