Treasure Hunting

We're spending the long weekend cleaning out the workshop in our basement. It's supposed to be a utilitarian room for laundry, exercise, the tool bench, etc. Instead, it's a pile of accumulated clutter. Not the memories the weekend was created for but we can't replace the leaking water heater until we've made a path.

Much of the debris is from the years Stan was in the house before I came along. Tokens from his childhood and college years are mixed in with old cleaning and lawn care products. There are a number of boxes belonging to his ex-wife that we haven't yet managed to get her to take. These are not the giddiest memories to wade through.

Still, I love organizing. I love getting rid of clutter. It's wonderfully cathartic and the finished product is often dramatic. I consider a well-planned and organized room to be a thing of great beauty, even when there's a water heater in the background. Who knows, we may even end up on Antiques Roadshow.

Whatcha doing?

When I was in high school I thought a vocation was a particular calling. Here's a voice: "Come, follow me." My idea of a calling now is not: "Come." It's ... what I'm doing right now, not what I'm going to be. Life is a calling. - Rebecca Sweeney, an American who held a variety of jobs, including six years as a nun

I recently chatted with a friend I haven't seen in a while. She's pregnant with her first child and asked how I'm enjoying motherhood. The answer is that I finally get to be more myself than I ever have before. Sure, there are dirty floors, whiny kids, and endless laundry, but those things are in the midst of lots of rewarding moments.

I've been reading up on parenting "tweens" since Stan and I are sort of floundering out of our depths. There's been some interesting new info but mostly I feel gratified that we're doing well by our children. We're teaching them valuable lessons about relationships and their emotions, about how to take responsibility and solve problems. The call I once felt to teach is playing out as life moves on.

Each week I take part in planning worship services at our church. I'm part of a crew thinking deeply about who God is, why we worship, and how to meet the needs of the widest possible group of people. My tendency to think too much has a useful outlet and my brief stint at seminary is paying off.

Recently I played guitar in public for the first time ever. I was pretty sure I wasn't good enough, wasn't ready, but it turned out just fine. Even though there's plenty more work to do, little moments of practice and lessons have paid off so that the call I once felt to be a musician is more realistic than ever.

Sometimes I feel like I've lost my identity in the cacophony of voices at our house. Sometimes I wonder if being a happy stay-at-home-mom means that I've given up all ambition or sense-of-self. Culture tells me I shouldn't settle but I'm having far too good a time to listen.

Life is calling.

Candylicious

The candy party was a success. Monkey had a pretty good turnout, which was a stunning change from earlier in the year. The kids ran through most of the games in about an hour so I pulled out the cupcakes to buy some time. (We had simple swirl cupcakes, with the creamiest vanilla frosting I've ever made. Then the girls got to decorate with as many Jelly Bellys as their little hearts desired.) The last activity turned out to be the one that finally got them playfully engaged. It was also the only activity that was entirely my creation rather than something taken from an online resource. It was a nice little moment of pride after worrying the party would flop. (We gave them fictitious candy names. The teams had to decide what the candy would be like and then create a commercial for it.) Each girl went away with a bag full of candy - and a few non-edibles, which made Stan and I feel better. Monkey & Peanut were overjoyed to discover that they not only got goodie bags, but got to keep the extras, too. They've spent the past few dessert times ignoring all baked goods, blissing out on various sugar conduits. Thanks to World Market for some out-of-the-ordinary candy to go along with the staples, the novelty of which has increased their joy.

Mama got a bit of candy, herself, in the form of an impeccably well written mystery. Brat Farrar, which is part of a collection by Josephine Tey, was just the right end to the weekend. My only complaint is that the story couldn't have lasted a little longer. I've enjoyed these three stories immensely and will be searching out more by Tey and her pseudonyms.

Oodles of Rocks

We have oodles of rocks at our house. Big, smooth, pretty river rocks. I'd love them if there weren't so gosh darn many of them. Stan has been digging a lot lately, trying to finally kill the leftover roots from the holly bushes we took out a few years ago, and in doing so has unearthed a whole lot more rocks. I've been trying to figure out uses for them other than filling buckets.

I see decorated rocks for sale sometimes for outrageous prices. I suppose I could start decorating our rocks and see if anyone would buy them. My skills in visual arts aren't up to a commercial standard, though. Not to mention, I don't see myself learning to etch rock anytime soon. I've tried to pawn some off on my mother, who is more crafty than I am. She hasn't bitten yet, though. Maybe if I get her granddaughters to make the offer she'd fall for it.

One of the things I've done is create borders around some of our planting spaces. I haven't figured out the secret to making it pretty yet, but I'm enjoying the result temporarily. [I don't think Stan likes my rock border much so temporary might not last long at all.] It serves as a boundary so I know where to stop yanking plants and the young man from down the street knows where to stop mowing. All the grass-like stuff stays in the yard and the flowers and bushes are contained in the bed.

I'm working on carefully placing rock borders internally too. "I understand you're disappointed to see me rather than your mother. It's ok to feel that way, and it's even ok to tell me. It not ok to take out your anger on me." "I know you intended to do the job but you didn't. When you don't keep your promises it's hard to trust you." Each time I say one of these things, something inside me cries out "they're just kids - give them a break! Can't they have just one more chance?" I want to give endless second chances. I want to make life easier for them, even if it means I do more than my fair share. But I have to keep the parent-like things in my yard, and leave the kid-things on the other side for them to sort out.

Brown Chair

I've been fighting off buckets of snot the past few days and am thoroughly exhausted. This morning I felt a little better so I tackled my to-dos with more gusto than was smart. Halfway through the day I realized I didn't have anymore energy to spend.

Me: [big sigh]
Puddin': Mama fustated?
Me: No Sweetie, I just don't feel good.
Puddin': Mama sick. Mama sit.

Such a smart little darling. I had reached the part of my day when the workload is non-negotiable. I had to pick Monkey & Peanut up from school, and had to monitor homework time. I had to prepare dinner. Somehow, though, it didn't occur to me that I could sit down.

I plopped myself into the brown chair - the beat up, heather-sized leather chair in the corner of our living room. I sat while I thought up the dinner plan. I sat while the girls brought their homework to me in turn. I sat while Puddin' told me stories. I did eventually get up and do more work but I quickly went back and sat some more. I've always loved that ugly little chair but today I adore it.

Break Time

Puddin': You're adorable.
Mama: Well, you're certainly adorable.
Puddin': We adorable together.

With spring in full gear and summer on the horizon, I've been thinking about some places we might go. Monkey & Peanut are mostly spoken for over the summer with camps and family visits and such. Our travel time is mostly spoken for getting them to all the places they need to be. Still, the idea of a little getaway is appealing. Puddin' apparently thinks so too. Yesterday she spent part of her afternoon singing the word vacation to a made-tune, dancing a wiggly dance, while wearing a pair of large striped sunglasses. I think the girl needs a break.

Pruning

I am not a trained gardener. I have no skills to speak of and I'm usually pretty giddy when my plants don't die. I have great gardening heritage, though. Both my grandmothers kept beautiful gardens and could make just about anything blossom. I sometimes lean on that heritage and go with my gut. I throw seed in random places. I mix things willy-nilly. I rip up stuff I don’t like. As our yard currently shows, Chance doesn’t generally turn out very good results.

Stan's mom is also a fabulous gardener. Unlike me, Stan learned how to garden. He knows the right things to do to keep our plants in good shape long term. He understands which plants will fare will in our space. And what he doesn't already know he's patient enough to research. That's probably the biggest difference right there: patience. I want to go out and make beauty happen; Stan wants to cultivate it. Most of what looks good in our yard is a result of Stan’s hard work.

This week Chance did a little extra work in our yard. I walked out to the backyard this morning and found an extra bush blocking my path. On closer examination, it turned out to be a very large, very leafy tree branch. We’ve had some wind gusts and apparently one was big enough to take down a healthy limb from our tree. It’s a robust tree so losing one limb isn’t likely to have an impact, and the limb missed the house. So far, it’s a pretty neutral affair.

I had trouble moving the big bushy thing and realized that the fallen limb had gotten entangled with the rhododendron. Uh oh. The rhododendron is not our healthiest bush. It’s gotten bashed by fallen branches a few times and has struggled to come back. I’m rooting hard for the little darling so I was quite concerned. I reached in to gently pry fallen limb from the bush and found two newly broken rhododendron branches. Both branches were previously hit and had been struggling to regain life. Previously they seemed to be winning the slow battle so I wasn’t willing to prune them, even though I knew I should. Here, in one swift move, Chance did the pruning I couldn’t bring myself to do.

Our yard has a smaller, but much healthier rhododendron and I have another reason to continue my haphazard gardening ways. I’m going to really enjoy those blooms.