Being Aunted Into Calm

 It was a slow day today, full of laundry on laundry, slow sifting through the camping boxes, ferreting out the sand and stray dirty socks and dead batteries and putting everything slowly back where it ought to be, neatly folded and washed. It feels incredibly good to just keep the washing machine on a continuous hum and spend all day with my arms buried deep in warm, fresh clothes. Everyone is shifting sizes again so there is more than just a massive amount of dirties to catch up with, there's all kinds of hand-me-down business that needs doing too. I've been back and forth to the storage boxes for each size in the garage and I am also accumulating a box for my sister, Foxy that will go sailing off to Michigan to the littler cousins.

 My aunt and I shared a Face Time chat this morning after breakfast over hot tea for me and coffee for her. What a beautiful thing it is to have technology and also those who love us deeply. I took her on a little mini-tour of the rose garden outside my front door and told her all about the angst of being a wuss camper. She was her usual bubbly self and listened to all the things that tie me up in knots and smiled effusively and told me that it was of no eternal account. And the strange thing about it is that being loved, and listened too meant that her dismissal lifted the tangled net off my shoulders. By the time I hung up I was laughing more and freer, able to shift the guilt and weight of my To Do List and my personal division. Isn't it great what perspective, wisdom and a little well placed love can do?God bless the aunties of the world....

There isn't a lot left to this week and I am almost through with the nesting back into our life. Next I must sit down and begin madly planning things for the school year. Our schedule is a writhing mass, waiting to be addressed but for now, the Schedule Beast can quietly growl. I have had tea and aunting and I on my way to the garden for a ripe fig from our tree with my man....we shall step gently over the two tents that are still spread out, airing in the backyard, between the tipped over tricycle and the two hockey sticks and upended lawn furniture.

Sacred Maternal Brokeness

My husband rocks. Love him so much. He's kind and thoughtful and sentimental to the max but also pushes my edge, is tough as nails to argue with and has a more willpower than anyone I know. Sometimes he says exactly the right thing, I love having anther person there to be stable and think clearly when I am feeling off or melting a little.

Last night one of the boys was having a bedtime meltdown....after having a dinnertime fit....and a pre-Daddy coming home screaming and crying session. I took a break because I couldn't handle it anymore and was on the verge of crying myself. I found A, and shut the door to the room, and told him, " Sometimes I feel like such a broken person that I can't handle the crying anymore. What's wrong with me?"

He laughed, and he hugged me and he told me..."That's your design....remember? Nothing is wrong with you. You're wired to not be able to ignore it. Good motherhood means being bothered by the cries of your little ones. You're perfect."

I cried. And felt totally good and right and seen.

What Do You Call An Egg With No Shell?

Check out this egg that one of my hens laid.

Pretty, right?

Pretty weird!!!!

Its an egg with no shell....just the thin, skin-like membrane that normally lines the inside of the shell. Reading a list of reasons why this could occur isn't particularly enlightening (stress, low calcium, too much salt, immaturity, old age). I am going to bet on stress as the most likely cause. Its hard for me to tell which hen laid this because the shell color is my normal way to tell any given hen's eggs from another but I'd venture to guess Pearl is our most stressed hen after her recent recovery and I'm in the process of putting together a whole new coop with lots more space in the house and the yard because I think all the girls are a little too short on room and that could be stressing any one of them.

Nature is strange and sometimes beyond believing. Time to fire up my drill and get that coop together lest our eggs keep arriving in little skin sacks!

Laugh, And Do Hard Things

Today was one of those ridiculous days when I really believe in Mercury Retrograde. Everyone was out of sorts, everyone keeps getting sick, the animals keep having ailments, the house keeps manifesting ridiculous messes and I can't seem to get enough sleep or coffee! My aunt came over for lunch and after getting up and trying to get her day going her kitchen cupboard doors fell off right in her hands. Seriously, y'all! There's something in the water over here....don't come over....your car might auto- reverse into one of the maple trees curbside while we're visiting!

My mama always says, "Sometimes you either laugh or cry....its always better to laugh." Today was just one of those days when you shake your head and laugh over and over and over. We all have these days, although we mostly have them in a kind of tortured, stress-balled mental privacy. Your spouse hears about it all, your kids see it fall apart but nobody else needs to know. Today my aunt was here and my sister home for lunch in the middle of the mayhem and we had a friend over and then his mama, Nutmeg came and walked into the insanity. There's no hiding that. I was embarrassed. I was more stressed than before. Wowee.

I laughed until I cried when they all walked out and all four of the kids started screaming in unison. Life is sometimes madness. Its good to be human sometimes. To let other people see you at all ends and falling apart and messing up. Its good to let yourself see it. This is reality and vulnerability and on some level this is real strength....to know we don't have it all together and to be able to look that fact in the eye and still see that you matter, that you are a good person and that you are no quitter.

I sat my hysterical, little four year old down on the steps tonight and I told him (once I got him to stop throwing books and screaming) "Hey dude....I know that you are mad because you couldn't solve that problem but listen....you're lucky. You come from a good family. We're people who do hard things. You can do hard things too because you're one of us."

I wanna hide. I wanna work towards perfect and not let myself be seen or else be seen and stop trying. It hurts to let people to see that you don't have it all together and it hurts to keep working when things are hard...to laugh as a way to keep standing when the struggle is real.

I wanna be prophetic in my speaking that ownership statement to my four year old and to myself. Our family is full of people who do hard things. I wanna push for that to be label so badly. I wanna do hard things. I wanna have a messy life, a real life, an honest life and I want to never keep trying...even if it seems insane. Life is crazy, but some of the best stuff comes in the middle of the mania if you can learn to do hard things.

One Mug At A Time

Its one of those early fall days, the leaves haven't started to turn in quantity yet and there's been no frost on the pumpkins or in our case...the plethora of zucchini...but it feels like fall. I'm not sure what it is, some kind of change in the air, the smell in the wind, a yen for spiced coffees, my end of summer cold? Hard to say.

I just have to say that I am having a major, all-day, fantasy of teleporting to a secluded cottage for two in Vermont, complete with roaring fire, wool socks, mug of tea and plaid blankets. I think about it all day long. I have told this to A. I have told my sister. I think I've even told the boys. Maybe its just my sinus headache but I'm having a hard time being patient with my children (especially the ever constant chaos) and I am having another hermit phase where I hide to recover from life. If I can't have my log cabin oasis dream then I can pretend to create it in my own house. So, I am drinking big mugs of warm turmeric milk, taking naps, beginning the fourth Narnia book with the boys and lying low. No big reason to go out, life with keep spinning and I can always get on again when I the post-nasal drip goes away.

Speaking of my fantasy....one thing I need in order to recreate it is firewood, and a chimney sweep. I love that we have a fireplace. I kind of love it more than I can say, honestly. Even a tiny, little house with a fireplace feels perfectly accoutered. This summer, one of the things I did finally get changed was the fireplace. One of the previous owners had incorrectly installed a fireplace insert stove and then the doors had broken anyhow. I got it all cleaned out and called a pair of scrap metal dudes to haul it out of our house. I gave the newly uncovered tile a scrub and now I need a serious chimney cleaning (its never been done in the history of our owning the house) and I also need to stock up a nice pile of firewood.

Our new, no insert, fireplace....all that glossy black tile was hidden before.

 Our neighbors across the street just rented a log splitter and stacked a neat heap of pieces in their backyard, I wanted to go running across the street hollaring, "Oooo! OooO!!! Can I have some too?!?!" I see free firewood all the time on Craigslist....now to figure out how to get it cut. Wonder how much that splitter rents for anyway....

We have nursed a sick chicken back to health. Pearl, our extremely ugly (truth, y'all) little Auracana chicken who had a woman troubles once before was back in the sick kennel in the house with us again this past week. This was my most serious pet doctoring yet. Truthfully, folks...I was freaked out, and scared and had some trouble sleeping. I know that my mom has no trouble harvesting chickens when they don't keep up their end of the bargain but whew! I am not my mama. This was some serious sickness....there was blood, medication, sprays, maggots (maggots, y'all!), special baths, and rubber gloves. It was for real. I feel like I should get a badge for making it through that one. I'm glad to say that Pearl is back to her old self...although still a little thin and not back to laying yet.

Life on the city farm is sometimes intense.

Prep Week

This is the last week before we head off to the Pacific Northwest for some vacation, some work, some exploring, some reuniting with family and lots of memory making. The last week before travel always means lots to do but I also realize that minimalism has a spot in the world of packing and prepping. Laundry needs doing for instance but organizing all our clothes this week as I pack does not need to happen. Packing need to happen but we'll only be bringing a week of clothes. Washers exist. We should make sure that all out hotel reservations are made and written into the schedule but we don't need to freak out about making sure each day is planned to the lapels.  I need to get a couple of basic snacks planned and purchased and prepped for the flight but I don't need to worry about ordering groceries for when we return home yet...that can wait and happen some slow morning in Seattle. 

Trimming the list minimizes the overwhelm of liftoff but it also means there is a little more margin, a little bit of space, a tiny breathing corner. That space is open. It might be when we meet with friends for impromptu play sessions at the park, it might be when I write and paint extra and the boys soak in library books or it might just be time we spend at home not having anywhere to do and not having anything to do. Lolling in the garden, taking naps when we are overtired and fixing things here at home which need our attention all should be allowed to make the list if they clamor.

Been thinking lately about my own philosophy of pushing the edge, living deep and striving that holds hands with my anathema for stress and defeatist talk about being over-busy and living in a time drought. I think its crucial to stay alive, fed, directed, energized and inspired. I also think its important to reject the doctrine of negativity about living a full life. (the belief that we are behind before we even get up in the morning and that there are not enough hours in the day and that we don't have time for the things we wish we could do) I also think its really important to trim the fat in our lives and have boundaries. No, is a good word, we should be masters and mistresses of our own agendas and not live subject to manipulation or guilt in our To Do Lists, we also should learn to strict with ourselves about cutting out things we know we shouldn't be doing. Life is too rich and full to waste on things that are bland and soul killing. As Dr. Suess, The Wise said in one of his books,

"You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.

About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."

With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,

you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street."

So, I'm planning a trip and I'm whipping up the last few things to get done here before we go, and I may feel pushed but I refuse to live in that space, and if you feel like calling, ring me up.

Oregon hasn't seen nothin' yet!  

Zero Insanity For Lent

There is corned beef slowly simmering on the stove although I put it in late enough that I might not actually get to serve it tonight. I feel a sludge of would-be guilt trying to rise up in the back of my throat. I want to be a good mommy. I also almost ran out madly to the store to buy cabbage and potatoes and whatever else seemed important (leeks?) for having a truly Irish St. Patrick's Day dinner.

And then I realized that was insane.

I have made a pact with myself and with God for Lent. No ridiculous woman-pressure insanity.

There are no awards for "perfect" moms who serve all the most Irish foods on St. Patrick's Day and nobody even cares. The dinner doesn't taste better. The boys aren't happier. I am not more organized or more peaceful or more mature or any of the other feelings I am actually trying to cultivate in myself. Its ridiculous. We can see how the corned beef comes out and if it still isn't cooked enough we'll have it for breakfast. We can eat Polish Sausage out of the freezer and it will be quick and all the boys will love it (its one of their favorites). I have a soda bread that I bought that I can serve with extra butter. We can eat carrots (so Irish!) and we'll be fine. We don't need to spend more money on buying last minute festive foods. We don't need to spend more gas on running madly to the store at 6 PM. We don't need to spend our energy or harvest a big crop of stress (mommy yelling at the kids and boys all fussing as I pack them into and then haul them back out the car fro my manic trip to the store) all for the sake of a "festive meal." We can eat broccoli because its green and read the real story of St. Patrick and recite his breastplate prayer that the boys and I are working on memorizing.

I can cut myself free from the out of control madness. I don't need to act like a loony just because I am a woman and I feel pressure to be homemakey and clever and warm and creative. I can be all those things without being insane. I can do all those things while saving money. I can do all of them in smaller, low stress ways. I also don't have to manifest all of those things TODAY for St. Patrick's Day or risk losing my badge. There are no prizes for most harried mom, most overextended woman, most ridiculous self-deception.

There is personal peace.
There is a real legacy and a real man to celebrate in simple ways.
There is home and us and just having a meal at the end of the day.
There is a limit to how much we need fancy and celebration.

I can cut myself free and so can you.  This is my Lenten gift to myself and my family and God. Maybe by sharing it, its my gift to you.

Getting The Lead Out

Having a little bit of a stressful brush with health and safety at our house. Baby Pom had a high lead test at a routine physical and now I am hosting visits from the city health department and painting everything manically. Tip: If you buy an old house and have room to negotiate with the sellers.....stipulate that all painted surfaces be newly painted before the sale.

Too Many Kids

Today was a long day but a good one. I watched my friend, Nutmeg's kids while she had all her wisdom teeth extracted and then spent a little recovery time coming out of anesthesia and icing her jaw. There were six children here all day and just one me. They were actually well behaved and there were no major fights or object breakages or rule violations...and I was still pooped.

I feel so dumb about it. I grew up with six kids. My mom did it without any breaks, no personal painting time, no date nights, no blogging to fire her mind. Just her, and six kids and a giant flock of chickens and no indoor plumbing.

People area CONSTANTLY saying astoundingly admiring things to me in public about my supposed patience and grit and organization (etc. etc.) because I have and astonishing four kids. I always feel kind of silly about that. I'm not that organized (although I'm improving and I do aspire in that direction), I'm not astoundingly patient (although having four kids has been very helpful for developing patience) and I have grit but not enough to make me feel any kind of invincible. I still meltdown and feel like a terrible parent and get overwhelmed and get to my last straw. And honestly, maybe its growing up with six kids but I feel like its not that big of a deal to have four children. I realize its increasingly unusual culturally but its not a superhuman activity. There's nothing beyond the scope about it. Its just four.

And yet, there I was today with six in the house....thinking...."How. How in the how did my mom do this?????" Six kids feels like a lot!!! And I know its only two more and I know that it actually worked logistically today and I know that people do it....but I just felt beyond my edge. For one day it doesn't matter, you can do almost anything for one day. But in regular life? I just kept thinking just the same things people always say to me in line at the thrift store or the grocery store check-out. "Oh my. You six kid people are busy!! How do you do it all?"

How can I feel so self-assured and yet so knocked over a few steps away? Am both humbled and embarrassed. The thing that worries me is, there's no shame in knowing your limits and making careful calls for your own life but there is danger in selling yourself short, and not living up to the challenges thrown in your path. We grow when we climb over the walls we never thought we'd scale not by doing all the things we knew we could all along.

Must Tune In

I know that pain, stress and sickness has a mysterious ability to manifest in the body...even randomly, a little bizarrely. Yesterday, I suddenly got a searing shoulder pain which felt like somebody had walloped me with a sledgehammer.

I've been stressing about things:

•  the baby's high lead test results (old house renovation project bites back)
•  the heat we'd been having
•  my tyrannical to-do list
•  parenting my oldest who constantly tests my limits and my beliefs in my capabilities
•  asserting myself healthily in my marriage
• not painting as much as I'd like
• planning the rest of the summer stuff we mean to enjoy
• my need for connection with friends + my desperation for space and time alone
• keeping up on the summer reading program at the library
• the chaos of organizing and culling through our basement
• the baby's constant pain from teething all his molars at once
• my sister's high-risk pregnancy scares
• etc.

You know, that sort of thing. 

Anyhow...I had a little insomnia (a once in a lifetime thing for me) during the heat wave, and then the baby kept waking up and the big boys went through a week of waking a lot and then I stayed up late by myself to catch up projects and blow off steam.....and then suddenly....

POW. My shoulder went out. 

This morning on the way home from taking A to the train station I was a genuine mess. With a cup of coffee in my system, only two hours after waking up, I was nauseous, impossibly grouchy, aching and so tired I was falling asleep at the wheel on the 10 minute drive back to the house. It turned out the kids dentist appointment was actually tomorrow and the whole day had no commitments. In the driveway, I sat there with my head on the steering wheel and I had an epiphany. I needed rest and space and recuperation and I needed it now. Pretty genius, eh? I know it sounds obvious but it seemed like a real breakthrough in the moment. :)

I set the boys up with a nest of pillows and blankets and a steady stream of gentle Kipper The Dog programming on the floor next to my bed, closed the bedroom door behind all of us to reinforce the cocooning plan and curled up to nurse Pom and myself to sleep. 

I woke up in the afternoon. 

The soft British accents from the boys show in the background, Pom snoring next to me and the quilt all coiled around my jeans and a smile on my face.  I feel so much more crinkly and alive. I am damp wiping down all the floors where there might be paint chip dust, resolving to bathe the baby more regularly, scheduling follow-up blood testing, reading some boosting advice about personal boundaries and loving assertiveness, praying for my sister, scheduling dates with myself and with friends into the calendar, and making piles excess to give away and store. The world will be okay. I will be okay. Sometimes you just have to take a hint when God hits you in the shoulder with a sledgehammer because tapping you on the shoulder didn't seem to really get through. 

Note to Self:  "Must tune in."