Tag: contentment

Avery, Confessions, Eliott, Friendship, General

Happy Memorial Day

I opened my computer this morning after a weekend of mostly avoiding the Internet, to the usual flood of semi-bad news. A dear friend from High School is in the throws of a cancer battle with her 3 year old daughter. She is, like me, a stay at home mom of four kids, all under the age of 10. My alma mater, that Baptist beacon that has been celebrated in recent news for finally fielding a winning football team and cranking out the beloved Chip and Jo-Jo, is all over the national news for potentially sweeping sexual violence under the proverbial Big 12 rug. Ironically, Trump and Hilary didn’t cross my newsfeed this morning, but I know they are still there, looming in the political horizon I refuse to gaze at anymore.

Meanwhile, Eliott was in my room first thing discussing the EOG review packet that is “huge” and “due Thursday.” Then, we hear Avery calling from the first floor. Her sing-song “Mom-my! Mom-my!” floated up the stairs and I asked John if she was still stuck in the high chair. He said he had let her out a while ago and I assumed she wanted me to see something she had destroyed. Eliott went downstairs to investigate, and took almost five minutes trying to find her. The toddler had shut herself in the small downstairs bathroom and the light was off. She wasn’t crying or panicking, just calling me patiently, waiting for the door to open.

We’ve discussed our plans for the day (as I lay in bed at 10:35, still in my PJ’s, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee) and it has come down to the choice between cleaning out a barely used basement room, or taking the chainsaw to some unsightly bushes growing around our mailbox.

My life is rough.

This is a fact which is not lost on me, as I seek to teach my children the art of gratitude and contentment. Every night this weekend ended up on the porch of one neighbor or another, where in the light haze of these early summer evenings, the usual banter of back-and-forth picking on each other was comfortable and familiar.

I am thankful for friends and neighbors who can laugh at themselves, and who keep us humble.

Friday was the last day of preschool, and I got a little teary-eyed, hugging the women who have been twelve hours of love for my babies each week, all year. I am thankful that when the ages and stages of four children feels constantly out of balance, there is one hallway on this Earth that looks and smells like comfort, consistency, and unconditional love.

I see the American flags and I’ve read the sentimental Memorial Day posts this weekend, thanking those who have served and died to give us our freedom. And I’m thankful for that too.

My little sphere of existence is currently turning a million miles an hour, but it is still very little, and arguably, pretty mundane. Today I am sincerely comforted and comfortable in the boringness of my life. I wish I had the ability to channel this sense of calm in the midst of the upsets that are inevitable coming one day. I wish I had the ability to give it to those who need it right now.

The most exciting plan for my day includes trying out the new dehydrator my mom impulsively sent me last week, and I’m not being facetious with my use of “exciting” as I debate which fruit I’m going to try first.

There’s some porch-fodder for the neighbors.

Confessions

Self Actualization

The price of gas is once again on the rise, the gym is full of New-Year’s-Resolution-targeted-weight-losers, every health insurance premium rose (and benefits declined) in America eight days ago, and somebody else just got diagnosed with cancer, just now.

And what are we freaking out about this morning?  Red leggings and a Highlight’s calendar.  Stickers, to be more specific.

No.  Not my four-year old.  Me.

Last Thursday was the first meeting of the MOMS group I sporadically attend for the year.  Much like last year, the focus for the lesson that day was about reaching into our inner passions and setting goals for what we can be doing with our lives right now, using our gifts, blessing others, blah, blah, blah.  So at the very end, the speaker posed this question (to a room full of mothers): “If you didn’t have children (or a husband, ha ha) to take care of right now, what would you be doing with your time?”

It was supposed to be an exercise in self-reflection, so I was honest when I wrote on my 3X5 card: “I’m 30.  If I didn’t have a husband in my life right now, let’s face it, I’d probably be out looking for one.  And if I didn’t have kids to take care of right now, I’d be trying to get pregnant.”

Okay, so this wasn’t the popular passion of the room that day.  But when I stripped away everything else, and really thought about what I’ve always wanted in my life, I can tell you that the answer has never been something about a career, or a level of wealth, or a position of success.  When I was about 15, I’m pretty sure I still enjoyed playing house.  Most of my daydreams (and many of my night dreams) from high school included sitting around a big table eating a meal with a family that was all mine.  A big one.  Lots of noise.  Lots of good food.  And a pervading feeling of contentment.

While most women I know are making goals to lose weight and de-clutter their lives, I’m using my gym membership to get free babysitting and wondering how in the world we’re ever going to be able to afford the furniture we could really use in this house.  (Clutter is currently the least of our worries.)  I realize that by comparing myself to most women my age, it often appears that I’m trying to paint myself in a corner of superiority.  I don’t necessarily do this to make others feel worse about their situations, but in my super secret inner vault of insecurity, it is the easiest way to remind myself to stop waiting for the next best thing.

I’m not exactly sure what any of this has to do with stop-with-the-stickers-already and no-you-can’t-wear-red-and-pink-together-not-today-not-ever.  But I’m feeling an overwhelming urge to stop making passion-based plans for my future, stop complaining about how certain pairs of pants make my butt look too small, and stop freaking out about when we’re finally going to arrive at some magical place and moment of contentment.

Did anyone else jump on The Happiness Project bandwagon last year?  *Guilty.  My word of the year?

Joy.

In hindsight, it might have been a little lofty, but somehow I still understand exactly what I was thinking when I chose it.  I haven’t actually decided on a word for 2012, or even whether to chose one at all.

Instead, this year I’m starting off by summoning my 15 year old self and yelling at her: “We have arrived!”