Good Night Moon and Other Nightly Rituals

Its finally quiet around here- No television blaring. No squeaking, chirping toys numbing my ears, dulling my senses. No one tugging at my leg, whining for food; no more tantrums to contend with, fights to referee. My kitchen is now closed, ending the nightly arguments over how many bites need to be eaten before being finished with dinner or my relentless monitoring of the refrigerator door that seems to be opened 100 million times everyday. Just silence. Even my husband has gone to bed for the night. The lulling hum of the running dishwasher is my only companion, a very welcome friend after a long, trying day.

My mind is finally free to de-clutter itself- to unload all of the fleeting and not so fleeting thoughts that have entered my mind throughout the course of my day. Most are probably gone for good as I have become much less proficient at remembering things for any length of time unless I have written it down somewhere- No time for even that nowadays with the demands of three young children vying for my attention.

So here I am trying to relax for a few moments before I begin my preparations for tomorrow which will be more of the same as today-

The time in which I am able to carve out for just me, is usually just leftovers, crumbs left behind- all the good stuff already taken. In my exhaustion, I try to remember something that caught my interest at some point earlier in my day, something I wanted to come back to when I had the chance- now here’s my chance, but I no longer recall what it was that I so badly wanted to remember. As it usually happens, it will pop back into my thoughts during some inopportune time, and I’ll put it off yet again and repeat this sequence until it eventually becomes moot.

Being a mom is tough. It is the hardest job there is and having the ability to do it well, consistently, is nearly impossible, in my opinion anyways. If anyone tells you differently, they’re just flat-out lying. Its physically tiring, emotionally draining and ages you in ways that nothing else comes close to. The worrying and fretting, the second guessing and self doubt gets to you and beats you down.

But in all sincerity, I really wouldn’t want it any other way. I’ll fall asleep tonight with a mind still on overdrive causing me to have dreams pertaining to unfinished business and other things that I have left undone ~ I may even wake during the night, separate from waking up with my two year old daughter, my heart racing over something I need to accomplish that I don’t dare forget about. I’ll fall back to sleep for what seems like mere minutes before the chaotic sounds of the day start all over again.

This all must sound like self torture and it is to a degree, but two chubby toddler arms reaching towards me for a hug, or a wet sloppy kiss on the lips and even better, an unsolicited “I love you, mom”, coming from my almost tween son, has a magical way of rejuvenating me from day to day in ways that make it all worthwhile and meaningful in the end.

A Dash of This and a Dash of That

The smells of Autumn are so intoxicating. Whether it be mulled apple cider simmering on the stove, a cooling pumpkin pie tucked away on the window sill or the crackling embers of a wood burning fireplace, these aromas envelop you in a comforting warmth, much like that special blanket, made by your grandmother just for, you as a child.

My maternal grandmother was a fantastic cook, and especially loved to bake. As a young girl, I recall sitting at her kitchen table during our visits, intently watching her transform mounds of flour and sugar, combined with eggs by the dozen, with a dash of this and a dash of that, into a colorful array of decadent cookies, cakes, pies and candy. My sweet tooth begging, for just a taste, a lick of the spoon or even better, the chance to wipe clean, with my finger, the remnants off the mixing bowls that cluttered the kitchen counter top. I would eagerly wait for the timer to buzz, hardly able to contain my delight as she removed sheets and tins from the oven, a beautiful composition of scents, transfusing the air as she arranged them strategically about the kitchen to cool and firm.

With a sparkle in her eye, she would allow me the special privilege of sampling the goodies before they were fully cooled. With a tall glass of milk setting next to me, to cleanse my palate between bites, I would devour the sticky, gooey, goodness, leaving neither a crumb, nor morsel behind on my plate. I felt so special, so loved during these Sundays of baking with my grandma. She passed away when I was just 16 years old and with her, died the recipes that were only recorded and stored in her memory alone.

Years later, my mother and I together, would reminisce about earlier days, she herself recalling the same sort of experience that she had as a girl with both her maternal grandmother and mine. A familial art form, now fragmented along the thread of our lineage. These enduring memories remain eternally intact within my sensorial consciousness, as I am easily transported back to my place at the kitchen table at grandma's house every mark of Autumns commencement, and in my own unique attempt at replicating these same ever-lasting recollections for my own children and eventually, theirs, I find that same comfort, she gave to me and wear it like a blanket warming me to my core.

Basic Training

I would say that I lead a somewhat complicated life- Most people would probably say the same, as we all play a number of roles to a number of people, day to day, week to week.

Stating the obvious here, I will start with the basics. I am a mother to four children; three are my own biological kids- my eldest is deceased (William, Ben and Mackenzie) and my fourth child (Jack) belongs to my husband, Keith. I have been a wife to three seperate men and a step mother to four children total, a sister to one older brother, Jeff and the daughter of my deceased mother, Sandra and my very much alive, father, Richard. I am also a step daughter to my father's second wife, Jill and now have two step-brothers, Thomas and Simon, in addition to their respective families. I have a large extended family, some in Northern California, some in Seattle, Washington and still more in various parts of the UK and Ireland.

By profession, I am a currently a domestic engineer without any sort of degree to back it up and a social worker in my previous life which ended over three years ago. I miss working outside the home for a variety of reasons. At some point, I hope to go back to work or school, but at this stage, its not practical for reasons I'll delve into later.

I live in a modest home, in a modest neighborhood located somewhere within the great Inland Empire (AKA- the 909). Keith is an attorney who manages his own practice and dabbles in many different areas of law, however, most of his cases are family law cases which involve families going through divorce, custody and all the stuff that happens along the way. He works long hours, sometimes weekends and travels occasionally for out of town clients. Being married to an attorney is not glamorous at all. His work takes so much from him, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes, I feel I only get the leftovers and resentment has built over time because of this.

We've been married for 2 years now, together for over 3 and as much as I'd like to say its all been perfect, it hasn't and it won't ever be. I'm not trying to be cynical or pessimistic, but marriage is hard and just like most things, the reality doesn't live up to the fantasy. I love Keith very much and I love our blended family. After 2 prior failed marriages, I am motivated to do everything I can to make "us" work by learning to accept, forgive and be more accountable for my own actions. A relationship is the product of two, never one and so I accept that I am one half of the equation and the only part in which I have any control over.

I manage the kids and the homestead, doing most of the cooking, cleaning and child rearing, although I have to admit that Keith pulls his weight around our home more than most and so I can't do much complaining on that front. I don't enjoy housework very much, if at all. In fact, I can think of a million other things I would rather be doing in place of it and most of the time, I put things off for as long a s I am able. My children are a joy to me most of the time, but challenging in ways I never thought possible. I constantly worry about the kind of mother I am and just hope that some of the parenting choices I make, are the right ones.


Most of my days are spent at home, looking after the kids and transporting them to activities. I don't have any friends in the area, mostly because I never put myself out there to meet anyone. My father and his wife live part time in the house I grew up in down south and the other part, in England which is where Jill is originally from. My brother, Jeff resides in San Diego. My very best and dearest friend, Marlo lives about 45 minutes away from me- which is just far enough to make it difficult to see her as often as I would like, but in spite of this obstacle, we do try and get together a few times a month and speak daily by phone.

The other friends I have are scattered about, and most of our contact is either online or by phone. Life can be very isolating for some and I feel I fall into this category. I realize that I could easily fix this by putting myself out there more than I have, more than I do, but sadly, it feels like more effort than its worth. With age, comes the wisdom that the people who have known you for a long time are the ones that are most valuable. New friends are important too, but it seems harder to build deep and lasting friendships the older I get.

I also struggle with depression from time to time- having good days and bad, but always thinking about how I can improve myself, therefore keeping the depression at bay. I try to be hopeful about the future while at the same time, being realistic with my expectations. I admit that my past has had way too much influence on my present and this realization is something I need to work on changing if I ever expect to change my circumstances.

I guess my basics turn out to be not so basic, as complexities emerge through simple description. As I read though this post, I almost feel like Eeyore from Winnie the Poo, so down trodden and sad, but truthfully I really believe that life isn't so pretty for most, as very few escape troubles, whatever troubles they might be. My attitude is not quite as dire as it may appear to be, but notable enough to warrant an adjustment which is the point behind the telling of my tale. You can't change what you don't acknowledge- I think I just quoted a Dr. Phil colloquialism.. . .