How do you deal with someone who breaks a kid's heart?

How do you deal with a so-called grownup who breaks a little kid's heart? Who has probably caused a permanent emotional scar to this child who is too young and too trusting to understand how selfish and callous adults can be? Someone who refuses to take any responsibility for their choices and behavior? How do you find forgiveness for somebody who's not even sorry? How do you avoid letting your heart be consumed with bitterness against such a person? How do you face this person and look them in the eye, because they must remain at least on the fringes of your life through no choice of your own?

I don't mean to be cryptic. Some of you know the whole back story here and probably get whom I'm talking about. I'm not going to bother laying it out for everyone else, because this person isn't worth the time and effort.

It continues to eat at me, though, and is brought to the surface every time that Joey, like today, asks a question about this person, showing that his little heart still wants to believe in the goodness of people, even people who hurt him.

Me, the putz

I'll start this with a confession: I have a phobia of getting lost while driving. This phobia manifests itself as anxiety and sometimes avoidance of driving by myself to places I've never been to - especially at night. This includes addresses that are just across town. For some reason, I lose my sense of direction pretty easily, I get disoriented, and I've been known to go into panic mode and start crying if I miss a turn. And missing a turn is not all that unusual for me since my night vision pretty much sucks. It blows me away how some people can fly to a different state, rent a car, and just start driving around with confidence. I would be a nervous wreck.

Anyhow, this story isn't all that dramatic, but now that you have the back-story, it'll make more sense.

So last night I was supposed to meet some girlfriends at Super Suppers across town. I've never been there before, so I got directions from the internet and carefully examined the map that popped up as well as the text driving directions. It looked pretty straightforward, although it called for freeway driving (freeway driving at night, another source of anxiety for me). Sometimes I will actually do a trial run during the day to a new address just to make sure I can find the place without a hitch. But this time I didn't. So I rush the kids through dinner last night, put Finn to bed early, and head out the door. I get in my truck, get on the freeway, exit where I'm supposed to, and . . . somewhere I miss a turn. By the time I realize I've way overshot where I was supposed to turn, I've already made a loop and am more than halfway back home. I wasn't about to turn around and try and look for the mysterious street I had missed (my big fear, ridiculous as it might be, when I miss a turn is that I'll somehow end up in a different county and be forever lost). Meanwhile, the girls I was supposed to meet are wondering where I am. I get home, feeling like a complete idiot, and the phone rings. It's one of my friends calling to check on me, so I had to explain to her what had happened. Very embarassing.

Check out my friend's new blog

My friend, Tracy, has started her own blog: Chocolate Chip Ice Cream. Check her out!

What a scene

While Finn was having physical therapy this morning, the three girls were playing out in the backyard. Suddenly Annabelle comes in, crying and just generally freaking out. I could tell by the way she was walking that she had had an accident in her pants. So I get up from the living room floor, leaving Finn with the PT and take Annabelle into the bathroom to clean her up. Now she starts crying "No Mommy! It hurts! No!" (I wasn't doing anything to her except trying to get her wet pants off.) And on and on. Great. How must this look to the therapist who, I'm sure, can hear every word? I finally get her undressed from the waist down and tell her to lean over the tub so I can clean her bottom. Bending down, she smacks her nose on the edge of the tub and starts really screaming bloody murder! And there was a little blood coming from her nose. Holy crap. Now it not only sounds like I'm beating the daylights out of her, it looks like it too.

It's days like this that confirm for me that motherhood was the perfect career choice for me :/

I slept!

I slept, all night long! I went to bed at 10, got up once to pee and slept till my alarm went off this morning. Lilah apparently woke up screaming a couple times (night terrors??), but Michael got up with her. I feel like a new person today :)

Conspiracy Theory

I have a theory that my family is involved in a conspiracy to deprive me of sleep. I don't know what their motive is - maybe it's just a mode of torture to pay me back for . . . I don't know what. I'll spare you all another play-by-play, but in a nutshell, I've been up since 1:00 a.m., due to a snoring husband and crying children. And this is the second night in a row that I barely got any sleep. It's enough to drive a person over the edge.

Mommy Bod

There is this picture of me sitting on a shelf in our house:

This picture has been mocking me lately. Look at me! I weighed about 115 pounds here, and look how flat my stomach was. And this was after having a kid!

This was taken 8 years ago. Obviously time and a few ensuing pregnancies (including a full-term twin pregnancy and a pregnancy that included polyhydramnios which resulted in my getting just about as big as I did with with the twins) have taken their toll. Realistically, I know I don't look all that bad now, all things considered. Yeah, I'm quite a few pounds over that weight, but for my height I'm still within the range considered healthy. Still, what I wouldn't give to look like that again! But I know I'll never get down to that weight again without starving myself, and even if I did, I still wouldn't look like that without surgery.

I'm having serious body image issues lately. Kind of a love hate-hate thing. I'm trying to love myself and feel good about the fact that this body has grown 6 amazing, beautiful little humans. All the flab and mush, they're my battle scars. I've earned it. Still, I'm tired of wearing baggy shirts to hide the leftover belly. I'm tired of feeling so crappy about myself. I want to fit into my old jeans again, and not my new ones that are 2 sizes bigger than my old ones. I want to stop cringing every time Michael puts his hand on my belly. I don't want to look so "Mommish."

I don't know what my point is. Just not feeling real good about myself these days.