"a rant on chores" or "i don't want to adult"

i walk around, back and forth across the little house trying to be productive. i ought to put that in quotes. "productive"  that's better because i don't think i really understand what that means. maybe i just don't know how to create that reality from myself. maybe both.

i hunt with my head down as i go down the hall, arms full of tiny clothes that have been scattered by my boys on their carpet. some have smears of last nights dinner, some have been peed in. those ones lay frozen in time with the ninja turtle underwear and the jammy bottoms smushed down in unison so that they form a cast of my 3 year old's akles as he squirmed out of them at some point in the night. i hunt for a rhythm, waiting for that natural flow of daily life to fill me, make it easy and effortless. even joyful. i hunt ever watchful ever confused that i will miss it. it must be there. and then i find myself sitting maybe looking at my phone, maybe having moved on to another chore that certainly needs doing but then realizing that i hadn't quite finished the first one. i go back, another determined walk, to the first task and attempt finishing, all the while keeping the rogue chore in my mind, YOURE NEXT YOURE NEXT!  i tell myself I'm multitasking, but its probably a.d.d. or s.a.d. or both.

everyday, goes around with me sitting there, riding an animal on a carousel asking myself what is wrong. feeling like this can't be the right rhythm, THE RIDE IS BROKEN! am i on the wrong animal? should i have picked the elephant or the ostrich? ill do that, i'll get on one of those! then i'll be productive! then ill like what is expected of me! then i won't make it to the end of the hall with my beautiful children beyond the threshold and my beautiful clean house behind me and think "what now?" and not know how i can connect with them in a wonderful way that will erase my unavailability whilst i was mopping the floor, or getting dinner ready, or doing the dishes or going through the inexplicable little pile of crap by the fridge or the front door- cause all i want now is a nap.

look how many times I've already gone around today!

now that I'm done i want to be ready with a a keepsake memory, something significant, something that will fool them into remembering me as always present and always "productive" at the same time.
OR ill leave the threshold with my beautiful children behind me and my messy house in front of me and think "*%^ i hate THE LIST and i have no freaking clue how to make this all run smoothly without feeling like there is no oil in the machinery. i can hear the struggle. THE RIDE IS BROKEN! i feel guilty when i just hang out but i feel resentful when i get it all done.

my mental brow furrows over every load of laundry every stray toy, every load in the dish washer and every ring on the table that needs to be scrubbed. the moments of triumph i feel when all is done and my home is a beauty to behold fades almost instantly with a single act of living. AND I DONT WANT TO RESENT LIFE! which is probably why i hate to hold housekeeping as important. i don't know how to prize a clean home and not get irked by the people that create the messy home. just let me love the mess!

i try to carry on knowing the time i take to achieve this is actually well spent. my husbands piece of mind matters, my children seeing a good example of tidiness is important and that i will feel accomplished and the spirit can reign in my home because of these efforts.  but what if the most important things go undone because i am shackled to the wheel of drudgery that will never end until the day that i am dead?

HOWEVER. when there are no more clean plates left i don't really know how that puzzle solves itself. and i actually AM glad i washed the peed on jammies.

stale bread: giving back it's dignity

Wait!! Here is a post I wrote almost a year ago...a real post that will clearly change the world:


I was in a whirl wind earlier trying to hang pictures, swap out decor and just up to my armpits with new house stuff in general. Oliver was in his high chair at the kitchen island having a snack while I was trying to finish up my nonsense. The goal was to go the park with my mother who had come over to help me try hang pictures (ok i wrangled her into it- i AM NOT fun to be around when I'm hanging pictures) but of course things were taking way too long and we were both lost in inches-up-or-inches-down-to-the-right-or-left-or-just-shoot-me-now-ness.

Earlier i had emptied out the contents of my bread basket on the island because i decided to use it for shoes instead, what else? So as i was hammering away i here in the background "mama bread! can i have some bread?" " i say " sure sure..." with a nail between my lips. I finally turn around and Oliver had an ENTIRE LOAF of french bread held like a corn cob and had been eating little bits around the perimeter of the thing. My mom and I just looked at each other and laughed our heads off, after all he did ask:)

While thinking of that adorable little boy holding a huge loaf up to his face I started to slice the remains of the loaf for dinner. Unfortunately not only did the bread look like a mouse had a field day with it but it was completely STALE. like so stale that when i put my knife through it the room fell silent and andrew and i just kind of looked at it before giggling. So after this poor loaf of bread has been put to shame throughout the day it lays lonely in the middle of the island in the dark kitchen. I dont want to throw it and  there is no way anyone is going to eat it so what is left?  research!

here are some interesting ideas for stale bread rescue i found here and there: I'm totally going to try some of these...because seriously i never knew stale bread could sound so sexy.

Kidding!

April fools right? Ok so I missed yesterday (come on i went to bed at like 9pm!)  but i just know that one of these days ill give myself enough time to write an actual post. You kno, one that will change the world. For now I'm two for three...not too bad!

a new leaf

What if she wrote a post for every day of the year? Can she do it? 

Can she do it without referring to herself in the 3rd person? 

Let us find out!

Thoughts of a nursing mother

There is just something about nursing a baby. Something like glue, and prayer, and song, maybe even a kiss. A little like those things but totally and completely it's own. And Nursing dashel breaks my heart. He has wriggled his tiny hands to the top of his swaddle and if I hold one I can feel the little dimples in his knuckles and his unbelievably soft fingers. Somehow his hands seem smaller in the dark. The gentle tug of him at my breast is comforting and adorable and something only another mother could understand. His little tummy is pressed against mine as we lay down in the center of the bed. Daddy has volunteered to sleep in the living room in a bed all to himself... And for this little stage of midnight feelings we're all happy with the arrangement. Two chubby naked feet, free from his blanket, paw at my thighs. The sounds that I'm hearing are so sweet and I think over and over how I never want to forget them. "Uhhh shhhhh, ugh shhhh" as little puffs of his breath touch my skin. "Uk ka-uk ka-uk" as he fills his sweet baby tummy. I suppose I don't have any words to put to how incredibly important this feels in my life. The experience of breast feeding, and especially at night, has seriously given me the peace I need to make it in motherhood- a quiet moment ( ok A LOT of quiet moments) to meditate, to thank God for this chance, to will my love into my babies spirit to let him know that I love him, want him, and will always do anything for him. I think all mothers can relate to this, but not a day go by that I don't thank my Heavenly Father that my body has the health and ability it needs to do this. It seems a miracle to me and one I don't ever want to take for granted. So here's to not forgetting and enjoying those little puffs of baby's breath forever. But I know that someday all I will really remember is that nursing was hard sometimes, wonderful most of the time and really there was just something (holy) about it.

R for Real: Being Cool

WARNING: it is late and this is not gramatically correct- peace.

Tonight Andrew, me and the kids went to our friends the Alexander's house to enjoy some really great live music. A wonderful way to start the summer; there were cupcakes, a bongo drum, twinkle lights, new grass, and glimpses of Oliver getting married. It was only him holding little Amelia's hand walking in the lawn and galloping up to us with an enormous smile but it was enough to make me think of pretty much the rest of my life.  Ah those moments always surprise me whenever they waltz by.

By the time we actually got into the car, down the long road home, into the house, pj-ed the kids and I laid down to nurse Dashel it was almost 11pm. And then the thoughts came.

I dont know how many nights I've laid awake in the quiet, late at night, and just read the stories in my head. Stories about the day, the faces of my children, the exact sensation of nursing a sweet baby, the way my heart hurts when I confess my fears to my husband, or the simple life that is a flower peeking over the fence. Everything comes in a story, in words streaking across my eyes and I just lay there forming exactly how they should come out. How would i describe this? Or that? Have you ever had a fight and not known what to say only to find the right words haunt you later that night? Well thats pretty much it...I talk to myself until I get it just right. AND THEN:

I throw it away.

After i finished feeding Dashel and he was fast asleep, I walked down the hall to the kitchen with heavy feet.

"is it stupid I want to do something?' I ask.

"what do you mean" 

"like contribute, do something awesome. Is it stupid that i want to be cool?"

"no"

"does every one have this sick desire to be famous?"

"yes"

and so we have a conversation about how i have no idea what i want to really do but every night i stay up and think about writing of all things...i dont like writing and im not even good at it. 

I am a huge proponent of journaling, of writing your thoughts for posterity or yourself or whatever. But I just cant bring myself to do it. I've tried to dabble in it in the past (like on this blog) but there is something broken inside me that makes me choke every time I make a resolution to do it for real. the oddest part of it is when Im complimented on anything i immediately stop doing that thing. ALWAYS. And then tonight Andrew had a revelation

 "You're afraid of success. If you do something then maybe someone will like it. If you're successful then something is expected of you. If you do nothing its a lot easier to just keep doing nothing"

Here is my husband with the answer to why i never tried out for dance team, cheer, school plays in high school or in college, choirs, why i have a total panic attack when i have to speak at church or teach a lesson, or any other thing that would allow people to judge me- a sage he is.

And then Andrew ordered me to write b/c if i suck who cares, at least ill have gotten it out of my system. And so after a conversation filled with tears, confessions of feeling like a horrible mother, feelings of guilt and narcissism for even considering writing things about myself, blubbering over how ive never never never put myself out there and Andrew hugging me and telling me I need a creative outlet:  HERE I AM WRITING.  Its only one night so far, and its no composition or story but its something that i created. i wrote it, it came from inside my body and now it is spread (maybe a little like vomit) on this page and it totally doesnt matter that its writing, it could be anything but the point is that im doing it for myself: and if someone else doesnt like it THEY CAN SIT ON A PIN:)

B-B-B-B-Birthday!

To day was a wonderful day. Not because I stepped foot out of the house, because I didn't. It was wonderful b/c for the first day of my 26th year I was able to 1) sleep in a bit 2) send Oliver off for a date with dad and sleep all the while they were gone and 3) spend some time staring at my baby boy while big brother was taking a nap (rare). Oh and this was all made much more delicious by wearing a purple house coat the.entire.day.

But for the actual birthday I will leave this account for the vault:

Yesterday I went to lunch with my mom and sister and two the two handsome gents I spend all my time with. Oliver charmed the pants off the waitress, as usual, as I leaned over to Dashel and whispered "you are cute too!" For a birthday treat we went to an ice cream place that freezes it in front of you with liquid nitrogen. This was pretty fascinating to all of us but especially for Ollie, who spent his time running around like a crazy person BEFORE he got his ice cream, staring saying "hot hot" at the nitrogen fog, eating a bowl of ice cream entirely too big for him and running around like a crazy person AFTER his ice cream chasing the store owners kid saying "boy! boy!" This was all good fun, but the ice cream was a fail and ill stick to u-swirl. My mom and sister were lovely, however:)

We got home and all three of us had a lovely nap and woke up just in time for me to get ready for a date with Mr. Harrison. Oliver got to go out for pizza while Andrew, Dashel and myself set off for an unknown destination. We went to Pho Nouveau and the lady said "oh yes table for 4 reserved this way" I have to admit this is where I started to think of how to not let Andrew in on how annoyed/disappointed I was. I wanted some TIME ALONE WITH MY MAN, what the heck was he thinking inviting who knows who out on the one date we've had in forever!!!?  Well in walked our friends Matt and Ivy Walker and  I felt silly- my husband had a total score like a pro. We all had a very fun time with amazing food and lots of laughter and ended the evening with some shut -he-front-door good french desserts at Cafe de Paris. Sweet Dashel slept the entire time, waking only to tell us to get to our movie already. So we fed him, dropped him off with Meemah and hustled to the show. We saw kids getting all murderous in hunger games and the show ended with the grand finale of my boobs telling me to hurry home and feed the baby. I went to bed at 1 and felt very satisfied and accomplished.

It was all so much fun that I woke up with a birthday hangover, where my body tried to communicate that I am 26 now and therefore need to slow down and get to bed at a reasonable hour. But aside from that I can say that I am so happy to be 26. I've learned a lot in 26 years, chiefly that I have a lot more to learn. I have a gorgeous family that I LOVE TO PIECES and have access to as many beautiful, spiritual, funny, talented, kind and generally great people as I can handle. Here's to number 26, I think I'll save 30 for feeling blue.