I have totally lost my Orlando mojo and am once again in a funk.
That didn't take long, now did it?
Interrupted sleep kills me. The bedwetting of three combined with the flu of one and the "nightmares" of all does not leave a mom with much shut-eye.
Then a mom without shut-eye becomes a grumpy, grouchy b witch.
I hate feeling like this. I know I am short and snappy. I see it...I clearly see it...but I can't seem to shake it.
I took some time the other day to look through some old photos on the computer and that helped. A lot. So while I'm in the midst of thinking I am doing everything wrong, these pictures reminded me that along the way, I've done some things right.
I used to be a ballroom dancer. I was a far cry from Karina Smirnoff or Julianne Hough but man, I loved it. Competing terrified me, but I did it.
International Foxtrot, 2001
I will always and forever love a good foxtrot.
When our kids came home from Russia I spent hours...HOURS...dancing foxtrot with them around the kitchen island. Every afternoon, I would give each child a turn, on my hip in dance position, that lasted a whole song on the Disney's Pixar Buddy Songs CD. We wore that CD out! Every time we'd come around the island, we'd look at ourselves in the mirror on the wall, giving each other eye contact and a smile. Little did I know at the time that we were bonding. Little did I know how much we were attaching.
We also spent most weekend mornings having dance parties with Ken. I can proudly say my hubby too can foxtrot, and my girls, who at first wanted nothing to do with this man, were dancing in his arms within 3 months of being home.
Papa and Natasha dancing, November 2007
Dancing with Elya, November 2007
We danced and we danced. We picked out special songs that are still to this day each child's own and we played them over and over and over again.
My dancing in those days was mostly done in yoga pants, t-shirts, and slippers. My partners were much shorter but my dancing was just as meaningful.
Just the other day, I picked up Natasha, now much heavier at 8 years old, and we took a lap around the kitchen to a random song on the radio. We stopped at the mirror, looked at each other and smiled. She buried her head in my neck and started sucking her thumb. Nestled in, we finished the song and then shared a long hug.
In that moment I knew.
I did something right.