www.GuffeyLove.com

The new website is up!

It's not a huge change.
It's just a little bit different.

Don't Worry. The blog is still. the same.

There are only a few things that have changed:

-The actual web address.
-The look.
-There's some new stuff.
-The amount of times I'll write. (hooray!)

The new stuff is not fancy.

But.

You'll need to change your RSS feed.

You'll need to change your bookmark.

to this:

www.GuffeyLove.com

Because that's where I'm headed.
Go now! Click right here.

See you over there!


Until Next Time,
The Guff

Pay Attention: A Plug

I haven't been here in a while.

This coffee shop. This small table, with only one skinny chair, by the door- it's freezing & every time anyone comes in or goes out I get a rush of wind in my face. But it's the only table that is always open when I come here. So I claim it. Every time. 

There are metaphors here- in this table and claiming things that no one else wants to and enduring the chill. Because I want a place to sit. Or because someone told me to sit there. Getting comfortable in this seat, even when it's terribly uncomfortable and sometimes lonely. 
But that's another blog. A book. 

But listen. I'm turning 30 this year.
I know, who cares.
But Thirty.

I can feel change. Honestly. In my body, I ache over it. Not physical change, though, trust me, it is there. I don't know what these pains are. Growing pains. Letting go pains. Eye pains. I'm adjusting my focus. It can be painful to see things for what they really, really are, instead of what I'd really, really like them to be. What they used to be, or what I used to think they were. Are you following me? But there are changes happening in the deepest and most vulnerable parts of me.
I don't care about things I used to really, deeply care about.
And I desperately care about things that I used to overlook. Ignore.

It makes my heart ache, and oddly, it makes my heart joyful. Freed.

I'm learning. I'm paying attention.

Some changes are happening that I cannot control, and some changes are happening because I'm learning. I'm paying attention. I'm choosing.

So, I'm sitting at a different table tonight. 

That tiny little table just didn't seem appealing.
Although out of my comfort zone, believe it or not, I asked a lady if I could share a table with her. Why not?

New spot. New outlook. I actually took my jacket off.
Feels like a whole new place. It's warm. Feels Good.

I'll be working here, from this spot, more frequently.

If you follow me on Instagram, you know that we are working on a website. A real one. Kraig- my tech hero husband- has been telling me for years to make the switch from blogspot to .com. Eh, I've kind of had my hands full. (see: overlooked, exhibit A) But in an effort to pay attention :to myself: a little bit this year, I've agreed. We've been collaborating and coding and designing. You know, after the kids are in bed and on nights that we aren't just cuddling with each other and a glass of wine. Or finishing the laundry and packing lunches for the next day. It's a process, and we are almost done!

I would love it so much if you'd follow me on Instagram @guffeylove.

We are praying for and believing in awesome things in 2015!

Until Next Time,
The Guff

Part 2.

So, bags in hand, we walked back through Target.

Josephine had quieted down and was almost, if not, asleep at this point.
Chamblee and Jacob held each of my hands, and, like tiny little soldiers, marched beside me as I went looking for battle.

Not really. 

As I was looking down every aisle, I was thinking, praying, chanting, "Be kind. Be kind. Be kind."
I was terrified of what might come out when I found him. Terrified.

I swept through the cleaning aisles, the beauty aisles, the grocery aisles, then through the toy aisles.
He had to be here. Where is he? 
Then I saw him round the corner.
The cat aisle. Of course he was.
He saw us coming.

"Excuse me?" I said.
Nothing.
So, I got up realll close.
"Excuse me sir?" a little louder.

He never responded, he just stopped and stared.

So I said the only thing I really wanted to say and expected to walk away immediately after.
"What you said to me was hurtful. And rude. And you should be ashamed of yourself."

Then he started.
"I'm sorry. But I just paid $45 for lunch and I had to listen to children in the background the whole time."

I'm sorry, what? 

He told me that if I couldn't control my children, then I should stay at home.
I told him if he didn't want to see or hear children, then he should stay at home.
And the like. 

He should've just stopped at his first two words, because after that I blacked out again. Sort of. It just. made. it worse. I'll spare you the word by word, play by play; not because I don't remember (I will never forget) but because it's pointless. It's embarrassing. It was a spectacle.

A spectacle that ended in six Target employees, four buggys and a few bystanders circled around us. And two wide eyed children right in the middle. (If you must have the play by play, you can probably find me on YouTube under "Mom goes rogue in Target.")  There was no yelling. There were no harsh words. Just my raw, emotional, mama bear response to a jerk in a cat aisle. I did my very best to stay calm. My very, very best. But my best wasn't good enough. I ended up walking away with three moms following behind. One was still jaw dropped, one called him an expletive, and one was clapping. clapping. They were parading me out. I didn't want a parade. I wanted to melt into the floor and straight down a drain. Or straight up karate chop this guy. in the throat. Or wake Josephine up and let her yell all crazy while I followed him around the store.

I wanted to do all of it and I did none of it. I grabbed those sweet little hands up and kissed 'em.
Turned on my heels and headed home.


Until Next Time,
The Guff

Part 1.

I broke the coffee press, and I had to get a new one.

That is really what it all boiled down to. We are a coffee drinkin' set of parents and without it I am not sure that I could call myself a human before noon. It hasn't always been that way, but it is that way now, and I suppose there are far worse things to be addicted to and claim to need. desperately. 

The kids were up for it so I packed the van with my lovies and headed about 500 yards down the road. Target. 

I got in, got the press and headed for the door. Superman  Jake is cruising on the bottom of the buggy, hands out. Cool. Quiet. Chamblee is walking next to me, holding my hand, giving me her best argument for why she neeeeeds that Frozen headband. She could wear it to school, show all of her friends, she really loves Frozen, you know. She can use her allowance. She needs it. And sweet baby Josephine is strapped to my chest cooing and babbling and giving the occasional screech. She's getting 4 molars at once. I am sympathetic and maybe a little desensitized to the noise level... but honestly. 

Nothing. Crazy. 

Nothing. 

I am almost to the cashiers. I have almost made it out of the store with no comments, no tantrums, nothing eventful. Just got the press and headed home. 

Then, there it is. 

And it's bad. 

I hear -behind my back, of course- someone say it. 

"Why don't you go have some more kids or something?"

My first thought was to say, "I think I will!" And smile. And walk away. 

I think you guys know me better than that. 

So, instead, I went with my second thought. 

I whipped around. 

I asked a tart, "Excuse me?" 

Nothing. 

So I   s l o w l y   rolled the cart back a little bit. 

Tried to make eye contact with the man. 

"Excuse me? Were you talking to me?"

I got an eye roll, a huff, and he kept on keeping on down aisle 2. 

Coward.

"You know, I didn't think you would want to say that to my face." 

I whipped back around. 

And then, I blacked out. 

I can't think of a time when I have ever been so. angry. 

I really can't. Not even once. 

I made it to the cashier, I apparently paid. 

We headed for the van. 

I am shaking. I am so mad. 

As the automatic doors opened, my legs quit working. 

I wasn't satisfied. 

What he said was rude. Uncalled for. 

I didn't stand up for myself in front of my children.

He's gotta know that he can't talk to people me that way and expect no consequence. 

But was it my place? to hold him accountable?

Yes. Yes it was. It was me he was talking about, after all. 

So, I turned around. 

"Where are we going, mom?" 

"Are you returning my Frozen headband?" 

What Frozen headband? Ugh. Must've said yes during the blackout. 

"Did you forget something?" 

"Where are we GOING?" 

So I answered them. 

"We are going back into the store to find the rude man. 

I need to tell him something." 

To Be Continued...

Until Next Time, 

The Guff

Price you Pay

Well, hey there.

I've had so many wonderful reasons to be missing. For one, I've been potty training Jake.
Let's be real. That's not a reason, but it's a good segway. 

He's been amazing. Me? Not so much. Chamblee was easy, because when we were in public, I only had to take her in. Now, while Jake is in the throws of it all, I have to stuff three children into a nasty TJMaxx bathroom stall.

It's a rough life.

Yesterday we were all in baby Gap, looking for a very specific pajama. The only pajama Josephine will sleep through the night in, in fact. Jake said he needed to go to the bathroom. I can't. 

"Hey bud, just this once go in your pull up, alright? We are almost done here."
"Ok mom!"
So excited about it. 

Then, there were screams.
"MOM! IT HURTS! OWWWW!!! MOMMMMM!!! IT HURTS!!!"

I'm sorry, what? I whip around and he's wetting his pants.

*A critical breakdown of communication that morning. K put him in big boy underoos, I assumed he was in a pull up. Seriously important information to be shared. Right? 

I don't scoop him up immediately, because, well that would make a trail.
Instead, I comfort him through it and tell him it's my fault and I'm so sorry and we'll get him all cleaned up and -- etc.

He doesn't hear any of it. Because he's still yelling at me.
"IT HURTS MOM! OWWWW!!! MOMMY OWWY! IT HURTS!"

Ok, listen here Inigo Montoya. I do not think it means what you think it means. I think what you mean is, "Gross! Disgusting! Mom! How could you?!" 

But he is grabbing and staring, screaming painful screams and using a pain-filled vocabulary.

I'm wondering if you can picture this in your head. 

My sweetest boy has clearly had an accident and is yelling about how much pain he is in.
I'm cruising through the sale rack.
No, I'm not insane. I'm trying to find and buy this little guy a clean pair of pants.
Because: Not only am I the mother of the year for telling my son to publicly wet his pants- but I also didn't think a diaper bag necessary for an afternoon at the mall with my children. #winningallday

Wouldn't you know that baby Gap has no pants in his size on sale. Not one pair. 
So I'm getting a little stressed now.
People are staring.
Two sweet women walked over to me, as I'm mopping up the floor with a cloth that was left in my ergo, and asked if he was alright.
Why is there a cloth left in the pocket of my ergo? I do not know. But I do know that in the midst of chaos, I reached into the front pocket and found it and I am so glad that at one time I was too lazy to put it where it should've been, and so now I can use it to clean up urine in a baby Gap. 

At the same time I realized that I was going to be paying $35 for my mistake in the form of a red pair of skinny jeans for Jacob, the sales associate walks over and, of course, asks if he is alright. I explain what happened, and in the calmest voice possible ask if she could PLEASE find me the cheapest pair of 2T pants in the store.

She grabs a $15 pair of sweatpants and I swipe.

We duck out of there. On the way out he's so proud of his new pants, he can't even remember the horor.
"I love my new pants, mama. You da best." Big grin.
Oh sweet, sweet boy. I am, in fact, the worst. And I love you for not knowing it yet. 
And then, as we walk by the sales associate, "You told me to go potty in my pants. Silly mommy!"

Oh, mercy.

Until Next Time,
The Guff