If you listen hard enough, you can hear dust settling on this blog. I haven’t neglected it out of pure neglect. I’ve been unbelievably busy, even for me. But I owe you an update on how things are going and some truisms about where we are now.
This post is brought to you by Clarity, something I’ve only experienced in very small and rare doses over the years. But I’m in that spot now, so I’m gonna share. The point of this post is not an acute one, it’s sort of fluid, so bear with me…
There’s a song I love, I have it on my ipod and listen to it often. It’s a Switchfoot song, “This is Your Life.” The chorus always gets me, it goes something like…
“This is your life, are you who you want to be?”
It’s always brought me visions of my goals, of what I want my life to look like.
And then a funny thing happened the other day. I was in the car with the kids and that song came on the radio. When the chorus came, for the first time since I started listening to it, the answer I had in my head was, Yes, this is exactly who I want to be.
That’s a big deal. My life isn’t perfect. There are lots of issues and factors that haven’t worked themselves out. But I have a clear truth…I’m just exactly who I want to be right now.
There are things I’d love to change…I’d love to be thinner, richer, whatever…but the soul part of me, the heart of who I am, well…it’s just how it should be. I’m happy with who I am. Unbelievable. It seems so simple and yet I wanted to stop the car because it was such a huge realization. I’m totally and completely living comfortably in my own skin. When did that happen?
Lately I feel less overwhelmed and more just blessed. Let me tell you, I have amazing friends and family members. I have more than I deserve in the way of people who care about me. My girlfriends are the most diverse, rich in spirit, crazy crowd of women. I love them. They’re all different and I learn new things from all of them.
My family, my siblings in particular, are awesome. My older sister is one of the most amazing women I know. She has shown up, been there, guided, been the soft place I’ve landed, and in every way been my light in too many dark places. Someday the English language will add words that express the depth of my gratitude to her.
I have an amazing brother who embodies quiet strength and reminds me all the time what it is to have integrity. I have a younger sister I love more than life who reminds me what it is to live, to take chances, to make mistakes, and to remember love conquers all.
My parents, my dad and stepmom, in their infinite patience, have never tired of trying to help me and steer me in the right direction. While I know they can’t fully understand what my life is like, they haven’t stopped trying to. Our relationship deepens with years. I think my stepmom, who probably inherited more than she bargained for with us 20 years ago, is a woman I will still be able to garner wisdom from when I’m 80.
My dad has provided one of the most valuable gifts – a solid model for having a respected career and living a life of meaning and substance.
It's hard not to feel successful and happy when you have the kind of support I do from family and friends. And even though there are still aspects of our lives that are unsure right now, I’m so content with where things are. I have wonderful people in my life. I'm a good person. I’m proud of the parent I am right now. I’m proud of the work I’m doing.
This will be the most successful year in business I’ve ever had by leaps and bounds and I’ve earned it. I have great hopes for where I’m headed professionally.
Spiritually, I’ve gone through some changes. I’ve let go of some things. I’ve stopped pretending and started being honest with myself about where things are. I feel very true and very freed.
I just feel...well, good. I'll never have it all together and that's okay. Because this crazy life with all its ups and downs is just right for me. For every hard thing, I have greatness in abundance.
This has been a little north of “feel-good” as far as blog posts. Feel free to vomit now or brush your teeth for all the sweetness. Most of you know that sugary, my-life-is-so-blessed ramblings are SO not my style. But I had to share this because of the song. Because when This is Your Life, and it’s Who You Want To Be, it’s worth sayin’ so.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The Inconvenient Mouths of Babes…
I’m convinced that the saying “Out of the mouths of babes…” is only truly amusing to childless people. For those of us who have frequently had to shush overly loud descriptions of bodily functions, embarrassing private information, and inquiries as to how the man in front of us in line became SO FAT...well, let’s just say it can be slightly less amusing.
With rare exception (the rare exception being a dinner party with people we don’t know very well), this usually happens in the middle of the supermarket. At about five o’clock. While trying to juggle 50 coupons. I always handle the situation in the same way – I shush the kids quickly, smile at the offended glances we get, and whisper loudly, “Hush now, or I’ll tell your mother you said that!”
I’m pretty sure no one buys it, but you never know. I’m still holding out hope that at least a few people on any given trip to the grocery store or bank will believe my rumpled jogging clothes are a result of actual jogging, so one could argue my efforts at face-saving deceptions are not always grounded in reality.
Last week, we had one of these moments. It didn’t happen at the supermarket, it happened at home. My face didn’t get any less red, though, when Julia complained to me, “Why don’t you take us to really fun places? Daddy always takes us to really fun places!”
I did manage to bite back the initial responses that sprang to my lips surprisingly fast. Those responses included:
• “Daddy can afford to take you fun places because he saves lots of money dodging child support,” and
• “Daddy gets to focus on only doing fun stuff because he doesn’t have to be a real parent.”
I repeat: I did not actually say these things. But you better believe I was thinking them. I did spend some time really considering what she said, though. Here are my conclusions...
First of all, we do go “fun places” on the weekend, but our fun outings are always interspersed with not-at-all-fun-but-necessary activities like laundry and room-cleaning. I realize there seems to be a distinction in her four-year-old mind, because Daddy’s weekends are spent doing only fun things. There are no chores and no household to-do lists to complete. Now, I can resent that a little (and believe me, I do) but it doesn’t change anything.
Second, there’s some truth to the simple fact that we don’t have the same discretionary budget as Daddy does. We have significantly more expenses, and the lion’s share of those expenses is a financial responsibility I carry alone. Is it fair? Nope. But wasting a lot of energy resenting it doesn’t change anything.
Finally, whether or not it’s fair for the kids to perceive things that way, I have to acknowledge the possibility that they occasionally do. We don’t have every-other-weekend visits here; we’re living life everyday, with the schedules and responsibilities that come with it. I wouldn’t, even for a moment, consider trading that to only see the kids for four days out of the month, no matter how many fun things we could do in those four days.
I never want to miss the forest for the trees: I’m trying to give my kids a great childhood – one filled with sweet memories of love, patience, and happiness. I want them to love God and treat others with kindness and respect. I’m trying to teach them responsibility. It’s a far less glamorous job than taking them exciting places but a significantly more important one. My son’s future wife probably won’t care if he’s good at putt-putt, but his ability to find the hamper with his own wet towels could be a marriage-saver someday.
I have so many great childhood memories of my own of simple times we spent as a family – books my parents read to me, playing in my backyard, visiting my cousins, and my mom teaching me how to cook. Those memories are irreplaceable. They don’t involve exciting adventures to theme parks because childhoods aren’t built on that; they’re built on everything that happens in between.
This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t sometimes indulge in a responsibility-free, super-fun (yet inexpensive) weekend. Will it take some expert juggling and schedule-adjusting? Absolutely. But it’s not impossible. It isn’t the main goal, though. The great myth that all you have to do to raise well-adjusted kids is have lots of fun has long since been debunked by large numbers of spoiled, angry teenagers and Lindsay Lohan.
It’s my privilege to be raising these kids, to be given the opportunity to help shape the character of the people they’ll become. When an uncomfortable truth comes out of the inconvenient mouths of babes, sometimes you have to be willing to confront it with humility and good humor. And in case that doesn’t work, I’ve been known to accept bottles of wine from sympathetic readers. ☺
With rare exception (the rare exception being a dinner party with people we don’t know very well), this usually happens in the middle of the supermarket. At about five o’clock. While trying to juggle 50 coupons. I always handle the situation in the same way – I shush the kids quickly, smile at the offended glances we get, and whisper loudly, “Hush now, or I’ll tell your mother you said that!”
I’m pretty sure no one buys it, but you never know. I’m still holding out hope that at least a few people on any given trip to the grocery store or bank will believe my rumpled jogging clothes are a result of actual jogging, so one could argue my efforts at face-saving deceptions are not always grounded in reality.
Last week, we had one of these moments. It didn’t happen at the supermarket, it happened at home. My face didn’t get any less red, though, when Julia complained to me, “Why don’t you take us to really fun places? Daddy always takes us to really fun places!”
I did manage to bite back the initial responses that sprang to my lips surprisingly fast. Those responses included:
• “Daddy can afford to take you fun places because he saves lots of money dodging child support,” and
• “Daddy gets to focus on only doing fun stuff because he doesn’t have to be a real parent.”
I repeat: I did not actually say these things. But you better believe I was thinking them. I did spend some time really considering what she said, though. Here are my conclusions...
First of all, we do go “fun places” on the weekend, but our fun outings are always interspersed with not-at-all-fun-but-necessary activities like laundry and room-cleaning. I realize there seems to be a distinction in her four-year-old mind, because Daddy’s weekends are spent doing only fun things. There are no chores and no household to-do lists to complete. Now, I can resent that a little (and believe me, I do) but it doesn’t change anything.
Second, there’s some truth to the simple fact that we don’t have the same discretionary budget as Daddy does. We have significantly more expenses, and the lion’s share of those expenses is a financial responsibility I carry alone. Is it fair? Nope. But wasting a lot of energy resenting it doesn’t change anything.
Finally, whether or not it’s fair for the kids to perceive things that way, I have to acknowledge the possibility that they occasionally do. We don’t have every-other-weekend visits here; we’re living life everyday, with the schedules and responsibilities that come with it. I wouldn’t, even for a moment, consider trading that to only see the kids for four days out of the month, no matter how many fun things we could do in those four days.
I never want to miss the forest for the trees: I’m trying to give my kids a great childhood – one filled with sweet memories of love, patience, and happiness. I want them to love God and treat others with kindness and respect. I’m trying to teach them responsibility. It’s a far less glamorous job than taking them exciting places but a significantly more important one. My son’s future wife probably won’t care if he’s good at putt-putt, but his ability to find the hamper with his own wet towels could be a marriage-saver someday.
I have so many great childhood memories of my own of simple times we spent as a family – books my parents read to me, playing in my backyard, visiting my cousins, and my mom teaching me how to cook. Those memories are irreplaceable. They don’t involve exciting adventures to theme parks because childhoods aren’t built on that; they’re built on everything that happens in between.
This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t sometimes indulge in a responsibility-free, super-fun (yet inexpensive) weekend. Will it take some expert juggling and schedule-adjusting? Absolutely. But it’s not impossible. It isn’t the main goal, though. The great myth that all you have to do to raise well-adjusted kids is have lots of fun has long since been debunked by large numbers of spoiled, angry teenagers and Lindsay Lohan.
It’s my privilege to be raising these kids, to be given the opportunity to help shape the character of the people they’ll become. When an uncomfortable truth comes out of the inconvenient mouths of babes, sometimes you have to be willing to confront it with humility and good humor. And in case that doesn’t work, I’ve been known to accept bottles of wine from sympathetic readers. ☺
Monday, May 16, 2011
With Everything Left Over
For this Monday morning, I figured I owe you an update on my planning post. I did some planning. Here’s where I am:
Closet/Fashion: I haven’t magically developed fashion sense. I did clean out my closet. Sadly, my anticipated 15% of usable clothes turned out to be more like 10%. I choose to see that as a challenge, not a setback. My (much more fashionable) sister brought me some magazines so I can pick out styles I like. It’s a start. I bought 4 thrift store items I think I can make work in my wardrobe. I walked out of a Goodwill feeling like a rock star and I’m totally cool with that.
I’m taking a very paint-by-numbers approach to this whole fashion thing. I’m operating under the secure assumption that copying an outfit you see is equivalent to creating that outfit yourself. Denial is a powerful thing.
Kids: We've established a weekly library trip. I’m still in need of one more scheduled outing. It’ll be the playground, but I’ll admit I’m not winning on this one. I’m working a lot right now and playground time is hard to come by.
Work: I planned. I worked. I accomplished. Something great fell in my lap which is largely supplemental but awesome nonetheless. I’m not stressing in this area, other than wishing more hours were in each day.
Decorating: I have to admit complete FAIL here. I haven’t done one single thing in this area. I’m still embracing bare walls. And floors. And windows. I have developed an idea, though, of what I want. So, at the risk of completely nauseating you, I have a plan. ☺
I’ll share something with you that wasn’t in the plan. When things are rough, I tend to squeeze these kids tight and refocus myself. We’ve had a rough time here lately. Mommy is stressed. Kids are being unruly. Things are somewhat uncertain as far as changes in their lives that may not be good and that I may not be able to prevent. I’m trying to have some faith here and I can tell you it’s in short supply.
It turns out I can’t create a perfect life for us and shield us from the world just by planning and cleaning out closets. Who knew? Sometimes no matter how much you organize and plan and how well you succeed, things just don’t fall into the right places. I guess the real test is figuring out what to do with everything left over, once you’ve cleaned out what you can. I’m working on that.
Closet/Fashion: I haven’t magically developed fashion sense. I did clean out my closet. Sadly, my anticipated 15% of usable clothes turned out to be more like 10%. I choose to see that as a challenge, not a setback. My (much more fashionable) sister brought me some magazines so I can pick out styles I like. It’s a start. I bought 4 thrift store items I think I can make work in my wardrobe. I walked out of a Goodwill feeling like a rock star and I’m totally cool with that.
I’m taking a very paint-by-numbers approach to this whole fashion thing. I’m operating under the secure assumption that copying an outfit you see is equivalent to creating that outfit yourself. Denial is a powerful thing.
Kids: We've established a weekly library trip. I’m still in need of one more scheduled outing. It’ll be the playground, but I’ll admit I’m not winning on this one. I’m working a lot right now and playground time is hard to come by.
Work: I planned. I worked. I accomplished. Something great fell in my lap which is largely supplemental but awesome nonetheless. I’m not stressing in this area, other than wishing more hours were in each day.
Decorating: I have to admit complete FAIL here. I haven’t done one single thing in this area. I’m still embracing bare walls. And floors. And windows. I have developed an idea, though, of what I want. So, at the risk of completely nauseating you, I have a plan. ☺
I’ll share something with you that wasn’t in the plan. When things are rough, I tend to squeeze these kids tight and refocus myself. We’ve had a rough time here lately. Mommy is stressed. Kids are being unruly. Things are somewhat uncertain as far as changes in their lives that may not be good and that I may not be able to prevent. I’m trying to have some faith here and I can tell you it’s in short supply.
It turns out I can’t create a perfect life for us and shield us from the world just by planning and cleaning out closets. Who knew? Sometimes no matter how much you organize and plan and how well you succeed, things just don’t fall into the right places. I guess the real test is figuring out what to do with everything left over, once you’ve cleaned out what you can. I’m working on that.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Stand on this Hill
I’ve been put in the position recently of standing. Standing for something I believe in. Standing for how I want to raise my kids. Standing for what I believe is best for them. For those of you who’ve been here, it’s not an easy place to be.
I had a discussion a while back with a very good friend. I was frustrated with where I was and the ongoing battleground that is the situation with my ex-husband. She put it to me very simply: Do you believe this is best for them? My answer was a firm Yes. She then said the following:
When you know you’re making the right decision for your kids, when push comes to shove, you have to stand. You have to stand and be ready to die on that hill. Because there are some things you just can’t compromise on.
Since then, it’s become a solid reminder for me during some tough times. Parents don’t get easy choices for the most part. We get really hard choices. What’s best for the kids is rarely what’s easy for us.
This isn’t to say every parenting choice requires hours of consideration. Some things are pretty simple.
For instance, I don’t let Grant make his own decisions about everything, even though he sometimes argues me to death. He’s 8. He doesn’t know everything yet. He’s a really smart kid but I’ve also seen him lick his own shoe. Enough said.
There are easy choices – don’t let the kids run in traffic, get tattoos, or use my credit cards to shop online.
Then there are harder, sometimes humbling choices. I once took Grant to the doctor because he was laughing in a weird way. Yep. It happened. I also once asked the same pediatrician to examine a strange spot on Julia she subsequently determined to be chocolate. What can I say, she was a really adorably fat toddler with a lot of crevices…I should probably take a moment here to thank all the patient pediatricians of the world.
And then there are the REALLY hard choices. The choices that, while best for the kids, create battlegrounds. The choices for which you have to be willing to endure a variety of judgments, insults and downright ugliness. But those are the times, the most important ones, where you have to stand.
I hope the situation I’m currently experiencing doesn’t last long. I’ll be honest, it’s ugly and it stinks. And knowing I’m making the right decision doesn’t make it any easier. But I’ll stand on this hill. It’s the only place I can be the parent my kids deserve.
I had a discussion a while back with a very good friend. I was frustrated with where I was and the ongoing battleground that is the situation with my ex-husband. She put it to me very simply: Do you believe this is best for them? My answer was a firm Yes. She then said the following:
When you know you’re making the right decision for your kids, when push comes to shove, you have to stand. You have to stand and be ready to die on that hill. Because there are some things you just can’t compromise on.
Since then, it’s become a solid reminder for me during some tough times. Parents don’t get easy choices for the most part. We get really hard choices. What’s best for the kids is rarely what’s easy for us.
This isn’t to say every parenting choice requires hours of consideration. Some things are pretty simple.
For instance, I don’t let Grant make his own decisions about everything, even though he sometimes argues me to death. He’s 8. He doesn’t know everything yet. He’s a really smart kid but I’ve also seen him lick his own shoe. Enough said.
There are easy choices – don’t let the kids run in traffic, get tattoos, or use my credit cards to shop online.
Then there are harder, sometimes humbling choices. I once took Grant to the doctor because he was laughing in a weird way. Yep. It happened. I also once asked the same pediatrician to examine a strange spot on Julia she subsequently determined to be chocolate. What can I say, she was a really adorably fat toddler with a lot of crevices…I should probably take a moment here to thank all the patient pediatricians of the world.
And then there are the REALLY hard choices. The choices that, while best for the kids, create battlegrounds. The choices for which you have to be willing to endure a variety of judgments, insults and downright ugliness. But those are the times, the most important ones, where you have to stand.
I hope the situation I’m currently experiencing doesn’t last long. I’ll be honest, it’s ugly and it stinks. And knowing I’m making the right decision doesn’t make it any easier. But I’ll stand on this hill. It’s the only place I can be the parent my kids deserve.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Lesson Learned
There’s a lot of soul music playing here this week. I realize that with my last post about organization, this blog is quickly becoming a collection of my completely random and whimsical thoughts. I’m not sure I can stop that, though.
I had an entire week without kids. The kids went to stay with their dad for the break and it was a much-needed chance for me to back up, breathe a little, and think.
I got a lot of work done. And I cleaned the house. I hung out with friends. And I thought. A lot. This week’s thoughts were centered around the one that got away, and love in general.
We all have that one, I think. Maybe it’s more bittersweet for those of us who married someone else and then had that marriage not work out. It begs for looking at the other relationship, the really good one we didn’t pursue. The one we thought we were too good for.
I had that relationship once, with a guy who was truly amazing. And I wasn’t mature enough to see him for who he was. I’m kicking myself on that one.
I wouldn’t and can’t change anything. I have two fabulous kids, products of a marriage with the one I really wish had gotten away. But I wouldn’t really wish that unless there was still some way I could keep the kids. When you have two beautiful children, what right do you have to complain? I don’t.
I held on too long to things I should've let go. I think all my life, I've taken a project I wanted to fix at the expense of a masterpiece I was too busy to look for. I'm choosier now.
I like to indulge in the occasional daydream. This week I found my mind wandering to what it would be like if we met again. Except it wouldn’t be like that. He married someone else. I married someone else. His worked out, mine didn’t. So this week has been a true lesson in grace, because despite what I now wish would've happened for us, I can’t be anything but happy for him.
There’s a lot to lose in life and love. I hope if you’re reading this and you have someone really important to hold on to, that you grab them and squeeze them tight. Life’s too short for what if’s. I’m squeezing mine, these two little people around whom my entire world is centered.
If you're holding on to something simply for the sake of holding on to it, it might be time to let it go. Don't make my mistake and try to change what you have into what you need.
If that great guy comes again, I think maybe I’ll be ready to recognize him the second time around. Lesson learned.
I had an entire week without kids. The kids went to stay with their dad for the break and it was a much-needed chance for me to back up, breathe a little, and think.
I got a lot of work done. And I cleaned the house. I hung out with friends. And I thought. A lot. This week’s thoughts were centered around the one that got away, and love in general.
We all have that one, I think. Maybe it’s more bittersweet for those of us who married someone else and then had that marriage not work out. It begs for looking at the other relationship, the really good one we didn’t pursue. The one we thought we were too good for.
I had that relationship once, with a guy who was truly amazing. And I wasn’t mature enough to see him for who he was. I’m kicking myself on that one.
I wouldn’t and can’t change anything. I have two fabulous kids, products of a marriage with the one I really wish had gotten away. But I wouldn’t really wish that unless there was still some way I could keep the kids. When you have two beautiful children, what right do you have to complain? I don’t.
I held on too long to things I should've let go. I think all my life, I've taken a project I wanted to fix at the expense of a masterpiece I was too busy to look for. I'm choosier now.
I like to indulge in the occasional daydream. This week I found my mind wandering to what it would be like if we met again. Except it wouldn’t be like that. He married someone else. I married someone else. His worked out, mine didn’t. So this week has been a true lesson in grace, because despite what I now wish would've happened for us, I can’t be anything but happy for him.
There’s a lot to lose in life and love. I hope if you’re reading this and you have someone really important to hold on to, that you grab them and squeeze them tight. Life’s too short for what if’s. I’m squeezing mine, these two little people around whom my entire world is centered.
If you're holding on to something simply for the sake of holding on to it, it might be time to let it go. Don't make my mistake and try to change what you have into what you need.
If that great guy comes again, I think maybe I’ll be ready to recognize him the second time around. Lesson learned.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Spring Gleaning
It always amazes me how quickly my perspective can change. Okay, so sometimes there’s a distinct reason for it (starts with horm-, ends with –ones). Other times, it seems like two or three small things happen and suddenly everything shifts in a completely topsy-turvy way that just begs for a time-out, a rewind button, or a large bottle of wine…or all three.
That’s been the last couple of weeks here. I don’t know about you, but when things start to feel crazy around here I shift into Assessment and Planning Mode. Yes, I’m completely anal-retentive and obsessive-compulsive about having a plan. You would never know this to see my house. Or my kids. Or me, for that matter.
I’m an excellent planner. And goal-setter. And organizer. Unfortunately, I can also be a dismal follow-through-er. So, in the interest of accountability – because I know at the very least my Dad will read this and probably ask at some point how it’s going – I’ve decided to list some specific areas in which I need to focus my planning (and following through) skills…
• My closet and clothes. I may or may not have mentioned my extreme lack of any fashion sense. Seriously. If Fashion-Challenged was a recognized disability, they could base the DSM-IV criteria on only the clothes I’ve worn in public in the last three days. I don’t do it on purpose. I seriously have no idea how to put a “real” outfit together beyond liking what I see other (more stylish) people wear.
Therefore, it’s time to attack that closet and weed out the items that are hopelessly out of fashion (30%), not going to fit again before becoming hopelessly out of fashion (25%), and set aside items that will hopefully fit again soon and are the plain, never-go-out-of-style sort of items I tend to favor (30%). If you’re doing the math, that should leave me roughly 15% of what’s currently in there. At least I’ll know what I have to work with.
• My kids. I probably should’ve put this first; putting it second makes my priorities seem a little out of whack. However, in my defense, you haven’t actually seen my closet. The kid-planning is simple – I’d like to plan at least two small but purposeful things to do with them each week that we actually do regardless of how busy I am, how cranky they are and which one of them seems to be coming down with something. There is NEVER a day one of those things isn’t a factor and it’s time to get over it.
• My work. Possibly also should’ve appeared before closet, but…oh, well. I have work, which is always a blessing for the self-employed. But, I have some time-budgeting and long-term planning that needs to be done. It’s time to really define the direction I want to take things and refine my plan for getting there.
• My house. Specifically, the lack of decorating in my house. I see such cute ideas online and from friends’ posts/blogs/etc. but I never actually plan to carry any of them out. (Lack of fashion sense also lends itself to lack of decorating style.) The first room to attack will be the living room and its almost-bare walls…and windows…and floors.
There. That gives me some specific places to start. Which brings me to the title of this post. I’ve always liked the word glean. To me, it implies working hard at something to get something fruitful from it. For instance, we can glean knowledge and encouragement from Scripture and glean wisdom from tough experiences.
I hope to glean something from the act of carrying out the items above. Are they small things? Yes. But they’re small things I can do. Sometimes, when you need a plan you can actually act on, that’s all that matters.
I’d love to hear your plan for some Spring Gleaning of your own!
That’s been the last couple of weeks here. I don’t know about you, but when things start to feel crazy around here I shift into Assessment and Planning Mode. Yes, I’m completely anal-retentive and obsessive-compulsive about having a plan. You would never know this to see my house. Or my kids. Or me, for that matter.
I’m an excellent planner. And goal-setter. And organizer. Unfortunately, I can also be a dismal follow-through-er. So, in the interest of accountability – because I know at the very least my Dad will read this and probably ask at some point how it’s going – I’ve decided to list some specific areas in which I need to focus my planning (and following through) skills…
• My closet and clothes. I may or may not have mentioned my extreme lack of any fashion sense. Seriously. If Fashion-Challenged was a recognized disability, they could base the DSM-IV criteria on only the clothes I’ve worn in public in the last three days. I don’t do it on purpose. I seriously have no idea how to put a “real” outfit together beyond liking what I see other (more stylish) people wear.
Therefore, it’s time to attack that closet and weed out the items that are hopelessly out of fashion (30%), not going to fit again before becoming hopelessly out of fashion (25%), and set aside items that will hopefully fit again soon and are the plain, never-go-out-of-style sort of items I tend to favor (30%). If you’re doing the math, that should leave me roughly 15% of what’s currently in there. At least I’ll know what I have to work with.
• My kids. I probably should’ve put this first; putting it second makes my priorities seem a little out of whack. However, in my defense, you haven’t actually seen my closet. The kid-planning is simple – I’d like to plan at least two small but purposeful things to do with them each week that we actually do regardless of how busy I am, how cranky they are and which one of them seems to be coming down with something. There is NEVER a day one of those things isn’t a factor and it’s time to get over it.
• My work. Possibly also should’ve appeared before closet, but…oh, well. I have work, which is always a blessing for the self-employed. But, I have some time-budgeting and long-term planning that needs to be done. It’s time to really define the direction I want to take things and refine my plan for getting there.
• My house. Specifically, the lack of decorating in my house. I see such cute ideas online and from friends’ posts/blogs/etc. but I never actually plan to carry any of them out. (Lack of fashion sense also lends itself to lack of decorating style.) The first room to attack will be the living room and its almost-bare walls…and windows…and floors.
There. That gives me some specific places to start. Which brings me to the title of this post. I’ve always liked the word glean. To me, it implies working hard at something to get something fruitful from it. For instance, we can glean knowledge and encouragement from Scripture and glean wisdom from tough experiences.
I hope to glean something from the act of carrying out the items above. Are they small things? Yes. But they’re small things I can do. Sometimes, when you need a plan you can actually act on, that’s all that matters.
I’d love to hear your plan for some Spring Gleaning of your own!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Laughing Like Crying
It makes sense to share a story from the beginning – the beginning of this season of my life, that is. I don’t plan on making this blog a chronological account of the last year and a half. But it’s probably a good idea to establish a frame of reference for you.
My marriage ended suddenly. It had been ending for a while before that, but there was one defining event that marked the End – and I didn’t get any advance notice. I’m not going to share the details of what happened because a) it’s too personal to post online, and b) my kids might read this one day.
The kids were 6 and 2-almost-3. Grant, who’s older, was on vacation with his grandmother at the time. I thank God for the timing of that.
Julia and I left suddenly, literally threw a weekend’s worth of clothes in a bag and fled to the home of a friend, who generously allowed us to stay there while their family was out of town. I remember saying a prayer of thanks for their extensive collection of Disney princess movies because I was in too much shock to function.
During the weekend, I made it clear we were returning to the house late Sunday afternoon and my ex-husband was to be gone. I was prepared to feel panicky, sad, angry, scared, relieved, any emotion you can think of.
I was not prepared for what the house looked like when we returned. It was like the morning after a bad frat party.
I began the cleaning process and cried through a lot of it. My attitude lightened a little. Everything else aside, I was relieved. It was quiet and calm and I realized it was finally just the kids and me.
I’d been thinking for a long time about what it would be like to live in peace with my children with no hostility, no tumultuous marriage making it impossible to breathe in the house. I began having little fantasies of how calm and happy we would be with our neat little organized lives. Ha. ☺
Grant came home and my first night with both kids there, I was exhausted but remarkably gung-ho about how much better everything was going to be. I took Julia upstairs to give her a bath with visions of a nice, quiet evening of storytime and cuddling. Until I got her undressed. And she promptly had a very messy accident, the details of which I’ll spare you, all over the bathroom floor. Towels, please.
About halfway through cleaning the bathroom floor, I heard Grant calling for me, sounding fully panicked. I left the rest of the mess and sprinted downstairs to find he had overflowed the toilet in the powder room. There was literally a flood of water flowing out into the family room. Ummm, more towels, please.
I used every towel in the house. Grant was running around shrieking that we would surely drown. Julia, still with no clothes on and REALLY needing a bath now, had joined in the mayhem. I took some deep breaths. One thing at a time.
I still hadn’t touched the master bedroom, but realizing I now had about 50 loads of towels to wash, it was a good a time as any to get those sheets off the bed and throw them in. I looked like I was cleaning up a toxic spill the way I grabbed the corner of the sheets with pinched fingers while trying to keep my body as far away from the bed as possible.
And then I found the ants – a million tiny little ants, crawling all over the mattress. I don’t even want to think about what attracted them there but I can tell you I almost lost it right then and there.
I did get the sheets and a few towels in the wash. I think I used an entire bottle of bleach. With the kind of determination that can only be God-given, I pulled out the vacuum cleaner, stepped up onto the mattress, and went to war with those ants.
So there I was – standing on a mattress, vacuuming ants, soaking wet towels on the floor of more than one bathroom in the house, with my children running around screaming, Kill the ants! Kill the ants! And yes, Julia was still naked and filthy at this point.
In the middle of it all, I began laughing. Hysterically and uncontrollably. In reality, it was probably sobbing but it came out as the kind of maniacal laughter I’m glad no adults or mental health professionals were around to witness.
I still think about that girl sometimes, the girl I was in that moment – standing on the bed with the vacuum, laughing hysterically. I’m so proud she didn’t give up. I’ve grown a lot since then...in large part because laughing, like crying, heals.
My marriage ended suddenly. It had been ending for a while before that, but there was one defining event that marked the End – and I didn’t get any advance notice. I’m not going to share the details of what happened because a) it’s too personal to post online, and b) my kids might read this one day.
The kids were 6 and 2-almost-3. Grant, who’s older, was on vacation with his grandmother at the time. I thank God for the timing of that.
Julia and I left suddenly, literally threw a weekend’s worth of clothes in a bag and fled to the home of a friend, who generously allowed us to stay there while their family was out of town. I remember saying a prayer of thanks for their extensive collection of Disney princess movies because I was in too much shock to function.
During the weekend, I made it clear we were returning to the house late Sunday afternoon and my ex-husband was to be gone. I was prepared to feel panicky, sad, angry, scared, relieved, any emotion you can think of.
I was not prepared for what the house looked like when we returned. It was like the morning after a bad frat party.
I began the cleaning process and cried through a lot of it. My attitude lightened a little. Everything else aside, I was relieved. It was quiet and calm and I realized it was finally just the kids and me.
I’d been thinking for a long time about what it would be like to live in peace with my children with no hostility, no tumultuous marriage making it impossible to breathe in the house. I began having little fantasies of how calm and happy we would be with our neat little organized lives. Ha. ☺
Grant came home and my first night with both kids there, I was exhausted but remarkably gung-ho about how much better everything was going to be. I took Julia upstairs to give her a bath with visions of a nice, quiet evening of storytime and cuddling. Until I got her undressed. And she promptly had a very messy accident, the details of which I’ll spare you, all over the bathroom floor. Towels, please.
About halfway through cleaning the bathroom floor, I heard Grant calling for me, sounding fully panicked. I left the rest of the mess and sprinted downstairs to find he had overflowed the toilet in the powder room. There was literally a flood of water flowing out into the family room. Ummm, more towels, please.
I used every towel in the house. Grant was running around shrieking that we would surely drown. Julia, still with no clothes on and REALLY needing a bath now, had joined in the mayhem. I took some deep breaths. One thing at a time.
I still hadn’t touched the master bedroom, but realizing I now had about 50 loads of towels to wash, it was a good a time as any to get those sheets off the bed and throw them in. I looked like I was cleaning up a toxic spill the way I grabbed the corner of the sheets with pinched fingers while trying to keep my body as far away from the bed as possible.
And then I found the ants – a million tiny little ants, crawling all over the mattress. I don’t even want to think about what attracted them there but I can tell you I almost lost it right then and there.
I did get the sheets and a few towels in the wash. I think I used an entire bottle of bleach. With the kind of determination that can only be God-given, I pulled out the vacuum cleaner, stepped up onto the mattress, and went to war with those ants.
So there I was – standing on a mattress, vacuuming ants, soaking wet towels on the floor of more than one bathroom in the house, with my children running around screaming, Kill the ants! Kill the ants! And yes, Julia was still naked and filthy at this point.
In the middle of it all, I began laughing. Hysterically and uncontrollably. In reality, it was probably sobbing but it came out as the kind of maniacal laughter I’m glad no adults or mental health professionals were around to witness.
I still think about that girl sometimes, the girl I was in that moment – standing on the bed with the vacuum, laughing hysterically. I’m so proud she didn’t give up. I’ve grown a lot since then...in large part because laughing, like crying, heals.
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Booger on the Wall
Tonight I got completely sidetracked reading archived posts of a blog I absolutely love but haven’t read in a long time due to the regular busyness and distractions of life. (That blog is Naptime Diaries if you’re interested.) It reminded me how much I’ve always wanted to blog regularly. I did actually attempt this once, written from the perspective of my daughter when she was a toddler. The results: Fail. Big fail. I think there were a whopping three posts, maybe six months apart.
I digress. More recently, I’ve thought about it more. Specifically, when I separated from my now ex-husband a year and a half ago, one of my first thoughts was – I should start a blog. Not about our marriage or what went wrong, but because I was officially entering the next stage of my life and I had stories to tell. Still do. I promise to post about the not-at-all-at-the-time-but-in-retrospect-hilarious comedy of errors that were my first days, weeks, and months of being a single mom. Rich with high jinx, I promise.
Life as a suddenly single mom with two small children and a full-time job doesn’t leave a lot of time for blogging. And over time, I questioned what I was really looking for in starting a blog – would I just be creating a platform for a full-time pity party, looking for some kind of approval, or did I really have something worthwhile and/or entertaining to share? It’s worth noting that all of the wrestling over these questions took place without ever writing a single post. And I'm a writer. For a living. Sad, I know.
As of late, I still have lots of high jinx. Things have settled down a bit, but I’m nowhere near having it “together” – does anybody? I do think I have stories to share. They will hopefully entertain and amuse, maybe even occasionally inspire something more.
After getting lost in Naptime Diaries for over an hour (maybe two), I got up from the couch thinking, ‘Yep, I should definitely start blogging.’ I went to the bathroom in the little powder room meant for guests but mostly used by the kids. I normally don’t use that bathroom and when I sat down, I realized two things.
First, it doesn’t smell good in there. Either the kids need to stop using it or I should never again have guests over. There’s going to be some hardcore scrubbing going on in there tomorrow, followed by a full can of Febreeze air freshener.
Second, when I happened to glance at the wall next to me, I realized there was something stuck there. It was easily identifiable as a booger. One of the kids (I can guess which one) stuck a booger on the wall. The whole ‘the writing’s on the wall’ thing popped into my head. But for me, in my life, it’s only fitting that The Booger’s on the Wall. Yep, I’ve got stories to share.
I digress. More recently, I’ve thought about it more. Specifically, when I separated from my now ex-husband a year and a half ago, one of my first thoughts was – I should start a blog. Not about our marriage or what went wrong, but because I was officially entering the next stage of my life and I had stories to tell. Still do. I promise to post about the not-at-all-at-the-time-but-in-retrospect-hilarious comedy of errors that were my first days, weeks, and months of being a single mom. Rich with high jinx, I promise.
Life as a suddenly single mom with two small children and a full-time job doesn’t leave a lot of time for blogging. And over time, I questioned what I was really looking for in starting a blog – would I just be creating a platform for a full-time pity party, looking for some kind of approval, or did I really have something worthwhile and/or entertaining to share? It’s worth noting that all of the wrestling over these questions took place without ever writing a single post. And I'm a writer. For a living. Sad, I know.
As of late, I still have lots of high jinx. Things have settled down a bit, but I’m nowhere near having it “together” – does anybody? I do think I have stories to share. They will hopefully entertain and amuse, maybe even occasionally inspire something more.
After getting lost in Naptime Diaries for over an hour (maybe two), I got up from the couch thinking, ‘Yep, I should definitely start blogging.’ I went to the bathroom in the little powder room meant for guests but mostly used by the kids. I normally don’t use that bathroom and when I sat down, I realized two things.
First, it doesn’t smell good in there. Either the kids need to stop using it or I should never again have guests over. There’s going to be some hardcore scrubbing going on in there tomorrow, followed by a full can of Febreeze air freshener.
Second, when I happened to glance at the wall next to me, I realized there was something stuck there. It was easily identifiable as a booger. One of the kids (I can guess which one) stuck a booger on the wall. The whole ‘the writing’s on the wall’ thing popped into my head. But for me, in my life, it’s only fitting that The Booger’s on the Wall. Yep, I’ve got stories to share.
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