This Life Is Kicking My Life's Butt

Once upon a time I was going to write a post about how hard it is for me to catch up and keep up on things right now. That was yesterday. And Monday. And last week. And three weeks ago.

Ha ha ha ha ha, said my life.

I love all (well, almost all) the parts of my life, I really do. I love face wiping and hair doing and story reading. I love dodgeball and rides home and spirited discussions with teenagers. I love reading and re-reading and feeling like a manuscript is better now than when it came to me. I love helping our church move forward, helping my husband fulfill his call, and helping pay the bills.

But sometimes I don't love how all those parts all pile together, all the time.

I hate that my blog is all pictures and no words because I have so many words that it would take days to get them out and no days during which to do so. I hate that when I get behind on things, it takes weeks to feel caught up, if I ever do. I hate that I should be working on being proactive on many things but I'm just keeping up with the here and now.

This life, this schedule, is kind of kicking my butt right now. It's kicking the butt of the life it's supposed to add up to, because it's just a bit too much of a good thing sometimes. And I hate to say that, because there may be no more spoiled rotten kind of complaint in the world than "I have too much of a good thing." But it can feel that way sometimes--like I want all these things in my life, but I can't quite handle them all at once, all the time.

In theory and on paper it's all quite manageable. Sometimes I think about other people with more kids and Real Jobs and Big Important Things to do and I actually feel like quite the royal slacker. Then of course that theory of relativity goes out the window when something comes along to throw off schedules and we all get tired and someone skips her nap and I think Child, if you don't stop shrieking and get off that floor, I'm gonna throw YOU out the window!

(Dear social workers: I would never really throw my child out the window. There's a screen.)

All this to say . . . I'm really glad it's spring break right now. We've had a little bit of a break from the activities. But it is a big, busy weekend for our church search committee (please pray!), and Monday I realized it is going to be miraculous if I can get all the work I need to done before I go to Denver next week--and I need to, because I really need for that to be a vacation.

Our friend and Aaron's old boss would often say that youth ministry is not rocket science. But it's hard. That's how I often feel about what I do: parenting is not rocket science, but it's hard. It's hard because it's constant. It's not hard to understand; it's hard to do, hard to keep up with.

That's how all of life is sometimes. With all these things in my life that I love doing but sometimes still don't want to do, it's not the thing itself that sometimes seems like too much; it's the getting started and the keeping going. It's not the doing, it's the discipline--the doing it even when you don't want to part. That's true of everything worth doing: parenting, marriage, creating, working, being healthy, mentoring, praying, listening. Getting started or pushing through the mundane or difficult parts can be hard, but once you break through, there's a zone of deep reward, satisfaction, and joy.

So I'm digging deep for a little more gumption for the next six days: enough to work hard so I can enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done; to be present in the lives of the teenagers who come to our event and ride in my car; to listen to Spirit guidance above my own desires and fears; to be attentive and loving to my husband and daughter so we are family, not just people living in a house; to not just do but live this life.

And waiting on the other side of this week: Rocky Mountain High. I can't wait.

How do you dig deep and keep going when the constancy of life catches up to you?


P.S.: Sorry this is so long. Finding enough time to edit it would take me another three weeks!

Speed Blog

This is an exercise in speed blogging, because it's the only way any post is going to find its way to publish. I think I have a good five minutes of energy left tonight. Just enough for some bullets:

• We had a youth group bowling/overnighter Friday night. I didn't even stay all night and I felt wiped out all weekend. It's weird now that we have Anna because I can't stay the night and the next morning I have to take her somewhere so Aaron can sleep.
  
• Confirmed: Wii bowling and real bowling use different muscles.
• Also confirmed: all my muscles are out of shape.
• Anna is suddenly in love with the word up and somewhat fond of down.
• Wednesday an unknown number of real estate agents will come through our house on their monthly "broker tour" of new listings. Guess what I did today? Spackled, sanded, painted, de-littered, laundered. Almost forgot "showered."
• Guess what I'm doing tomorrow? Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, dusting, straightening, sorting, folding, and if I'm feeling really crazy and can remember how, maybe even a little ironing. Also, collapsing.
• Happy birthday to my adorable nephew Tobo and to my brilliant sister-in-law Picsis! Anna and I are going to visit them and that guy they live with in Denver over the first week of April, as are my parents. I am looking forward to the vacation, because as always I am delusional enough to think a trip with a toddler might be a vacation, provided we survive the flight. I am sure reality will come crashing down on me in the form of nap refusals and all manner of tantrums, but for now please just let me focus on the concept of a hotel bed and free waffles.
  

Brain's starting to wander = speed blog's up! And I'm shutting down completely in 3 . . . 2 . . . Zzzzzzzzzzz.

Yearly Ritual

This is how I sort and file my papers:

yearly

and with the help of cats.




Happy tax prep season.

My Triannual Emotional Meltdown

True confessions time: Yesterday I was trying to cornrow Anna's hair, which still takes me too long and frustrates me too much because I'm just getting the hang of it, and the movie of choice was not holding her attention. As she started to wander off in the middle of a row again, I yanked her back toward me hard as I barked "Sit down NOW!" loud and mean enough to scare us both to tears.

PARENTING FAIL.

And that was the good day this week.

Okay, I exaggerate; it hasn't been that bad. But it has been a long week.

Last weekend we had a lot of fun time with friends, but it was busy. Saturday we re-perfected the house for the house listing photo shoot. Then I tried to work at the pizza place--hey, it's not bad, it has an ocean view--and a freaking Miley Cyrus birthday party broke out. Nothing nurtures productive concentration like seven-year-old girls prancing around with fake microphones shrieking "I wanna be a rock star!" They are lucky the pinata they smacked five feet away from me did not resemble Ms. Miley herself, or I would have beat the snot out of it myself. Needless to say, I did not get as much done as I'd hoped, and I went into the week tired.

Sunday we had Frontline. Monday we had Young Life. Starting Tuesday Aaron had a problem with his blood thinners, apparently, that had him anxiously waiting to get in for a test and wondering if he should cancel a youth event. And since just the thought of blood and doctors is enough to make me woozy, I was anxious too. I've realized I've been tense and clenching my jaw enough to give me the splitting headache I had Tuesday.

And so it was that on Tuesday, February 24, 2009, 'round about suppertime, I had my Triannual Emotional Meltdown. I am usually quite even-keeled, but at a certain point I break and go batsnot insane. My husband is fortunate that it does not happen more frequently, because it is not pretty. It is almost as ugly as my Semi-Annual Murderous Anger Explosion of Doom.

The EmoMelt consists of a tsunami of tears occurring in unpredictable rise and retreat cycles. Since the tsunami is triggered below the surface of the unstable female, few signs and warnings indicate to the hapless husband that he should shut the heck up and, if possible, retreat to higher ground. The aftershocks may last as few as fifteen minutes or as long as 36 hours. Fortunately, occasional occurrences over the last twelve years have led my husband to develop a fairly sophisticated warning system, leading him to flee the kitchen area with little one in tow, saving him from almost certain death divorce.

The good news is that I did feel better after my EmoMelt, my later hair outburst notwithstanding. But these days are still busy, busy, busy and the future very uncertain, and I sometimes catch myself clenching my jaw or losing my patience or blinking for upwards of five seconds while reading, and I know I'm not yet winning the war for a balanced life and a peaceful soul.

But recognizing an emotional meltdown for what it is and learning to let it come and let it go--knowing that sometimes you'll feel better if you just have that cry instead of trying to hold it all together--for me, sometimes that is half the battle.

The other half is not causing too much collateral damage to unsuspecting family members along the way. I'm thankful I have a husband who gives me plenty of grace (and a wide berth) when I am overwhelmed and a daughter who swiftly demonstrates forgiveness through hugs and kisses and an insistent tug on the finger to go jump on the bed again.

As Lent began this week, I saw again how far removed I am from who I'm supposed to be. But I'm hoping to gain a little ground each day, even if only three steps forward, two steps back.

And I hereby declare: I'm giving up emotional freak-outs for Lent.

Jesus and my husband will be so pleased.

So Tired. Period.

There's this old worship song that starts "I am so tired..." We are singing it--stopping there.

So tired. Period.

Aaron has his usual busyness plus he is preaching this week. Friday is usually his day off but he thinks he still needs to polish his sermon a bit.

I have lots of editing work calling, but I have been cleaning the house top to bottom. Scrubbing cupboards. Touching up paint. Washing windows and sills. Organizing closets. I even found an old oak desk under stacks of paper in my office. Who knew? Archaeological analysis indicates the surface may have sat untouched for two to three years.

I still have to clean up our bedroom and clean out the closet. Blaaaaaah. I will probably do it tonight, though, because a real estate agent is meeting us here tomorrow about getting this place listed. I mean sold! He told me on the phone that sales are down about 45 percent from last year (in volume, not price), so we have to be competitive if we want to sell it, not just list it. And we need to sell. Thus my compulsion to make a good first impression on him and every potential buyer.

Meanwhile, I have determined that we need to either move or have an adoption home study every two years. It's the only way this place gets whipped into shape!

The Pre-Sale Blues

Where have I been all your life? Well, much of the last few days I've been painting a wall. Yep, just a wall. We have this crazy open floor plan and barrel-vaulted (now doesn't that sound fancy?) ceiling, and that big main wall was rather dinged up and dirty. But because much of the house is connected, with the walls and ceiling sloping way up to the loft, to paint the whole room would require scaffolding, patience, and bravery which we do not possess. Thus I decided, after perhaps one too many decorating shows, that just one wall could be painted. It's now an accent wall (now doesn't that sound stylish?).


View from the loft, before/getting ready to paint:


After:

Yes, I hate those black ceiling fans with a burning passion. See scaffolding problem.

This was the only other "big thing" I really wanted to get done before getting our house on the market; the rest is basically cleaning, organizing, touching up paint. But there is quite a bit of that stuff to do and unfortunately my recent flurry of motivated activity was short-lived. I've got to get back to making my mornings productive. But today the phone guys were here (rewiring so our phone and DSL work right when it rains--kind of handy in Oregon) and I spent way too long doing hair, and tomorrow I have an appointment. Not sure when we'll get a real estate agent out here but hopefully soon. Then I will have no choice but to get to work before buyers start coming.

Or I'll be really depressed if they never do. Ack! Let's not think of it.

Making Goals: How Alive Am I Willing to Be?

"You can't make footprints in the sands of time if you're sitting on your butt. And who wants to make buttprints in the sands of time?"

Bob Moawad

As I've already mentioned, last week I wrote up two things: (1) my To-Do List of Doom and (2) ongoing and specific goals for various aspects of my life.

The first is pretty much what it sounds like: things that have to be cleaned up, cleaned out, fixed up, organized, and checked off in order to get our house on the market and get moving toward moving, as well as some paperwork type things like readoption and taxes and--oh joy! welcome back to my life!--FAFSA forms.

My personal goals are a revival of what FunnyWriterMommy and I used to work on together when we had our pseudo-accountability (pseudo because who are we kidding, we were still slackers) and writing times together. We'd taken ideas from a couple books we'd read and made it into this process of writing personal goals for all aspects of our lives: spiritual, physical, relationships, vocation, use of time and money, and so on.

Some of these goals were ongoing every day, week, or month: drink so much water a day, take a sabbath day each week, go on a date with husband once a month. Some were more specific tasks to be done in a certain time frame: this month I will finish reading X book, make gift for so and so, clean closet and donate old clothes, outline X writing project.

Then every quarter we'd get together and admit how much we sucked at meeting our goals.

So I figured, hey, I don't need FunnyWriterMommy around to suck at meeting goals!

Last week I finally actually sat down and thought through those areas of my life and prioritized some goals. And wow, do I have a lot of room for improvement.

I'm trying to trim the fat from my body and our budget.

I need to get the house ready to show, get control of my inbox, and get more productivity out of each day.

I'm confessing that I'm a freelancer who doesn't market, a writer who doesn't write, a youth worker/youth pastor's wife who hardly ever reads the Bible, a stay at home mom who barely plays with her child more days than not.

Hey, I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover, I'm a sinner . . . and I bet you are too. We pick and choose what "disciplines" we adopt. We grin and say everything's fine when we meet those acquaintances in front of the store, even if we're overwhelmed by what we left behind closed doors. We love to be loved, and we sin to be sinners, because the truth is we really like that truism that everyone has their weakness, because we really love having ours.

The thing is, a discipline is not a discipline if you only do it when you feel like it. That's a hobby. As my crazy drill sergeant math teacher would bark, "Discipline is doing what you are supposed to do, when you are supposed to do it, even if you don't want to." It's that last part we all make an art form out of denying.

But confession is good for the soul.

Discipline is good for the life.

I confess I've had too little of each, but I'm starting over again.

And I'll need you to help me do that again too. Again, and again, and again.

Because to fail at my goals? I can do that on my own. But to move forward, I can't walk alone. And I want to live a life that's not just keeping up but really going somewhere, whether I can see what's ahead or I'm feeling stuck in between.

"How alive am I willing to be?"*


I wanna see miracles
To see the world change
Wrestled the angel for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing 'Spirit, take me up in arms with You'
And you're raising the dead in me
___________________________________

It was a beautiful letdown
When I crashed and burned
When I found myself alone unknown and hurt
It was a beautiful letdown
The day I knew
That all the riches this world had to offer me
Would never do . . .

Easy living, not much like your name
Easy dying, you look just about the same
Won't you please take me off your list
Easy living please come on and let me down

We are a beautiful letdown,
Painfully uncool,
The church of the dropouts
And losers and sinners and failures and the fools
Oh what a beautiful letdown
Are we salt in the wound
Let us sing one true tune

lyrics from Switchfoot, "Twenty-Four" and "Beautiful Letdown"

*quote from Anne Lamott

It Burns, It Burrrrrrnses!

Warning: If you are allergic to Visine, don't put it in your eye.

How will you know, you ask? Ah, funny thing about that--you can't know until you've already put it in your eye.

But don't worry. It's only a scratchy, burning sensation and lids swollen like you've been crying for hours (with one eye).

Take it from me, ol' Puffyface McRedEyedWetzel, who found this out last night and still looks like she was punched in the face.

Arrrrrrgh.

Take That, To-Do List!

Accomplished this week:

• had new carpet installed in A's room, touched up paint
  
• bought paint to transform dining/living wall from banged-up to fashionable accent wall
• swept and thoroughly mopped wood floors for the first time in...never mind
• washed rugs
• dusted and changed lightbulbs in crazy-high ceiling fans
  
• removed paint spatters on outside of crazy-high window
• changed look of high ceiling corners and high window from Haunted Mansion to non-embarrassing
• scraped half-inch dust coating from top of kitchen cupboards
• took down glassware that was stashed up high and boxed up rarely-used glassware
• moved seasonal and storage boxes out of closet
• taped up boxes ready to store and put them in garage
• wrote deposit check to Western Theological Seminary

Holy crap. I think we are actually moving and going to seminary.

Aaaaaaiiiiiiiih!

We Pffffft!

Along with tackling my To-Do List of Doom--yes, I have created an actual document with this title--I have been working on putting some structure back into my life so I can meet some personal goals and generally life the kind of healthy, balanced life I say I want to live.

I intended to get some goals written in time to make January 20 my "new year" day, since I was so far from thinking about the upcoming year on the 1st and the 20th seemed like a fresh start, new beginning, yada yada yada kind of a day, but of course I didn't have my goals list to tell me to do this by then, so it didn't get done. I have to write it down to cross it off, you know. I'm like Frog. Or was it Toad? Whichever.

But last week I did start ramping up my Fit in Four program.

Also known as Yes We Can Be in Better Shape Four Years from Now Than We Are Today.

Also known as logging off and standing up and stretching, walking, dancing, or otherwise putting my lazy booty in motion a few times a week.

Yesterday I had to make an unscheduled trip to BigPort to get a large screw removed from Aaron's flat tire. But the inconvenience was worth it because I was able to procure our Wii Fit! I'd seen them in the store right before Christmas but not since. Regardless, merry Christmas to us (and thank you Christmas money-givers)!

With my Little White Thing You Stand On I can now entertain myself with such amazing new games as Standing On One Foot On A Board, Imagining Skiing Down A Hill While Actually Standing On a Board, and Running In Place With Imaginary Friends. All are sure to help my friends burn many calories as they laugh uncontrollably at how much my "moves" resemble uncontrolled full-body muscle spasms.

In all seriousness, though, do not believe the Wii Fit BMI Lies! The Wii Fit is notoriously prone to wildly swinging measurements, and BMI is not necessarily a good measurement of health anyway. Case in point: we have a friend who is training for a bodybuilding competition. He could beat me up with one pinky and has about 4 percent body fat. The Wii Fit says he's morbidly obese. Come on now. Is he insane for eating only chicken and potatoes for five months so some people can judge his buffness? Maybe. (If I ever do something like that, you should check me in somewhere, because I'll have lost my mind.) Is he in any way fat? NO. BMI should be called B.S. Lie!

So while I'll probably check my stats out of curiosity from time to time, I'm not going to put too much stock in them. This thing is a game, not a doctor. And the last thing I want is my little girl stepping on there and internalizing the insult of this inanimate object treating her like she's an object that should be resized to match some one-size-fits-all standard, especially while she her body is still developing (which is why BMI shouldn't be applied to kids). I'm sad to think how many young people may feel even worse after trying something that's just supposed to be about making moving a bit fun.

Wii Fit? Yay! We fat, according to you? We say pffft!

Time for me to give it a try, before Aaron gets home to laugh at me, and then make some brownies to go with our CSI-watching. One can't overhaul a lifestyle too completely!

The Weeklong Reentry

I think I am finally coming out of my post-vacation reentry fog. It always takes a few days after a long trip for me to unpack and unstack (because when I unpack, I stack, but eventually all the piles are in the way too), get back into a routine, and feel un-fogged enough to actually comprehend what people are paying me to read. Considering we got home last Wednesday night, I'm not setting any records for getting right back to it this time.

Thursday we kicked the tree to the curb porch; Friday I organized toys and we had the downstairs of this house spotless highly presentable. Then we celebrated Anna's birthday with friends, and inevitably there were presents, which meant more toys and paper strewn about for days (because that's how we roll). And dishes--who does dishes? Okay, we should. More often. So downstairs had to get re-cleaned-up over the last couple days too. Totally worth it for birthday fun, of course!

Meanwhile, upstairs? No clear path to, well, anywhere--suitcases and laundry and piles of Christmas goodies and wrapping paper were all standing around like Stonehenge reorganized itself into an obstacle course. Only today did I finish emptying the suitcases and put them and the wrapping paper away. I still have piles, but at least they're all in the office half of the room, where they're being made to feel at home by all the permanent resident piles of paper.

The sad thing is that this feels like a metaphor for my life sometimes--an obstacle course of messes I can't get motivated to start dealing with. Well, okay, that's a bit over the top. But until today's improved productivity, I have been dragging pretty hard since we got home. Tired. Unmotivated. Sugar addicted and sugar crashing. Unable to remove butt from couch in front of football. Depressed by thoughts of job and housing markets. Really depressed by thoughts of health insurance costs.

I hope and think it has been mostly due to getting back into the groove and caught up on sleep and urgent tasks. I did feel better and get more done today, and once I get some work off my plate I hope to take some time to take stock of what needs to be done before the Great Uprooting of 2009 and, more importantly, what my life should look like now.

There was a time when an inspiring yet practical friend and I got together quarterly to make and share goals: spiritual, relational, physical, and practical to-do list goals. I am badly in need of such an inventory. And an accompanying butt-kicker to make me accomplish all roughly 40 percent of them.

As much as there is to do, I think my biggest problem is figuring out where to start. But also I think I know the answer: I need to start by not trying to do it all. I need to start by stopping, by sabbathing. By taking time each day to listen to and love and be loved by my Lord again instead of always milling around in the aimlessness of figuring out how I can do and figure out all the things that I can never do or know.

All I need is everything.

Here's to grace in 2009.

Crack(er)ing Me Up

In a stunning (for me) exercise of foresight, I did my grocery shopping today for Thanksgiving and beyond. Anna was kind of a weenie in the cart when she got bored, but a relative angel at the checkout, so we'll call it a wash. I don't know why the Goldfish crackers which were sheer heaven last shopping trip were cast away with a howl this time, but whatever. She's two like that sometimes.

Yesterday, in fact, she was having some kind of irrational cracker spaz-out before dinner. She asks for crackers or Goldfish a lot, and I was going to let her have some as I was getting dinner ready. I even let her choose. Power to the two-year-old people and all that. Goldfish, graham cracker sticks, or regular crackers--she pointed at the regular crackers and surprisingly did not demand the opposite .75 seconds later.

However, there was an opened sleeve of the same crackers on the counter already, so I gave her one of those. NO WAY. CRACKERS is what I demand, you tricksy mama! THOSE CRACKERS, FROM THE BOX. I tried to show her that they're the same. That one's not open; this one is. See, I'll demonstrate how good they are.

NO YOU WILL NOT, I WILL SMACK IT AWAY FROM YOU TOO, CRACKERS FROM THE BOX NOW OR I WILL DIEEEEEEEEE HERE ON THIS KITCHEN FLOOR! CRAAAAAAACKERRRRRRRRR!

A tad dramatic sometimes, that one.

I tried to get her in her chair and started on some food--there were actual tears by now. Pasta and cracker were rejected. Fishsticks were grudgingly accepted since they arrived with a side of banana. When all else fails, resistance to the banana is futile. And it works as a gateway drug to fishsticks and crackers. Even crackers from a previously opened sleeve.

Whatever, girl. You can have your crackers moods; I have the bananas. And she who holds the bananas will always be victorious.

Neither Amish Nor Friendly

Amish Friendship Bread is neither Amish nor friendly. Discuss.

Okay, I'll start.

First of all, I'm not even sure it's bread.

Second, when did the Amish start using Ziploc bags and boxed instant vanilla pudding?

Third, giving it is not a sign of friendship. It's more like a curse. Every ten days it multiplies to four times its original size. I guess I am supposed to make three friends a week, because I ran out of my original friends. Or we're not friends any more after I infected their houses with this stuff. It's like giving them Gremlins.

Fourth, due to the inclusion of the Amish Boxed Instant Pudding (see point 2), should one attempt to get ahead of the multiplication curve (see point 3) by making a double batch (who the heck has 8 Ziploc bags and friends to spare?) and in the process accidentally omit some ingredient . . . such as, say, apparently, flour . . . one will have invented the newly trademarked Amish Charcoal Cement. It is a lovely substance, with an oily, goopy center cradled in an impenetrable coal crust. Even after five days of soaking, scientists have been unable to completely eradicate it from the pan.

I think I would like to go back to banana bread. Can someone stop by with a metal spoon and an exorcist?

Lame Update of the Week

I have finally kicked my cough, though once I finished some rush work on Sunday, I still was low on productivity. Somehow I was still in a fog this week, and Wednesday I was an emotional wreck. Finally yesterday I was able to make progress on my Young Life talk for Monday and some work. Really really need to work lots this next week before the cash flow issues get out of hand.

We got a gianormous TV this week. I mean really ridiculously big. Someone from church was looking to get rid of it and offered it to us. Does my husband ever turn down free electronics? Of course not. And when did he start moving out the old TV and messing with all the wires and receiver? Oh, on Tuesday, just as East Coast polls were closing. NOT COOL. I started getting twitchy watching static as Ohio was about to be called, but he got things plugged in in time for everything important. Waltino was here for a while helping with the TV, the eating of chili, and the exchanging of celebratory terrorist fist jabs (offered for Aaron's bemusement).

No word yet on Waltino's bid for write-in mayoral runner-up. Perhaps it's in a recount. We concede nothing.

Tomorrow our super TV will hopefully bring us the sight of the Lions' first win--though I have stopped holding my breath and almost stopped caring. Unbelievable, I know. Call it a case of "You have to laugh at yourself, because you'd cry your eyes out if you didn't."

Speaking of the Lions losing . . . my mom is coming out for Thanksgiving, only two and a half weeks away.

Meanwhile we are missing my cousin's wedding in Florida and the funeral of one of Aaron's aunts, in Michigan. Of course both families would like to have us present and we would love to go, but that's not remotely practical or possible at this time. The un-joys of living far away. We send our thoughts and prayers.

That's all the update I can muster right now--I should be working.

Welcome to Camp Wannahockaloogie

I have the sickies today. Started with a funny tickle in the throat--allergy/sinus drainage thing. By last night I was feeling hot and cold and blah, didn't sleep well, had a couple nasty coughs this morning.

I am actually feeling a bit better now, although I haven't achieved any real productivity yet. Maybe I will be able to keep my voice--sometimes I start to lose it with this kind of thing, and I need it for the busy days ahead, including canvassing, Frontline, and homecoming week festivities such as Powder Puff.

Time for some soup and then I really do need to get a lot of work done today.

So This Is What the Weeks Look Like Now?

Yikes.

We are moving full tilt into insanity season around here. At least one of us has had something going on every night for ten days straight, and it's the same through next week with the exception of Friday. Young Life is starting up, Frontline is going strong, there's all kinds of school events, and these days we both have church meetings too. (Added bonus: Aaron's back is killing him.) I am trying to be organized by planning meals ahead so it can be something easy on busy nights, so I don't have to cut into my work time to get dinner ready, but I think we'd better get used to the kitchen looking like this:


Okay, clearly we're already used to this. But I do try to draw the line at cultivating mysterious fungi.

Anna was clingy and whiny and grumpy as all get-out today and I hope it's not because she's been with so many different sitters lately. I think she was tired and is getting another tooth. But Mamaaaaaa she says. Maaahahahahaaahmaaaa, noooooo, don't go to the bathroom without me, I'll diiiiiiiieeeeeeee.

It's really not her most charming mood.

Of course we took her with us for a YL meeting and she could not have been happier to run around and dance and play with everyone. You'd never know she'd been grumpy, unless you'd been in the van ten minutes earlier when she thought we weren't going to be joined in five seconds by Daaahaahaahdaaaaa.

What is this? Some sort of anxiety or missing us, or just a moody toddler?

I hope that if she's better rested tomorrow and I give her some extra attention if she needs it she'll be more mellow. Even extroverts need some quiet time. Or their mothers do, anyway!

Meet Our New Babysitter

Yeah, I know. I can almost see her getting dumber. Or at least losing the ability to speak in first person. Elmo make baby talk annooooooooying!


But she just might be spending some time with this monster (heh) this week because I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO READ A CALENDAR. I thought I was going to be really busy with work and things this week. Then today I realized that I miscalculated a deadline and October starts this week and I'm INSANELY SWAMPED. I have a ton of work to do and Aaron and I both have youth and church meetings and events scattered all over the place. D'oh!

And yes, I know I said back in the happy easy theoretical pre-toddler theoretical parenting days that I wanted to keep her off TV until she turned two (as recommended). We made it to about 16 months, okay? Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, as a bonus, I'm picking up a few Spanish words. It's like going back to escuela.

But do they have a course in calendar reading comprehension?

Steeped in Summer

I'm hoping to get a little extra work done this morning since I have a teenager here hanging out with Anna. The great thing about teenagers is that they will work for food.

Summer weather has returned after strange thunderstorms last week and too much fog on the beach all summer. When it's too hot in the Valley the moisture is pushed to the coast. But in winter when it's colder there it will pull it through so they get the fog and we get sun. Or as we say, it's beautiful here because the Valley sucks. Ha!

Last week I did walk the bridge on a beautiful morning and yesterday the beach was fantastic. Anna and I waded in the water and ran from the waves. She loves to be chased and to run even if she's not. She'll run around the house from wall to couch to wall: Run run run run run SAFE! we say, and she laughs and runs to slam into her next safe base. I see a future in baseball as a pinch runner.

Oh, but what I said about infrequent bathing? Does not apply on beach days—she had sand everywhere.

Small price to pay for life by the bay!

Ketching Up

On the child front, the next tooth has finally broken through. It's a whopper. She did wake up at 2:00 a.m. and refuse to go back to sleep the other night, though. How is it that when you plan to get up early and be productive, that's when they keep you up half the night? They know. I don't know how, but they know.

Anna's been quite successfully eating all table food too, although I have to use up the mystery cubes that are in the freezer somehow. Fortunately she doesn't know that toast isn't usually spread with mushed veggies. I think I really just needed to get some more kid-friendly foods on hand—well, I had to get any food on hand, because we were down to no cereal, bread, mac and cheese, or toilet paper, and that is NOT COOL. If she only eats a couple kinds of veggies right now, so be it. It'd be nice if she'd eat more of our meats, but there are enough others she eats. I got some frozen chicken nuggets and she likes those and pretty much anything with ketchup.

Did you know they say ketchup is one of the things you should buy organic because it's where many people, especially kids, get a large portion of their veggies and organic has 57 percent more lycopene? True story. Not that I do it.

Tonight a friend who knows the new-ish neighbors we've only caught glimpses of is introducing us to them. What can I say, we need to be set up because we're not very good at meeting our neighbors although we're still desperate stalkers of anyone who looks like they might be under 35 and able to hold a job other than a certain kind of illegal distribution. So I've been busy today making iced tea and brownies and pico de gallo—or as my husband adorably calls it, pico de mayo—and decluttering toys and chasing down dust bunnies. Because if you can't keep up with the Joneses, you can at least offer them a place to sit that's not covered in cat hair.

Twenty Twenty Twenty-Four Hours to Go...

I WANNA BE SEDATED.

Just kidding. This week with Aaron gone has not been that bad--but I am ready to have him back. Anna was very good until today when she had some inexplicable crying/crankypantsness. She apparently was quite freaked out by the sight of me dusting--perhaps I haven't done it in a year?--and was shocked by my timely removal of Easter decorations. As in, WHERE ARE YOU TAKING THOSE BUNNIES? NOOOOOOOO!

But tonight we had a wonderful dinner at friends' gorgeous house and rolled on their amazing lawn. Few things are better in life than rolling on thick green grass. Strawberry pie may be one of them.

We will go to Portland Monday night to fly to Michigan early Tuesday. That leaves little over 48 hours after Aaron gets home to deal with all his sweaty laundry, pack, prep for the housesitters, make sure bills are paid and cloth diapers are all clean, make a bank and Dramamine run, etc.

Just get me to the airport, put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry, before I go insane . . .

. . . and agree to go paintballing Friday afternoon. Yes, freshman and sophomore girls are going to shoot balls of paint at me in the middle of the woods. And you know I'm a target since I'm old, though I have the advantage over Bubbles for being (1) not as old as him and (2) not their eighth grade media teacher upon whom they'd like to exact revenge. Still, what was I thinking?

I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain
Oh no no no no no

I'll let you know how the bruises look and if I can still walk.

Just put me in a wheelchair, get me to the show . . .
I wanna be sedated!