There you have it.  Another long, awful weekend behind me.

My life is the series of weeks that happen between weekends.  I feel like time goes by so quickly when I realize that there are only 52 weekends in the year, and I feel like I’m always working.

I’m thinking of doing a new Monday feature, because I have such a hard time getting up and going in the morning.  I have lots of lovely bloggers that I follow, and would love to know more about, as well as share with all of my readers.  I think I’m going to create an interview, and send it to all of my favorite blogs, and post one of the interviews every Monday.  That way, you’d get to know some of my bloggers and why I love them – and I would always have some great Monday content.  Sounds win-win to me.

Work was super-crazy-busy this weekend.  I hardly had a moment to breathe.  I’m glad it’s over.

I just found a stain on one of my favorite shirts.  That makes me really mad.

My contacts are dry, and I want to take them out, but the day is just barely started. (For me, anyways.)

It’s GORGEOUS out, and I want to take Ronan out when he gets up from his nap.  Who knows what we’ll do.  I can’t wait for the pool to open.

I am dangerously addicted to Sprite lately.

I’m thinking of re-naming my cat “Cuddles.”  He’s been sitting on my lap as often as possible for the last 2 weeks.

Need to do LAUNDRY!  And vacuum.

I still have a head ache.  I’ll never look at romantic candlelight the same way again.

Seriously, kid, are you ever going to wake up?

That is my thought-stream of the day.  About all I’ve got.  On to writing an interview!

Brock and I had a date night last night.

We got a sitter so we could be BABY FREE and tried to go to a movie, only there was absolutely nothing that either of us wanted to see.  So instead, we went over to hang out with our friends, Chris and KJ.  We were there for 3 whole hours, and it really felt like 20 minutes.  We had SO much fun!

What do two tired, overworked parents want to do when they get a date night?  Why, play video games of course.

Brock started out the night by trying out a God of War rip-off where you play as one of the four horsemen, and you have to kill demons and angels alike.  It looked pretty cool, albeit a little silly.  Then KJ got irritated because we were all watching instead of playing.  So we put on Mario for the Wii!

That game is designed to make people hate each other, I swear!  My throat was sore by the end of the night from yelling at everyone.  I couldn’t believe how fast the time went, or how relaxing it was to let loose and not worry about waking up the baby.  We played Halli Galli, which is a counting fruit card game.  Yeah, I know, it sounds stupid, but it was actually really fun.  We were yelling, and laughing and slapping – it was crazy.  We got to see KJ’s ninja hands and how lightening fast she was, winning two times in a row.

We were sad when it was time to go.  Date nights come so few and far between, and it felt like we had just walked out the door.  I texted our sweet and wonderful nanny to see if the baby was sleeping.  She said that he was ALMOST out, and would probably be asleep by the time we got home.  We came in very quietly, and I texted her again to see if she wanted me to come relieve her in the bedroom.  After she responded ‘Yes,’ I went in and was greeted with a happily  chattering, wide-awake little boy.  April said that he was nearly sound asleep, and when she tried to move him, he woke up and started talking.  Typical Ronan behavior.  Sleep is for the weak.

About half an hour later, I finally got Ronan back down.  Brock and I had planned on a little grown up time in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.  We were in the guest bedroom, kissing and being all romantical and sweet.  I was laying on the bed watching as Brock lit candles and set them on the ledge above the bed.  I don’t remember what we were talking about but I was focused on how Brock was holding the large glass jar candle upside down and putting the lighter all the way up inside of it to light, when one of the candles fell off the ledge and landed on the top of my head.

Wow.

I clutched the top of my head, moaning “OW OW OW ow ow ow ow ow ow!” until my ow’s turned into sobs, and I couldn’t stop crying.  Brock felt horrible, and held me while I cried telling me, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”  He ran downstairs and got me some ice and Tylenol.  It took me about that long to calm myself down and get my crying under control.  I did that silly thing where I pulled my hands really slowly away from my head to make sure there was no bleeding.  (There was no bleeding.)  Brock kept telling me he was sorry, and I laughed and said that it was okay, it was an accident!  He told me I wasn’t allowed to smile and be happy, because I was the one that got hurt.

So, instead of sweet-happy-love-time, we sat on the couch together and watched House while I iced my noggin.  The lump on my head grew in the shape of a C right behind my hairline, and stuck out of my head by a fingersbreadth.  Probably not the most romantic night we’ve ever had, but at least it was memorable!

A wise man once asked me:

dig deep and figure out why you’re writing. b/c i don’t think it’s JUST for yourself. and guess what? there’s nothing wrong with that. i don’t write just for myself. i write to be read. i write b/c i think it’s one of my gifts.

so tell me, my friend, WHY do you write? holla.

I have thought about it every day since then.  This is not a simple question.

I know why I write.  I write because I love to write.  I love the feeling I get when I put thoughts down, I love the struggle of finding the right word, the right phrase, of creating the right rhythm.  I delight in challenging myself to write something better than last time.  It is a constant endeavor, always wishing to improve on what I say and how I say it; always trying to be better than I was before.  There are few things I enjoy more than writing.

Why I blog, though… that is a different story all together.

Blogging is an ideal format for me.  I love to write, but I’m not entirely creative enough to come up with fictional stories.  Believe me, I have tried.  I do, however, love to recount the tales of things that I’ve done and things that have mattered to me.  I love to share in my days, and my experiences.  I enjoy helping others to see what I’ve seen and to feel what I’ve felt.  I share things most people wouldn’t dream of talking about, wouldn’t dream of sharing, because it’s important to me to be real.  I am not perfect.  I have bad days, and self doubts and second thoughts.  I get lonely, sad, down on myself;  all of those moments are the truth, and I need to share them exactly as they are, exactly as I feel them.  The amazing days, the amazing moments; I share those with the same passion.  I pass on my wonder and awe, my hurt and confusion at the world around me – the life I live – all with equal honesty.

And the single most satisfying thing I have derived from blogging is the realization that I am not alone.  Not in ANY of it.

Somewhere out there, there is someone that is thinking the same way, feeling the same way, and wondering the same things as I am.  Never in my life have I felt more connected to people that can reach out and help each other cope.  I blog because I crave that connection, with friends and family members or strangers and acquaintances, with anyone willing to read and relate.  I don’t want to write something that you can look at and say, “Wow, that was really well written.”  I want to write something that pulls at you, that makes you realize a little something more about yourself, and causes you to remark, “I know exactly what you mean.”

THAT is why I blog.

That is why I love it.

And that is why I will continue.

Ok.

So I’ve been blogging for almost 5 years now.  I started out way back in my Xanga days.  It’s something I’ve always done for me, and always felt good about.  I didn’t, until just recently, care about the blogosphere, or making friends or networking.  Blogging has always been a way for me to indulge the writer in me, as well as being able to get things off my chest in the perfect forum.  I don’t think could have ever predicted accurately the drama my blogging would cause.

Let’s look back.

I used to work in an OB/GYN office near my house.  I worked there for over a year, and loved it.  I left, not because I didn’t want to work there any more, but because I was intensely interested in furthering my career and my knowledge of obstetric ultrasound.  A position had opened up in a high risk clinic, and I applied for it.  When I got the position, I was truly sad to be leaving my friends and co-workers.  Several months after I left, I logged into my Xanga and noticed I had several THOUSAND page views that day.  The very same day, one of my ex-co-workers called me and said there was some bad Juju going on at the office.  Evidently, someone had googled either me, or the clinic that I worked in, and found my blog (which was google indexed.)  This person hadn’t been able to keep their mouth shut, and gave the blog address to everyone else in the clinic.  So, instead of working for several days, all of the employees of this clinic spent hours trolling my blog, reading my private inner thoughts, and attempting to find something wrong with what I had done.  At that time, I had written a few blog entries similar to the “Ultrasound Resonates” posts that I write now, with names changed and privacy protected just like always.  I also had written several stories about incidents that had gone on in the clinic, ALL of which showed the clinic in a great light.

My co-worker told me that someone had given my blog to the manger of the office, and that there was going to be a big uproar over it, and I was in big trouble.  Interestingly, I never heard anything about it from anyone else, so it was all a much ado about nothing.  However, some people got all high and mighty and important, and decided to stick their business in my own.  (Yes, I know you did this.  Yes, I think it was shallow, petty and rude.  Yes, I continued to write in spite of it.)

Moving on.

From my OB clinic, I moved on to bigger and better things.  I started working at a high risk obstetrics clinic, and I absolutely loved it.  I also became pregnant within two weeks of starting at the clinic, so my time enjoyed there was overshadowed by my impending child.  First, let me say that I was told on no uncertain terms that none of my co-workers were happy about my pregnancy, having suffered infertility problems themselves, and that they wouldn’t be interested in hearing about my gravidity, so I should keep my mouth shut.  Being young, pregnant and quite excited about it, that was handed over as a slap in the face.  So I attempted to keep my mouth shut, my head down, and just work.  Despite my best intentions, and against my desire to keep working there, I left the clinic when Ronan was born.  I had wanted to continue in the high risk field, but was not offered a part-time position, and couldn’t fathom putting my son in daycare from such a tender young age.  This evidently caused some ruffled feathers with my co-workers, who were insulted by the fact that I didn’t return, and believed that I had mislead them into thinking that I would be coming back.  I had thought I had created valuable, lasting friendships with the woman that I was surrounded by, but after finding out how sore they were over my leaving, I couldn’t bring myself to go back and confront them, lest they snub me to my face.

Several weeks ago, I was informed by a remaining friend at the office that the ladies there were still reading my blog (even though it has been over a year since my employ.)  I was told that my blog was passed around, read, and then degraded and insulted.  My parenting efforts were poo-pooed, and my character questioned, all without having the ability to defend myself.  As far as I know, this practice continues: grown women read my public blog and deride me in order to make them feel better about themselves.  (Yes, I know you do this.  Yes, I think it’s shallow, petty and rude.  Yes, I continue to write in spite of it.  But I think you need to grow up, and find something else to entertain you.)

Again, moving on.

I found a position in a hospital where I could work weekends, so I could be home with my son all week.  Then, my husband would be with Ronan on the weekends, and the need for childcare had been eliminated.  Not only did we not WANT to leave our son in daycare, we couldn’t afford it; this allowed me to work without the extensive costs of having my son cared for.  I have worked at this hospital for nearly a year, and was told several months ago that someone had anonymously turned in my blog, pointing out that it’s against hospital policy to state that you work there, what you do, or talk about your position in general.  This alone didn’t bother me; I didn’t know there was any such rule in place, and it took just a few minutes for me to remove all references to my place of work.  However, the fact that someone saw fit to take my personal blog and turn it in to authorities, rather than simply mention to me that I was doing something wrong, rubbed me just awful.

Now, within the last few days, I was approached by my supervisor and told that my blog has come into question again.  Someone had printed off several pages of my posts and turned them in, again anonymously, stating that the timestamps showed that I had been working on it while I was on the clock.  I was told that this was a severe offense, and that if it happened again it could lead to dismissal.

Once again, someone has seen fit to shove their big, fat nose into my business.

I WRITE a BLOG.  It’s about my kid, and my family.  It’s rated G, and sweet, touching, personal, funny, and sometimes challenging or upset.  I’m not posting pornography, I’m not an anarchist trying to bring down the government, I don’t cuss or post inappropriate pictures, and I’m not even using the hospital internet system.  I write blogs in my spare time, and I post them, once a day, when I have a free moment.  I can do this from my phone while I’m sitting at a red light.  I can do it in the pumping room when I’m making FOOD for my CHILD.  I can log into the public computers on my lunch break and access my account.

Now, if I had brought in a note pad and written a story down with pen and paper, no one would get worked up.  But because it’s the internet, and it’s a public forum, someone thinks they have the right to police my activities and turn me in for perceived wrong doing.

First, it’s none of your damn business.  Second, where do you get off printing information from my blog?  Yes, it’s public, but it is MY intellectual property.  You do not have the RIGHT to do that without my express permission.  Third, WHY DO YOU CARE?  Who am I to you?  What does it matter what I do during my down time at work, or while I’m at home, or sitting at a damn red light?  If you have that much time and energy to spend on what I’m doing, perhaps you should take a moment and re-evaluate what YOU should be doing.  Fourth, you have permanently damaged my relationships with the people that I work with.  By not having the courage to show your face or come to me in person, I have to assume ANYONE could be the person that has sunk low enough to care about what I do.  I no longer have the luxury of trusting someone just because I like them.

Yes, I know that you did this.  Yes, I think it’s shallow, petty and STUPID.  YES, I will continue to write in spite of it, and in spite of you.  Grow up, get a life, and leave me alone.  I have done NOTHING that should affect you in ANY WAY, and your obsession with me is unhealthy.

Which leads me to question:  Could it possibly be me?  What am I doing to invite this type of attention and negative energy?  Is there something I need to do differently?  Or am I actually surrounded by childish, petty people who have a flair for dramatics?

I don’t want to stop blogging.  I don’t want to make my blog private.  I don’t want to pull punches or edit myself because I’m worried about who might be reading it.  I don’t have a problem.  If you have a problem, please un-invite yourself from sharing my life.  And thank you, each of you,  for trying to ruin everything.

My first real blog post in a few days.

This will be fun.  My keyboard is broken because I spilled water on it yesterday.  Go me.

I have all of these things that I want to write about, and yet none of them seem important enough to say.

All last week, I experienced something so wonderful, so amazing it’s difficult to put into words.  Ronan had settled himself into a schedule where he would go to bed between 8:30 and 9:00 pm, then sleep until 2 am without waking, eat, and then sleep again until morning.  I can’t even begin to describe what that week was like for me.

And then we had a Birthday party.  I’m not entirely sure what screwed up the whole thing – whether it was the cake, or the excitement, or the missing of a nap – but the whole thing is screwed up.  For the 3 days since the party, he’s been a bear to put to sleep, and woken nearly every hour.  It’s like we’ve taken seven or eight steps backwards.  I’m trying not to be too upset about it; we’ve dealt with it before, and we’ll deal with it again.  It was just so frustrating to see some light at the end of the tunnel (or SLEEP, as it were) only to have it blink off.  I always figure every day is a new chance for things to go well.

I also have been considering going to my doctor to have a talk about depression.

It’s a funny thing, trying to figure out what’s going on in your head, and whether or not it’s normal.  I feel like I’m normal.  But I also feel like I’m never really happy.  I write all these posts about being lonely, and trying to get things together, and then I have a day like Saturday.  My house is filled with so many wonderful people, all of whom love me or my husband or my son (or even all of us!) and I realize there is no reason for me to be lonely.  I shouldn’t ever be sad.  I just look around and know that I shouldn’t ever feel alone.

So then… why do I?

I don’t remember ever feeling like this when I was younger.  I’ve sort of always chalked it up to being homesick and missing my family, but that doesn’t seem to hit the nail on the head either.  I think that means it’s time to talk to someone else about it, and find out what ‘normal’ really should be.

Because there is no reason for me to be unhappy.  I’m NOT unhappy.  But I always feel sad, and I’d like that to go away now.  I love my life, and I want to enjoy it too.

… unless you let your son fall and smash his face open the day before his first birthday party.

I am a GREAT mom.

Have you ever heard the saying, “How come anyone driving faster than you is a maniac, but anyone driving slower is an idiot?”

I used to drive long distances all the time.  I got to really enjoy the ride.  But what I also noticed is I was either passing, or being passed… and I never saw someone going the same speed as me.  It didn’t take me long to figure out that the reason I never met anyone going my speed was because people going the same speed as me were staying the same relative distance away from me… we were traveling parallel to each other and never intersecting.  So even though I knew I could only see the people that would speed by me, or the people I would leave behind – I knew the other drivers were out there.  I could picture them in my head, and I was not alone at my speed.

This is my metaphor for parenting.

You see, it doesn’t matter ONE BIT what choice you make in your parenting spectrum; there will be those far more radical than you, and those that think you are far too radical yourself.

I realized this the other day when Ronan was spitting yogurt out after every bite.  My instinct was to smack him on the mouth and tell him no, but I didn’t, instead I just took the yogurt away.  When I did this, I pictured myself in a public area, and thought about the reaction of other parents.  I KNOW there would be someone that would think to themselves, “I can’t believe she let her child get away with that.  If that were MY son, I would have smacked him on the mouth!”  And quite opposite of that, had I chosen to smack his mouth in punishment, there would be the parent that would be thinking, “I can’t believe she just smacked her child on the mouth.  Who would hit their child over something so trivial?  She could have just taken the yogurt away!”

And it’s this way of thinking that made me realize: it doesn’t matter what I choose to do, I will never make everyone happy.  Instead, I just have to make sure I’m doing what I know is right.  To be a mom, you don’t just have to be smart, loving, and patient; you also have to have thick skin.  The mothers out there that would do exactly what I did?  Chances are, I wont meet them easily, because they wont be the ones making waves.  They’ll be the ones just like me, keeping their heads down, being proud of their choices, and accepting others for what they choose to do as well.

I know I write a lot of posts about parenting.  It’s really on my mind all the time.  I’ll try to lighten up a bit, but I thought this was a little too cool to not share.

I totally can’t let this go.

Last week, I was visiting with some friends and having a great time.  There was me, Ronan, my two friends, and their sister with her 4 month old.  The two friends are married and pregnant, and I sometimes feel it is my duty to impart bits of wisdom that will help a new mom in ways that I was completely clueless after having my first.  You know, little things that no one remembers to tell you, and when you’re going through it yourself you wonder, “Why didn’t anyone tell me this?!”

At one point, I looked down at Ronan who was being a little pill and remarked, “No one will ever tell you how hard it is.  I mean, I had no idea how utterly and completely difficult it would be.”

My pregnant friend said, “I’m sure they TRY, but you don’t really understand what they’re talking about until you’re going through it.”

“Very true!” I agreed.

Her sister, holding her sweet 4 month old baby, said, “Yeah.  It’s so hard in the beginning.  But it’s gotten easy now.  It’s not really hard any more.”

I’m not kidding, I think I did a double-take.  Not hard any more?

I honestly can’t remember a time when it wasn’t hard.  It surely wasn’t when Ronan was 4 months old and teething.  It’s not even NOW, when he’s trying to be all independent and grown up.  It’s still hard as crap.  I still have days where I can’t believe how hard it is, and nights where I don’t want to have to deal with how hard it is.

I try to give myself the benefit of the doubt.  I still don’t get to sleep all night.  I still have to work full time hours.  My shift is horrible, and throws off my rhythm all week.  But, between you and me, I think I have a pretty good kid.  He’s even tempered, he takes good naps, he plays all alone like a pro; despite all of this, there are times when I just wish it were easier.  Today, we’ve only been up for an hour, and he’s already made me want to pull my hair out three times.

He wanted a bottle, so I gave it to him.  He took three big sucks off of the bottle, and then spit it out all over the couch.  Then he used the bottle like a pen, and drew all over the black leather in sticky milk.

I finished my bowl of cereal, but I don’t really like to drink the milk out of the bottom.  Ronan crawled over and asked for some, and I told him it was all gone.  He got mad and put his hand into the bowl and splashed it around.  I told him, “No, Ronan!  You don’t do that!”  He looked me straight in my face and started screaming.  I love a good temper tantrum early in the morning.

I picked him up and brought him into the bedroom for a nap, because it was obvious he was having a little trouble.  I laid him down, sat next to him, and started patting his back.  He laid there calmly for about 5 minutes, and then started tossing, turning, squirming and screaming.  I kept him down for about 15 more minutes before giving up.

Now, we are back out in the living room, where I put on Finding Nemo so I could have 15 minutes of quiet time.  He’s drinking out of his straw cup, where he’ll take 5 or 6 big swallows, and then he’ll spit the next two out.  Sometimes, it’s all I can do to keep my patience.

So, I don’t know if it’s her, and she’s just putting up a good front because the fun stuff is fun, or if perhaps she has the perfect baby and it ISN’T hard for her anymore… or it it’s just me, and I’m a terrible mom because I find this to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life.  And I don’t see it getting any easier any time soon.

I have done everything possible in the last hour to avoid writing a blog.

I don’t even know why.  There is NOTHING coming to my mind about what I would like to write about today.

Then I realized that I could celebrate a breakthrough last night.  Only I don’t want to jinx it.  I’ll just put it succinctly… I got some sleep last night.  And Ronan did too.  That’s all I’m going to say about it for now.

Birthday party anxiety is ramping up.  Way up.  So far, I have 14 people RSVP’d and are coming to my tiny little house.  My tiny, little, dirty house.  I’m planning on working on that today – you know, since I’m all rested up.

What does any of this have to do with the title of my blog?  I love it when Ronan is napping.  I swear, God invented naps to preserve mothers’ sanity.  I could genuflect over naps alone.

Goals for today?

• New baby gate at Target
• Kitchen tidied and cleaned.
• Floors swept/mopped.
• Living room tidied.
• Laundry DONE!
• Bonus goal: Clean master bathroom.
• Bonus goal: Clean and organize baby room.

I’ll admit, my expectations for today are a little unrealistic, but why not aim high?  We’re getting the trip to Target out of the way early.

And right here, I’d like to do a little celebratory dance… just days from my son’s first birthday, we FINALLY have him paid off.  *dance*

Another Valentine’s Day has come and gone.

This is one holiday that I have no particular like nor dislike for.  I don’t look forward to it… I usually forget about it until the week before.  I don’t really WANT or EXPECT anything for Valentine’s day, and am always lovingly surprised when my husband does something wonderful.

This year, he wrote a letter.  Yes, ladies and gents, he HAND WROTE a love letter.  He left it sitting by the front door, and I read it as soon as I walked in from work.  I had a hard time getting to the bottom of the page because I had started crying.  Yup, he wrote a whole page about how much he loves me.

Isn’t it funny, though?  Just two weeks ago, it was all we could do not to yell at each other every day.  We didn’t even want to spend time together if given the choice, because we just kept ending up at odds.

People always say relationships change.  I read once that passion is like the tide… it ebbs and flows.  The older I get, and the more we go through difficult times together, the more I realize that those things are really true.  Yes, there are days when we can’t stand the sight of each other.  Yes, there are times when we don’t really seem to want the same things.  And yes, there are really moments when the relationship seems in vain and we can’t figure out what we’re doing.

But.

But there are times when things are so wonderful, when all we want is to be together, and the kisses are amazing, and the sex is unbelievable… times when we talk, and cuddle, and never get enough.  Those times make everything else so worth it.  They make the rest of the days worth putting up with.  We find ourselves going out of our way to make the other person happy.  Everything just fits.

I love my husband so much today.  I love him every day, but today I know that our love can last forever, even though a week ago I questioned it.  And days like today will help remind me that even though sometimes things are bad, we will always be okay.