I recently checked in with my longtime online Mom's Group and asked for life updates. Here is what I shared on my own behalf.... Kind a a good checkpoint summary, so I wanted to add it here for posterity.

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Quick updates from the Southerland house:

 

First, here's our most recent family photo. I took the kids and Joe out to get photos of them specifically, and everyone was actually cooperating and chill, so I jumped in a few at the end and am shocked at how I don't hate them. haha!

 

Life is pretty good here. Nothing spectacular, but also nothing very miserable. Joe and I finally bought the house we live in, about 1.5 years ago. It's stressing Joe out to have to adult so hard, but it's a good thing overall. As long as you don't notice how the slab addition side of the house is starting to break away from the rest of the structure. Those big dark crevasses are fine as long as we spray them for spiders, right?  

 

Joe is working at SIUE in Illinois--- he started the job right in the middle of 2020 nonsense, and it's a good job. It came with a promotion in position and a raise. But now he is restless that there is no room for growth there, so he is beginning to contemplate the next degree-- a PhD or Ed degree. Whew!

 

Noah continues to blow us away with his quirky interests and passions. He is one of a kind for sure. He loves his engineering class, loves his Rocketry and Politics clubs, and is in two non-school choirs, one of which gets to go to Carnagie Hall this June. He is opinionated, hyper-intellectual, and a fountain of random knowledge. He wants to live in Finland. He wants to be a Renaissance Man in that he doesn't want to have to specialize in his life, he just wants to embrace it all-- music, languages, geo-politics, engineering, science, writing, etc. He's 6' tall and funny and a little "old man grumpy", and really just a good kid.

 

Lucy has been thriving in her first year of middle school! She has been medicated for ADHD since the beginning of the school year, and she really seems to have a handle on her anxiety and her inattentive ADHD issues. She got a 4.0 last semester, WHOA. She is growing into herself and I can see it, and it brings me a lot of peace and happiness. I have spent way more than my fair share of parenting energy worrying about this girl. But for now, all is well. 

 

Quinn is the one I am currently worrying about. I just want to make sure he doesn't get lost in the crowd of big personalities in this family. I want to give him opportunities to be a leader after spending his whole life following Noah. I want to make sure he gets to practice voicing his own opinions and ideas. And I just want him to feel seen and loved just the way he is. I also want to get him a leopard gecko. I think he needs something to take care of, and our attempts at a betta fish two years ago just kept ending in tragedy. I don't have the heart for more attempts. 

 

Larkin is as Larkin as ever, and that's really all you need to know. Cats are still basically 56% of her whole personality, she is bright and happy and helpful and clever and creative. She's a classic baby of the family too-- doesn't clean up after herself and doesn't like to be told NO. But mostly she's a gem. Kindergarten can barely keep up with her. 

 

And I am chugging along. I began a daily walking habit when they started the school year--and have only missed two days since August. It's been fulfilling in ways I could not have imagined when I set the goal. In some ways, it's like I'm parenting my inner child in that I am nudging myself to get outside and breathe the fresh air more, and I get to be read to (storytime!) when audiobooks are in my ears. Weirdly healing. I also joined my first official choir since being married, and it is bringing me so much joy. I should've been finding a way to sing all along. I mean, technically I DID sing all along-- just in my car and to my kids at bedtime. Not enough. It's such a lesser-visible part of my world here, but I really was born to sing, and it means the world to me to get to do it again so regularly. Photography is still going strong, and I still love it 90% of the time, and it definitely helps keep our family afloat and keeps my kids in new shoes and such. I am finishing up the paperwork to become a sub in our school district, but I really only want to take a sub job maybe once or twice a week at most. 

 

And that's us! If I could change anything, I'd have:

1. a new minivan

2. an addition added to this house, plus those cracks repaired.

3. two more solo hours a day, which is greedy because I already now get 7 a day as it is. 

 

And that's it. Life is pretty good.♥

Field Notes #1:

 9.20.22

I decided to listen to Beethoven's 9th, 4th movement, for my morning walk. I'd just read a little essay titled "Come Back Joy" from Rachel Macy Stafford and I decided to treat myself to the Ode to Joy, knowing it was a personally potent antidote for low moods. It started out rocky-- I didn't immediately find the full movement in Apple music and that was annoying, so I had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk to carefully plug in the precise terms, "Beethoven Symphony No. 9, movement IV" to get what I needed. But once I was back on track, and listening to all 25 minutes of goodness, it was a powerful as ever, even in the too-sunny, too-hot morning. I mouthed along to the German words I still remembered, let tears leak out in the places they needed to, and even allowed my hands to conduct the last 45 seconds or so, because you just HAVE to. It's Robert Fulghum's fault. Oatmeal Days and all that. 

So... Essay. Walk. Ode to Joy. Tears and tiny conducting movements.... Yeah. It's all working. This warm fuzzy feeling in my chest confirms it. 

9.22.22

This morning, when I put in my earbuds, I accidentally tapped "play" on them and Mumford and Son's "Not With Haste" started playing. YES. I opened the music app and had it create a station based on the song, so I was also treated to Dave Matthew's "Crash" and "Ho Hey" by the Lumineers. It all fit so well with the new chill in the air and the fallish breezes I was gifted with for my entire walk. I saw a holly bush with plump clusters of berries starting to color up. I passed the most perfect nook of a neighborhood where impatiens were spilling out of ever possible spot and crevice. One dog barked in a faux-watchdog way but her mama said she was harmless. Another dog gave me a friendly look. A little baby-kid on the playground and his mom both waved at me. It was 61 degrees and it was so perfect. 

9.27.22

I will always associate this date with Bonnie Fairbanks, my first best friend ever, because it's her birthday. And tomorrow is another of my early-years best friend's birthday, Emily Whitman. Brains are weird. The temperature for my walk this morning was 57-ish degrees and I LOVED it. I spent today's walk listening to the last 35 minutes of my audiobook, "Becoming", by Nora Roberts. It's the second in a trilogy, but the third one isn't coming out til November, so now I have to try to retain all the details of what I've been listening to all month so I don't feel lost come November. It has been a perfect set of books to walk along to... a fantasy world with modern aspects, very Nora Roberts in that it delves a lot into the main character's inner world and growth, and the external "adventure" aspects are good fun, but not terribly complex. Overall a pretty simple set of stories, but good fun to escape into. Guess I'll need to find an interim book until that November release. 

 

10.4.22

Kids were home yesterday for a teacher workday, so today is my "Monday"-- the fresh start to a new week. I relish the solitude in the morning, when the day is ripe with potential and the sun is fresh and bright. Today I drove to a nearby neighborhood to take my walk in a new setting. This was the neighborhood I used to drive to to take Lucy to her first preschool, a home preschool by Tassa B. That was such a sweet time for Lucy and for me. Our Parents as Teachers educator lived in this neighborhood, too. Probably still does? I hoped, more than a little, that I might run into her taking her own walk on the same streets today, because I remember she used to take her dog around her neighborhood all the time. Alas, no sightings today. But I got 2.2 miles in and opted to not check my progress at all until I was done, jst letting the streets and my audiobook lead the way. I am 89% done with Pet Sematary, and it is smack in the middle of the climactic last bits, and it's chilling and gripping and so so well-written. I have thoroughly enjoyed this audiobook experience!

10.11.22

I had my first chance to hold to my promise to myself that I would take a daily walk no matter what the weather. This morning it is rainy rainy rainy. Temps aren't bad--- high 50's-- and it's not pouring buckets... It's just a steady light-to-medium rain. So I put on one of Joe's baseball caps, grabbed my new workout jacket, and headed out. I decided to try to get to my goal-- 30 minutes-- but not push further than that. With the exception of a handful of minutes where the rain got heavier and I paused under a tree, it was generally pretty easy and pleasant. By the last quarter of my walk the brim of the hat was dripping, and my long-sleeved arms were sort of chilly from the damp. But I did it! And I would do it again-- no big deal! Upon reaching home, I made sure to stuff my slightly-damp shoes with newspaper so they're ready and dry for tomorrow. And I needed to change out of everything, including the underthings, because it was all dampish. And that is the report of my first rain-walk. 1.8 miles and feeling great!

I'm Sad That:

 

 

Years ago, when I was reading a lot of S.A.R.K. books (I still love that crazy gal!), I came across an exercise she talked about frequently doing in her journals called "I Want". Basically, you sit with blank paper and pen (or colorful markers if you wanna be like SARK), and just open up your heart and imagination and let yourself scribble down what you WANT... Anything from immediate needs like "a snack" or "a hug" to wild imaginings like "an apartment in Rome" or "gossamer wings". You just let go and write. I love this exercise and I've done several of these lists of my own over the years, including more than a few here on the blog. I will always write these lists, I suspect. They are such a good place to center your heart, to check in with yourself, to dream a little, and to be a kid again. 

Well, the other day I was taking my daily walk, and I was feeling all kinds of feelings, and they were generally wistful and melancholy, and I was letting the walk absorb these waves of feelings... breathing deeply and looking for signs of autumn color... when I saw a group of boys ride by me on their bikes, caught up in the beautiful weekend morning sunshine. And a thought came to me so sharply: I am sad that my kids never became bike riders-- not in the way these boys were...riding bikes in a gang and having the ultimate freedom to roam neighborhoods and fly down hills. And this one distinct thought, a palpable expression of my sadness, became the first item on a new sort of list. Instead of a whole stack of "I Want"s.... I pulled out my phone and began a list of "I'm Sad That..."

Maybe it's not the same kind of healthy exercise that the "I Want" list is... But maybe it kind of is? Either way, it became a tender catharsis of the feelings that had been building up all morning, and it felt good and right to let them live on "paper"... to take them out and examine them a little bit in the light of day. The more I walked, and let myself feel, the more of these little thoughts would drift in and I'd add them to my list. It wasn't a deluge of bitter thoughts... just one thought here, then a few minutes later another.... Just little hurts that rose up as I was already feeling raw and open. Ultimately, I ran out of items to add, and I ended my walk by listening to a gorgeous song my friend Micah sent me the day before, Brandi Carlile's "This Time Tomorrow (In The Canyon Haze)". I'd never heard it before, and it was perfect--finally breaking open that buildup of moodiness in me-- and I cried as I stood by my parked car. A good cry. A cleansing wave. 

And then my car wouldn't start and real life crowded back in, and that was that. Isn't that just like life? Ha.

Anyway... I don't know if it's too personal to actually post my list, but it's my blogjournal, so I'm gonna do what I want. Only 5 people are reading this, anyway, and you are all people I love, and I know you know me well... We've probably talked about a few of these in person anyway!

So it's cool. Here we go.

I’m sad that:

• My kids don’t ride bikes
• I don’t have a big lovely front porch to put chairs on and decorate for seasons and sit on in the evenings
• We can’t afford a new car
• Joe is trying so hard to repair the dryer and dishwasher and they are still not quite there
• Joe is going out of town twice this month
• Friendships fade
• Noah is aging out of trick or treating 
• I don’t play the banjo anymore
• I can’t have a carb free-for-all anymore
• The pumpkin patch costs so much to visit!!
• We can’t keep things close forever
• I left my wireless earbuds at home today
• The sun is already setting too soon
• Instagram took the sound off of some of my reels
• They keep growing up
• Quinn’s betta fish kept dying
• I’m crabby when I’m hot
• Cross country didn’t “take” for Noah
• I never put Lucy in dance class or something like it
• I don’t think my kids have a “bestie” or tribe
• I have so much “stuff”
• I’m not good at gardening/yard work
  

See? Nothing earth-shattering.... Just little wishes and teeny regrets. Honestly, it's kind of nice to know that there's not anything really devastating on there. It speaks to a life that is mostly so very blessed. It's okay. And I'm okay. 

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Q&A: If Money and Time Were No Object, Where is One Place On Earth You Would Love to Visit?

 Q:  If money and time were no object, where is one place on earth you would love to visit? Why are you intrigued by that place?

My first answer to this is always Italy. I blame "Return to Me" for this yearning in me, to immerse myself in an Italian city, to spend a good long time there, time enough to get to know the good bakeries and shops, time enough to have a sizable set of Italian phrases I might use without trying too hard. 

If you don't remember "Return to Me", the heroine of the film was born with a heart condition that made most of her life a sickly, homebound one. She was an artist who would make her art right there in her own backyard, but who yearned to one day get to Italy to study the masters and to grow her talent in the old world. Eventually, after a heart transplant, she makes it there, and the cinematography is exquisite-- shots of the most idyllic cobbled streets, nuns on bikes, abundant pots and window boxes of flowers. Sunshine. Old stone. Tile floors. Balconies. HEAVEN. 

So yes-- if money and time were no object, I would take my family and spend a year in Rome. I would find an apartment with a balcony or two, and we would spend the year exploring, learning, practicing art and music (no need to be GOOD at either... just to show up to do both.)... and trying new foods and learning new words. We could take small trips around the country to visit Pompeii, Florence, Lake Como, Pisa, and of course Venice. I would take a million photos. Maybe even offer my services as a family photographer while there... so other tourists (and locals if they deigned) could have amazing images of their families in these beautiful streets. 

I've already been to Italy. Joe and I saved up to go back in 2006, when we were still basically newlyweds, and it was a glorious trip. But having been there once doesn't dull the edge of my desire to be there again. If I could go anywhere on Earth, the answer would still be Italy. 

What about you, five readers of this blog post? I want to hear your answer!

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

CRAB.

 I don't have photos for you. I thought about trying to upload some for a tiny second, then I thought about maybe going and TAKING a few, and then I just.... closed the photo window and cam back here. Sorry. No photos. I just can't even. 

This whole last week has been a MASSIVE 

CAN'T EVEN. 

I tested positive for Covid last Tuesday. So awesome. I'd had a raspy voice the day before, and I'd gotten an email for my choir warning that there had been several reported positive cases from our practice the week prior, so the combo of those two clues led me to test, just in case. And even though I really didn't expect it to actually be Covid, it was.

It's not my first go-round. After successfully avoiding the damned thing for all of 2020 and 2021, our whole family got it in January this year. It ended up being pretty perfectly timed-- it happened AFTER my trip to NYC and BEFORE our trip to Hawaii, so neither trip had to be cancelled. And the Covid we all got was verrrry mild. More of a nuisance than anything. 

So this time around, I kind of knew what to expect, and the only upside to this past week's bout of Covid was that it was as mild as last time. I lost my voice, but didn't have a sore throat. I had a headache but no fever. I sometimes sneezed, and sometimes had a drippy nose, but no real congestion. And here at the end of it, I have a tiny, annoying, occasional dry cough. Nothing major. Nothing debilitating. I'm not even profoundly fatigued like many had reported feeling at the end of their round of Covid. So ultimately, the issue with this whole past week has been the DISRUPTION of life. The worrying about who else was going to get it in my family (spoiler: NO ONE ELSE HAS GOTTEN IT. Whaaa??). And the waiting til I was cleared to get back to life again. 

 Don't get me wrong-- it was pretty nice to clock out of most of the adulting I normally have to do, and the self-inflicted to-do list always running in my head. I loved getting to take random naps just because. I loved having an excuse to let my kids just buy their lunches all week instead of making lunches at home. It felt great to just.... STOP. Stop lots of things.

But also... there was a steady undercurrent of CRABBINESS the entire week. I actually was already feeling irritable the day before I got the positive test. Getting that Covid diagnosis just gave my crabbiness an excuse to stick around. And here we are, a full week later, and I'm still just.....

Annoyed. 

At things. At people. At myself. At piles of stuff. At the STUPID INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE back to the 90's this week (gosh I HATE being hot.). At anything anyone requests of me. At my hair. At dishes and crumbs. At my bra. 

I think the scowl on my face is fossilizing into something permanent. 

Last night as I took a stupid walk in the stupid humidity after the sun went down, I thought to check my period tracking app, and sure enough--- I'm 7 days out from my next period. So I guess some of this is PMS. But I think it's a combo of all of it: being sick. Being inconvenienced, restless, and worried from being sick. And now being hormonal and MUGGY HOT on top of it all. 

So yeah. I can't even. 

Hopefully I'm nearing the end of this crabfest..... Because it is not my natural state of being and I'm worn out from it. 

Okay bye.

A Random List Of Things From Way Back When

me, first grade

  

1. When I was in 6th grade, I got a whole cookie jar of Hershey Kisses as a birthday gift from a friend, with a custom cross-stitched Hershey Kiss lid. It felt like the biggest jackpot. 

2. We used to live down the street from two old, unfenced, informal country road cemeteries. One was more visible and obvious, on a grassy hill. The other was smaller, tucked further back, and among old, tall trees. We used to go to them regularly and play among the tombstones.

3. I learned about New Kids on the Block from Becca Stock when we were Volunteens at Boone Hospital the summer before 7th grade. She was already obsessed and brought me into the fold quite reality. That summer as a Volunteen has a whole set of memories that are coming up as I type this... the break room, the cafeteria, the candy cart, the gift shop, teen magazines, deciding to be locker partners for the next year... there was a whole FEEL to it that is washing over me as I remember.

4. For a while, we had a "library" in our house. A whole room dedicated to bookshelves and books. We were in a pretty humble home, living a pretty humble life, so it always felt so FANCY to have a DEDICATED LIBRARY. I'm not sure how long we kept the room that way, but it couldn't have been long, since there were lots of us and we could use the room for an actual bedroom. Funny-- my parents are back to having a library room again, all these years later. 

5. I got a little toy gumball machine as a birthday gift when I was somewhere between 7-10 years old. It was a bank, so you had to put coins in to get the gumballs, and I was charmed by this for the first little while. But I was an impatient and greedy little girl, and I tired of the "rules" (and probably ran out of coins?) and I wanted MORE GUM, so when no one was looking, I threw the thing onto the ground out in my backyard to break it open. It worked, and for a split second I felt victorious... but almost immediately felt profound remorse and shame at the act. I don't even remember gathering the gumballs up... I just remember how it felt to regret such a dumb decision. 

6. My first grade teacher was Carol Crego, and she was a total gem of a woman. She was close to grandma-age when she taught me, and she had grown children and three cats. She was the most lovable human to all her little students. So it made complete sense to me during summer break, when it was almost my birthday, to invite her to my birthday party. She politely declined-- I'm sure she knew it would a little weird to be the one grownup guest among a bunch of 6-year-old kids-- but she got permission from my parents to take me to McDonalds for lunch on a different day to celebrate my birthday, and she brought me a small teddy bear wearing a yellow rubber crown who I named Mrs. Crego. Such a special thing for her to do for the student that lovingly, innocently invited her to a child's birthday party. 

7. One time when I was somewhere between the ages of 10-12, I accidentally broke a glass thermometer and when I was cleaning the mess up, I was able to "capture" and save the ball of mercury. I was FASCINATED and put the glob of it on a handheld mirror I had and played with the mercury for hours--- splitting it, watching it bead back together, skittering across the mirror, stopped only by the plastic edges of the frame of the mirror.  I think I finally lost it when I tilted the mirror too far and it slid all the way off and under my bed somewhere among the dust bunnies. 

8. I was art rivals with Chris Dietz in 3rd grade. We both wanted to be the best draw-er in class and we competed endlessly with each other. I learned to draw Garfield during this rivalry as one way to try to best him. He and I also entered more than one poster contest that year in our quest to prove our superiority to each other. I couldn't tell you, ultimately, who was better. Probably it was a tie. 

9. Hello to Elise, the best kids sister, who somehow still  keeps up with blogs and has NOTICED that I'm blogging again. WOW! 

me, third grade

Back To School 2022-23

 

 

 It's the last day of their first week back to school, and I KNOW they are wiped out. But man... they've really done okay!! With three of my four kids entering a brand new school this year, there is a lot of extra burden on them to get comfortable, familiar, and confident in their new normal... and they're doing it! 

Noah, first-time high schooler, has a rigorous daily schedule-- beginning with his first year of early morning seminary (6:00am-6:50am), ending with hot, hard workout in cross-country practice every afternoon (3:30-5:00pm), and all honors classes in between. He has all the potential he needs to succeed, but he's going to need a lot of love and support and encouragement to keep going when it gets hard. And it WILL get hard. He's amazing, though, and I think this is going to be an important year for him on his journey to adulthood. I cannot wait to see how this shapes him-- every part of it!

Lucy, first-time middle-schooler, has to fight a deep and omnipresent anxiety as she learns how to do school in this new, class-to-class way. She and I did a lot of prep work to get her ready-- walking her schedule, practicing her lock, talking about ways she can cope with difficult moments, places and people she can go to if it threatens to overwhelm her entirely. She has a team of helpers I feel so confident in and grateful for-- her school counselor, her 6th grade Blue hall teachers, and especially her special education teachers. She has a caseworker/mentor who she gets to go work with every afternoon for the last 10 minutes of the day, as a way to wrap up the day and double-check her planner, compile her needed papers and assignments, and just check in with as to how the day has gone. This is AMAZING on so many levels. It helps corral her ADHD, gives her an anchor for her anxiety, and teaches her executive functioning skills that will serve her forever. And this teacher is SO nurturing-- just what Lucy needs in this more fast-paced new school environment. And at the end of this first week, while there have been a couple of hiccups and some tears, I would say that 85% of it has been very positive and successful. Lucy is going to get the hang of this and she is going to do so well. I believe in her! 

Quinn is somehow a FOURTH grader, and the only kiddo who gets to return to the same school he knows and loves. He is going to have such a good year. He is so smart, so consistent, and so good-natured. I feel like I don't give him enough credit. Last year he almost never brought anything home, so I didn't really think about what he was working on-- I just trusted his teacher and saw that he was thriving and growing, an that was enough. Earlier this week, though, I finally went through my big box of piled-up schoolwork they all brought home at the end of the school year last spring, and Quin had SO MUCH work in that stack. It was like seeing an entire year's worth of knowledge, effort and growth in one day. I suddenly realized just how much hard work he was doing every day in that classroom. Steady. Strong. Smart. I'm so grateful for that accidental insight. I feel like I have a better picture of who this kid is, and I know he will just keep getting wiser and more dedicated throughout this 4th grade year. 

Larkin, feisty new kindergartner, has been ready for this for YEARS. Watching her siblings get on the bus without her, year after year, she is SO HAPPY it's finally her turn. She had an incredible year last year in preschool, and her sweet teacher said that if she could have a Larkin in her class every year, she'd never retire. Larkin is smart, kind, aware, excited, and creative, and all of this will serve her so well in kindergarten as she expands what she already knows. Music and art, library and PE, on top of all the cool things she'll do in her classroom... This kid is going to thrive!!! 

And me? Okay, I miss having them around. A little. I definitely miss having a buddy to spend the day with and to keep me company on errands. But. I AM LOVING THIS NEW LIFE SO MUCH HOLY COW. Just now as I've been typing this, I have earbuds in and I'm listening to the most beautiful classical and choral music, and I'm just singing along, adding random harmonies.... loud as I want to.... No one to interrupt or for whom I should have at least one ear available to listen for in case of problems or food requests, etc. I am writing a BLOG POST, for pete's sake. I just took a 1+ mile walk with an audiobook to keep me company. I have a backlog of projects I am finally beginning. I did a newborn session during the week and didn't even need to think about babysitters. I can tackle work emails during the day. I'm going to go have lunchdates with sisters and friends now and then. I feel my well filling and it feels incredible. 

So yes. New year. VERY new experiences for most of us. And so much opportunity ahead for all of us. I feel ready for what lies ahead. here we go!

Becoming a Marvel Geek

I've been thinking a LOT about Avengers: Endgame and the Marvel Cinematic Universe this week. Probably some of you guys have, too, if you are at all geeky about this stuff like I have become. I'm seriously SO excited for our movie showtime Saturday evening that I get butterflies every time I think about it, and get teary every time I watch videos/trailers/interviews with the cast. 

 

So because of this, I've also been thinking a LOT about my sweeter half, Joe Southerland. Because it is ONLY thanks to him that I've had the privilege of getting immersed in the world of Marvel. ONLY he could've lured me to that first Iron Man movie back in 2008 (we brought baby Noah with us!!), or gotten Noah hooked enough that we all sat around watching the Avengers cartoon with our toddler, as entertained (or more) as he. 

 

Because I married a true Marvel fan, I have had the wonderful blessing of getting to fall head over heels with every Avenger, every movie, and every geeky side-thing that comes with being a Marvel fan. And I'm still only at "intermediate fan" status, compared to most of you out there. So if I'm having this much emotion and excitement about Endgame this weekend, I can only imagine how much MORE you guys, and my husband are feeling. And I love it. I love it all. 

 

Here's to geeking out, whatever it is you happen to geek out about. And thanks, Joe--- it's been the best ride, and I'm so glad you've let me tag along. 

 

 

 

The Story in the Details Today

It’s a slow, unhurried Wednesday morning, with nothing on the agenda. The sun is shining and spring is definitely beginning to peek its head around the corner. Larkin and I are tucked together on the couch under the same blanket. She is drinking chocolate milk and eating small powdered donuts while she watches “Pumpkin George”, one of her top cartoon picks (Curious George Boo Fest). I have a kindle book and some cross stitching on hand, and it’s completely okay if we stay right here for awhile.

Sitting here, I notice how Noah is slowly taking over the top of our TV cabinet with his various treasures— Legos and Chicago souvenirs from last week’s trip.

I am lightly amused by the story of our family life this armoire-top is telling today. Here is what I see:

1. The “real” decor— a beautiful and cheerful print, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”, by Rifle Paper Co., a gift from my bestie Genny. An antique black fan, a treasure find from our Masonic Lodge caretaking days. The “Be Attitudes” and “@“ signs on the wall. (I always meant to also hang a “home” sign next to the “@“, so it would make more sense.)
2. The box for Joe’s bb8 Sphero. Missing the actual bb8, which I need to round up for him.
3. The Mylar balloon word “love”, leftover from my Valentine’s photo shoot. I couldn’t bring myself to toss it yet, so it just hangs out here.
4. Tucked in back, mostly out of sight, the odious bucket of faux snowballs my kids LOVE and I loathe. A gift from a sister several years ago, these things end up in every corner of this room when the kids decide to play “snowball fight” (in fact, from my spot on the couch, I see at least one rogue ball under the toy bench. Of course.). And these things gather alll the hair and strings and lint and are just old and dingy and gross and are NEVER all in one place together. The kids LOVE THEM. Joe put the bucket up here, sort of hidden, after picking them up yet again last night.
5. Two DVD cases— one for Wall-E, another of Larkin’s current favorites, and one for Ponyo, one of the latest in Joe’s attempts to educate his kids in the Studio Ghibli canon of films.
6. Several LEGO creations- some original designs and some from sets, all of them Noah’s, set out of reach of Larkin. Eventually, he will be asked to take these back upstairs to his LEGO table, but for now, they’re “decor”.
7. And the most recent additions— Noah’s two Chicago souvenirs, a Willis Tower bell and a skyline snow globe, both carefully chosen and paid for with his souvenir allowance (“plus I’m going to use ten dollars of my own money while we’re in Chicago, okay, Mom?”). He is really proud of these items. He chose well.

At any given time, there are little stories in the details of our homes— things that matter, evidence of challenging times or good memories or current routines that will one day be obsolete. When the house is all tidied up and things are put away, that tells a story. And when things are awry and “stuff” is strewn and set about, those items tell a story too. And all of it is worth telling. When my home is put together and all the Legos and souvenirs and old photo props are put away, the story is that I am feeling cheerful and motivated and productive, and probably at peace and maybe in a planning/goal making groove. When there is a little bit of semi-organized clutter about, our lives are probably a little busier than usual, or we’ve had a few more gray days than usual... but it’s still kind of neat to think about why things end up where they are, not yet put back away: like I can see Quinn’s lovey and two of his stuffed animals over on the toy bench, and I realize he brings at least one item from his bed downstairs every morning before school— just to help him transition from cozy jammie sleep to getting dressed and ready for the day. It’s sweet, actually, and I don’t mind putting his lovey and friends back upstairs for him most days. Or Noah’s souvenirs: I know they are still new enough that they are freshly special to him, so if he wants them here, in the family room, on display for now... I can let them stay for awhile.

Ultimately, I’ll find another pocket of cheerful motivation, and things will get put back away. And that’s great. But today, I’m enjoying the details of the things left out, the things out of place... and I’m relishing the feeling of a full home and a good, simple, sometimes crazy little life here.

Defeat Looks Like Acceptance This Morning

It’s 8:00am, Sunday morning. Joe is out of town. Noah and Lucy are still sleeping, Quinn and Larkin are watching cartoons. 

Last night, after nearly a full week of managing Lucy’s second round with a tummy bug in under four weeks, Larkin stood in the kitchen and began heaving the contents of her tummy all over the floor. She’d also already had a turn with the stomach flu in the last four weeks, making her my second kid to have a second wave. 

After already having a challenging week coping with the reality of constantly sick kids, feeling sorry for myself and in the throes of winter despair, last night undid me. I slid into total defeat. My “sorry for myself” amplified to soul-splitting levels as I mopped up the floor and scrubbed the puke bowl clean for the millionth time. 

And then? I gave up. I finally gave up. That tense feeling of waiting and wishing it was different— the anger that this was happening...the self-pity—- it faded into background noise as I confronted the very real and immediate issue of how to handle a 2-year-old pukebomb who could go off at any time, wherever she might be. And we all know that 2-year olds don’t hit the bowl without help. I kicked into pure survival mode and prepped the couch for her to watch a cartoon (sheet-covered, old towels under that and around the floor, a bench with her puke bowl and a little bit of water for sipping). I then marched upstairs and prepped her bedroom for potential battle: mattress covered in towels, towels on the floor, extra toys removed (but lovey and fave blanket remained, because sick babies deserve comfort, even when the thought of things getting puked on makes me cringe hard). 

For the first time (I’m sheepish to admit it took this long), I finally LEANED IN. Rolled up my sleeves and accepted that this is my life. This, right this minute, is my life. It is what it is. I cannot change that Joe is out of town and snow is on the ground outside and two of my four kids are actively contagious with vomit germs. I am here and I cannot wish it away. And so I just leaned in. My peripheral vision narrowed until all I could see what what needed to be done right then to make my girls comfortable and to make any potential cleanup as easy as possible. My job wasn’t to wish we were back in those nostalgic days where no one was sick and the trees had leaves on them and all of us liked being outside and healthy. My job was to just HANDLE IT, whatever “it” turned out to be.

And it was okay. Not great: Larkin did in fact vomit again, at midnight, in her crib. But I was watching the monitor and heard a tell-tale cough before it began and was fast enough to make it to her room to hold her over the bowl. And it was a teeny amount. And she was calm and ready to lay right back down to try to sleep again. 

I didn’t get enough sleep: every time Lucy stirred, I worried she was going to have a repeat of yesterday morning where she kept leaning over her bowl with the urge to vomit, not sleeping... just waiting. And in fact, at 5:45 I woke to the adrenaline-inducing sound of her heaving into her bowl, as I’d worried about. After nearly 24 hours not puking— even eating a normal dinner— she had a lot to put into her bowl, and I had another gross clean-up/scrub to do. So tired. 

But it was okay. I handled the night and we’re all okay and any mess was mostly contained. 

And even though today is only day 2 of Joe’s 4-day absence, and even though two of my four are actively still in the 24-post puke window of potential contagion (and probably more than that... we’re probably just totally diseased and contagious on every surface of our own persons and this whole house. I can’t freak out about it anymore. ACCEPTANCE.)... even though this is not how I wanted my life to look right now (I fantasize about playing outside and about decluttering projects and about sewing summer dresses for the girls and about open windows and laying on quilts outside in the shade reading books) I am here. I’ve accepted that this is what life is today. Puke bowls and old towels and staying home from church and needing a shower and watching too many cartoons. 

And in honor of this feeling of defeat/acceptance this morning, I have some candles lit for “hygge”. The cute little diffuser is wafting out comforting essential oils. My Valentine tulips from Joe are bringing a piece of Spring to my house. There’s a bottle of Vitamin D supplements right there next to the flowers— I’ve only been taking them for 2 days, but I think they’re helping— and I’m listening to piano music on Alexa as I do a tiny bit of cross-stitching. Larkin and Quinn are watching (too many) cartoons and Lucy and Noah are still sleeping and we probably have more vomit ahead... but this is my life. I give up. And in giving up, I actually feel looser, lighter, and better. Sometimes maybe being defeated simply means we release our stubborn will and wishing, and only then can we soften enough to accept and let go. 

(Now, to try to keep this state of mind until my partner in crime returns.)

(I wish it didn’t take my stubborn heart so long to learn lessons. And then forget them and have to learn them again. And again.)

Every Morning For Now

Every morning for the last six years, give or take a few, this is one of the places I stand-- behind my girl, a basket of supplies nearby, wrangling tangles and coaxing Lucy's thick hair into a ponytail, or a braid or two. First I take out any previous ponytail holders. Then I usually add a small dollop of leave-in-conditioner, focusing primarily on that middle patch of hair in the back where her hair begins to spill down her back-- the place where tangles form into a briar patch of knots. I then spray her hair with water and begin working out tangles with a Wet Brush-- a miracle brush I've had less than a year that I should have spent the money on years ago. As much as I try to keep the pain to a minimum, she flinches on many of the brush strokes until I've managed to get the tangles out or down to the part of her hair where I can then grip the whole mass of hair and use my fist as the buffer to pain while I yank on tangles more vigorously within the ponytail hanging down from my hand. If you've ever brushed long hair, I'm certain you know exactly what I'm talking about. 

Once her hair is tangle-free, I make a part in the top front, and pull her face-framing hair into a small ponytail or french braid, only along the right side of her head-- preventative measures to keep her hair out of her face all day. There is nearly never a day that her right front side of her hair is not contained in one of these ways. I've never been able to let myself let it go, and consequently, she has never learned how to keep her hair out of her face herself. I still don't know just how much of a disservice I've done her by always keeping her hair tamed.... time will tell, I suppose. 

After this first ponytail/braid, I then usually either brush her hair into a low pony or into two braids. Again, this almost never varies, and the reasons are nuanced: 1. Since hearing scare stories from fellow moms about head lice, I decided early on in her school career that I'd just go ahead and never send her to school with her hair down. Easy enough. 2. But because she nearly never has her hair down, when I do give her that option, say for church or just a random summer day, she nearly never opts for it. She is a creature of routine, and I've created the routine of "hair up", so she doesn't choose "hair down". 3. I've tried to talk her into a bun or two. Nope-- too different from the routine. 4. I snuck her hair into a high ponytail last week-- her first one-- and she didn't say anything about it. Good or bad. Which means maybe I can add that to the menu now. But maybe still not actually ask her if she wants it or not. Because she'll say no. Because it's not what she's used to. But she didn't mind it when it was in all day last week. So.

At least once a month, when she's particularly vocal about the hair-brushing pain, usually after two or three days of being home with nowhere to be, and not having her hair brushed daily-- these days which also seem to yield a higher likelihood that she'll either be in costume and/or rolling around the floor/in a blanket/in and out of a play tent/etc. where friction compounds her tangles--I then threaten to take her to get her hair cut. Not short.... not like a bob or anything.... But maybe shoulder-length? I tell her that it would make hair-brushing a breeze every time. She says she loves her long hair, and used to protest the idea of a cut more... but recently, she hasn't argued to keep it long when I bring it up. So I see a trim in our future. Maybe only 3-4". 

After all this--- the actual work and the overthinking of the actual work.... the agony (for her head and my nerves) of working out particularly bad tangles...the wondering if I've created problems by under-instructing her on how-tos and over-containing the flyaway potential and being too routine overall.... After all this, I still love the feel of her hair under my hands. I love the moment every day that we are physically connected, engaging in a timeless ritual between mother and daughter. I love that she lets me. (That she doesn't even know any different). I love turning chaos into silken order. I'm even getting better at the braiding bit. 

But as she moves from age 7 to age 8 soon, I've begun to realize I can't do it for her forever. She's going to need to learn some things for herself. So we've begun a few little lessons here and there-- how to brush one's own hair. How to make a ponytail (I never realized how complicated this is to someone who's never done it. Harder than tying shoes, even.) Soon I'll begin helping her try shampooing and rinsing her own hair. (It's so THICK. I haven't been able to bring myself to let her do it on her own yet... all I can envision is clumps of conditioner still deep in her hair, unrinsed.) 

I know a large percentage of mothers out there would read this and be SHOCKED we've not done any of this until now. But maybe some of the moms are where I'm at. And maybe a few more won't even begin this much teaching until a few more years after age 8. To each her own. I think maybe the girls will all turn out okay in this area, eventually. (Though watching my girl with a ponytail holder, still not grasping how to pull the hair through it.... ay yi yi.)

All this to say-- Every morning for the last six years, this ritual, this act of love and caregiving, has been a good and humble work. The simple task of brushing hair, braiding hair, smoothing hair. Using my hands to show her I love her and I care about her well-being. And one day it'll be over. She'll take the brush into her own hands and she'll learn her own way. And I will miss this. But I get to do it a while longer. Every morning. Every morning for now. 

I Want:

I want:

A pedicure.

To make a quilt.

To nap and read endlessly until I actually get bored of napping and reading.

Delicious beef, beautifully prepared.

An easy time of day to get outside for regular walks.

An easy time of day to get outside in the wild with my kids.

To give my kids the experience of ice skating without the inevitably 
awful learning period where all of them are falling and HATING IT.

Game night with good friends.

Someone to play with my hair and scratch/massage my scalp.

Time and energy to tackle decluttering in my basement.

Time and energy to photograph and post items for sale online.

To find the $30 cash back I lost this weekend.

To go to the movies. Several times.

A road trip with Joe.

Someone to make dinners for us every day.

New prints for my 3x3 photo wall.

To sing harmony with people.

To play with some kittens.

To stretch.

To stand somewhere magical.

*

Photo: happened to find some good light on our snow play day last weekend. I "selfed" it with the big camera, and  nabbed a few I actually like. Ta da. 

*
For fun: a few other "I Want" lists from past blog posts:
28 Days (2010)
Oct. 12, 2010
Journaling Exercise: I Want (2009)

 
 

 

Hello, 2019: 10 Minute Freewrite About Blogging

Ten-minute morning freewrite, and GO:

If there is one thing that I've accidentally let go of that has simplified my life, it is blogging. Putting it on my to-do list, struggling to make time for it, agonizing over how much I WASN'T managing to blog about, stressing about having photos ready for each post.... That has slipped away this past year, and as I sit here reflecting on that, I realize that that self-made pressure is completely GONE. Gone. And that this is a blessing. 

If there is one thing that I've accidentally let go of that is creating a wound in my soul, it is blogging. Creating space for myself in front of this computer, allowing myself to "be a writer" for a bit.... Stream-of-consciousness typing therapy.... Plus having sweetly documented moments in my family's life, as well as really the only journal of my own journey that isn't just images (I'm looking at you, Instagram, phone camera roll, etc.).... This has slipped away this year, and as I sit here reflecting on it, I am profoundly sad. 

It's not the BLOG (say it they way I just did in my head, "BLAAAHHHHHHHHG", with a teenagery voice and an eyeroll)..... It's not. I don't aspire (anymore) to be this clever, popular blogger. I don't NEED the world to read along and nod their heads (though you, whoever you are reading this, still give me little bubbles of joy when you read and nod your head and maybe even comment). It's the writing-paired-with-images that fed my soul. It's the steady, semi-consistent checking in with my own self in the form of writing that was the beautiful part of this. 

Yesterday, I was finally adding words to my "Through My Doorways" post that had had images on it since I created the post in November. And I really wanted to link a part of the post back to a previous post that I swore existed, but I couldn't recall exactly what year I'd posted it. So I spent the better part of an hour just scrolling my blog. Clicking "older posts" again and again, going further and further back. Never even reaching that strange, hazy time before we lived in this house in Ballwin, and yet there were still SO MANY posts and so so so so so SO MANY photos between yesterday and summer 2013, and I just...... wow. I suddenly felt the loss of it keenly, acutely, and deeply. I realized that even if I'd accidentally stopped making myself stress about blogging, I'd also accidentally stopped allowing myself to blog as a therapy art form.

My 10-minute timer just went off. Larkin is awake and chatting to herself in her crib. 

I have no lovely conclusions. This was just a freewrite. But.... I think I'm back on blogging.