The Year of Self-Inflicted Terror

I have never been super good at facing difficulty and ponying up to failures or possible failures. Man, I'd like to kick that one! This year I am planning to expose myself to lots of things that scare me, work hard on things that seem insurmountable, chip away at jobs that take a looooooong time and seem like they will never end and learn to hear and handle and use criticism.

Whew. Its a big year. 

 My focus word for the year is "Grit." It feels really good and I have lot of ideas for making it happen.

One thing I am doing, for instance is planning to take surfing lessons. I love the ocean and I really like to swim (although, I am not any kind of proficient) but surfing looks terrifying. The major deep water, the being out so far away from any help or land, the giant board that could clobber you silly, the Godzilla strength surf, not to mention the social intimidation of trying to hang with the tanned and the muscled. Long Island has a surfing school and I am plan to enroll. Lucy tells me she will come too and I plan to push through the shakes and the hesitation and learn to surf. This is the year. I  will do tough things.

I also plan to organize, purge completely and beautify our hoarders stash of a basement. I am telling you guys this so that I will have public accountability and will feel like I have called myself out. I'm gonna sort through all the boxes of junk and random papers and old photos stuck together. I'm gonna take load after load to Goodwill and the dump and jam things into our recycling bin until they won't fit anymore. I will have systems and know them. I will look all my ridiculous mess in the eye and I will stop doing it. When company comes I will not run madly around shoving everything into a box or a bag and then throw it on the scary heap in the basement. I am done. This is the year.

Its gonna be a good year. I'm excited. 

Also, I am heading off on these challenging, scary adventures with so much in my corner. I have good books, pretty spaces, certainty that I can do it and an adorable baby with the cutest static halo around.

 

Laundry Salvation

So excited about my new laundry system.  Small, home-making victories that matter!!!!

I have discussed my laundry battles before. Some woes are perpetual. I think, however, that this time I have the upper hand with my clever new scheme. On the weird side....it involves five million laundry baskets....on the plus side, its a LOT more organized, somewhat perpetually caught up, and it makes me feel like a mommy-rock star!!!

 

 

I have baskets for sorting the laundry and all the dirties get put immediately into one of these bins as soon as they enter the basement laundry zone.  Ru has just started learning to load the washer or dryer and having sorted bins of dirties makes it a much saner process. He just stuffs the washer full with his chosen color (I sort whites, lights, darks and reds) and then I add soap or bleach and start the machine when I get a chance. 

 

After washing and drying, all laundry gets folded and sorted into the next bank of baskets, labelled with names. Each person has a basket, neatly labelled and they stack on top of each other for space saving convenience. Love this part. So soothing to go down in the basement in early morning before the house is awake or late at night when the littles are running around crazily with toothbrushes on the 2nd floor....and just have a little sorting binge.

Just me and the laundry...each thing in its bin, every one folded and ready for putting away.

Dee loves the new system and it is bringing out his inner organizer. He goes energetically down the basement to empty his basket every morning and tells me several times a week how much he loves the new plan. Cute little kindred spirit. I am a mess on the outside and full of spontaneous creativity but I have a strong inner craving for order and aesthetic smoothness. Dee and child-me are a lot alike. 

 

Upright

New this week: Pom is an upright sort of a person! He can sit up for a short period of time and he's sturdy enough to be slung on a hip while standing at the window or stirring dinner. This is a good development...he's getting really heavy! He's also a grab-machine. This afternoon while I was trying to eat lunch and stopped to pour the two year old some water, Pom took the opportunity to grab my fork off my plate and throw it across the table excitedly. Love watching him discover the world. He's high on crinkling paper munching, curtain waving and slobbery kiss-giving right at the moment. Soaking it all in....Happy Weekend Y'all!

Double Peace

Am back to the drawing board, looking for ways to find the margin and buffer I need to lubricate my life. I have been trying to get up early in the morning and find a little private space before the family gets up. But after a long time battling the urge I am finally admitting that I kind of need space at each end of the day. Last night I had a yoga class and came home after a wonderful meditation session, my spirit warm to touch and went right to bed like a good girl.

 And then I got back out of bed.

And came downstairs.

I wasn't up for long but I needed to be alone. I needed to hear the crickets out the window, to swish the broom alone by myself, to see the cleared and wiped down table gleam in the moonlight and to hear the tiny squeaking conversations of the guinea pigs in the other room and the drip of the tabletop fountain without the sound of any human voice, even to just lie on the floor on my back and listen to the hum of the house itself and feel the boards cool under my hands.

I'm not sure how that works out...the space at both ends of the day thing but I think I'm gonna try to find a way. I love the chance to prepare for a day alone but it doesn't replace my almost desperate urge to recover from a day that just pounded me or even jostled me about in a friendly sort of way. I love the chance to feel myself, to see peaceful emptiness and the recover a little before being asked to rest. I hate lying in bed next to A while he drifts off promptly when there is a sink full of dirty dishes downstairs and I know full well that the potty chair didn't get emptied out. This is about completing work and making sure my slate is wiped clean but its also about psychological recovery and mental space and letting my inner self come creeping out and go pirouetting around in the moonlit rooms when everyone else is asleep. 

I think part of the problem is that by morning Pom has almost invariably ended up in our bed and when I try to sneak out of bed in the morning I often end up taking him with me because otherwise he wakes up the whole household wailing for me. Good to be wanted but...yeah. I do miss my candle-lit reading hour, just me alone curled up on the couch while the sun rises. Nothing like slightly invaded morning time to make you admit your love of private nights after everyone else is in bed. So yeah. Not sure how this will work out. Still need to experiment and think about it...maybe brainstorm with A a bit and try a couple of incarnations. I am certain peace is a worth a little effort and creativity.

“We shall find peace. We shall hear angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.”
― Anton Chekhov

Snip, Snip

And just like that Mommy cut herself some bangs....out of nowhere...just because it suddenly occurred to me and I was standing in front of my mirror and there were scissors. Fun!

Sick of the plain and long look and missed a little something framing my face.Went for some long, swoopy feathered bangs on an angle. Haven't ever really parted to the side before. It feels youthful (Ru said I "look like a babysitter") and also a little more posh and classy which balances out the youthfulness.

I will evolve. So there.

Diesel Celebrities

There have been celebrities across the street. And no, I'm not talking about Tom Cruise. My boys have been glued to the windows on the front of the house for a good while (a week? longer?) watching the demolition, expansion and re-construction of our neighbor's driveway and stone retaining wall.

This is the sort of thing I never imagined getting excited about in all my life. I don't personally get shivers up my spine about the fact that a "real live dump truck" is right across the street but how do you resist feeling a thrill deep in your gut when watching your kids feel like this?

Man, reciprocal emotions are real and also very good. Just the thought makes me smile.

So, there I was, for days...watching a diesel powered this and that smash cement up and then a dump truck pour out a load of something or other while my little boys press their hands and noses against the windowpanes and sigh avidly. So very, very funny and yet happy to see what makes their little hearts go pitter patter, especially when it is so clearly their own taste and not mine reflected.

I love me some blossoming children. :) Might be time to check out our local Big Rig Day the next time one comes through the area. Anyone know when the next one is?

I Gave Myself Flowers

Happy Monday world!

Today started out a classic Monday for me. I got on the scale and found I'd gained for weight than I would have liked over the weekend, I couldn't figure out what to wear (which always makes me feel ugly) and it was cold and grey with lots of wind outdoors. I started the morning by crying in the refrigerator while I was trying to get breakfast.

Image by mbgrigby via Flickr

But you know, I washed all the dishes, I planned out a fresh juice to make myself later that day, I took Aaron to work and then bought myself an armful of flowers on the way home, found a voicemail on my phone from an acquaintance who just called to say she admired me and was thinking of me and then the sun came out and the wind died down. By the time my aunt knocked on the door with her sewing machine cheerfully tucked under her arm, ready to sew the day away together, I was feeling pretty alright.

Sometimes you just need to figure out how to heal what ails you...even if it means a few indulgences. You're worth it.

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Baby's First Haircut

 Just because I'm a slightly detail-obsessed mommy, I deemed the slightly mullet-esque style my youngest was sporting reason enough to whip out the scissors and give him his first trim. His brothers were both slightly different ages, Ru slightly older (his hair grew so, so slowly...he might have even been two before he had his first trim) and Dee was younger since he never really had a true "bald period." As usual, Nib is right in the middle between them.

 You can see his hair isn't "long" at all it's just a little uneven, growing a little longer and thicker at the back which makes him slightly dated and a little chunkier. I care about these silly little details...and visible earwax....but, yeah. We won't talk about that.

I always keep the boys hair shorter during the summer months anyhow, it just feels right to me, not to mention cooler. And I almost always trim their hair myself, scissors and a little comb and my two hands, which might make me slightly more obsessive about the whole department. Maybe I somehow feel like it reflects on me more or that I should keep tighter tabs on the length of their hair since I do it all myself...I dunno. I'm sure there's some interesting psychology there but I don't think I can unravel it all just now.

The point is, although I may have trouble keeping my house neat, I can be a little obsessive, it's just conveniently mind-bending like that.

 So, now he looks like this. Bing! All neat and trim. Which make me smile...and the bits that got snipped were just little tiny locks, but long enough to tuck in a tiny wax paper envelope for his baby book. So, there you have it. He's a real boy!

My Top Parenting Conundrums

Ah, the power of a list. One of the great things about making lists, especially bad lists...is that they later become records of things you no longer sweat over, a way to look back and grin because that list is no longer dogging your heels.
I like to make lists but I also like to keep lists so that they can be persued later, and generate smiles. One of the things that's so very infuriating about a current stressor you're dealing with is how it seems so overpowering in the moment. Don't you hate that? I do. The way that whatever-is-your-current-nemesis seems tower over the rest of life in a threatening way. I know full well that it really isn't half the big deal it feels but it really is hard to remember. One of the ways life can get overwhelming fast is with parenting conundrums. You know, whatever puzzle is currently keeping you awake at night...how in the world do you get your kid to______________??? Or to stop doing ____________?

I was just pillow-talking with A the other night as we were drifting off and I told him how helpful it is to me when parenting issues seem insurmountable and baffling to remember the last battle I conqoured as a mom and how truly hopeless I felt about that one too. I have done the cycle enough times that I now "get" that I will always feel like I'm on the brink of disaster about whatever issue I'm trying to solve...and then I'll get through it, somehow. And the other side feels really good to be on.

I thought it might be kind of fun to write down a list of the top things that are driving me insane with my kids right now. Then I can look back and remember how the things I never thought could be resolved mended themselves and you never know, maybe some of you have answers for me! There's power in numbers.

My Top Parenting Conundrums

1. Trying to get Ru to keep his pants dry.  It's not a capability problem, and it's not an issue when we're out and about, just when we're home but I'm pulling my hair out and losing my mind trying to keep up with his laundry, sometimes I'm making him change his pants and undwear three times a day. When I ask him why he's wetting he tells me that he is too busy playing to go to the toilet, and that he "stays dry when we go places." Argh! I have talked until I am blue in the face and am clearly not getting through. Am considering giving him a limit for how many outfits he gets in a day and then making him wear his pajamas the rest of the day if he runs out of clean options. Am still puzzling over a solution.
2. Teaching Nib not to take bites out of fruit at random. We have a low fruit table, well within the reach of children and the boys are allowed to snack on fruit sometimes and also to pick fruit to each at meals. We want healthy food to look alluring and we like stocking enough produce that the boys can "graze" a bit on fruit. That said, part of our philosophy involves even allowing this fruit to be within reach of the baby's little fingers. Nib likes fruit too and Nib has learned about picking out his favorites for snacking but he doesn't know about asking first and he also doesn't remember to eat only at the table. I keep finding peach pits hidden about the house and coming upon him sitting on the floor with juice running down his chin. I keep telling him firmly to ask Mama first and the big boys keep and eye out and remind him too but in the meantime it feels like it will never. I realize this is problem of my own creation and that most American moms would never dream of leaving fruit down where their baby can get it and assume they can teach him to ask first but I truly believe it will work. That said, I also am finding this tiresome and would sure love it if he'd "get" it.Until then, the baby gate is coming in handy for making sure he doesn't jet away out of the room and make a beeline for the fruit table.
3. Teaching both older boys to be socially polite. They used to be! I swear they did but somehow there was some kind of a hiccup and suddenly they're self-conscious which ends up equally socially awkward. They reply to greetings in public with mumbled replies, horrible faces, absurd nonesense or even snarling and tears. I am not sure how in the world to get them to remember their pleases and thank yous and learn to look people in the eye and smile when they arrive someplace. Argh! I keep reminding them before we go inside a business or enter a friend's house and we do some rehearsing scenarios at home, and of course I try to model social warmth myself. So far...we're still striking out a lot of the time. Boy, would I ever like to win this one.
4. Teaching Nib not to sel-injure. When reprimanded for something, or told no about something he wants, he's taken to trying to slam his head on the floor. It's all quite distressing, and although he's clearly communicating his upset (what he's after, I'm sure) we're worried he'll hurt himself or develop a bad habit of violence for expressing unhappiness. We're alternating between scolding him firmly, stopping him physically by grabbing his head or picking him up and warm, soothing words to calm him and help him feel that life is still worth living. We're clearly not sure how to handle it since we're waffling all over the place with method and he's still doing it so we haven't solved it yet.
5. Wheedling. Ru is the biggest culprit here. When we tell himself something he doesn't want to hear or he asks us if he can have five candy bars at the grocery and he doesn't get the answer he wanted...he wheedles. Instead of taking our answer respectfully and dropping it he figures if he asks over and over and over he'll eventually get the answer he would like. Infuriating! I have to really watch it to nip this in the bud with him or else I can quickly steam-train into an emotional wreck after he hammers me with "Please, please, please, please!!!" and a few whines thrown in for good measure. Another little twist on the theme is when he wheedles and I say to him, "You were given an answer...what did I say?" And he replies..."You said yes?" with a wickeded little sneer. Oooo!!! That's a bad one. So far I'm emplying time out and firm scoldings when he wheeldles and am not making any firm headway. Anyone have a brilliant solution?

And if any of you want to share your own personal headaches at the moment, then I'll know I'm not alone and when we're down the road a couple of months we'll be able to look back together!

Poetry Friday: A Mother Poem

Happy Poetry Friday everyone! Today I am covering another topic that I've wanted to for ages but found intimidating: a mother poem. Just like love poetry it is so hard to not end up sound syrupy or fake, a plastic shell of an intended sentiment instead of a personal, glinting bit of type. Happy Mother's Day to all my sisters, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, and sweet boo boo kissing friends! The thankless job we're doing everyday is the kind of thing only the beauty of tiny human lives can be created from. xoxo and "Keep on!"

My parents.

My mom, on the shores of Lake Michigan, one of her favorite places.

Maternal Society

My mother took all her children to hunt the wild blackberry
Her trick: velvet maple leaves covering the open holed corners,
Cleverly locking the heaped, glistening purple deposit within.
She could fearlessly pluck the vicious vines about the waist and swing
Them like nodding, barbed, construction cranes to hook wherever she chose.
So, we walked trustingly behind her through the briar patch, on dry land,
A wall of canes and thorns on either side that could not touch us.
As long as we closely followed the floating knot of her upswept hair.
She dug wild bluebells from the roadside to fill her barren garden
Carrying a spade in the trunk and chinking wedges of hardy native beauty
Off for herself, a bit of hope carried home in a five gallon bucket.
She plunked them into beds of hostile, red clay, gummy under the nails,
Then knowingly layered them with leaves and manure year upon year
Until the clay caved and became soft devil's food between her fingers,
The soil, host to a merry, marching army of bluebells and their kin
Tumbling eagerly as she instructed: to the very stone borders of gardendom.
She taught me how to hold a chef knife, intimately, by its silver haunches
As though I had no fear and owned its sharp power, then rocking fluidly  
The blade licking the cutting board with a steady knocking whir
The same rythmn as her sewing machine, thumping energetically along,
Her needle a miniature late night beacon in the back of our log house
Flashing updates to the moon about whatever she was lashing together
For her daughters while we slept: a dream, a dress, a doxology.

A younger version of my mom with my only brother as a tot.

Mama, winter portrait.

Visit the Poetry Friday host for more delicious poems.