This started as a Facebook status update and morphed into something that little box couldn't handle. I wanted to ask how often my friends get jealous of their kids, but I just kept typing. I knew that sometimes things just start falling out of my mouth, emotions and thoughts and ideas. I guess my fingers do the same thing.
As I was drawing my daughter's bath tonight, running my hand under the warm water waiting for the numbers to hit the right spot on her little frog water temperature toy, I sighed thinking how wonderful it would be to take a long, hot bath with candles and music and bubbles. Oh, but then who would prepare my oldest son's costume for Egyptian market day and make lunches and finish homework (we spent our morning finishing a project for my husband) and pack back packs and lay clothes out and work on more things for the big event coming up. I sighed again. At the moment, she was whining and fussing. She didn't get a nap today, and I was running late for bedtime as usual. She cried my name over and over, not the one my mother gave me, but the one I share with millions of other women struggling through the same divinely given job, Mom. I started to get agitated and sad and more sighs came out as I undressed her and put her in the tub. Then, she started to play. There's an old saying, something about when your kids get cranky put them in water. I thought about that. Than I turned on the fire (have I told you I have an enclosed gas fireplace in my bathroom, I know, heavenly) and warmed myself as I took in her sweet-mess, I mean sweetness.
I was still READY for bedtime, and I would still like to take a long hot bath. However, I was kinda proud of myself for taking in the moment and not adding to my list of whining (see previous post) the fact that the only ones who really get to enjoy my giant jetted tub are my kids.
Now off to the rest of my busy night.
a collection of recipes and encouragement
Thursday, October 11, 2012
The Plan
I'm one of those people that likes a plan, wants a plan, NEEDS a plan, but I won't actually follow the plan once I make it because I need to feel free and flexible, too. I know, total craziness, but it's me. I would love to figure out a way to embrace and love this contradiction in my psyche, but all it really does is frustrate me. Add this trait to my inability to function when things get overwhelming, and you have a winning personality combination for sure.
Lately, I feel like I'm stuck in a downward spiral on my life's roller coaster. Wait, the downward spirals are the fun part, maybe this would be one of those long slow clicking up hill climbs. Anyway, we're busy. VERY busy. I haven't blogged in forever (too lazy right now to go look up the date of my last post). Actually, I haven't written anything. My journal is empty for the entire months of August and September, even though there have been so many post worthy events and moments and thoughts in our lives lately, like our first trip to Disney World and Jackson's first trip to the principal's office at school. The papers in my office are taking over my home, spilling over into every other room in my down stairs. The piles taunt me in my dreams. I've awoken in a cold sweat after dreaming that I had been buried alive in mail and bills and school flyers and receipts. I could hear my family calling my name, but couldn't speak or scream or anything. (Don't you hate those dreams? And, obviously, it was scream worthy. I mean, being buried in paper, that's quality horror flick stuff right there.) I haven't cooked a REAL quality meal for my family in over a week, and before that, it was probably another week of take-out or sandwiches. My poor little Jackson has been eating cereal bars and bananas for snack at school because I haven't been able to bake him all his favorite healthy corn free things. Breakfast has been cereal for more than a month straight. I think somewhere in there I woke up and made pancakes and bacon, but I'm not sure if that actually happened or if it was a dream I had between shutting off my alarm and waking abruptly as I realize the sun is coming up and we should already be in the car. I've touched the keys on my piano once in months (not sure how many). I haven't read anything in the stack of books on my bedside table. I haven't run or worked out in more than a week. I'm eating junk because I haven't cooked anything real and Whole Foods hasn't decided to comply with my urgings to open a store closer than 45 minutes away from my house. This makes me feel gross and fat and sluggish. Of course, the dishes and laundry are piled up (they're always piled up). My living room walls still bear the marks of my budding little artist, the patches from the holes the previous owners left, and they're still WHITE after more than a year living in this house. The TV is in front of my fireplace because my husband won't mount it until we've painted those bare scribbled white walls. So, on the first beautiful crisp Fall morning of the season, I couldn't light a fire and warm myself sipping hot cocoa with my fellow heated chocolate fanatic (that would be my 8 year old son). I love Fall and hot cocoa and warm fires. Can you hear me sighing? My kitchen is still unfinished, exposed piping behind my cook top, a huge gap between the counter and the back splash and a hole in the cabinet where a drawer should be. My head hurts at the thought of going through my kids' closets to put away or give away summer clothes and pull out their winter clothes before things get too cold. They might be wearing shorts and t-shirts all winter. Our vacation put us behind on my homeschooled child's assignments, and catching up has meant still doing school up to dinner time. I got a new car, and I love it. However, I'm starting to hate all the driving and sitting in car pool lines. We're talking about 2 hours three times a week, and 5 hours on Tuesdays and Fridays. Driving and sitting. Ugh. I could probably continue my little description indefinitely. It feels so good to be typing it all out, but geez, look at that paragraph. Huh? I've whined long enough. Basically I'm tired. I'm spent completely, and my living, breathing, growing to-do list makes me want to crumple to the fetal position and rock franticly chanting for it all to disappear.
I was thinking while I was delivering a last minute project to my husband's office this morning, and by last minute I mean, he told me about it this morning before he left for work, and it took my ENTIRE morning to pull it together further delaying any absolution to anything in the above list. Anyway, I was thinking. How did I get here? And, how in the sam hill (not sure I've ever understood that expression) do I get out, back to a place where I don't long to go hide in my bed with the covers pulled tightly over my head?
I almost cringe at the thought of typing this out, but it's all in the plan. I'm not actually talking about my human planning skills. Although, I think they would help tremendously right now, that is, if I had time to plan and organize and be OCD like I want. I'm talking about THE plan. The one written for me before I even knew what a plan was. How many times do I have to be reminded that life isn't a giant to-do list? It's about relationships and memories. Life was meant to be lived not survived. Oh, but in the recesses of my overstressed mind, I deeply desire to cross off that whole dreary paragraph, as if that is the only thing standing between me and the freedom to truly live. Truth is, I'm the one standing in my way.
Deep breath. Happy thoughts....thoughts of my children and the fact that I have a family to be busied with, my Savior who doesn't care how high the dishes and laundry pile up, who's always there when I need to cry my heart out and who has the ability to multiply my time and spark me to life when I have absolutely NO energy to keep going.
Peace won't come from conquering my mountain of responsibilities. I can't guilt my way into it, nor can I force or squeeze it out of some hurried activity. Peace, the real kind, the thing I so desperately need right now, can only come from the Author of it. It will only come as I surrender my plan, or lack thereof, to His plan, THE plan. And, in that accept the fact that His plan for me may not look like a Norman Rockwell painting, and that's OK. Help me, Jesus.
Lately, I feel like I'm stuck in a downward spiral on my life's roller coaster. Wait, the downward spirals are the fun part, maybe this would be one of those long slow clicking up hill climbs. Anyway, we're busy. VERY busy. I haven't blogged in forever (too lazy right now to go look up the date of my last post). Actually, I haven't written anything. My journal is empty for the entire months of August and September, even though there have been so many post worthy events and moments and thoughts in our lives lately, like our first trip to Disney World and Jackson's first trip to the principal's office at school. The papers in my office are taking over my home, spilling over into every other room in my down stairs. The piles taunt me in my dreams. I've awoken in a cold sweat after dreaming that I had been buried alive in mail and bills and school flyers and receipts. I could hear my family calling my name, but couldn't speak or scream or anything. (Don't you hate those dreams? And, obviously, it was scream worthy. I mean, being buried in paper, that's quality horror flick stuff right there.) I haven't cooked a REAL quality meal for my family in over a week, and before that, it was probably another week of take-out or sandwiches. My poor little Jackson has been eating cereal bars and bananas for snack at school because I haven't been able to bake him all his favorite healthy corn free things. Breakfast has been cereal for more than a month straight. I think somewhere in there I woke up and made pancakes and bacon, but I'm not sure if that actually happened or if it was a dream I had between shutting off my alarm and waking abruptly as I realize the sun is coming up and we should already be in the car. I've touched the keys on my piano once in months (not sure how many). I haven't read anything in the stack of books on my bedside table. I haven't run or worked out in more than a week. I'm eating junk because I haven't cooked anything real and Whole Foods hasn't decided to comply with my urgings to open a store closer than 45 minutes away from my house. This makes me feel gross and fat and sluggish. Of course, the dishes and laundry are piled up (they're always piled up). My living room walls still bear the marks of my budding little artist, the patches from the holes the previous owners left, and they're still WHITE after more than a year living in this house. The TV is in front of my fireplace because my husband won't mount it until we've painted those bare scribbled white walls. So, on the first beautiful crisp Fall morning of the season, I couldn't light a fire and warm myself sipping hot cocoa with my fellow heated chocolate fanatic (that would be my 8 year old son). I love Fall and hot cocoa and warm fires. Can you hear me sighing? My kitchen is still unfinished, exposed piping behind my cook top, a huge gap between the counter and the back splash and a hole in the cabinet where a drawer should be. My head hurts at the thought of going through my kids' closets to put away or give away summer clothes and pull out their winter clothes before things get too cold. They might be wearing shorts and t-shirts all winter. Our vacation put us behind on my homeschooled child's assignments, and catching up has meant still doing school up to dinner time. I got a new car, and I love it. However, I'm starting to hate all the driving and sitting in car pool lines. We're talking about 2 hours three times a week, and 5 hours on Tuesdays and Fridays. Driving and sitting. Ugh. I could probably continue my little description indefinitely. It feels so good to be typing it all out, but geez, look at that paragraph. Huh? I've whined long enough. Basically I'm tired. I'm spent completely, and my living, breathing, growing to-do list makes me want to crumple to the fetal position and rock franticly chanting for it all to disappear.
I was thinking while I was delivering a last minute project to my husband's office this morning, and by last minute I mean, he told me about it this morning before he left for work, and it took my ENTIRE morning to pull it together further delaying any absolution to anything in the above list. Anyway, I was thinking. How did I get here? And, how in the sam hill (not sure I've ever understood that expression) do I get out, back to a place where I don't long to go hide in my bed with the covers pulled tightly over my head?
I almost cringe at the thought of typing this out, but it's all in the plan. I'm not actually talking about my human planning skills. Although, I think they would help tremendously right now, that is, if I had time to plan and organize and be OCD like I want. I'm talking about THE plan. The one written for me before I even knew what a plan was. How many times do I have to be reminded that life isn't a giant to-do list? It's about relationships and memories. Life was meant to be lived not survived. Oh, but in the recesses of my overstressed mind, I deeply desire to cross off that whole dreary paragraph, as if that is the only thing standing between me and the freedom to truly live. Truth is, I'm the one standing in my way.
Deep breath. Happy thoughts....thoughts of my children and the fact that I have a family to be busied with, my Savior who doesn't care how high the dishes and laundry pile up, who's always there when I need to cry my heart out and who has the ability to multiply my time and spark me to life when I have absolutely NO energy to keep going.
Peace won't come from conquering my mountain of responsibilities. I can't guilt my way into it, nor can I force or squeeze it out of some hurried activity. Peace, the real kind, the thing I so desperately need right now, can only come from the Author of it. It will only come as I surrender my plan, or lack thereof, to His plan, THE plan. And, in that accept the fact that His plan for me may not look like a Norman Rockwell painting, and that's OK. Help me, Jesus.
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