Category Archives: about me

May 15, 2011 · 11:03 AM

Desert Therapy

I had a week. I was feeling tired and run-down, sick from the medication I was taking, and grumpy from the heat. I was sleeping even less than normal (which is minimal to begin with), and badly in need of an outing and some good old-fashioned head clearing.

We had an off-roading trip scheduled yesterday, and I was so feeling so badly that we were wondering if we’d have to cancel. In the end though, staying home was just not an option. I HAD to get out, and the desert was the perfect place to be. Breathing in the wide, open, desert air is far and away my preferred therapy (better even than Alanis Morissette) It’s one place I can always relax. One place I can always be me. It was exactly what I needed, and it restored me in both body and soul.

This video is under two minutes, and is just something I quickly shot as we were driving through a little canyon. What I love about it is Tegan squealing happily in the back seat… the sound of which is of course better for the soul than the desert and Alanis combined.

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Filed under about me, family, health, off-roading

May 8, 2011 · 7:00 AM

14 Things

I have been a mother for 14 years.  To celebrate my 14 years of motherhood, here are fourteen (of many) things I love about MY mother.  I wouldn’t be the mother – or the person – that I am if it were not for her.

My Mom and my Spencer

1.  She is beautiful, inside and out.

2.  She’s a klutz, just like me.  No really, that’s a good thing.  It’s important not to feel alone.

3.  She loves to learn new things, and try new things, and isn’t afraid to jump in with both feet each and every time.

4.  She is the best cook I know.  Her apple pie is beyond compare.

5.  She drops everything and comes running when I have gall bladder problems.  And kidney problems.  And babies.

6.  She’s supportive of my choice to homeschool… or at the very least, she keeps any negative opinions to herself

7.  She raised me to have deep appreciation for good chocolate, good wine, good coffee, and God (not necessarily in that order)

8.  Once when I had a really, really bad day in high school, she let me take the next day off as a “mental health” day.

9.  She came to every concert, every recital, every play, and every sporting event… even if I was sitting on the bench the whole game.

10.  She moved across an entire country to be nearer to her children and her grandchildren.

11.  She made me wine glasses with elephants etched on them.

12.  She left me with a lifetime supply of inside jokes, funny memories, and crazy family stories.

13.  She treats my husband like her own son, and has done so ever since the first day I brought him home 20 years ago.

14.  She treats my kids with patience, kindness, and respect.  She gets down on the floor and plays with them, which is far and away more important to me than any of the above.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  I love you more than you know.  And Happy Mother’s Day to ALL the mothers out there, and especially to those mothers whose babies are no longer with them, and to those mothers who are still waiting for their babies to arrive.   I am thinking of all of you today.

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Filed under about me, family, holidays, memories

May 4, 2011 · 9:52 AM

Just Breathe

Cause you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable
And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe… just breathe ~Anna Nalick

Yesterday, the kids and I were at a homeschool group play day at a local church (and by “group”, I mean us and one other family) We were sitting in a huge kids’ classroom, very well-stocked with blocks, lots of dress-up clothes, kitchen, play food, et al. The big kids were lounging on little futons playing with their DSes, and the little kids were, well, being little kids…. running around, playing, laughing, and making a general rumpus.

How can you not love this kid? 🙂

It was all happy, noisy, babble… and then for one brief second there was a moment of silence. Without intending to, I sighed. It wasn’t a dainty little sigh, but a big, heaving, whoosh of air sigh like you’d do after you’ve been holding your breath for a long time.

I’d forgotten to breathe again.

It sounds ridiculous to say it, but it’s true. And I do it all. the. time. Sometimes I get so caught up in the noise and the hustle and the bustle and the business of life that I almost quite literally hold my breath. I’m just kind of hanging on, waiting for that next quiet moment when I can let out that whoosh of air. When I can relax, when I can settle my mind, when I can BREATHE.

The ironic part about it is that I know the importance of breathing. I do yoga, I had natural births, I study natural health. I know about breathing. Even my kids will tell you the importance of breathing because it’s something I talk to them about often. I remind them to take deep breaths when they’re angry, when they’re injured, when they’re feeling sick, when they’re anxious. It oxygenates the body, it calms us down, and it centers us. There’s virtually no ailment that it doesn’t help in some way.

Dr Andrew Weil, one of my favorite natural health gurus, has this to say about breathing properly:

Breath is the master key to health and wellness, a function we can learn to regulate and develop in order to improve our physical, mental, and spiritual well-being… In many languages, the words for spirit and breath are one and the same (from Natural Health, Natural Medicine)

Proper breathing seems like such a simple thing, but for some reason it’s one I have to be continually reminded to work on. And I am always glad when I do. It makes me feel better, makes me a much more effective parent, and makes the day a whole lot more enjoyable (or tolerable, depending)

If you’re reading this right now: take a nice, deep cleansing breath (in through your nose, out through your mouth) because you probably need it. Take another. Take seven.

Feel better? You. are. welcome.

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Filed under about me, breathing, quotes, random

April 27, 2011 · 9:51 PM

I’m Officially Old

Spencer is fourteen as of two months ago. Last night, I was sitting at my computer, minding my own business, when he came in and asked me a question. This is not unusual for him – or for any of my children – especially in the evening. They’re often wandering in and out, asking questions, chatting for a little while, then going back to their own projects.

What was unusual was the question. It was a big question. It was the question.

“Hey Mommy, how old were you when you started dating?”

Now I, of course, answered with immediate and unflinching honesty.

“Twenty seven. And I was 30 before I had sex.”

No, what I really told him was the truth: that I’d officially started dating when I was around his age.

He was pleased with this information, and didn’t miss a beat before asking, “Well when can I start dating?”

“When you’re twenty seven.”

But the fact was, I didn’t have any magic age for him. Like anything else, I told him, it would happen when it happened. We’d deal with it together when the time came. That answer seemed to satisfy him, and he wandered out again… only to return about 18 seconds later.

“Mommy. How do you do that thing on Facebook? Where it says so-and-so is in a relationship with so-and-so?”

I laughed a little bit. I couldn’t help it. He wanted to know how people made their relationship “Facebook official.”

“It’s just an option in your profile. You can go in and edit it, and then it just shows up.”

He thought about that for a second. “Does the other person have to be on Facebook too?”

“No,” I told him, “You can say you’re in a relationship with anyone.”

He left again. I chuckled. It’s funny, this new age of dating. It’s when he came back for a third time to ask, “So if I meet a girl, is it better if I get her email, or should I just get her number so I can text her?” that it hit me:

I’m old.

Not only am I old, but I’m also profoundly and hopelessly out of touch with the times. I have no idea how people date in 2011.   Now if he’d asked me how to fold up a note into a neat little triangle, I’d have been able to help him.  If he’d wanted to know about slipping said note into the slats of his beloved’s locker, I’d have been all over it.  I could have even helped him make a mixed (cassette) tape of songs I’d recorded from the radio, and shown him how to wrap yarn around his class ring so it’d fit on his girl’s finger.

But Facebook?  Texting?  Emails?  None of that existed when I was his age.   My gosh, was it THAT long ago?  I’m 37, not 87!    But alas, it’s true.  It’s a whole new world out there.   I was 14 over 20 years ago.  And because I met and married my now-husband when I was still in my late teens, I never knew the joys of waiting for a returned email (only the joys of waiting for a returned note to be passed in between gym and science class)  Never knew what it was like to have a picture instantly text to me (only what it was like to bring my film to the one hour photo developing place a week after I took them)  I never knew the sadness of having 200 friends watch at once as my relationship status changed in a blink from taken to single (only the humiliation of having to tell everyone, one at a time, until the word had passed… that yes, I’d been officially dumped again)

Is one way better than the other?  Was I missing out on the wonders of communication that were yet to come?  Or is the other way around?

I don’t know the answer, but I do know that the realization of this gulf between my teenage son and my teenage self made me… tired.  The whole thing was making my head spin, and it was making me tired.

I’m old.

But the conversation wasn’t over yet.  I’d already gone to bed to watch TV by the time he came to find me again.   “Mommy.  How do I set my phone to have a different ringtone for different people?  So like when I have a girlfriend, I can have a special song just for her?”  And finally I had a good answer, the answer that would give my poor old tired brain a rest from trying to wrap itself around the fact that the last time I was dating there was no such thing as Facebook, George Sr was president, and gas cost $1.50.

The phone that Spencer and Paxton share used to belong to Mike, and I have enough trouble with the intricacies of my own phone, let alone someone else’s.  So it was with honesty – and relief – that I tenderly looked him in the eyes and said,

“You’ll have to ask your father.”  And so he did.

And I went off to sleep, dreaming of a simpler time.

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Filed under about me, memories, Spencer, technology

April 26, 2011 · 9:08 PM

Spilled Milk: A couple of thoughts a week later

The shoes that started it all

Dan, of Single Dad Laughing and Will Work 4 Followers posts a weekly “Lessons Learned”… sort of a rundown of the good and bad of that week’s posts, how they were received, and what he’s learned from it.  I’ve been thinking about that all day today, because I’ve learned a lot of lessons in the past week, both large and small.

First and foremost, I’m an even bigger introvert than I thought.  One week ago, on a really really good day, my blog would get maybe 200 views.  Maybe.  Today it got 4,700.  My Spilled Milk post has been shared and re-shared and passed along almost 2,000 times.  I say that not to toot my own horn, but to give a frame of reference for what I’m about to say, which is:

I’m little bit overwhelmed.

I have gotten a lot of comments, emails, and Facebook messages (most of which have been extremely positive, for which I am very thankful!!) and  I’m grateful and humbled by all of you who’ve passed my words along.  It’s been very, very cool to connect with so many new people.  It’s also been a little…. strange.  Scary.  I don’t always know what to say to everyone, so bear with me.

Second, I’ve learned that I should have been a little more specific about my daughter’s age.  I took it for granted that people knew she was only three, and I had many new readers who did not.  I got a lot of comments from people thinking she was much older, and wondering why I’d be okay with a 7 year old (or whatever) throwing shoes into a lake.  It didn’t occur to me until today to go back and edit the post to reflect her age.  Sometimes it doesn’t really make a difference, but I think in this case it made a big difference.  She’s three.  And it might have spared me some grief if I’d been clear about that from the beginning.

I’ve also learned that there are some major limitations to blogging as a means of communication.  A blog post like that one is just one little snapshot… a small example to illustrate a larger point.  It wasn’t meant to be a blow-by-blow account of how I handled the situation, more of a discourse on how I did NOT handle the situation.  But I left details out.  I didn’t mention what I said to her (and honestly, I don’t remember the specifics of what I said to her) just because I didn’t think it would add to the message of my blog.   It wasn’t really my point.  That does not mean though that I had the words, or the attitude, of “What a great idea, you cute little thing you.  Let’s throw everyone’s personal property into the water.  Here’s my purse, and don’t forget my phone and car keys!”  A lot of people commented (most nicely, some not as nicely) that while maybe the “things” don’t matter, that the discipline matters.  That the teaching right from wrong matters.  That the consequences matter.  That if I let my kids do whatever they want – which again, was not the point – that they’ll grow up into miscreants.  Or something. 

I’ve blogged about gentle discipline many times, and I will blog about it again.  In fact, I’m working on another post inspired by the many comments on this one… a post about learning right from wrong, about learning respect for ourselves and others, and about what we really mean when we say “natural consequences.”    I hope to post it soon.

I believe in guiding my kids through loving words and actions, and I believe in discovering and circumventing and figuring out the world WITH them and beside them.  I believe in treating them with kindness and with respect.  And yes, I do screw up constantly sometimes and I’m always striving to do better.

I think all of the above are great and worthwhile things to talk – and write – about as fellow parents, and are a big part of why I keep this blog.  But if you’re looking for someone who takes a positive stance on things like time-outs, taking away of privileges, and creating lots of rules – and you don’t want to hear about alternatives – then this might not be the right place for you.   If you disagree, but are willing to discuss and behave like a grownup, awesome.  If you want to learn about another way of doing things, great. I’m happy to have you.

And finally, a quick word about comments.  I love comments.  I think most bloggers love comments.  I try to respond to them all (I actually have a few from today that I still want to get to) and I don’t moderate them so far.  In other words, if you write it, it shows up.  And just like I believe in treating kids with respect, I believe in treating adults with respect as well.  I’m glad to have a respectful discussion with someone who disagrees with me, but if you’re going to lead by telling me that I don’t care about my kids, and that they must be home schooled since they’re so selfish… you’re not too likely to get much of a response.

To those of you who are still with me, thank you!  It’s been a wild, and fun, past couple of days. 🙂

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Filed under about me, blogging, gentle discipline, parenting

April 22, 2011 · 8:05 PM

To My 16 Year Old Self…

So my friend Jessica, of Bohemian Bowmans, asked:

What would you say to your 16 year old self?

And I gotta admit, my first knee-jerk reaction was,  do I really want to pull on that thread?  The question would better read, “What WOULDN’T I say to my 16 year old self?”  I mean, there’s a reason for the expression,  “Hindsight is 20/20.”  And really, what 30-something wouldn’t have a mouthful of wisdom for her wide-eyed, wet behind the ears, barely out of a training bra younger self?

But then I thought, You know what?  It’s been awhile since I thought about her.  And I probably remember that age with more clarity than any of the rest of my high school years.

The driver’s license.  The first car.

The part-time job.

The drama.

The boys.  Oh, the boys…

It was a crazy time.  A tumultuous time.  But a good time all the same.  Still, I wouldn’t go back in time to that age for all the money in the world.  I’ll take 37 over 16 any day of the week, and twice on Sunday.

…but I’ve digressed…

So without further preambling, I give you my letter to my former self:

Dear person who kind of looks like me but otherwise bears little resemblance to the person I will become,

First, for the love of all that is good and holy, LIGHTEN UP.  Stop taking yourself  so seriously.   Laugh more.  Play more.  Take more risks.  Quit being so afraid of what people will think  what people will say   making a fool of yourself   making mistakes  LIVING.   Life is funny.   It’s messy.  It’s unpredictable.  It’s bumpy.  And it’s wonderful!!!  

Don’t sweat the small stuff.

Please don’t waste perfectly good energy trying to live your life to please other people, because 1.  You never will, and 2.  You’ll make yourself miserable in the process.  Believe it or not, in 20 years you will have created an entire lifestyle around NOT following the crowd, and it will make you insanely and blissfully happy.

Expand your taste in music.  There are other bands besides Chicago, Journey, and REO Speedwagon.  You will eventually realize this, but you will save your future husband hours of torture if you realize it sooner.

Keep writing!

The only few times you will break out of your “good girl, must-please-everyone” mold and try to do something even remotely sneaky and rebellious…. you will get caught and get in trouble.  Don’t bother.  Except…. yeah, it’ll be worth it.  Do it anyway.  You’ll look back and laugh.

And speaking of laughing, you know how people say, “When you look back on this, you’ll laugh?”  In most cases, you really will.  So don’t wait.  Laugh about it now.

Stop putting your books and your wallet and your bags on top of your car.  You’ll waste a lot of time chasing them down in parking lots, main streets, and fire ponds.  And while we’re on the subject of cars:  get a hide-a-key.  Or stop leaving the dang keys in the ignition when you lock it.  Either one.  Get gas when the gauge says E.  Don’t speed around corners in front of cops.  Don’t talk back to them either.  Don’t drive so close to the mailbox (or the rock wall, or the garage door, or the car in front of you)

Don’t take advanced math.   It will cause you huge amounts of grief, and you will not need it, no matter how many people tell you otherwise.

Your parents love you.  And they’re human, and they make mistakes.  

I’m sorry to tell you that you’re soon going to have your heart broken one more time by another loser person of questionable moral character. He will be charming and lovely and conniving and abusive. He will cheat on you. It will be a good lesson in irony though, because he will be the “good, Christian boy” that you meet at a church function. Everyone will approve of him, and no one will believe you when you try to show them his true colors. But take heart, because you will meet your future husband in one year, when you least expect it. You will know immediately that he is “the one.”

Don’t do track just because your friends are doing it.  You’re not a runner, you’re too clumsy for field events, and you will give yourself life-long shin splints from the triple jump.

You know nothing.  You’ll still know nothing when you’re 37, but you’ll KNOW you know nothing.  You’ll love learning, you’ll crave knowledge, and you’ll passionately dive into a million and one  pursuits.  Not because you have to, not because it’s the right thing to do, but because you WANT TO.

Wear your retainer.  

You were given a working, thinking brain for a reason.  You can spare yourself a long, painful, and frustrating process of “finding yourself” if you let yourself be you NOW.  If you let yourself have opinions NOW.  Find out who you are, and try not to be afraid of it.

Don’t be afraid to ask the hard questions.

Do be afraid of falling off the ski lift.

Remember what it feels like to be a kid. 

Research circumcision before you have your first son.

Don’t let all the naysayers get you down when you get married at 19.  You’ll still be happily married 18 years later.  

You’re questioning your faith, but God will never leave your side.   Not once.  You’ll take a long, strange path to discover it…. but you’ll take a long, strange path to discover most things.  The life you live as an adult will be so far removed from what you can imagine now that you wouldn’t even understand it.  There will be naysayers then too, but don’t worry.  You will be stronger then.  You will be confident.  You will be happy.  You will finally be YOU. 

In about seven years, your life will start to make sense. 

 And finally:   please, please save yourself some future self-flagellation and stop being so narrow minded and judgmental about things like… oh I don’t know… homeschooling, extended breastfeeding, and attachment parenting.  Seriously. Just…. stop. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Your pushing 40 but younger-than-ever future self.


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April 13, 2011 · 9:04 PM

Yesterday…

Yesterday, the kids and I joined a couple of friends and their children for an afternoon at the park. Honestly, I didn’t really want to be there at first. Not because of the company, or the location, but just because I was tired and kind of down, and pretty much just wanted to curl up somewhere away from all of humanity.

But I went, and I stayed. And I’m glad I did. It was nice to get out of my own head for awhile, and the kids had a blast. The picture above is Tegan and her little friend Jillian enjoying playing at the edge of the water. It was taken after she’d rolled up her jeans to walk in the mud, and before she’d thrown Spencer’s shoes in the lake. And somewhere in between, all 11 of us had a picnic lunch, strolled through the park’s pathways, crossed lots of bridges, and oohed at the little ducklings that swam by.

And I had a good time, in spite of myself.

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April 8, 2011 · 10:09 AM

Projects, my mom, and homemade pasta

The older I get, the more traits I realize I share with my mother.

My mom and I both are big fans of trying new projects. And we’re not little toe-dippers either. We get an idea, we get all excited, and the next thing we know we have closets full of… stuff… for jewelry making, wine making, lip balm making, scrap book scrapping, hair clip crafting, gold panning (although in my defense, the gold panning supplies were my husband’s idea)

I have a tendency to get a little too, well,  enthusiastic when I am struck with inspiration. You know how when you try a crazy or difficult new recipe, a sensible person would think, “This might not turn out right. We might not like this. I’ll just make a small batch?” Well my brain immediately tends to go to, “Pssssh, it’s a waste of time to make such a tiny amount. I’ll triple it.”

And it’s a vicious circle too, because every time my mom does something new, which is often, I can’t help but think, “Wow, that’s cool. I should try that.” And I often do. Recently she’s been making these beautiful pieces of wire jewelry, and has been etching glass for a year or two now.

Isn’t this beautiful?

I can’t apologize for my penchant for jumping headlong into new projects. Even if it sometimes means closets – and garages – full of abandoned supplies. Even if it sometimes means three giant batches of something that was supposed to be edible, but was in fact not edible, in the trash. Even if it sometimes frustrates my husband.

I really believe that it’s important to try new things, to keep learning, and to stay engaged (or get acquainted) with your creative side. I also think that it works out strongly in my favor that I share this belief with my mother. Because when she’s done with something, I get her hand-me-downs.

Yesterday, inspired by my big, huge list, I decided to pull out the pasta maker she gave me a few months ago (from where it had been sitting, untouched, in the garage.) While I was hunting for it, I came across the sewing machine, also from my mother and also untouched, that I was so excited to get… um, about 8 years ago.

Note to self: Sew something soon.

But first, PASTA!

The box had everything but the instruction manual, so first we had to Google. Then I carefully washed all the pieces, got it assembled, and put on Everett’s chosen shape. Two cups of flour, a couple tablespoons of olive oil, a little water, and one (homegrown) egg later, and we were in business.

There was one brief moment of panic when the motor completely shut off just as it started to extrude the noodles, but it was nothing a little troubleshooting and readjusting couldn’t fix.

And about an hour from the time I first got the machine out of the garage, we enjoyed our very first, very delicious, homemade pasta.

On a sad, and ironic, post note: After we all agreed that our future was going to hold lots of homemade pasta making, a critical inside piece of the machine (already stressed and weathered just from age) completely snapped and broke when it was being washed.

They don’t make the machine anymore. And they don’t sell replacement parts. 🙁

Oh well. I’m glad we got to use it, even once. Now I get to research buying a different kind, which is half the fun of a new project anyway.

And I really am going to sew something. Soon.

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Filed under about me, family, projects

March 22, 2011 · 10:27 PM

To Do (Or Not To Do)

Don’t you love it how, when you’ve got something on your mind, you suddenly see it everywhere? It’s like God and the universe and all of humanity just get together and throw not just signs, but big, honking HUGE signs in your path until you act on them.

I’ve blogged over the past few days about how I’ve been a little bit… lost lately. A little bit overwhelmed. My husbands says I’ve been in a funk. I say I’ve been “creatively (and probably mentally, emotionally, and spiritually) blocked.” No matter what you call it, I haven’t been me lately. And one thing that helps me, one thing that always helps me, is getting more organized. I KNOW this. I know this well. And yet…

I still fight it, tooth and nail, every time.

No, no, no! Screams my inner child. I am a free spirit! I do not need lists, I do not like schedules, I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl! I work well in the chaos. I will not change my ways. I will not, I will not, I will NOT!

I sort of stubbornly cling to the madness instead of admitting I might need a little help. Now, I’m not a big Dr Phil fan, but for better or worse it’s his voice I keep hearing in my head..

“How’s that working out for you?”

And it’s not. I’ve been spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. And I’m tired. I admit it. But what to do about it?

And this is where God, the universe, and all of humanity come in. Everything I’ve seen, read, or listened to the past several days has said the same things: I need to make a to-do list. I need to get back to basics. I need to remember what’s important. I need to prioritize. I need to take baby steps. I need to make a to-do list.

A list? Come on. A list will not solve my problems. And ordinarily, when I’m thinking clearly, I would tell you that I LOVE lists. Lists are my friend. Lists make me happy.

But now, really? A list? I’ve been resisting this for days.

This morning, I signed onto Twitter, and the very first tweet I read was from someone who I find almost irritatingly upbeat, positive, and inspiring. It read:

The easiest way to improve time management is to keep a to-do list.

Oh alright already, I’ll make a stinking to-do list!

So this morning, I did. And wouldn’t you know, I was more productive today than I’ve been in weeks and weeks, and I felt like I had way more time to spend with the kids. How is that even possible? But somehow, it is. I thought about what was important. I prioritized. I took baby steps. I got back to basics.

I still pushed the 3 year old on the swings. And I watched Dora. And I played Memory. And I played Uno Moo. And I baked. And I connected with my boys. And I went to bed at a decent hour, on freshly washed sheets. Instead of lamenting that I wished I had more hours, I actually felt like I had gained hours. I felt calmer, I felt less frazzled, I felt less scattered.

All because of a to-do list? Well, no. But it was a step. And sometimes that’s all it takes.

“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

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March 18, 2011 · 4:41 PM

Baby Steps

I tend to have an all-or-nothing personality. When I’m in my groove, nothing can stop me. I feel like I can take on the world. I’m organized, I’m upbeat, I’m productive, I’m happily humming along. Which is great when things are great, but pull out one tiny thread and I crumble. Once I start to lose my footing, for whatever reason, I let it all go. I can’t sleep, I stop eating right, I stop exercising, I let the housework pile up, etc.  Until enough time passes, something reminds to get a grip, and I get myself right again.

It’s kind of exhausting.

Yesterday, I signed up for another (thankfully self-paced) course that I’ve been wanting to take for a long time now.  As excited as I was – and I am excited – I was almost instantly seized with a sense of panic:

“Why in the world do I think I can do this when I can’t even keep up with the laundry?”

I publicly lamented the fact that I wished I had more TIME (even though I know, deep down, that this has absolutely nothing to do with time)  and I got this wonderful, beautiful response from one of my readers on Facebook:

“You have all the time in the world! Just need to realize which things are for now and which are for another season in your life…. I think each thing should get our full attention and intention before we move on to the next idea. Slow it down. You’ll get to it soon enough.”

Such a timely reminder.  I have so many things I want to do, and because of life, and priorities, and circumstances, they keep getting shuffled around.  My yoga training has been put off again, most likely until next year… partly because of necessity, and partly because of choice.

I can’t do it all right now. And that’s okay.  It doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with me, and it doesn’t mean I have to just throw in the towel.   It means that I can live in the moment, and give myself fully to the season at hand.  It means that whatever I’m doing, I can do it deliberately, and fully, and with my whole heart…  and the rest will fall into place.

The past few weeks have been rife with sickness, sleeplessness, and stress.  I’ve been overwhelmed with how behind I am on … well … everything.  Today, I took a deep breath, decided to find peace in the moment, and slowly started stepping my way back into the light.  I can’t fix it all today.  And that’s okay too.

Today, it was just about the laundry.

I still had 3 more loads to do after these.

Since the kids are sick, and just needed to lay around and rest anyway, I put on a family-friendly movie, poured myself a fresh cup of coffee…. and folded the heck out of that pile of clothes.

It was actually strangely soothing and cathartic when I gave myself fully to the moment, and it felt good.  I wasn’t stressing out about the rest of my to-do list, wasn’t getting frustrated with the three year old (who was tossing the pile as quick as I could fold it), wasn’t thinking about what I was going to do next.  I was just enjoying a movie with my kids, thankful for a tiny step back to organization, thankful for clean clothes, thankful for the opportunity to do something that would make our weekend a little bit easier.

There is peace to be found, even in laundry.

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