A Week of Firsts

I ate cottage cheese for the first time in my life.
Sam had pneumonia for the first time in my life and his.
Jamie spilled ice-cream, water, and cream soda on the freshly cleaned carpets, all within a 30 minutes time span.
First time I've been 160 days past my 34^th birthday.
Abby screamed and cried more this week than EVER.
I participated in a spin class at the gym where I thought for sure I would breathe my last.
While watching a painter paint a column at said gym, I leaned against the wall to wait; guess he could have told me the wall was still wet.
Come Thursday afternoon, I will be the mother of a middle school boy.

 
So it's officially a week of firsts. A lot of strange things happen to me, anyone that knows me can attest to this. Of course, a lot of strange things happen to you too, but you may not want to tell anyone. I, for one, do not mind telling people of my crazy. There is so much significant about some of these firsts.
I'm a picky eater. My diet does not consist of healthy fare, it's typically as fatty and fried as you can get. I'm finally trying to broaden my horizons and try some new things. I like cheese. Therefore, I should like cottage cheese. I've never eaten before mainly because it looks gross. The consistency freaks me out, but I'm trying it again today.
I don't work-out in public. Well, until recently. It's embarrassing to me, but I suppose an early death leaving my children without their mother would be cruel, so I really need to do what I can to take care of myself. I can get over my embarrassment and do my part to be healthier.
When Sam was 10 days old, he was hospitalized with RSV. There began our journey with a frequently sick little boy. Hundreds of ear infections, bronchitis, cold after cold after cold, and now, pneumonia. It happens and he's getting better.
Jamie is my clumsy child. I really should not fuss at him when he has these episodes—he's just like me. I just get tired of cleaning up my messes AND his messes.
Abby is a diva. We've contributed to that, no doubt. It's my responsibility to rehabilitate her diva tendencies. I can't take the screaming when she doesn't get her way. I've swatted that girls legs so many times in the last couple of days. And in all her defiant glory, she screams some more. Time out works sometimes… she is a different animal from the boys. This is going to be a long process.
I feel particularly old today despite the fact that I know I am not. But with each passing second, minute, hour, day, week, month… I grow more weary. I can't seem to focus on what's happening around me. It's as if I'm driving in a car, on the highway of my life, and when you look out the passenger window, things fly bye so rapidly, you can barely see them sometimes. And once you pass it, it's gone. Just a fading sight in the rearview. Ugh.
So tonight I go out with my 11 year old, 5^th grade soon-to-be graduate and buy him a suit for graduation. Tonight, I will snuggle my 9 year old, accident prone comedian and listen to him crack a silly joke. I'll pick up my daughter and hold her light-as-a-freakin-feather little body and listen to her tell me "I'm her best mama". All is right with the world when I am in their worlds. It's hard to watch them gain their independence. I know that's my job as their mother, but I sure don't like teaching this to them.
*tear*tear*

ps- the paint... it did come out of my pants and yes, it got it on my booty.  Naturally. Makes sense that I should draw more attention to my self by walking through the gym with paint on my can.  It was funny, so I can't be mad at the weirdo painter who failed to warn me.