It’s a simple word, a word that I never gave much thought. When I was in elementary school, the teacher would call my name and I would say, “present.” Meaning, I’m right here. When I got older it was just a given that if I was somewhere then I was present. Later I realized that it was only my physical body present, my mind was moving in fifty different directions. Especially, since I’ve entered “the motherhood.”

For example, admittedly I’ve been in the car, arrived at my destination, and wasn’t really sure how I got there. I’ve also been in a store completely oblivious to everything and everyone around me. And, I’m sure that I’m not the only one that tends to zone out after playing bat cave for the fifth time in day.

Lately, I’ve been trying to be present in everything that I do. I practice it when I’m in the car driving to my destination, when I’m playing with the kids, and especially when I’m shopping. This tends to be when I’m the most rushed and have a to-do-list scrolling through my head. Luckily, I’ve been working on becoming more aware of my surroundings. I hope the rest of this blog prompts you to do the same.

Sunday evening around 5pm, I went to Target for groceries. I’m a Target addict and so I always have to do a loop around the store. It doesn’t matter if I need anything on the non-grocery side or not, the thought of passing up a bargain can literally make me ill. It’s a sickness, I know. Anyway, I make it around to the cleaning supplies when I start to notice a single guy spending way too much time looking at mops. That wouldn’t be so weird if I didn’t keep seeing him down every aisle that I was in or had just left. I am a completely unorganized shopper. There is no rhyme or reason for my method. I go from here to there and back to there again. So, to see someone follow the same unorthodox pattern seemed a little suspicious. When he spent time down the baby aisle checking out bath products I knew something was amiss. Men don’t do that. Matter of fact, I’ve never known any men that wants to shop at all, especially for groceries. Hell, I don’t even want to go shopping for groceries. 

Around this time, I sent a text message to one of my friends that I have a stalker at Target. I wanted someone to know what was happening. Of course, she called me and asked what was going on. We kind of joked about it because it seemed somewhat surreal. When I was talking to her, once again he was in another aisle across from me. I thought, okay I’m going to continue to shop and we‘d see what happens. What happened was that I guess he lost sight of me, was rushing down aisles, and almost ran into me as he came down my aisle. That was my confirmation that this was really happening and that I needed to get out of there. As I moved to another section of the store, again he almost ran into me down an aisle. I then started to freak a little and left a text message for my husband.

I start to weave in and out of aisles and departments to lose this psycho. I even went to the checkout lanes on the opposite end of the store. Mind you, no more than 10 minutes passed from the time of the phone call to when I got to the checkout lane. I’m looking around for this dude and out of the corner of my eye, I see him wheel his cart in the department across from me, ladies accessories. Now I’m starting to panic a little and I tell the woman checking me out what has been going on. I asked her if she could please call someone that can walk me out to my car. I showed her where the guy was lurking and he must have saw her watching him, because he then leaves his cart and rushes out the exit.

I finish checking out and this young male Target employee walks me out to my car and loads up the groceries for me. Of course, he has no idea why I’m totally freaking out. I jump in the van, lock the doors, and call my husband trying not to get hysterical. I have no idea if this guy is waiting in a car in the parking lot or if he took off. A 10-minute drive home took me about 25 minutes, because I took back roads and drove through random subdivisions. I wanted to make sure that this guy was not following me. Obviously, he didn’t because I’m writing this blog three days later.

As I, sit here writing this today, I’m 100% convinced that this guy was following me in the store. And I am certain that it wasn’t because he thought I was hot and wanted to ask me out. It has been a while since I’ve been on the dating scene, but I know that normal guys that are interested in you don’t stalk you down every aisle at Target. This grungy Tim Roth looking guy didn’t even make eye contact with me once. So, tell me that he didn’t have other plans. Not to mention, my gut was telling me something wasn’t quite right. My hope in sharing this with you is not to make you paranoid when you go to the store. Living in fear is not a way to live. I just know as mothers, we are always in planning mode. I have to do this, I have to do that, when I get home I have to make dinner, etc… My hope is to make sure that as much as possible you are in the present moment not only physically, but mentally as well. I am positive that being aware along with my sixth sense is the reason that I’m writing this today.

In case, anyone is wondering if I’m going back to that particular Target anytime soon. Probably not. Although I refuse to live in fear, I also am not ready for the possibility to see that psycho again.

It started on a morning a week ago Thursday with a normal routine of muffins, oatmeal and chocolate milk. The boys were watching Cartoon Network while I was preparing a bottle for the baby. The next thing I knew, our less than 3-year-old big screen TV went black. Beads of sweat started to form as I tried to turn it back on. I even plugged and unplugged. Nothing worked. How the hell was I supposed to make it through the day without a TV? I started to panic and called my husband who said that he needed the receipt with the warranty in order to get it serviced. I can’t find two missing potato heads, there is no way I’m going to be able to find this receipt. Luckily, he’s use to my minor meltdowns, went ahead, and called the store. He calls back with the dire news that the service guy won’t be able to get there until the following Wednesday. Unfortunately, the store didn’t get the memo that having three kids under the age of five and a not so domestic mother is supposed to move you to the top of the list.

I’m betting that half of you feel my pain without explaining any further how essential the TV is to my daily life of actually getting anything done. The other half are probably thinking, “Have you ever heard of crayons?” Well, I have. They are the tool of choice for my artistic preschoolers to leave their mark all over the house. Anyway, being the person I am with a long list of items to accomplish in a day while taking care of a 4-year-old, 3-year-old and 10-month old, the television has become my friend. That is until it went black.

Now mind you, we do have another television in the master bedroom, but we also still have the baby sleeping in there as well. Time, life, and lack of space crept up on us and we were still in the process of clearing out my office for the baby. So, how in the world was I going to be able to occupy the boys while I put her to sleep? How was I supposed to watch Oprah while she was sleeping? How was I going to get anything done in the house without access to the Wii?

I have to tell you, I never wanted a TV guy more. A six-day wait for the service call turned into seven thanks to mother nature dumping a foot of snow in my ill-prepared city. Finally, the TV guy comes and less than 15 minutes later, the music of Yo Gabba Gabba filled the room. To quote my 3-year-old, “I like the TV guy.” Me too Hayden, me too.

Still, this impromptu experiment did do my family good. I have to say that it wasn’t easy, but going cold turkey (almost, there was still access upstairs) did me and my children a lot of good. They were forced to play with the zillions of forgotten toys collecting dust. A little bit of creativity was sparked and they began making up their own games. I used play dough as a reward for listening and being quiet while I put the baby to sleep. It also forced me to put a move on it and finally move the baby girl into her own room. I learned that I don’t need to rely on the television so much. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t become all anti-TV or anything. I still need to vacuum and clean the backyard. Sounds and pictures will still come from the big box in the corner as needed. But, getting a break from listening to Bendaroo and Blendy Pen commercials every five minutes is sweet.

Everyone has one or two things that just freak them out. I mean really freak them out. Ok, maybe not everyone, but I’m guessing I’m not the only neurotic person out there. My two things may seem like nothing to someone else, but to me they can put me in a state of crazy. I’m talking about mice and bugs.

Most of my friends already know about my dislike for bugs and my abnormal fear of mice, but probably not to the extent that my husband does. Every winter he dutifully evicts the latest unwanted rodents from the garage. Because he knows that if I see one of them, he might come home and find me in a catatonic state brought on by fear. Seriously. No, really, I’m serious and not even trying to be funny. (Well, maybe a little funny.) I am embarrassed to say that I’m a prime candidate for the Maury Povich show. (To clarify, not the “Who’s Your Baby’s Daddy” show, but the “I’m Terrified of…” show.)

My other nemesis, bugs, doesn’t put fear in my veins, but gross me out. Especially when the little buggers invade my home. In particular, I can’t stand the creepy cockroach looking Earwig. It probably stems from when I lived in Texas and went through cockroach hell. It’s not very common to have them in Midwest suburbia, so I wasn’t prepared for the constant battle I faced in the south. It took years after moving back to the Midwest to dissipate the anxiety I felt every time I opened up a box of cereal or turned on the light.

Anyway, enough about my neurosis and on to the love part of this blog. Since it’s been monsoon season in the Midwest, the bugs have come out in full force. Apparently, there’s not enough room for them outside, so they’ve decided to start setting up shop in my house. My husband is on it. Without me even asking or threatening to move, he called Bob the bug guy. Bob graciously rid our house of bugs and saved our marriage two years ago for a small fee. I would pay almost any fee to be bug free.

For me, my husband calling the bug guy without me asking = love. Validate my fears and rid my life of things that freak me out and I’m in it for the long haul. And that’s what I call love.

So as I was comforting another banged up kid, I was wishing for some Excedrin and praying that we (me and my children) would make it out alive. We managed to escape unscathed. And my children can’t wait to go back. I can. I can wait a long time.

Next time, I’ll make the suggestion to my friend that she check out some other party ideas and locations on JustBreatheMom.com that are a little less stressful for moms of younger kids.

When I was pregnant with my first child, old carrots did me in. My husband made me a grilled cheese sandwich with baby carrots on the side. His big mistake was that he gave me old carrots. You know the ones that are starting to crack and have white stuff on the side. Let this be a lesson to all men making dinner for the women carrying their child… Don’t give a pregnant woman carrots with white stuff! To say the least, my pregnant self was lost in tears. In my pre-baby days, I would have had no problem telling my husband what he could do with those decrepit carrots. However, those days are over, as you will soon read.

My second child brought on even stronger uncontrollable emotions. I’ve seen every episode of ER, minus the last two seasons, at least twice. They play two episodes a day on TNT and sometimes on Saturday afternoons. I always watched the show, but it became my addiction when I couldn’t work very much during my first pregnancy. One Saturday afternoon, my husband and I are watching TV and before the intro plays, I knew just by the title which episode was coming up. Once again, I lost it. I really lost it. My husband didn’t know what to do. I tried to explain that it was the episode where Dr. Greene dies and he’s trying to connect with his daughter, but he just didn’t get it. Men just don’t get it.

If you’re are still reading and connecting to what I’m saying, then get ready because this one tops them all. Recently, my husband and I were over at my sister and brother-in-laws house. My other sister-in-law was also there and she was reminiscing about a funny story that had to do with her sister. It wasn’t as amusing to me, because it was one of those stories where you had to be there. My sister-in-law who the story was about was crying so hard she couldn’t talk. This made my other sister-in-law cry as well. That’s all it took, because before I knew it I was smack dab in the middle of an ugly cry. And not just any ugly cry, the kind where I could barely breathe and I could feel it coming up my throat. This just made them laugh and cry harder, including the husbands. I literally had to go to the bathroom, cry it out and try to compose myself.

The saying, “A baby changes everything.” is true. Thanks to all three of mine, I now have an open channel of emotion. Granted after this, my last pregnancy is over, I’ll be able to not freak out on carrots, realize ER is just a show, and control the dreaded ugly cry. That is unless I watch Terms of Endearment… that gets me every time.

His most recent bout with profanity came when I was merely putting on his little glove. His fingers were acting crazy and not fitting into the right slots. In a calm voice, my son said, “damnit” followed with a “What the hell” “Excuse me, what did you say?” is all that I could muster out.

I know that I am to blame for his language skills or lack of. Being an imperfect human, I would love to blame it on society, the TV, or even my husband. But since I shelter my child from society, I’ve never heard Dora swear, and my husband keeps his words in check, it all falls on me. Occasionally, a word or two will slip from my mouth in front of the kids. Ok, maybe more than a word or two and maybe they slip more than occasionally. Surely, I cannot be the only parent out there with a child repeating words not meant to be repeated.

As an adult, I don’t see anything wrong with the few curse words that I use. Albeit, I don’t think it’s very attractive for kids to use those same words. And I do try not to let the words slip out in front of them, but with daily life and stresses, it can be challenging. Besides, I save the heavy-duty words for when I�?Tm really angry, not around the kids or when I can talk freely with certain people. Ok, I feel better now. This blog has been cathartic for me and made me realize that I�?Tm doing the best I can with the intent of doing better.

In conclusion, I will continue to cuss when I feel the need, work on not doing it in front of the boys, and not feel guilty for letting out a much stress relieving f*** once in a while. In the words of Joel Goodson from Risky Business, “Sometimes you just gotta say, What the f***…”