Even Tough Girls Have Tough Days

I'm still trying to clean out the nightmare basket in the kitchen, and this morning I found this scratched in Sharpie across a torn piece of notebook paper (from December 2015):

C: "*sigh* Sometimes even tough girls can have tough days."

Me: "That is so true. Who says that?"

C: "Me."

Yes, even tough girls can sometimes have tough days. Yesterday was a tough afternoon for mainly reasons of my own bad mood funk. I got home from church and fed kids lunch and settled them into beds for naps/rests and then I looked around our house as if seeing for the first time all of the things staring back at me... laundry piled for washing, floor crying out for a mop, crap everywhere piling up ready to be sorted for Goodwill... and I promptly put on pajamas and sank onto the couch with some popcorn. It was just that kind of day.

Luckily, we had already accepted an invitation to a parishioner's farm for dinner. The fun of being out in the country and watching C&N pet the horses and startle the chickens and generally run amok got me right out of my funk. Turns out that was all I needed.

I awoke to a better day! Somehow I got a ton of stuff done today including but not limited to purchasing a new (to me) shirt from Goodwill for 5 bucks and coming home to google it and finding out it is on sale right now for $60. Score! And also... who spends $60 on a sleeveless shirt?!

I worked out, ran some errands, did a ton of laundry, got everything in order to register C for Kindergarten, and even managed all of it on one less cup of coffee than yesterday. I call that an all-round win. I've realized giving myself really small increments of time in which to do something is a sure way to get something done. So, for instance, today I put a bag of edamame in the micro, hit 5 minutes, and told myself I couldn't have any until I was showered and the phone call on the to-do list was made. Somehow I did it. Short hair for the win!

Sometimes even tough girls have tough days. Today the tough girl won out. Here's hoping tomorrow is just as great.

Cabin Fever

Given the number of days I've spent at home the last few weeks I have nothing of interest to blog about... as you already know.

C has had a fever that's been coming and going and then coming and then going so we've stayed home a ridiculous number of days since spring break. After a long morning of running tests yesterday the doctor's best guess is an otherwise asymptomatic sinus infection. So, here's hoping the new meds do the trick!

But that means were home today. Again.

The kids are watching Brave. I'm doing laundry and washing dishes and contemplating the fact that I should really clean our master bedroom.

It's a beautiful day outside. Maybe we'll head out to the backyard.

In a few months I will feel bad for Chris when the kids and I are at the splash pad with Sonic drinks and he is at work. When that time comes I hope he remembers this spring when I was stuck indoors for days on end with cabin fever and he was the one feeling bad for me. When that time comes, Chris, I'll bring you a Sonic drink and a free smile.

How to Clean Your House With Kids

I saw a website recently that had printable instructions on how to clean your house. Like, a step-by-step checklist to get your house clean.

The first step was to "pick up everything in every room."

Clearly this author doesn't have small children. I nearly snorted coffee out of my nose reading her instructions. If I cleaned my house by that list it would NEVER be clean. Ever. There is no point in picking up toys. Children see a clean room not as a clean room but as an opportunity. A clean room is like a blank canvas.

Here are my rules for cleaning a house if you have small children:

Step One: Invite someone over. This step is crucial as it will give you a deadline and purpose.
Step Two: Clean the master bedroom. This should take about 5 minutes regardless of how messy it is. Put away any laundry stacked up on the dresser. Shove all shoes back into the closet. Make the bed. Vacuum. Dust. Done. Close the master bedroom door and forbid anyone from entering on penalty of death. Or worse, penalty of lost gummies.
Step Three: Clean the dining room. Put away the stacks of laundry covering the table. Wipe it down. Floors will be done later.
Step Four: Kitchen. Put away everything strewn all over the counters. Anything that doesn't have a home should be shoved into a basket for later organization. You know, the basket full of papers from 2014. Wipe the cabinets. Wipe the counters. Leave floors for later.
Step Five: Living room. Get out the vacuum and pick up as you go. The vacuum is essential to this process as children believe it will eat toys and they will screech and scream and run in front of you "saving their toys" aka cleaning up the living room.
Step Six: Floors. Vacuum the entire house with the Step Five method. Mop tile floors.
Step Seven: Twenty minutes before guests arrive remember you have not yet cleaned the bathroom. Run through that sucker as quickly as possible. Don't try to clean the bathroom before then... the kids will just go in and brush their teeth (how does so much toothpaste get on the counter?!). Always leave the bathroom for last.

Badda Bing Badda Boom. Clean house in 7 simple steps.

Optional Step 8: think to oneself "hm. perhaps I should dust..." (said the woman with a major dust allergy) and wander around the house with a damp cloth during that weird interim when waiting for guests to arrive. Remember that it's been a while since cleaning the master bathroom and make a mental note to do that at some point in the future.

Yes, this is really how our house gets clean. Stay tuned for tips on how to declutter.

Okay, here it is: one step to declutter...
Don't let empty diaper boxes leave your house unless they are full of stuff to drop off at Goodwill. I never recycle those big boxes. I put them on my dresser and slowly (or not so slowly) fill them with stuff to get rid of. Voila! Constantly decluttering.

Unsolved Mysteries

When others talk about the mystery of the "missing left sock" I've always been inwardly dumbfounded. What do you mean you can't find a sock?! Just put both in the hamper, dump the contents of the hamper into the washer/dryer, fold them together... repeat as needed. Evidently I've now reached the point in motherhood in which I can't find the kids' freaking "left" socks. Where do those little devils go?!

They're probably stealing our containers and hitting the road. Because where are all of the containers? I go to put leftovers away and just find a bunch of lids in the cabinet. Where are those lidless containers?!

They're probably somewhere out there with the missing socks. They watch as I bring bags and bags of crap out of my house and while we're sleeping they sneak in to refill the toy bins with Happy Meal sized toys and naked Barbies.

3 pm update

Damn, I love my washing machine and dryer. I don't think I ever ever use them without feeling so thankful to have them. Seriously.

We started the day off on the right foot with Nils' choice of Barney (yes, really) which meant that I got to take a shower in peace. Alleluia! Thank you Barney! I also reorganized our pantry. I would like to say "cleaned out" but we all know that's a lie. I just rearranged. Then, I decided it was high time to face the laundry I've ignored for pretty much a month. Chris was down to nothing. He probably wore a suit to work today. Or a swimsuit.

Mysteriously the majority of Carolena's laundry was leotards and costumes. Okay, not mysteriously. OBVIOUSLY. That kid.

After Barney I announced it was time to go to Target which we never do. No, that isn't sarcasm. I don't actually like going to Target. *gasp* We (cough I cough) went nuts in the 90% Christmas clearance and came home with a ton of wrapping paper and tags and Christmas galore. Hooray for 35 cent wrapping paper! We ran into an aquaintance there who looked at my cart like I was nuts. And of course said something snarky. She would. Umm... but she's the one whose nuts, right? I just spent 3 bucks on $30 worth of wrapping paper. *insert massive eye rolling*

The kids requested McDonald's for lunch and as I was/am determined to have a great day, we went off to the land of Happy Meals. And now... they're both asleep.

All is calm. The dryer is doing all the work. Sure, there is a grocery list to be made and a heck of a lot of laundry to be folded. There is still stuff covering the dining room table that needs to be put away. There's dinner to be made. But for now... quiet. Calm. Now, where did I leave my book?

This Morning

This morning I can't help but wonder how many Americans who are angry, scared, prejudiced against Muslims have ever actually really known anyone who is Muslim.

This morning I am worn out from yesterday... a day that began full of promise and list item check-offing. A day that crashed into a migraine with aura (the worst scariest kind), a sore upper back (the spot on my body where I used to repeatedly pull the same muscle and thus was freaked out that I might pull it again and be unable to move for days), and a sick Nils. Luckily, migraines with aura (though I lose my vision due to the aura and they hit fast and hard) don't tend to last very long (a few hours) so I was out of bed by the evening and able to help Chris when he found that Nils had thrown up in his bed and merely scooted over and gone back to sleep. So, with sore head and sore back I slept on Nils' floor and awoke periodically with him to "shush" him back into slumber.

This morning I keep thinking about Sarah Condon's latest for Mockingbird: Of Lice and Life and the Relief of Naming the Mother in the Room. Yes, yes, that resonates around here.

This morning I am relieved to have an email from the church where I have been the guest speaker as of late, telling me that people have been talking about the topic and anyone who has missed one has been worried about what they missed. Whew. I put so much work into teaching and it's hard to tell if people care or not. It's nice to know when they care.

This morning I'm thinking about the things that I can do while staying home all day with poor Nils. Laundry of course... because there is always freaking laundry. Perhaps I should pack for the wedding. Thanks to Kelly, grandmothers expect kids' hand print ornaments every year so I better get those rolling. I shouldn't complain because they are awesome and I'm happy to have them as well... but dang, Kel, you couldn't have chosen easier hand print ornaments to make each year than sewing them?! Those are a labor of love far above and beyond any pot of caramel corn.

This morning kids are watching Thomas the Tank Engine and I'm just thinking about how someday they'll be old enough to watch 30 Rock and they'll be like, "what is this crap? This is so weird! What year is this from?... and wait... I know that voice... is that guy the narrator from Thomas?!" and I'll just say, "Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!"

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Sometimes a few days at home is just what the doctor ordered. And no, I don't mean my own grown-up life-in-suburbia two-kids-and-two-cats home. I mean home home. ET phone home. Big Money Texas. Beaumont, y'all. There's just something about driving down I-10 and seeing a huge alligator welcome you to Beaumont that just screams... well, I'm not sure what that screams actually... something.

Ah, yes, a few days at home with my family was wonderful. I slept in my own room. Well, for like five seconds. I slept in Hunter's room for two nights as I crashed while tucking in C and spent a few sleepless nights shushing N from Kelly's bed as well. Evidently we like to leave my mother with sheets to wash on every single bed. Sorry, Mom. Carolena came home talking about how the Piney Woods make you sneeze to which I like to respond in a weird creepy Cajun/country/made up accent, "Yyyeeeeppp, that's liiife behiiind the piiiine currrtain. I was born in that there briar patch."

I never claim(ed) to be normal.

We ate fabulous food (but awesomely not toooo much of it), danced the Charleston (because, duh), played games (nope, other people did that. I read BFrank's bio), and were just happy to all be together.

But, as all good things must come to an end, Saturday morning arrived and the piney woods had taken their toll. My sinuses have forgotten how to survive in such extreme circumstances. My children were exhausted. My mother was remembering her own Benjamin Franklin research ("fish and visitors" you know). So we loaded up the plethora of Coke glasses I'd reclaimed from the attic (I'm sure Chris is thrilled) and headed home.

We came home with a pile of dirty laundry (because I did not heed my mother's advice to wash it before leaving) and arrived to a completely empty refrigerator. So I started a load of laundry and hopped out to the grocery store.

Chris tossed our bags into our bedroom and we started hauling down the Christmas decorations. A tree was purchased and decorated. Lights were strung up outside. I pulled out white paper and started cutting out snowflakes galore. I have priorities after all. The laundry will eventually get done. The grocery buying can wait. But the joy and anticipation of Advent? The excitement and wonder of incarnation? The mystery of love and God among us in a hurting and war-torn world? Yeah, I'm ready to get into that. So we pulled out the things that we claim as "Christmas" and started pouring them all over our household. There is so much in this world that I can't control. There is so much anger and hate and hurt. But you know what I can control? Whether or not there is a 7ft tree taking up residence in the living room. Yeah, we're ready for Advent. We're ready for a season of hope. A season of reflecting on peace, on Emmanuel.

So this morning we awoke to a twinkling Christmas tree. A good-smelling-happiness-inducing slice of Advent. A reminder of hope. A reminder of peace. A reminder that God is with us. Nils stares at it in impish wonder and joy. His face glows in merriment that can't be contained nor described. "Tree! Tree!" he exclaims while dancing and pointing. Carolena sighs and stares dreamily at its twinkling lights. They know nothing of the hurt and pain of the world. They know only of love and comfort and joy. Children at Christmas time. I'm just ready for that.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

I'm Being Swallowed By a Boa Constrictor...

Oh no, oh no, he swallowed my toe! He swallowed my toe!

With two little ones under the age of five and a second (very loveable but sometimes somewhat demanding) spouse named "the Church," life involves a lot of squeezing right now. Squeezing in the things that have to happen like laundry and dinner and vestry meetings and working to fill them with love as best we can rather than stress. My little helper monkeys folding laundry help to fill that task with love (and wrinkles) and the combination of working ahead, a freezer, and a crock pot sure does fill our dinners with less stress and more love. And pizza and a movie as the standing vestry night activity around here will forever be what my children think "vestry" means. Someday they'll be active adults in a parish, run for vestry, and be disappointed to discover that the meeting doesn't mean hitting up the redbox (or future equivalent), tossing on pajamas, and spreading "the pizza blanket" across the living room.

I don't have time for squeezing in Facebook or watching tv or movies. But I do have time for crafting with my kids. And baking a freezer full of baked goods for the school fall fair. And squeezing in the library, and decorating for Halloween (it's an on-going creative process around here), and more baking for the school fair. I've squeezed in time for reading for fun falling asleep snuggled with my book (Into the Wild at the moment) and am exactly one week ahead in my work on the Gospel of Mark... which isn't as good as it sounds because I really need to squeeze in the end of that and get to work on Luke! Yikes!

We've squeezed in ballet lessons, and pumpkin patches, and plenty of spontaneous family dance parties... most of which are initiated by Nils hearing a song he likes on Pandora and yelling "come on! come on!" dancing around the den. He loves my "Proud Mary" station. We're also squeezing in more than enough time for preschool humor knock-knock jokes. Nils loves those as well and has already added his own to the mix... spoiler alert: boy humor evidently begins before the age of two. You don't want to answer the door if he says "knock knock!"

I'm squeezing in my early morning workouts. We're squeezing in special family time being sure to mark it off in advance on the calendar... because we're taking the wisdom of older, wiser clergy families and refusing to let our family get squeezed out. And in the midst of all of the squeezing we find rejoicing and prayer and thanksgiving. Constant thanksgiving.

I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor... but I'm a Syltherin so it's just fine. We're doing alright. We'll just toss the boa a party hat and invite it to the next Proud Mary living room dance party.

Broken

When Chris gets home after being out of town for a week he is going to find me chugging coffee, and he'll wonder what happened to my decaf resolve. And I will cite Day One when I used my entire week's worth of patience on a game of Memory. And Day Two when I awoke at 6 am to a boy and a crib covered in poop.

Last week I said to my mother, "Hey! Want to come over while Chris is out of town? Not because I will be floundering and needing help desperately, but because it will be fun and we can watch chick flicks."

I'm outnumbered and they poop and eat and talk and talk and talk.

Help!

Thank God mi madre arrives today. Day Two and I am a broken woman. Now, where is my cup of coffee?

Universal Laws of Motherhood

Universal Law of Motherhood #317
If your child randomly falls of off his or her chair for no apparent reason, he or she will be holding a full open-lidded cup containing any beverage other than water.

TGIF

Judging by the casual "we got this" attitudes of the McDoncald's employees, I think it's safe to assume that kids pee in the playplace regularly. Perhaps daily?

I didn't say anything to the kid busily prancing in the growing puddle. I mean, really, what else could it have been? My child was calling from up above, "Mommy! I tee teed in the slide!" Plus, his parent was already pushing him out of it. Parent Peepee will probably try to convince themselves it was Sprite. Until it's their turn to run screaming from the building with a baby under one arm, dragging a kid with soaking pants to the car.

Back on the home front Carolena got snuggled into Christmas pjams and we watched Annie trailers online. Daddy came home early and we all piled into Mommy & Daddy's bed to talk about our days and make plans for the evening.

And that was when Carolena fell off the bed and got what will probably turn out to be a sizeable shiner for Christmas.

Hurry Christmas, hurry fast, we've been good but it can't last.

The Very Thirsty Butterfly

The Very Thirsty Butterfly
A sequel

Once upon a time there was a very hungry caterpillar. She ate and ate and ate until she turned into a chrysalis and yadda yadda yadda.

Then the beautiful butterfly had some caterpillar babies and that is where this tale begins.

The very thirsty butterfly was now a mother. And thus, her life was crazy. And that was what transformed her from a butterfly... into a very thirsty butterfly. She changed diapers and did laundry and fed those very very hungry caterpillars. So, she drank coffee. She cleaned the house (sometimes) and did more laundry and fed those very hungry caterpillars some more. Then she reheated yesterday's old cup of joe. She went grocery shopping and ran errands and did more laundry. She drank coffee by the gallon.

Night came and the very thirsty butterfly fed hungry caterpillars and bathed them and tucked them in. Then the very thirsty butterfly settled down on the couch with hopes of getting up for a glass of wine after just "resting her eyes for a minute..." but awoke a few hours later to find it was time for her to peel herself off the couch, take out her contacts, and get in bed.

Morning came and the very thirsty butterfly brewed another pot.

Clergy Spouse Confessions

Life on this side of the church can be strange. Beautiful. But strange. Especially when it comes to the laundry.

Recently I washed what I would estimate to be 30,000 white tablecloths belonging to our church. Is that my job? No. Was I happy to do it? Sure. I'm a mom. What's a few more loads of laundry? Like a few more drops to Niagara. Plus, I like helping out in ways that require little more than dumping things into the washing machine, dryer, and then sending them out the door with my hubby. That's easy cheesey. Yumm... cheese...

The laundry around here can get weird though. It seems common place now to search black shirt collars for forgotten collar studs abandoned by their wearer and sure to rip holes in my bed sheets (true story - the hole was totally round like a crop circle).

Black shirts fade to gray and yet continue to fall out of my dryer warm and ready to be hung. No need for ironing work shirts around here.

Albs are a different story. When I head toward our laundry room and see a large white ghost hanging out nearby it I know it's time for the oxiclean. Ring around the collar (eeww - tmi), port wine stains (yummm... wine...), and candle drippings are just a few of the things that can grace the alb. Have you ever ironed a huge tablecloth that has a hood and billowing sleeves? Yes? Great, then you're ready to be part of a clergy family.

Our laundry is never ending. If I were to write one of those online quizzes titled something like, "Are you ready to be a Mom?" one of the questions would be, "To what degree is your sanity based on the amount of laundry you do?" and if people answer in such a way that demonstrates a strong correlation between amount of laundry looming and sanity, I'll recommend they get a goldfish instead.