and you decorate my life

And After

Yesterday, I sent them all upstairs to tidy their rooms. It was a relatively quick process for the boys - toys in the toy box, books on the bookshelf, clothes in drawers. Priscilla, however, paced herself, dawdled. She would not be hurried. "I think we should call this chore decorating, instead of cleaning," she told me. You can call it sky diving as far as I'm concerned, is what I thought, but what I said, was, "That sounds perfect."

For nearly two hours, Priscilla "decorated," while singing loudly, Away in the Manger, Little Drummer Boy, and yes, of course, The Van Lear Rose. She avoided for the majority of that time the "in your face" all over the floor mess, choosing rather to focus her efforts on tying ribbons around the necks of her stuffed animals and moving her wall stickers from over her desk to over her bed. "I've decided to hang my dresses on the other side of Mary's," she yelled down to me. And then I smiled, because Priscilla, my sweet, sweet girl, is exactly like her mother - because when faced with a monumental task, I am also drawn to random side projects such as sorting through markers, counting game pieces, organizing shoes and shirts by season and color.

I have piles, loads, mountains of laundry to wash. I best get started and that I will... in just one minute. But then again, maybe first ...oh, I'm sure I'll think of something. Bake a cake? Frame some photos? The possibilities are literally endless.

I am the Fly Lady's worst nightmare.

regret

I guarantee that I'll regret this in the morning. The very first thing I learned in my self-taught, trial and error based mothering school was to never go to bed with your kitchen a mess (and always wake up early enough to put your contacts in and take a few swigs of coffee before your kids begin calling out from their cribs and bunk beds for some breakfast). I'm almost positive that my own mom never once broke that rule. I have memories of her scrubbing countertops well past 10:00 pm, all bleary eyed and absolutely determined (to the point that it was less of a "choice" and more an undeniable instinct) to maintain order.

For three nights in a row, I have caved in to my sleepiness. I find that every couple of weeks or so I go through an obligatory, Ahhh! Too much stuff! Too much to do!! Too much for me to handle!! phase in which I curl up in the bathtub, and then my bed, with a book and hide for awhile from the enormity of it all until I remember how I've let my prayers slide and how off-kilter my priorities have become.

I'm there now, hovering, slowly waking from my stress induced stupor and wondering how in the world I slipped right back into it after vowing to stay alert. Promising "never again," I am realizing, is like shooting myself in the foot. Saying, "next time," however, fully acknowledging and accepting my own frailty, allows me the freedom to beg for mercy and move cautiously forward (rather than standing in place, immobile, paralyzed with disappointment over my lack of stick-to-itiveness).

Tomorrow is Thursday, Thursday the 29th of January - a perfect day for developing tunnel vision, losing site of the peripherals so daunting, so discouraging. One thing at a time.

...teach me to treat all that comes to me throughout the day with peace of soul and with the firm conviction that Your will governs all.

Here comes the sun?

Apparently Kmart knows something the rest of us don't because yesterday, when the kids and I stopped in there before heading over to the library, it looked like they were gearing up for a full on beach party. With our chapped lips, lingering coughs and in multiple layers of outerwear, we stared awe struck and not a little confused at the patio sets and gazebos next to aisles of bubbles, jump ropes and squirt guns. It is still January, am I right? And in the Midwest, winter lasts well into March, even April.

But who is to say that Martha Stewart hasn't concocted from out of phyllo dough and decorative tissue paper an early (and elegant) spring? Perhaps Ms. Stewart, Kmart and their lucrative Everyday brand are going to surprise us with a warm and sunny February.

Well now, wouldn't that be a good thing?

I'm only going over home

It had been awhile since I’d been really taken aback by the fact that I am aging, and quickly at that. In college, of course, I wrote entry after melodramatic entry in my Salvador Dali themed journal about being on the "cusp of full blown adulthood" (oh mercy), but then I got settled into my role of wife, mother, inept housekeeper and no longer had hours of time on my hands to meditate of the fascinating subject of "me." Recently, however, my grandmother passed away and since then I've been finding myself dipping back into memories of childhood - recalling moments, people, sights and smells I hadn't thought about for years, and now here I am longing for them.

In the above photo, I am five-years-old and my cousin, Kelly, whose smooth and platinum hair I always envied, is standing next to me. We're in Ohio at a family gathering and I can picture pretty clearly what we probably ate, what we were playing before and after this snapshot was taken. I know that whenever we stayed with my grandparents, we loved making forts and Pepsi in bottles and individual boxes of sugar cereal with toast for breakfast. Three out of four of my kids are now older than I was then and quite frankly, that is hard for me to wrap my mind around.

I like the mid-thirties in that I finally feel truly comfortable in my own gradually wrinkling skin. But the speed with which life passes by as I get older and older still, can be unsettling. It is good though, I think, to feel death's breath as I move forward, God willing, into the second half of my existence on this earth. Or then, again, perhaps tomorrow ... well, you get the point. I need as many incentives as possible to make every single second count for more than merely "something." Stay focused.

can't steal my happiness

The kids and I woke up hacking and uncomfortably dry, cracked, raw, scratchy. What we need up in here is an industrial strength humidifier and a big old vat of Lubriderm. Our weekend was the kind of busy that might leave a visitor under the assumption that our house had been rifled through by vandals or torn asunder by a tornado touching down in our living room. I'm not exactly sure where to begin, as usual.

Now don't get me wrong, MANY, many times I have greeted a brand new day with the less than optimistic realization that, Oh my gosh, these four kids aren't going anywhere! And then the whining starts over school assignments, chores, being breathed on by a sibling, and I second-guess that mammoth decision I made to educate the children myself. But for some inexplicable reason, I am presently being blessed with the capacity to actually appreciate the boisterousness and aliveness of my environment.

The bulk of us are still in our jammies. We've been snuggling on the couch reading history books and snacking on pretzels. Mom! Where are the Kleenexes? they ask me every five minutes or so. I stroke their hair; press my palm on their foreheads to check for fevers. The truth is, I really, really like them.

I could dwell, I suppose, on other scenarios involving me in a silent house organizing my spice drawer but why in the world, if you really stop and ponder on it, would I think that would make me happier than being all wrapped up and invested in the lives of my incredible, outrageous, family members? I have six more hours to go until my husband gets home from work; I'm praying now, as I write this, for the strength to make the most of them, to keep my thoughts and "what if?" daydreams from betraying me.

She was the belle of Johnson County

 

Ah! Nothing warms me up like a little Loretta Lynn on an icy Saturday morning. For your listening and viewing pleasure I present to you two versions of the same family favorite, Van Lear Rose. The first is sung expertly by seven-year-old Priscilla who listened to the song on CD no less than 75 times in order to memorize all the lyrics. The second (below) is sung/shouted by three-year-Mary.  Enjoy!

life may hand us lemons...

All morning I rehearsed out loud my answers to the questions I was anticipating she might throw at me.

Who are you talking you?! Priscilla asked

It focuses mostly on the interior lives of mothers, I replied.

Paige, my sister-in-law and hard working publicist, arranged for me to be interviewed this afternoon by an area newspaper about my book. I was really looking forward to it.

We arrived at the agreed upon meeting spot, our town's only coffee shop, a few minutes early, press kit in hand.

Are you here to see Alex? said the girl behind the counter.

That we were.

Well she's sick and can't come. She wanted me to tell you.

And thus I'd practiced (and broke out my knee high boots) for naught.

But lemonade! Lemonade and Silver Linings! That is for sure my new motto and to prove it, I came up with three distinct benefits of being stood up by our reporter:

1. I ordered and then drank leisurely a four dollar beverage containing two shots of espresso and chocolate syrup.

2. Paige and I had a chance (see above) to strategize a bit, without our children interrupting us, and generate new ideas regarding the marketing of Close to Home.

3. One of the coffee shop employees took my name and number to give to the owner, who apparently likes to support local authors by displaying and selling their books and even having them come and do readings on the weekends.

Oh boy, and tomorrow is Friday.

It's just coming up roses all over the place.