Might listen

K took Sputnik to school to share with her class of 9 fifth graders. Sputnik is the larger of our two cats but his meow is precious: high pitched and tiny, as you'd expect from a newborn kitten. He missed his sister and wasn't sure what to think of the car ride in a crate by himself. He let us all know how he felt by his dramatic vocalizations.

K responded quickly and gently, "I hear you, little kitty. I'm listening with all of my might."

May more of us respond this way to the people we encounter every day.

The prettiest sounds

Just before Christmas in 2014 Elaine went with me to the music store and we came home with the tiniest violin. She was five. One morning in the spring of that year, she woke up asking for violin lessons.

"Why?" I asked.

Her response was always the same, "They make the prettiest sounds."

I waited to pursue lessons for her because she was FIVE and if this was going to be a passing fad, I didn't want to jump on board, much less throw money at it. But in the fall, as she began kindergarten, she still bugged me about violin lessons.

She turned six a month after her first lesson and her teacher said, "I've never seen a more beautiful bow hand on a child so young. And her ear? She's a natural."

I wasn't going to argue. Melodies have always come quickly and easily to Elaine. She is a deep feeler and deeply expressive. The violin is a perfect fit.

Elaine's love for the violin does not (always) translate to a love for daily practice. I insisted upon it. The money spent on lessons would NOT be wasted! We clashed. Finally I told her that if she still wanted to quit violin lessons at the end of the school year (by now she was nearly done with 1st grade) then I would let her quit. Until then, however, there would be absolutely no discussion.

June arrived. I approached her hoping I had read her correctly those few months back.

"Well Elaine," I began, "school is out. What do you think about violin? Should I tell Ms. Nancy that you want to stop lessons?"

She thought. While she thought, I thought. I had done something pretty risky, leaving it up to her, but I also knew this was necessary. She had to own it. It's so much more rewarding when you own it. Plus, if she chooses it, then she can't be so bitter about me "forcing" her. This would be HER decision and I wanted her to make it herself.

She cocked her head and looked up at me, as if trying to read my thoughts about this whole situation, "Wellllll..." she finally said, "I guess I'll keep going." Ah-HAH! I thought in exuberant victory, Mom wins again!

But really, she's the winner.

She's seven now, and can play all the songs her elementary school band (plus strings) plays. And band is only for 4th and 5th graders.

Tonight she asked to listen to music at bedtime. I picked up my iPad and prepared to pick a kids music station.

"Actually, Mommy," she said, "can you look for something with violins?"

I certainly could.

Good, better, best

Sometimes I have a day in which many wonderful, good things happen and many awful, terrible things don't happen. I move through the day's hours and reach the close without "real life" ever seeming to catch up.

Today was a day like that.

I slept in; I ate donuts for breakfast.
My husband volunteered to take both kids back-to-school clothes shopping while I took my new MacBook Air to the library.
The weather is mild and a baby cucumber is growing in my garden.
I had sushi for dinner.
Now I'm watching the olympics and eating ice cream.

Honestly

The good people of In N Out can be depended upon to ask how you're doing before they take your order. I've always thought it big of them and usually attempt to return the favor. As if either of us will say how we really are. It's a question I've answered with varying degrees of honesty; sometimes strangers can't handle the truth. (Or they look at you oddly for honestly communicating it.) Tonight at 9:58 pm, I wanted to respond, "mentally worn out and completely empty" but instead I smiled and placed my order. (Number three with onions, ketchup instead of the spread with root beer for in the car.)

Arriving home thirty minutes prior, after four hours of intense interaction with people, felt like a bombardment of needs. Superman wanted my opinion on which clothes to donate. Val wanted to talk about her chapped lip. Elaine wanted me to sing her bedtime song. I met the needs as best I could and then met a need of my own by driving away by myself. I didn't listen to the radio.

I didn't even play Ingress.

I wouldn't trade the two groups I'm a part of on Mondays for anything, but man they can take a toll on me. I'm ON ON ON (all GOOD GOOD GOOD) but when I get home I seriously need some OFF OFF OFF time.

---

Our family is looking for a new church home. I've always enjoyed observing people but I find observing people at church particularly interesting.

I know the observing goes both ways, especially in smaller gatherings, like the one we attended yesterday.

I tried not to care too much when Elaine spent most of the opening singing time with both fingers firmly (and not inconspicuously) planted in her ears. When I leaned over and quietly inquired as to the reason for her turning two deaf ears, she met me with a violent scowl and proceeded to say (loudly, so as to be heard over the song) "I'm mad because no one gave me breakfast." I was off the hook because I left the house before she was awake, but I wondered what else she told the Sunday school class teacher about her morning (which apparently had not gone well!)

Once upon a time...

...I had a blog. Turns out, I still do and I still pay for my domain name, as I was recently reminded via an email that informed me payment is due again.

I told this guy (http://bobhamp.com) (what, I can't hyperlink in the Blogger iPad app?!)  that I wouldn't ignore the urge to write whenever it next struck, and, although I've technically remained true to that I've also kind of cheated and used Twitter. 

I was reading back over my blog and I miss writing. It's very worthwhile, for my own sake; if others happen to get something out of it as well, all the better, but it's primarily for me. My creative outlet.

I'm a bit rusty.

I hit the ground running (the couch, dragging) this morning at **checks Jawbone UP data** 6:23 am when a tremendous THUD announced to everyone in the house that Val was awake and had exited her (top bunk) bed. Within minutes I heard voices from the guest/computer/sewing (read: only remaning) room which announced to everyone in the house that EG and ED were also awake. They had the luxury of being driven to our house late last night while they slept. Their father had the UN-luxury of driving (and not sleeping) AND waking up early with them.

I followed Val out to the family room and whisper-pleaded with her to please quietly watch Jelly Telly until her sister and cousins woke up (praying they were still mostly asleep.) Val had an understandable mini melt down (as I'm sure any bonafide morning person would understand) saying that she hates being the only one awake and she's so lonely and why can't anyone BE with her?! I gazed out into the darkness and sighed.

We compromised and I snuggled with her under a blanket on the couch. She watched Jelly Telly and I devoted myself to looking as asleep as I possibly could, hoping to trick my body into actually resting.

Five minutes later we were joined by two cousins and two minutes after that I surrendered the blanket and got up to make breakfast. 

My phone failed to alert me (I failed to turn on the sound after turning it off so I could more-sneakily take pictures of cousins making memories) to observie Pi Day proper, so we assembled a minitue or two past 3/14/15 9:26:53 for some silly selfies commemorating the event.

The dads bicycled 67 miles of winding, winding roads and returned red as lobsters and exhausted.

We spent much of our day driving those winding roads to meet them at the half-way point with water, gatorade, watermelon and oranges.

Had I known the extend of the winding and how long it would take us, I would have asked for someone else to deliver rest-stop essentials. EG sucummbed to carsickness on the drive back. Elaine had a few close calls, but managed to keep everything down. 

Everyone was more than happy to play outside upon finally arriving home. We ate dinner outside and enjoyed ice cream cones for dessert. 

The cousins left and I said a prayer for their exhausted father who, once again, had to drive instead of blissfully pass out out in his car seat. (Adulting is no joke!) I rounded up my journal, Bible, pack of pens, and knitting, said goodbye to my exhausted husband and tired girls as they began their Saturday-night "Daddy Daughter Night" tradition. I walked a mile or so to Panera Bread. There I sat, doing absolutely nothing, for close to fifteen consecutive minutes. 

As my energy returned, I got a text from someone who is planning to tattoo my arm tomorrow. The crazy thing is I have yet to see exactly what he came up with, mostly because he hasn't exactly come up with it yet. This is very much not at all how I am accustomed to making permanent decisions, and I told him so, but I'm curious to go along and find out whatever I find out tomorrow, step by step. If everything is a go, then I will. If it is not, then I will not. We have been talking for weeks and I have seen his sketches so I'm not completely in the dark, but still. It kinda feels like it.

Another of my artist friends has a painting of which I exclaimed, "there is nothing I don't love about this!" I hope that's my reaction to the tattoo sketch I see tomorrow. It'll make things a lot easier.

Testing

I'm using the Blogger app on my phone to post. I want to see how it does with photos. 

This is an example of the kinds of pictures I text my brother. He was making me a cutting board and I had told him I wanted it to be about the span if my hand (a tape measure was not handy. I need to memorize the dimensions of my hands and forearm, for that matter.) Then I ran across a cutting board at my in-laws house that was just right. 

Regenerate

It's times like these I'm suddenly struck with the urge to make an Insta-book out of my 2013 instragram pictures.

Half the house is in boxes and the other half is disheveled. Tomorrow we pack to go to the mountains for the changing of the years. We'll get the keys to our new (rental) house on Friday!

---

It has occurred to me that this past year has been very probably the best, most comfortable year for me in my role as "stay at home" mom. Is it a coincidence that it also is the year both kids have been at school and/or preschool most days of the week? I think not.

Caring for (very) small children does not appear to be in my naturally-acquired skill set. Both times I've done it rather poorly and have fallen apart rather spectacularly. While it's true that there were many other rather large stressors at those times in my life, I highly doubt that even if I were to have the most ideal circumstances surrounding another pregnancy and birth that it would be possible without medication.

Which makes me sad. However, I don't want to put myself or my family through anything like my postpartum experiences again.

I'm not on medication now and I (usually) feel just fine! This makes me hopeful and wistful and I've briefly entertained the thought of another child.

---

A few months ago I was shopping at our local grocery store. A lady joined me by the spinach. Her tiny infant son was in a car-seat she had placed in the shopping cart and he began to fuss. She began gently rocking the seat but he didn't settle down. Instead he began screaming that ever-so-distinctive newborn cry.

My reaction surprised even me. I wasn't expecting to feel anything as strongly as I did. I almost had to leave the store. An avalanche of feelings suddenly dumped into my awareness, triggered by that crying. My heart was racing; I felt panicky and fearful, desperate and frantic, helpless and terrified.

Sanity was a difficult thing to maintain during those first few months of a screaming Elaine and a wide-eyed, sensitive Val. Our home had been and was still endlessly under construction and chaotic and I wasn't sure whether we'd be able to short sell it or have to go into foreclosure. Superman was on the break-in phase at his new job and largely unavailable in every way. I could barely function and then I couldn't function.

It was very hard.

All of it came rushing back as I stood there by the produce, listening to this newborn do what lots of newborns do - cry.

I quickly got the remaining items on my list and then hurried to the car. I closed the door and began to cry, too.

---

At dinner tonight Val said she wishes she could have a little brother. I told her I wish that too. I know God hears us. I want to hear Him. Little brothers can come in more ways than one.

Once more, with feeling!

You know what's really hard for me? Availability. Especially emotional availability.

It's a struggle for me to remain in the present moment and be available to others in it.

I'm unsettled by my inability to settle. My mind is always ahead, off to the next thing, the next event or conversation (or maybe still on the last one.) Sometimes the next thing is only playing a game on my phone or sometimes my mind is just plain not there. Is it self-centered of me? Self-focused? A sign I haven't cared for my introverted self completely enough? Is it merely a habit? Something I'm accustomed to? Copying what I've experienced and am familiar with?

I'm uneasy if I perceive myself to be TOO present. I fear not being in control and the vulnerability that comes with letting whatever comes in the moment, come. I've got other moments to plan for and other situations to prepare to control. The "other shoe" will drop, dontcha know, and any time I spend enjoying the moment will be foolish, when I could be bracing/planning/protecting myself for the impending doom of that dang shoe.



You know how Elaine lives? In the moment. Her days are full and complete and wondrous. She is there, really THERE, for everything. I'm enthralled by it and a little envious.

But it's safer for her, I tell myself, she's not an adult yet. She doesn't have all this stuff to stay on top of and prioritize and keep track of. Oh to be a child...

...right? Because grown-ups can't be free and delighted by the good moments and sorrowful during the sad, right? Grown-ups have to be steeled and protected with their guards up, right? A child-like adult doesn't seem like something to be desired, right?

I guess it makes sense, a little bit, but certainly not all the time.



I'm so uncomfortable with so many of my feelings. Present moments can be so scary with the feelings. I sometimes get the sense that certain feelings are hiding throughout my day, waiting to accost and overwhelm me... and that I won't have any control.

So I watch Elaine and I learn. It's a gift to me.

Sewdone

I bought a sewing machine last spring. Last week I finally attended the class to teach me the basics. It was informative. There is so much information still to learn! It's fun to be at the beginning of a learning curve. I like to learn. (I like to learn the things I pick to learn.)

Thus far I've sewn a skirt and some curtains to cover up the cat litter box housed under the bathroom sink.

---

I hate being misunderstood. I sometimes think that when someone appears to misunderstand me, that it's a failure on my part to explain properly. However some people probably will never "understand" in the way I'd like them to no matter how explicitly I explain. This is sometimes maddening. This is something I struggle to let go of. I can't change other people nor should I be able to! Their opinion is their business; no sense in letting it ruin my day (or evening, or hour.)

Things happened today that I thought I could safely bring to a group I regularly meet with tonight. I shared what was going on and was stunned to hear their take on the situation; they didn't seem to share my opinion that it was a big deal! Part of me never wants to return and part of me says, so what, people will think what they think. I know what's true and so does God and why can't that be enough? I guess maybe the disappointment was that I had an expectation that they would support and pray for me. It's really been messing with my head, though, because now I'm questioning myself, wondering if maybe I'm overreacting? I really don't think I am - and neither do the other adults in the situation!

I don't know. I just want to be free of the constant mulling over my brain is doing. Turn it over. Let it go. Keep on acting how I choose to act and let it be okay for the ladies who I see once a week to think and believe whatever they want. I just hate being misunderstood, if I was. If I wasn't then I'm even more mad.

I feel like I don't become truly angry about very much, but this situation had to do with my daughter and I feel my responses were completely appropriate and justified.

Alright fine, God. Take it. I don't want it. I hoped writing would help.

On Sunday I quite unintentionally picked up my girls from church while wearing spandex. The day after that I found myself grocery shopping in my bathing suit (tank) top. This wasn't exactly how I imagined myself behaving in my thirties.

My depression radar has gone up over the past couple weeks. I feel lethargic and stoic and energyless and my self-care has lagged. Then it occurred to me that I may just be tired. Superman and I have gone on many bike rides together, each one longer than the last, as we (meaning I) prepare for the 34 mile ride (50K!) we'll do together on Saturday.

Speaking of depression, this September has gone much more smoothly than last year. I'm thankful.

Eyes to see

H, cheerful: I can't wait to be dead.

Me, trying to exude a calm curiosity: How come?

H, happily: Because then I will see God!

K, trying to comprehend why someone can't wait to be dead: God?!

H, matter-of-fact: Yeah, you know, the one who loves me?

On doing

"I CAN'T!"

Val has been saying this frequently, before exerting any sort of true effort.

I've been responding to this in a variety of ways and lately settled with a simple, "You're right. Until you change that belief, you won't be able to. You won't even be able to find out if you can."

I need to hear my words, too.

Journals are for babies

It was dollar day (and by "day" they mean "any non R-rated movie showing at 10 am) at the movie theater today. The girls watched The Lorax while I (rather smugly) read a book on my precious Kindle Paperwhite.

Mark Twain happened to comment on the topic of keeping a journal in The Innocents Abroad.

"At certain periods it becomes the dearest ambition of a man to keep a faithful record of his performances in a book; and he dashes at this work with an enthusiasm that imposes on him the notion that keeping a journal is the veriest pastime in the world, and the pleasantest. But if he only lives twenty-one days, he will find out that only those rare natures that are made up of pluck, endurance, devotion to duty for duty's sake, and invincible determination may hope to venture upon so tremendous an enterprise as the keeping of a journal and not sustain a shameful defeat."

 I brightened considerably. I have been writing many things in many journals for many more days than twenty-one. I have pluck and endurance! Devotion to duty and invincible determination! Mark Twain said so!

---

On our way down to the apartment park my girls passed a man going up the stairs. I heard him and the girls exchange hellos and then he continued up and saw me. He's a downstairs neighbor of ours and has Down's Syndrome. He asked me a question and I had difficulty understanding so he repeated it. His tone was concerned and worried. He wanted to know if the girls, "were my babies?" He was relieved to hear they were. I was so touched that he's looking out for kids who didn't seem to be with an adult.

Yes, they're my babies.

"Why did he call us babies, Mom?" Katherine wanted to know. She was prepared to take offense. She is NOT a baby and was lately quite pleased NOT to be required to wear a life jacket at the water park. Heaven forbid people see a life jacket on her and erroneously conclude she can't swim. She was one inch over the 4-ft-tall requirement and thrilled. (I have a 4-ft. six-year-old. Is that normal? Ah ha! No!)

"Some people say 'babies' when they mean 'children.'" I explain. We were at the park and they began climbing things. I sat down to knit. Maybe one day she'll experience what mothers do, sometimes, when they see their NOT-a-baby child asleep, or laughing, or standing a certain way, with a certain expression on her face - one that's been hers since birth. Sometimes I look at her and can't NOT see the little baby she was.

Short-term

You know what I hate? Well I'll tell you.

I hate it when some well-meaning friendly friend of mine asks something like, "so what'd you do today?" or "do you have anything going on this weekend?" or "how was the weekend? anything fun?"

I am the worst at providing any sort of truthful answer on the spot. I wrack my brain and come up with nothing at all. Complete blank. Sometimes I will actually have to check my calendar. I usually just say something like, "oh nothing much" or "not really" and then 30 minutes later I remember that we actually went to a water park or celebrated someone's birthday or something else that's totally small-talk worthy.

Case in point: today the chiropractor asked our family, "so what's new?" as he began adjusting Elaine. (Kids adjusted for free! Love our chiropractor!) I, of course, could think of nothing new and gave some lame reply. I think he then asked one of the girls what they did today. They said they didn't know so Superman began giving them hints and I was honestly guessing right along with them. What! Tell me what I did! I have no idea! Turns out I took them to swimming lessons AND Val got her ribbon for backstroke.

Why do I forget things as soon as they've happened?

---

Tonight on the drive home from dropping Superman off at work I speculated reasons why writing in my hand-written journal has dropped off considerably. I think the last entry may have been in June.

I think it's because it would take "too much time." So I don't write anything at all.

Pity, that.

---

Today we took a family trip to Starbucks and I attempted to sketch Superman's face as he studied his iPad. I no longer felt like knitting (I always stop the project and procrastinate for a while when it's time to switch to double-pointed needles to work a decrease) so I picked up one of the girls' colored pencils and went to work. It turned out far better than I expected. I'm even half-way inspired to take a drawing class and see if it remains fun.

Sat

The good news: I finally figured out how to do that pattern! The only issue now will be how to weave in the ends inconspicuously on such a small row of color. I can handle that. I'm excited to really, REALLY start this project and keep going, for a change. It'll be my largest project to date.

The less good news: I was so thrilled at finally incorporating a second color in a way that looked good that I forgot the pattern row and will have to rip out my work (hopefully) one more time. Undoing knitting is a whole lot more complicated than undoing crocheted work. (Unless there's an easy way I haven't been told about.)

Today I went (for the second time) to a knitting group that meets at the library. I enjoy the personalities of the ladies who come and find their opinions and perspectives fun to listen to. People fascinate me. I am by far the youngest of the group; the next oldest member is 37 and the only male.

---

I was going to write about gallbladder attacks but that doesn't sound very blog-worthy at the moment. I think I've had a few; I'm changing my diet accordingly and hoping that will help.

Older

Tonight I held my six-year-old close and slow-danced to piano music at bedtime. My brain jumped back to six years (and seven days, it turns out) ago and I have to post this, if only so I can go spend the night crying on the couch every time I see these side by side.

  

 

 

Oh my sweet girl. How I love you. What a pure gift from God you are.

Scenarios

Last night I saw the moon rise and it was stunning. Giant, golden, gorgeous and low on the horizon against a dark blue sky. In that first moment I want to call up everyone I know who might care, "You guys! The MOON! Go look RIGHT NOW!" But I don't because who does that (well, me, but only if it's really REALLY picturesque.) After I mentally run through the list of anyone who may be in a position to stop what they're doing and gaze at the moon, I wish for a camera and a hill and no city lights and while I'm at it some really great trees to silhouette¹ against it, etc., etc.. Instead, I kept driving, craning my neck for another glance whenever I could.

---

This morning I saw the moon set. It startled me even more awake than I already wasn't - giant, pearly and glowing against a soft blue sky. I took a horrible picture with my horrible phone² from my horrible kitchen window. Then I called for everyone in the house to come see. (The moon, not my picture.) But here, you can see the picture, since you probably missed it this morning. It's three trillion times better in person, I assure you.

My bad, this is not from the kitchen window. This is taken from the window above the piano keyboard.

---

I'm reading Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words and as a result am becoming even more acutely aware that I majored in biology and not journalism. Boy do editors have a lot to remember. I enjoy writing and words as a means to an end, which is the expression of ideas. I'm not so terribly concerned about grammar and spelling as long as the person I'm communicating with (a lot of the time the person is only me) can readily understand the idea/meaning/concept. I've gotten much sloppier in my old age and as the amount of reading I'm doing has decreased. Also, my ideas are less clear and more muddy in my brain. This may be due to children stealing my brain cells or lack of practice or both.

---

Sometimes I feel like the avocado seeds I'm trying to grow. For almost four weeks they've sat in cups of water on my window sill, each one suspended by three toothpicks. I top off the water and wait expectantly. "Any day now!" I think optimistically as I inspect the almost-completely-unchanged seed. It looks a little grungier - sort of bruised and cracked in spots. Certainly not capable of pushing life out of it.

But I have hope because I have seen it happen before.

Sometimes I feel like I go through periods of enormous internal growth but nothing becomes visible externally for quite a while. I know I've changed. I FEEL changed. But I don't LOOK changed to other people. I wish I could force it. I wish I could burst forth into a glorious fruit-producing tree overnight and people would oooh and aaah and come sit in my shade and want to know my secret³. I wish that just seeing where I want to be was enough to get me there. I wish that the process wouldn't take so long or require so much, sometimes. I wish to jump ahead and enjoy the fruits without very much labor.

I wish I had a more mature perspective.

Proverbs has a verse about this: "There is profit in all hard work, but endless talk leads only to poverty."

Right. Thanks, Proverbs. I think I'd rather listen to Leviticus on this one: "You must not do any work at all! This is a permanent law for you, and it must be observed from generation to generation wherever you live." (Isn't that the most lovely Bible verse you've ever seen? [Talk about picking and choosing parts of the Bible to fit personal tastes!])

Then there's the verse I love to hate in Galatians: "So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up."

I have actually quoted this verse to a Christian counselor along with the somewhat martyr-like, self-centered exclamation, "I am SO tired of doing good. I'm just DONE! How much longer do I have to do good? Can I stop yet? I mean seriously. Where's my harvest of blessing?!" I can't remember the reply I got that day but today I remind myself that inner change is change and it is a blessing. Harvests don't have to be external to count. I have a MUCH better relationship with myself today than I did five months ago. Eventually, at just the right time, others will experience a much better relationship with me, too. I really hope it's sooner than later but for now I'm content to work on what I know I need to do and trust that the process will lead to healing and whole relationships outside of me as well. 

I have hope because I have seen it happen before. 

---

¹I just spelled that correctly the first time for what I believe may be the first time in my entire life.
²But don't you fear! I'll be getting an iPhone 5 tomorrow!
³The secret is... there isn't one!

The Sock Thrower

Remember that story about the man who was throwing starfish back into the ocean? No? Then here. It's been adapted many ways. Here's one adaptation taken from the Wikipedia page I just linked to, in which the star of the story is a woman:

An old man had a habit of early morning walks on the beach. One day, after a storm, he saw a human figure in the distance moving like a dancer. As he came closer he saw that it was a young woman and she was not dancing but was reaching down to the sand, picking up a starfish and very gently throwing them into the ocean.
"Young lady," he asked, "Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"
"The sun is up, and the tide is going out, and if I do not throw them in they will die."
"But young lady, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it? You cannot possibly make a difference."
The young woman listened politely, paused and then bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves,
saying, "It made a difference for that one."

I've decided to change my perspective. I don't have a starfish problem. I have a dirty sock problem. I don't have miles and miles of beach. I have inches and inches of counter with stranded cereal bowls littering its surface. Many times throughout my day I've found myself thinking "I cannot possibly make a difference." My pattern in the past has alternated between working feverishly on one thing and ignoring all other needs or giving up entirely and doing nothing. Neither of those approaches work very well for me and it's taken me five or so years to come to that conclusion. I'm ready to do something differently, even if it's only in the way I think. Especially if it's only in the way I think.

It's been quite difficult for me to dissociate my worth from how successfully I do or do not do things. This worked very well when I was employed doing something I enjoyed and was good at. This did not work so well when I became employed in service to my family as a home "maker." The repetitive household chores necessary for life to run smoothly just do not appeal to me. At all. Not even a little bit. I derive no satisfaction from cleaning up after other people (or even myself.) It has been a challenge and how I've viewed myself has suffered, accordingly. If I don't get to be happy with myself until ALL the laundry is washed and put away and ALL the dishes are clean... well then the times I get to be happy with myself are very few and far between!^1/2

Before we had children I made tasks like washing dishes and folding laundry slightly more palatable by listening to podcasts or audio books as I worked¹. I also wasn't nursing, sleep-deprived, responsible for keeping two little people safe, fed, clean (mostly) and healthy, or distracted by earnest questions from a 5-yr-old such as, "but what is gravity MADE out of?!" Additionally, Superman usually helped. We both had full-time jobs. I didn't like doing dishes or laundry but it was manageable. Then I grew a few kids, stopped working for a paycheck and suddenly it all became my responsibility².

Keeping the starfish story in mind, I now tell myself that no matter how many times a dirty sock may climb back out of the waves to beach itself upon my couch, or behind the toilet, or under the kitchen table... I can choose to pick it up and each time it will have made a difference for that one. Even if it's the same one. Multiple times a day. Each time I wash a dish it will have made a difference for that one, that time. All my precious little starfish... the paper scraps... the dirty underwear... the books... the stuffed animal... the cat toy... the pile of crayons... let me throw you back where you belong. It makes a difference every time.

This intentional shift of perspective has helped my expectations be a tad more reasonable. It's also given me the freedom to do what I can and accept that I may never have all the socks clean and folded and put away³.

Surprisingly,  I've found I've been able to do so much more as a result. I've been freed to do more. Now that the pressure is off to get ALL the starfish back where they belong TODAY (which is an impossible expectation), I'm able to slow down and enjoy the process. Yes, I sometimes enjoy folding laundry and doing dishes. Whether or not I get them all done that hour or even that day has no bearing on my worth.

I'm learning to consistently find my worth in someone far more substantial than any of my accomplishments - a loving higher power.

Along those lines and with a lovely additional point, I highly recommend reading this post, by Kathryn Thompson at Daring Young Mom. It's long but the ending is so worth it.

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^1/2Unless anti-depressants are involved and even then I wasn't convinced happiness with myself was an option.

¹Now I choose to remain unplugged and available during the hours my kids and husband are awake and home.

²Which I initially agreed it should be. We're still working out the kinks in the balance of responsibilities we both have, as well as our skills and personal preferences.

³Until I train my children to do it all!

Purse inventory

It's been time to clean out my purse for a long time. A really long time. I've done several half-inventories, quickly, right before heading out the door and only to make room for whatever I needed to fit.

So I decided to do a complete inventory of my purse, uncensored, for your entertainment.

The purse, before. Snapped closed. Neat and unassuming. A tad bulky.

The purse, after. Emptied of it's cargo. A tad shocking.

What IS all that, you might be wondering. I took notes.

The following was in my purse, in no particular order:

• 1 knitting work in progress. (Hat for Doug.)
• 1 make up brush. (Lancome 8.)
• 1 wallet. (Currently frustratingly unable to close due to the $5 McDonalds gift cards destined for gift bags for the homeless people we encounter.)
• 2 mini composition books filled with my random thoughts and ideas. 
• 1 bag Traditional Medicinal Organic Eater's Digest tea.
• 1 Kindle Paperwhite. (My preciousssssss.)
• 1 mini-journal containing Bible verses I'm memorizing. (Demand a recitation the next time you see me!)
• 2 reusable shopping bags. (Our county has banned the use of disposable plastic bags.)
• 2 small tins of Altoids Smalls. (Simply Mint flavor.)
• 10 (TEN!) pens. (1 appears to be stolen from church. Thou shalt not steal pens.)
• 1 handout from a different church on which was scribbled the URL to a knitting website recommended by a friend.
• 1 bottle of lotion.
• 2 pairs of sunglasses.
• 2 Sugar 'n Cream yarn labels, saved for the dishcloth pattern on the back.
• 1 Cherry 7-UP Lip Smacker.
• 1 credit-card-sized dental floss dispenser.
• 3 small bottles of hand sanitizer.
• 1 purple plastic counting bear.
• 1 packet containing 1 cloth and 1 bottle of lens cleaning solution.
• 1 harmonica.
• 2 strawberry shortcake dolls. (Strawberry Shortcake and Orange Blossom.)
• 1 4G thumb drive. (Not pictured because I immediately put it on Superman's laptop; he's been looking for it.)
• 1 additional cloth for cleaning glasses.
• 1 snack sized baggie containing 4 multivitamins and 2 iron pills.
• 1 travel size dental floss container.
• Another flash drive. (Capacity unknown. Also not pictured for the same reason the other wasn't.)
• My 1-year CODA chip. (Happy recovery to me!)
• Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker
• 6 State Farm anti-texting-while driving thumb rings. 
• 1 dried cherry. (Poor cherry.)
• 1 Hello Kitty mood ring. (Val exclaimed, "My RING! Eliot gave this to me when I took Tesla out of his room!")
• 4 hair barrettes.
• 4 mini hair clips.
• 3 hair bands.
• $1.26 in change (2 quarters, 5 dimes, 4 nickels and 6 pennies)
• Small ring with 6 laminated Bible verse cards attached.
• LunchSkins bag full of trail mix. (Perhaps the dried cherry escaped from there?)
• Paper with notes from last week's lesson (on grace) at Celebrate Recovery
• 1 lacy hair clip. (Worn by Elaine in my brother's wedding! It has not been in my purse since then.
• Paper from our city's sewing center with details on the machine I'd like to buy.
• Strawberry Lip Smacker.
• 1 mini mag lite. (Eddie Bauer.) 
• 1 duck call. (Yes. You blow on it and it makes a noise like a duck quacking.)
• 1 mini bottle ibuprofen.
• Little green rubber bouncy ball.
• 1 Bible.

That's 91 items in one purse. What's in your purse? Think you can do wors-uh-better? Bring it on!

Scalped

Today I ripped a good-sized chunk of hair (about the size of a nickel) right out of my scalp. I climbed partially up the shelving Superman built in the storage closet on our balcony in search of peanut butter and when I saw none, I let go and dropped back to the ground. Just that quickly a section of my hair hooked into the little chain and spring assembly that keeps the closet door from opening too far and my hair stayed hooked while the rest of me kept going. It hurt.

I'm afraid to look and see just how much is missing because I'm already sensitive about the handfuls I'm losing due to anemia. (Although I'm beginning to wonder if hair loss is a symptom of anything else because my iron level IS in the normal range now, but barely.)

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Tonight I took my knitting to church and sat around and knit and talked with other knitters. I'm excited to have sources other than YouTube videos to teach and explain techniques to me. Our fearless leader (of something called a "prayer shawl ministry"; it's all new to me, too) is delightfully unconcerned about "mistakes" and appears to be very good at fixing just about any problem there is without ripping out the work. I am intrigued. She shared that the group of ladies who taught her were of the mindset that if you won't notice it from a galloping horse, then it's not that big a deal. I enjoyed the imagery and further imagine that I would be the kind of horse galloper that would come to a screeching halt and then get off my horse to measure and count stitches. Knitting is helping to lessen my perfectionism and I am grateful.

---

I went for my yearly eye exam and was told that I would probably benefit from reading glasses. When she asked me if anything had changed since last year or if I was experiencing any issues with my eyes I said no. But after the appointment I realized that very often each night I'll reach a point where my eyes are very tired and less willing to read and more willing to close, at which point they're achy and stingy for a while even after they're closed. I just figured I needed more sleep, which is probably also true. We have pretty good vision insurance that will get even better after the first of the year, and so I may get a pair of glasses now and another pair next month. I tried on some frames at Costco and decided that something must be done about my eyebrows. I like the darker rimmed frames, but to me it seems to clash horribly with my super dark (and thick, at times, sigh) eyebrows. Also adding glasses to my crooked face only seems to enhance the crookedness. Why yes, that ear IS a good bit lower than the other one! And that eyebrow IS higher! I know the frames can be bent to fit my face better but the glasses are still pretty symmetrical and my face is still pretty not.

It's tricky, picking a pair of glasses. I never realized what a big decision it is. Your FACE! What people SEE! (Granted, only when I'm reading, but still.) I think between my husband's and sister's input I should be pretty good but if any of you know of certain dos and don'ts of the glasses-wearing world, please let me know!