The Curly Monster

Every once in a while, I get hit with a wave of nostalgia and recognize how insanely fast my kids are growing up.  Drama occasionally does something, or gives me a certain look that throws me for a loop as I recognize the adult in her tip-toeing out. Mischief as well, but with Mischief - it is different.  Some of the things she does are definitely "big girl" things - she likes computers and video games and is reading well.  She has grown taller and her hair longer.  She enjoys school and her friends and recently performed in her first ballet recital.

But it is what HASN'T changed in Mischief that I cherish the most. . .

She is fearless and strong and independent.  She firmly believes in herself, has no doubts and twirls in her dreams without concern of what others think.

She still ranks snuggling as one of her favorite things, refusing to get ready for day until she has her dose of "morning snuggles"

She quickly tells Drama that she loves her - without thought to the bossiness of which her big sister is quite capable.

She loves to give her toys away - to her sister, to her parents, to her friends.  To any random person who comes by (yes. . .our plumber occasionally leaves with a stuffed animal).

She just as easily gives out compliments to others.  "You are beautiful, mommy."  "You are so smart, Drama", "Daddy can fix anything because he is awesome."  She has not yet learned to pass out compliments like trading cards - only in response to one given to her.

She still laughs easily, loudly and with wild abandon.

She makes faces at the camera and then cracks up to see them.  She tells jokes and can't make it to the punch line because she finds all of life so hysterical.

She blooms with eyes sparkling and crazy curls framing her face no matter how we start the morning with them tamed.

She is growing up - of that I have no doubts.  And I also do not doubt that when she hits the teen years, she will not spare me from the snotty attitude and angst that comes standard with puberty.  But I pray that her wild heart will always beat in her own rhythm, that her dance will always be on this side of funky and the sunshine she radiates will never fully be blocked out by the night of life's realities.

She is my little mischief, my curly monster.

Getting Close to Quitting Time

I have never been a quitter.  As one of my co-workers once told me. . .I am "too stubborn to fail".  I hate giving up, I hate giving in, I hate not seeing something through to completion.

but it is almost time.

time to quit. time to walk away. time to let it go.

My insane drive (to win! be the best! just keep going!) has officially run out, and it is almost time to quit.

My belief that if I just KEPT going, worked a LITTLE harder - surely, surely, it would pay off and things would change, things would get better and I would prevail - that belief has died. 

Loosing the studio 2 years ago felt like this.  And to face it again - to face defeat - even in the knowledge that it isn't exactly MY fault. . .that it just IS - is killing me.

I want to scream and stomp and lie down on the floor and kick my legs out like a toddler's temper tantrum.

Because its JUST NOT FAIR. And it hurts to give up. And it hurts to know that giving it everything I had wasn't enough.

But it doesn't hurt as much as working 11 hour days and realizing that I still have a million things to do and no more time to do them. And that I could work all night and not be done.

It doesn't hurt as much as feeling lost and stupid with no where to turn all day, and coming home exhausted and stressed and crying.

It doesn't hurt as much as telling my boss that I'm overworked and overwrought and hanging on by my fingernails and then having nothing change.

It doesn't hurt as much as having my husband tell me "Don't give up everything for that job.  Don't forget your kids, don't forget your smile."

It doesn't hurt as much as hearing my kids pray "Dear God, help mommy not be so stressed, please let her job be better." 

Nothing hurts worse than that.