Today I Will Practice Patience

Months ago, I agonized over choosing a preschool for Abbey.  Using an evaluation scale involving recommendations, observations from classroom visits, pros and cons lists, and sheer instinct, a system more complex than the current gymnastics scoring system for the Olympics, Ryan and I finally decided on a school we felt would work for her and for Dylan in a couple of years.

Five minutes after we dropped her off the first day, I doubted our choice, worrying out loud over coffee with a friend, our younger boys playing happily, but a little aimlessly, confused without their ever-present older siblings.

I fretted to friends on the phone, quietly talked to Ryan about it at night, hurriedly whispered my concerns to my mother as Abbey and Dylan ran around on the mall playground, thankfully oblivious to my overactive dramatic gene, the one I thought I retired at sixteen.

I would have poured out my troubles to the mailman, who seems like a kind man, but Abbey was listening, and the one thing I worried about more than if I had made a mistake was that she would hear me talking about it.

Because I have chosen my friends wisely and got lucky in the family department, every person listened calmly, withheld their admonishments of my particular brand of craziness, and gently reminded me to give the situation some time.

Last Sunday, Abbey cried about preschool for the first time.

She cried because it was Sunday, not Tuesday, and she hadn’t been to school, “…in such a long time!” and wanted to go immediately instead of waiting a few more days.

This week, Dylan, my mom, Nan, Ryan, various stuffed animals, and I have all attended school, where we’ve been asked to call her Ms. Mary, her teacher’s name.

Finally, this Tuesday, I will be able to kiss her good-bye with real enthusiasm to match her own, trusting that she is enjoying her first foray into education.

Give it time.

I have needed that reminder my whole life.

Be patient.

I battle impatience daily.

Seeing my girl excited about school, despite my worries, is another gentle shove, prompting me to take a breath and pause, to slow down.

I will close my notebook and go to bed, warding off burnout with fewer posts and resting at night so I can enjoy fall without a fog of exhaustion clouding my head.

I will buy a few pretty things that fit and make me smile, realizing I can’t remake my closet in a season, at least not without the help of a fairy clothesmother like Stacy London.

I will keep running, slowly, and keep eating birthday cake and balance it all out with smaller portions and a genuine attempt to stop fixating on a number, neither on the scale nor on the tags of my clothes.

Today, I will practice patience.

Abbey on her first day

see the name tag?

one of my concerns was that they hadn't used "Abbey"

it's been fixed

This week at Just.Be.Enough. we wrote about something we knew we had to do.

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Step Away from the Planner

Like sheep lithely clearing a fence in a picturesque meadow, my to-do list cycles through my head as I sink into my mattress each night.  It greets me every morning, reminding me of mundane tasks like steaming the floors and lovely treats like a day at the zoo for all four of us.

Abbey and Dylan are more than willing to participate in the fun outings but slightly less willing to check off things like “print out preschool information.”  

So after stories and kisses, stars projected on the ceiling and musical toys lulling my children to sleep, I throw my balls in the air, watching them spin up and down, my hands deftly catching and throwing, juggling with the few hours I have before climbing into my own bed.

Working through blog ideas on the treadmill while calculating weekly mileage in my head, I return home to comment and reply and read and write and schedule posts, tossing in laundry in between.

I curl my legs under me, settling into the couch to read a chapter or two of a book I’m reviewing or sometimes one I’m not, until thoughts of the parenting book languishing on the shelf guiltily creep into my consciousness, making it hard to concentrate. 

I pull out the preschool information, planning out my back-to-school plan of attack.  A lump forms in my throat, and I gently place those papers out of sight for another day. 

Ryan sits nearby, studying, working through statistical problems in penciled notes I can’t even begin to understand.

Check…I draw a line through one item, then scribble three more under the tasks left unfinished.

Red digital numbers glow in the dark when we finally get to bed, mocking us with the limited hours until Abbey awakes.

When Ryan suggested we take the night off to watch a movie on my birthday, I resisted, thinking of what I could accomplish in that same two hours.

Then I saw his eyes, impossibly blue and caring, the eyes of my best friend.

I closed the laptop, set aside my planner, still tense and worried about what I was leaving unfinished.

A few minutes ticked by; I made an effort to breathe, to relax.  Slowly, it stopped being an effort.

For that night, I wasn’t a blogger, a runner, a laundress.

I was laughing on the couch with my husband, fingers linked, unfinished lists forgotten.

Content.

This post is part of a weekly link-up at Just Be Enough.  Please join us and share your story.

Operation Organization

Yesterday, I complained a little about our house.  The post had been floating around during runs and in my writing notebook for a while, along with today's post, which is about how to work with what I've got.

As Abbey and Dylan grow, our house shrinks.  Toys and crafts and books and shoes litter the floors and shelves and closets.  Unfortunately, not even Abbey's imagination can conjure up a Fairy Housemother to whip up a new house or even an addition to the one we have, so I'm going to have to work a little magic of my own.

Enter Operation Organization.

I'm not a physics genius, but it stands to reason that since I can't create more physical space in my house, I'm going to have to reorganize what's inside the space we do have, including eliminating some of the unnecessary clutter.

I've made resolutions.  I've scoured IKEA for ideas.  I've browsed Pinterest for even more ideas. 

I become overwhelmed by the possibilities and not knowing where to begin and get distracted by the shoes on Pinterest and wake up to find that my Fairy Housemother not only forgot to leave me a new house but didn't even wave her wand at the stuffed menagerie taking over Dylan's room.

I'm hoping that by putting my organizational plans out there for you to read, I'll feel compelled to keep up with my plan.  So hold me accountable, ok?

Basically, I hope to move a lot of the toys to the basement, organize Dylan's room, better organize Abbey's room, and carve out a little area I can use for writing. 

I'm going to start with Dylan's room and closet, because his mini-closet somehow ceased to be a clothes closet and became a hazardous catch-all for seasonal items, outgrown clothes, Halloween costumes, crib mobiles, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Dylan's room is on the first floor, meaning it's become a little bit of a playroom as well

this is what it normally looks like outside of his closet

because this is what it looks like inside his closet

I decided it was the best place to store our winter coats, snowsuits, and zebra costumes

See, it's not pretty in there.  If you don't hear from me for a few days, feel free to check our local IKEA store.  Or the neighborhood bar.

Hopefully I have a much neater and user-friendly closet to show you soon!

Too Many Cooks

Rumbling constantly, the air conditioning attempts to keep both the heat and humidity at bay, but they manage to seep in through the tired bones of our eighty year old home.  My narrow galley kitchen absorbs the heat like a sponge, challenging me to attempt a meal in the oven.
 

Carefully strategizing, I plan for the week, grasping for ideas that use the crock pot or waffle iron or any other appliance that doesn’t add to the thin layer of sweat that follows us inside after a killer game of hopscotch.

Even lifting the crockpot to shred the chicken filling for our tacos emits enough heat that I rewrap my hair into a ponytail.

Abbey and Dylan are pulling pots and Tupperware out of cupboards to cook at my feet, carpeting the already-miniscule floor with an obstacle course of stainless steel and brightly colored lids.

Abbey pulls open the refrigerator for her water.

I twist around her to grab the salsa.

Dylan pulls open the drawer for a box of macaroni and cheese to shake around and hide in an unrelated cupboard.

I step over him to pull out the taco shells.

Irrationally, my eyes fill with tears.

I dream of an open kitchen, flowing into a dining room or living room where Abbey and Dylan could play, within eyesight but safely out of the way of the hot stovetop.

I dream of a fenced-in yard, far from the main street on which we’re now situated.

I dream of a little desk in a little cubby, where I can write and plan and organize my thoughts when the kids are in bed and Ryan is studying.

I wipe the tears before they fall; these dreams are out of reach for now.  With the plummeting house values and my lack of income, moving won’t be a realistic “to-do” on our list for at least a few years.

Weeks go by when I don’t worry about the shrinking walls, though the overwhelming amount of kids’ stuff needs to be addressed soon, but there are days it consumes me.  I worry that I’m being selfish, sacrificing a job that may have helped us to move sooner. 

Will they resent our miniscule backyard?  Our cramped kitchen?  The way I freak out the moment they get a little too close to the street, cars dangerously close to the curb?

Then Abbey pulls me over to her easel, dragging her little stool in her other hand.

“Mommy.  I LOVE our house,” she exclaims dramatically, without cause or explanation.

My worries will return, but in that moment, I am at peace with our home, even if our house could use some work.

because there's nothing like crushed Cheerio dust to add a little fun to a crowded kitchen

two oven mitts - she means business

pouring my heart out with Shell!

Not Too Shabby

Elena, at C. Mom, has a fabulous challenge going on right now to celebrate the things we like about ourselves.  I've truly enjoyed reading the posts that have been written all week, but I had a difficult time writing one of my own. 

A post about the things I'd change?  I could write one every Saturday and two on Sundays, but writing one about things that I would keep exactly as they are?  Let's just say this one didn't exactly flow like water from my fingertips.

I kept working at it, though, and I came up with a few things that make me smile. 

1. I'm stubborn.  While this may not seem like an admirable quality if you're arguing with me about the merits of Dirty Dancing as one of the best movies of all time, it comes in handy around mile eleven of painful half marathons.

2. Building muscle comes fairly easily to me.  I used to wish for the willowy limbs of a Calvin Klein model, circa 1994, but muscles come in handy when my almost thirty pound little Dylan still wants to be carried around.

3. I'm a bookworm.  I can devour a book like Kobayashi on a hot dog.  I'll read almost anything and retain strange tidbits of information that make me a welcome addition to both book clubs and trivia teams.

4. Change doesn't bother me, and I'm fairly spontaneous.  I adapt easily to new situations, which is helpful with a moody preschooler and a toddler who doesn't like having his diaper changed on public changing tables.

5.  Optimism is my middle name.  (Not really.  My parents aren't crazy; it's actually Danielle.)  I try to find something positive to appreciate about every situation.  Sometimes I even sing "These are a Few of My Favorite Things," which makes Abbey smile and Dylan laugh, and that is sometimes all we need to get back on track.

6.  I can't hold a grudge.  I'm a little thin-skinned, so my feelings get hurt when they probably shouldn't, but I get over it easily and without any lasting resentment.  I hope I still feel like this when my teenagers are sneaking out of the house and cursing me for ruining their lives when I punish them for it.

7.  I like my sense of humor.  It's a little dry and a little sarcastic and a lot silly, which means I can find the funny in episodes of The Office and impromptu dance parties in my living room, with or without the kids.

8.  I'm a girlie girl.  When my optimism fails me, I'm easily bribed back to my happy place with a copy of In Style or a new lipgloss, even something cheap that wears off in thirty-two seconds.

Eight's my favorite number, so I'm going to end here.  I hope you can take a few minutes today to appreciate a few things about yourself, too.

taking self portraits with our very special crowns

Dylan misses so much during his naps

Old Habits

I've spent the majority of my adult life telling myself that my body wasn't meant to get below a certain number on the scale. 

Earlier this year, the scale slipped below that number.  Seeing that number should have been motivation to stay on track with my healthy eating and running goals, especially since I have a race to run this week (eek!)

Instead, I've found myself slipping, nibbling a little extra here and there, skipping a run or two.  Not surprisingly, that elusive number hasn't been seen again.

Honestly, I try not to focus on "weight", because like so many women, I see some crazy flucuations over the course of a month.  I don't want my body image to be found in those little digital numbers.  I'm not upset about the weight gain itself but the way I let myself react to hitting that lower number. 

At some point, I need to break those old habits, because I don't like how I feel when I'm treating my body that way.  Maybe I'll get down to the lower weight and maybe I won't, but I want to know I'm doing what I can to stay healthy and energized.

Because spring is on the way, and Dylan and Abbey are ready to hit the ground running.  In opposite directions, I'm sure.

Abbey saw this picture and said, "Mommy, you need lipstick."

I should be offended, but she's kind of right

time to get some new spring make-up!

Goodbye, For Now

We lost a member of our extended family this weekend (Ryan's Uncle Larry), and that loss really puts into perspective the things in our lives that are the most important.  As we begin the new year, I hope I can keep my focus on those things that matter the most: my family, my friends, and the blessings we have. 

Family was of crucial important to Uncle Larry; he had so many stories of cousins and second cousins and his childhood with his brothers and sister.  My kids (and I) are so blessed to have close family all around us, and I'm glad Uncle Larry was able to spend the day with us this summer and meet our little guy.

with Ryan's parents 

with my parents 

with my brother and sister-in-law

(she gives the best gifts!)

with Great Grandma Rose

Are We There Yet?

And by "there", I mean on the other side of this nasty little town called Norovirus.  (Well, we weren't officially diagnosed, but since it's my blog, and I'm not claiming MD status, I think I can safely call it that without being sued by the Norovirus for defamation of character.)

It all started with an e-mail from a friend on Tuesday, stating that her boys had thrown up.  Our monthly MOMS Club meeting was Monday, so we had been in the same place as the poor little guys.  Around dinnertime, Abbey started talking about her stomach hurting.  Soon, she and Dylan were having their first experience with vomiting.  I followed shortly thereafter (well, obviously not my first experience, but you get the picture.)

It was awful.  Ryan stepped up in the best possible way, while I continued to make the trek back and forth to the bathroom.  We changed Abbey's sheets (and blankets) several times, and Dylan got to sleep with Daddy in our bed.

Things were a little better Wednesday, when both of my parents came over at different times to help me with the kids while I napped.  Honestly, it's those little things that make all the difference; I don't know how I would have made it through the day without any help!

Today we were all on the mend, except for a slight setback from Abbey, first thing in the morning.  We even made a quick trip to Target (using our stroller so the kids didn't contaminate anything!) to get a few things, like a new toothbrush and some fresh air.

Then Ryan texted.  And came home early.  And is curled up in bed right now while I'm on the couch recuperating with some Mrs. Grass's soup.  Now that we've all had it, I'm hoping we can say goodbye to this virus, at least for this year!

Here are some pictures of the kids from a couple of weeks ago, when they were being cute and silly and not pukey, my sweet babies.

Sacrifices

Cute kids at the beginning, because I ramble a little today!!

I loved our house the minute we set foot inside. Like many first-time buyers, my love was a combination of potential and imagination; I could see Christmas lights wound around the staircase and a cozy, calming bedroom retreat. Of course, I needed to look past the teal walls (and teal carpeting) to “see” my home inside the house we were potentially purchasing. My imagination has never been a problem, and those things easily disappeared into my mind’s eye. To my surprise, Home Depot doesn’t accept imaginary money, so our house’s potential has been stalled over the years, held back by money restraints, time restraints, energy restraints.

If my issues with our house were simply cosmetic, it would be easy easier to deal with this situation. I would tell myself, “Self, your house might not look the way you want, but you can make small changes. It will take some time, but it will be ok.”

Aesthetics aren’t the only issue, unfortunately, and it’s harder to look past the others. Pick a star, make a wish: I wish we had an open floor plan, since I am in the kitchen so many times during the day; I wish we had a remodeled kitchen, because ours never feels quite as clean as it should considering how many times a day I scrub and wipe and sweep; I wish our school district was better, because education is so dear to me; I wish we didn’t live on a main street, so that I didn’t panic a little each time Abbey goes sprinting away from me outside.

Michigan’s housing market tanked. That’s not my fault. We made a choice, though, for me to stay home with the kids, and that (obviously) affected our financial reality. Even with a job, I don’t know if we could have moved or made any major renovations, but without a job an income, we are basically parked here for a while.

There’s not a second that I think I made the wrong decision. My heart and my head know that I am finally, maybe for the first time in my life, doing what I am meant to be doing. But if anyone knows someone who wants to buy a fixer-upper with a lot of potential or someone who can fast-track us onto one of those major house renovation shows, you know where to find me!