Write When You Can

I started this post sitting at a gas station while my car filled up, ahead of Thor. 

Admittedly, the nerd in me is kind of giddy this storm is named Thor. I’m expecting thundersnows, obviously.

I’ve often lamented my writing frequency. That changes now. I have a smart phone, I have a wordpress app, I have things to say. So, I’ll say it in spurts at the bus stop, karate, or while I’m waiting in the pick up line. Or at doctors appointments. 

The point is, I have no more excuses to avoid writing. 

I Just . . .

It’s been . . . a rough couple of weeks.

And no where near as rough as some of my people are going through.

It started before Christmas, I think. And then it just carried through. Christmas was – naturally – crazy around here. A dear friend got sick(er) & passed away. That was hard. Her kids are around the same ages as mine & I just . . . Well, let’s just say there was one day I sat on my kitchen floor hugging the boys so tightly they asked if I was done yet. [“Because you’re hurting us, Mommy.”]

I’m battling posting what I really want to here.

Because this place is out there. Like, out in public. With the knowledge that people I actually know can & do read it. People who know me, not just the me they see through their computer screens. People who have the ability to build me up & break me down just as quickly with a word or an action or a misunderstanding.

Way back when I started this blog, before Butter was born, I had these grand designs that I was going to be this amazing Mommy Blogger. I am so not a Mommy Blogger. I don’t even think I can take the title of Blogger seriously most days/weeks/months/years. There was that brief time when I posted for a year straight  & that was awesome, but I don’t necessarily know if that’s where I am these days.

Because it’s not just Mom Life I want to talk about. It’s faith life & married life & friend life. Several of those things I feel are severely lacking in my world right now.

All of that being said, I’m working on my second round of the 21 Day Fix. In the first round, I lost right around four pounds & six+ inches. I feel like I’m not doing any better this round, but M says I look better & I have added a few challenges in, so maybe I’ll see a bigger change? The only thing I really notice lately is that my clothes are fitting differently. Most notably, I could probably use a belt now. And it’s possible my favorite go-to yoga pants fell down when I was doing burpees yesterday. Possible. Probable, if we’re being honest.

I’m on track with my reading goal for the year [65 again]. I’m planning a trip to Washington, D.C. with just Butter in April. I’m work, work, working away. I’m just . . . not focused? Yeah. I’m lacking serious focus.

What do you do to help you focus?

Expectations

I’ve already been up for an hour & a half when I walk into their room & turn the light on. “Boys, it’s time to get up & get dressed.” They both acknowledge me with a, “Good morning, Mommy.”

My hair is still in the towel I wrapped around it after my shower. I’ve woken the boys & given them instructions. I have grand expectations of how well this will go for me. Walking back into my bedroom, I tell M, “Babe, it’s ten after.” He mumbles a thank you & comes into the bathroom to shower after I’ve already started the blow dryer.

Dry hair, brush hair, finish getting dressed. Walk into the boys’ room, fully expecting my four & six year old children to have actually – I don’t know, listened? – for once. They haven’t. Bear is just climbing back into Butter’s bunk [they switched last night, as they sometimes do] after retrieving his beloved Blue Blanket from the floor. Butter is snuggled up in the covers with a book I know he’s probably read seven or eight times. But it’s a book, so he’s reading it.

“Guys, I told you it was time to get up & get dressed. Butter, you’re going to miss the bus now because you still need to eat breakfast.”

“I don’t want to miss the bus!”

“Well you should have gotten dressed when I came in here.”

“Fine. I’m not going to school then. I want Pop!”

I turn on my heel & walk back into our bedroom. I tell M, “You deal with the insolent six year old today. I just. Can’t.”

M, God love him, understands. He had sole possession of the insolent six year old last night.

Lunch has not been made. Heck, the lunchbox hasn’t even been cleaned out from yesterday. There are dishes all over the kitchen from dinner last night. Eventually, I pose a question to M. “Would you leave your commercial kitchen like this?” He apologizes. I appreciate his apology, but this morning, I think I might appreciate more if it actually rinsed the dishes instead of just stacking them in the sink. Again, he understands.

And then, on the drive to work, with Bear telling me the story of the baby who knocked down the tower of blocks he built last night while Butter did karate, I realize something.

I expect things of them. I expect the boys to obey me. I expect M to realize I want him to know how I want things. I expect them to  do these things without me telling them & that is most certainly not fair to them. I expect things to be done without having done them myself.

I examine myself. I leave dishes unrinsed. I’ve crawled back into bed with a book rather than face the day. I’ve been the person whose block tower was knocked down. I’ve been the person who’s knocked someone else’s tower down.

Gentle. Grace. Understanding. These are all words that strike me as I’m reflecting.

I need to be these things.

For them.