Well, after the bug man came to our house again, I got to thinking about my blog, and how I might just be inspired to write again. It's been a while.
And then I opened up the blog and realized that the last time I blogged was the last time he was here.
Oh dear.
And so it's time to begin afresh. Time to renew this clutter-extraction project. The room of doom looks like an episode of "Hoarders" and I am inspired to make some improvements. To get specific about my goals. To go deep and create the life that I am envisioning.
The days are getting longer and hope is in the air.
2012, you and I are going to work together. You give me each new day and I'll give you the best I can give for that day. 2012, we're in this together.
Multnomah Falls
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The Bug Man Cometh
We have a bug man who comes to our house about four times a year. It seems like more than that to me because in the last couple of years, I've noticed a feeling of dread when he's going to come.
Don't get me wrong: he is delightful. Friendly, helpful, seems to care about the fact that we live in the country, so always leaves a healthy supply of mouse poison. For this, I am eternally grateful.
But every time I get the message on the phone that he's going to be in our area and will be at our house.....a little knot comes into the pit of my stomach. Because there are no secrets from the bug man. He starts in the basement. Every time. This is not bothersome to me. It's not a finished basement, so we use it primarily for storage and exercise equipment. Nothing to hide.
Then he goes to the main floor. Again...this doesn't really trouble me, except that sometimes, after he's gone, I realize that the family skivvies were left to dry in the laundry room....but then I remember...it's probably nothing he hasn't seen before. But then.....he goes upstairs. Upstairs to the rooms that no one ever really goes to except us, because they're not part of the activity center of the house. The rooms that get much more easily cluttered because there's no fear of being discovered....except for these four times a year. And once more when the handyman comes. He's got our number too.
Both Scott (the bug man) and Steve (the handyman) have seen (dun Dun DUN) my craft room. Or, as I have been known to call it, the room of doom. It has become the dumping ground for the boxes that have been worked on, then thrown back together in a desperate attempt to tidy things up when company is coming.
Each time he's here, it's early in the day. There's barely time for a shower before he's here normally...but today was just a little different. He came just a couple hours later than normal, so I was thrilled that the beds were made, the laundry was put away, life was pretty good upstairs. Except for the room of doom. This time I was awake enough to at least mention it. "I'm sorry," I said. "It might be hard to find a path up there."
And for a little moment, I kind of hated myself. Sorry you can't find a path there, buddy. I'm just a mess of a housewife. June Cleaver doesn't live here. If she did, she would probably really piss me off. In all her skinny, perfect, obnoxiousness. Did I mention, Mr. Bug-man, that while my husband has been out of town, we've been eating TV dinners? That's right. And the kitchen is still a hot mess. You're probably not surprised that we've had fruit flies. I wonder if you think....
And that's where I have to stop myself. Because that's what it comes down to every time.
I wonder what he thinks.
I wonder what she thinks.
I wonder what they think.
I bet they think I'm awful.
I bet my husband is secretly wondering if there's some kind of class he can send me to.
I bet my daughter will wonder the same things once she gets a more complicated thought system going, unless I get my act together before her long term memory starts really humming. I've still got time, right?....
And on.
And on.
It's a constant and ridiculous thing I do to myself. "What they must think of me."
It's a tyranny and it's something that I cannot shake. The fear of the thoughts of others. It's ridiculous when I read it in black and white. It's something I'll never ever be able to control, and something I'll never ever be able to fix.
It's an enemy without form; no body, no shape. Just the wonderings of what's going on behind those eyes that have glanced inside my home and seen that it's less than perfection.
So today, instead of declaring war on the fear of the thoughts of others, instead, I take a single step to make my own thoughts a little more positive. That, I am sure, will chase away the worry about what others think of me.
Today I had an okay day. Not fabulous, not horrible. My daughter and I watched way more television than we should have, but it was ridiculously rainy outside--not even worthy of going out in the car kind of rain. So tomorrow I'll try to do better. A few more puzzles to educate her little developing brain. A few more flashcards.
While she slept, I did some office work for the new part-time job that I started. About an hour and a half worth of getting acquainted with the goings-on. Not fantastic, but not a bad showing, either. Tomorrow I'll try to do better. And that's all I can ask of myself for this moment.
Don't get me wrong: he is delightful. Friendly, helpful, seems to care about the fact that we live in the country, so always leaves a healthy supply of mouse poison. For this, I am eternally grateful.
But every time I get the message on the phone that he's going to be in our area and will be at our house.....a little knot comes into the pit of my stomach. Because there are no secrets from the bug man. He starts in the basement. Every time. This is not bothersome to me. It's not a finished basement, so we use it primarily for storage and exercise equipment. Nothing to hide.
Then he goes to the main floor. Again...this doesn't really trouble me, except that sometimes, after he's gone, I realize that the family skivvies were left to dry in the laundry room....but then I remember...it's probably nothing he hasn't seen before. But then.....he goes upstairs. Upstairs to the rooms that no one ever really goes to except us, because they're not part of the activity center of the house. The rooms that get much more easily cluttered because there's no fear of being discovered....except for these four times a year. And once more when the handyman comes. He's got our number too.
Both Scott (the bug man) and Steve (the handyman) have seen (dun Dun DUN) my craft room. Or, as I have been known to call it, the room of doom. It has become the dumping ground for the boxes that have been worked on, then thrown back together in a desperate attempt to tidy things up when company is coming.
Each time he's here, it's early in the day. There's barely time for a shower before he's here normally...but today was just a little different. He came just a couple hours later than normal, so I was thrilled that the beds were made, the laundry was put away, life was pretty good upstairs. Except for the room of doom. This time I was awake enough to at least mention it. "I'm sorry," I said. "It might be hard to find a path up there."
And for a little moment, I kind of hated myself. Sorry you can't find a path there, buddy. I'm just a mess of a housewife. June Cleaver doesn't live here. If she did, she would probably really piss me off. In all her skinny, perfect, obnoxiousness. Did I mention, Mr. Bug-man, that while my husband has been out of town, we've been eating TV dinners? That's right. And the kitchen is still a hot mess. You're probably not surprised that we've had fruit flies. I wonder if you think....
And that's where I have to stop myself. Because that's what it comes down to every time.
I wonder what he thinks.
I wonder what she thinks.
I wonder what they think.
I bet they think I'm awful.
I bet my husband is secretly wondering if there's some kind of class he can send me to.
I bet my daughter will wonder the same things once she gets a more complicated thought system going, unless I get my act together before her long term memory starts really humming. I've still got time, right?....
And on.
And on.
It's a constant and ridiculous thing I do to myself. "What they must think of me."
It's a tyranny and it's something that I cannot shake. The fear of the thoughts of others. It's ridiculous when I read it in black and white. It's something I'll never ever be able to control, and something I'll never ever be able to fix.
It's an enemy without form; no body, no shape. Just the wonderings of what's going on behind those eyes that have glanced inside my home and seen that it's less than perfection.
So today, instead of declaring war on the fear of the thoughts of others, instead, I take a single step to make my own thoughts a little more positive. That, I am sure, will chase away the worry about what others think of me.
Today I had an okay day. Not fabulous, not horrible. My daughter and I watched way more television than we should have, but it was ridiculously rainy outside--not even worthy of going out in the car kind of rain. So tomorrow I'll try to do better. A few more puzzles to educate her little developing brain. A few more flashcards.
While she slept, I did some office work for the new part-time job that I started. About an hour and a half worth of getting acquainted with the goings-on. Not fantastic, but not a bad showing, either. Tomorrow I'll try to do better. And that's all I can ask of myself for this moment.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A Work In Progress
"This life therefore,
is not godliness but the process of becoming godly,
not health but getting well,
not being but becoming,
not rest but exercise.
We are not now what we shall be, but we are on the way. The process is not yet finished, but it is actively going on. This is not the goal, but it is the right road.
At present, everything does not gleam and sparkle, but everything is being cleansed."
--Martin Luther
If You Want To Be Somone Else, Change Your Mind
There is a great, I mean great song by Sister Hazel called "Change Your Mind."
The chorus offers these magnificent lyrics to the listener:
If you want to be somebody else,
If you're tired of fighting battles with yourself
If you want to be somebody else
Change your mind...
And so, recently, I've been doing some mind-changing. And I think it's changing my life.
Two things are helping me in my cause. Actually, I should say, two people.
The first is Dave Ramsey. Apparently lots of people know about this guy, but I just recently heard about him for the first time. I've got my hands on a copy of his "Financial Peace University" lectures, and it's just possible that he is completely changing the way I think about the way I spend and save money. Just by listening to him, I feel like I might be able to have a little more control over my finances if I wake up, pay attention, and DO what he is telling me to do. (Wake up, woman! This is YOUR life!!)
The second is my Grandma. She's 95. One of my heroes, because she is so sharp, so clever, so organized. AND she drinks bourbon at 4pm every day. Brilliant. She possesses lots of qualities I'd like to have, but don't ever seem to be able to acquire.
Recently, she was going through some jewelry and tried a bracelet on my wrist. When it didn't fit around my wrist, I said to her "I have really big wrists." (That is actually true. I've never been dainty. And it's not like fat really collects at the wrists.) At this moment, she stopped, looked up from the bracelet right into my eyes and said without flinching, "You Need To Lose Weight." "I know," I said, cheeks red, heartbeat quickening. And then as suddenly as she said it, she went back to the jewelry. The moment was over. I wanted to cry. Run out of the house and not come back. Get out of there before tears bubbled up. But I took a deep breath, had a little moment while she looked through the jewelry and went on. It was a horrible, horrible moment. I was angry at her, then angry at myself, then angry at her again. That cycle continued for....oh wait....I don't think it's done yet.
And so, on return from the vacation that included the visit to her, I started to get serious. The C25K running began again in earnest. Fruits and vegetables were purchased at the grocery store. The remaining oreos that were purchased for my husband's class at the beginning of the week are, miraculously, still in the cabinet.
I'm starting to change my mind. I'm starting to think about taking care of myself. For the sake of a daughter who needs a good example. For the sake of my Grandma who dared to tell me the truth. For the sake of me, who needs to be healthier and needs to wake up, take control, and change my mind.
Disney sponsors a Princess Half Marathon in February. It might be the perfect excuse for a winter getaway.
Maybe even bigger changes are just around the corner.
One step at a time.
The chorus offers these magnificent lyrics to the listener:
If you want to be somebody else,
If you're tired of fighting battles with yourself
If you want to be somebody else
Change your mind...
And so, recently, I've been doing some mind-changing. And I think it's changing my life.
Two things are helping me in my cause. Actually, I should say, two people.
The first is Dave Ramsey. Apparently lots of people know about this guy, but I just recently heard about him for the first time. I've got my hands on a copy of his "Financial Peace University" lectures, and it's just possible that he is completely changing the way I think about the way I spend and save money. Just by listening to him, I feel like I might be able to have a little more control over my finances if I wake up, pay attention, and DO what he is telling me to do. (Wake up, woman! This is YOUR life!!)
The second is my Grandma. She's 95. One of my heroes, because she is so sharp, so clever, so organized. AND she drinks bourbon at 4pm every day. Brilliant. She possesses lots of qualities I'd like to have, but don't ever seem to be able to acquire.
Recently, she was going through some jewelry and tried a bracelet on my wrist. When it didn't fit around my wrist, I said to her "I have really big wrists." (That is actually true. I've never been dainty. And it's not like fat really collects at the wrists.) At this moment, she stopped, looked up from the bracelet right into my eyes and said without flinching, "You Need To Lose Weight." "I know," I said, cheeks red, heartbeat quickening. And then as suddenly as she said it, she went back to the jewelry. The moment was over. I wanted to cry. Run out of the house and not come back. Get out of there before tears bubbled up. But I took a deep breath, had a little moment while she looked through the jewelry and went on. It was a horrible, horrible moment. I was angry at her, then angry at myself, then angry at her again. That cycle continued for....oh wait....I don't think it's done yet.
And so, on return from the vacation that included the visit to her, I started to get serious. The C25K running began again in earnest. Fruits and vegetables were purchased at the grocery store. The remaining oreos that were purchased for my husband's class at the beginning of the week are, miraculously, still in the cabinet.
I'm starting to change my mind. I'm starting to think about taking care of myself. For the sake of a daughter who needs a good example. For the sake of my Grandma who dared to tell me the truth. For the sake of me, who needs to be healthier and needs to wake up, take control, and change my mind.
Disney sponsors a Princess Half Marathon in February. It might be the perfect excuse for a winter getaway.
Maybe even bigger changes are just around the corner.
One step at a time.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Okay. Break's Over.
It all started a few weeks ago. I came downstairs to find that the washing machine had been agitating for over an hour while my daughter was going to sleep. (Scratch that....while my daughter was not going to sleep.) The timer was just sitting there at the same place it had been when I had started the machine. "Hm. Weird," I thought. The next morning, the next load, same business. I had to gently nudge the machine to do its appointed task every 15 minutes or so. If not reminded to stop, it would keep spinning and spinning and spinning for lengthy periods of time. A call to the local appliance place gave us the sad news that this would be at least a $200 repair.
So that turned into appliance shopping. Another few days of researching, shopping, asking around for recommendations. Two nights before they delivered the flashy new washer (and dryer....thanks to my Grandma's recommendation), I realized how much work it was to unload everything out of that tiny room. And then I remembered the overwhelmingly deep desire to paint it only moments after beholding its formerly stenciled glory.
Quickly, a gallon of paint was purchased. A friend was called. Late night hours were kept. All in an attempt to get at least the corner painted where the machines would be. Everything else could wait until after the delivery. And did.
Being the mother of a toddler means that big projects such as these only get accomplished during the two hour window between her bedtime and mine. And for at least a week, she did not cooperate on her end of this. So the painting took longer than expected and was only completed by a dear friend who knew what he was doing and took matters into his own hands.
And then it was time to hit the road for vacation. 10 days. One vehicle. Two suitcases. One gigantic box of snacks for the road. One toddler who graciously took up as little room as possible to make up for all of the stuff that was required to travel with her in the first place. Countless tote bags. Countless tote bags. (God bless you, sweet husband. You're a patient man, and the best packer I've ever met.) Three people visiting family and friends alike.
All this to say that since the day that the washing machine kept on agitating, there has been no blogging. No plumbing the depths of my emotions to figure out how to clean out my messy life.
Lots has happened in that time. Lots of new stuff has now been imported back to our little yellow house in the woods and so the boxes have, once again, grown, much to my chagrin.
But I am renewed, refreshed, and ready to begin again. As all journeys go, this one has had a bit of a setback. But tomorrow is a new day, and I have big plans. Bigger than what I've ever been able to accomplish before. Break's over. Time to get back at it.
So that turned into appliance shopping. Another few days of researching, shopping, asking around for recommendations. Two nights before they delivered the flashy new washer (and dryer....thanks to my Grandma's recommendation), I realized how much work it was to unload everything out of that tiny room. And then I remembered the overwhelmingly deep desire to paint it only moments after beholding its formerly stenciled glory.
Quickly, a gallon of paint was purchased. A friend was called. Late night hours were kept. All in an attempt to get at least the corner painted where the machines would be. Everything else could wait until after the delivery. And did.
Being the mother of a toddler means that big projects such as these only get accomplished during the two hour window between her bedtime and mine. And for at least a week, she did not cooperate on her end of this. So the painting took longer than expected and was only completed by a dear friend who knew what he was doing and took matters into his own hands.
And then it was time to hit the road for vacation. 10 days. One vehicle. Two suitcases. One gigantic box of snacks for the road. One toddler who graciously took up as little room as possible to make up for all of the stuff that was required to travel with her in the first place. Countless tote bags. Countless tote bags. (God bless you, sweet husband. You're a patient man, and the best packer I've ever met.) Three people visiting family and friends alike.
All this to say that since the day that the washing machine kept on agitating, there has been no blogging. No plumbing the depths of my emotions to figure out how to clean out my messy life.
Lots has happened in that time. Lots of new stuff has now been imported back to our little yellow house in the woods and so the boxes have, once again, grown, much to my chagrin.
But I am renewed, refreshed, and ready to begin again. As all journeys go, this one has had a bit of a setback. But tomorrow is a new day, and I have big plans. Bigger than what I've ever been able to accomplish before. Break's over. Time to get back at it.
Monday, July 4, 2011
C25K
Another goal of mine during this year-long decluttering process is to get off my butt a little bit more than I generally do. So since today was a national holiday on which I had absolutely nothing planned, I decided to go for my normal walk.
I've been considering the Couch Potato to 5K Running Program.
http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml
A number of my friends have tried it and successfully found themselves running 5Ks or even doing triathlons. I've toyed with the idea of doing it, but never been able to really commit. (This is normal for me.) So a few days ago, I decided I'd never EVER commit to running if I didn't wear a sports bra while I was walking, so....sports bra: check! This morning, I had everything I needed: baby in a good mood, socks and running shoes, water bottle, loose-fitting but moderately attractive workout wear, and the all-important (some might even say "sacred") sports bra.
On my way to my running location, I noticed a small group of about 7 people running. Another block of driving and a glance to my left showed me that there was a full-fledged event taking place and those runners I had just seen were part of it. This was my sign, I thought. It's time to get my butt moving. Today. Looked up C25K on my smartphone and started running for 60 seconds, walking for 90, alternating for 20 minutes.
Long about minute 15, I was pretty sweaty. I stopped at a stop sign to let a pick-up truck pass (I never ever want them to let me go first, because then they'll have to wait for my sad, lumbering self to run across the street...) so I waved the driver on. Pretty sure there was nothing close to a smile on my face as I did this. And then, lo and behold, a sparkling silver moment in my day. A smiling man leaned out the window and said "Keep it up, mom. You're doing great!" Big smile. "Thank you!" Motivation to finish the last five sweaty minutes: check!
Funny how sometimes the right thing comes along at the right time just when you need it. Everybody needs an "atta-girl" sometimes.
Dear Mr. Pick-up Truck Man, Could you please come out on Friday and say that to me again?
P.S. You made my day.
I've been considering the Couch Potato to 5K Running Program.
http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml
A number of my friends have tried it and successfully found themselves running 5Ks or even doing triathlons. I've toyed with the idea of doing it, but never been able to really commit. (This is normal for me.) So a few days ago, I decided I'd never EVER commit to running if I didn't wear a sports bra while I was walking, so....sports bra: check! This morning, I had everything I needed: baby in a good mood, socks and running shoes, water bottle, loose-fitting but moderately attractive workout wear, and the all-important (some might even say "sacred") sports bra.
On my way to my running location, I noticed a small group of about 7 people running. Another block of driving and a glance to my left showed me that there was a full-fledged event taking place and those runners I had just seen were part of it. This was my sign, I thought. It's time to get my butt moving. Today. Looked up C25K on my smartphone and started running for 60 seconds, walking for 90, alternating for 20 minutes.
Long about minute 15, I was pretty sweaty. I stopped at a stop sign to let a pick-up truck pass (I never ever want them to let me go first, because then they'll have to wait for my sad, lumbering self to run across the street...) so I waved the driver on. Pretty sure there was nothing close to a smile on my face as I did this. And then, lo and behold, a sparkling silver moment in my day. A smiling man leaned out the window and said "Keep it up, mom. You're doing great!" Big smile. "Thank you!" Motivation to finish the last five sweaty minutes: check!
Funny how sometimes the right thing comes along at the right time just when you need it. Everybody needs an "atta-girl" sometimes.
Dear Mr. Pick-up Truck Man, Could you please come out on Friday and say that to me again?
P.S. You made my day.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
A hole in my yoga mat
Years ago, I had a PM Yoga program on a VHS tape that I loved. A soothing female voice told me how to stretch and relax at the end of the day while I watched her do those stretches in the middle of a calm desert scene. It was absolutely lovely. And every time I did the program, I felt like I had done something wonderful for myself. I started wanting to do more yoga. I bought a lovely deep-purple yoga mat. And I used it. For a while.
And then life happened. I moved the yoga tape with me, every time I moved, and it sat with all the other unused workout tapes. Same story for the yoga mat.
Recently I've noticed that my temperament is not where I'd like it to be. I feel myself getting angry over small, stupid things. I yell easily. I say horrible things to myself in the mirror about my expanding body. In short, I don't like the state of my spirit. I want to feel more joyful, more buoyant, more like me. So, I've been trying to do some little things to help.
I tried to find my beloved PM Yoga on DVD, but no luck. So, I took a wild risk and found a new one.
The new DVD has a different scene: a lush garden with an ocean vista in the background. Purples, pinks, greens. More like me than the last one, for sure. Similar soothing voice. Similar program. Similar feel-good-feeling when I'm done. Nice. Just one problem. Where is the yoga mat? I remember it got put downstairs with all the fitness equipment. It's got some crud on it, so I throw it in the bathtub to bring it out of retirement. I spread it out to let it drip dry and what should I find?
A hole.
A hole in my yoga mat.
A hole that I can only imagine was chewed into being by one of the tiny critters that occasionally stops into our home for a break from the outdoors.
I don't like what a hole in my yoga mat says about my fitness regimen. I think it's saying not only has my purchased equipment been getting rusty and moth-eaten, but my body's equipment has been doing the same. Clothes aren't fitting. Muscles are feeling stiffer and unused.
So, I'm doing my PM Yoga as a single step toward a better me. If you think this has nothing to do with a spiritual decluttering journey, think again. Two nights in a row, I did this soothing evening meditation, complete with pleasant feelings that go with looking at a lush garden with an ocean in the background. Good stuff.
Last night, I got ready for company. I got some clutter stacks out of the way that I've been trying to go through, dusted, laid out the ingredients for making dinner the following day, bookmarked the recipes I was going to use, and even set the table the night before. This is the kind of thing an organized person does.
Behold the power of a little PM Yoga.
So...there's a hole in my yoga mat. It's probably going to get put in the trash, because I'll never be able to do yoga and not think about a mouse hanging out right where that hole is....but maybe that little hole is the springboard I needed to remember not to let caring for myself be low on the priority list. After all, I'm worth more than a yoga mat. So are the people around me who have to deal with Grouchy McCrankypants whenever she shows up. So, here's to a new day full of soothing music and mindful breathing. Namaste backatcha, yoga lady.
And then life happened. I moved the yoga tape with me, every time I moved, and it sat with all the other unused workout tapes. Same story for the yoga mat.
Recently I've noticed that my temperament is not where I'd like it to be. I feel myself getting angry over small, stupid things. I yell easily. I say horrible things to myself in the mirror about my expanding body. In short, I don't like the state of my spirit. I want to feel more joyful, more buoyant, more like me. So, I've been trying to do some little things to help.
I tried to find my beloved PM Yoga on DVD, but no luck. So, I took a wild risk and found a new one.
The new DVD has a different scene: a lush garden with an ocean vista in the background. Purples, pinks, greens. More like me than the last one, for sure. Similar soothing voice. Similar program. Similar feel-good-feeling when I'm done. Nice. Just one problem. Where is the yoga mat? I remember it got put downstairs with all the fitness equipment. It's got some crud on it, so I throw it in the bathtub to bring it out of retirement. I spread it out to let it drip dry and what should I find?
A hole.
A hole in my yoga mat.
A hole that I can only imagine was chewed into being by one of the tiny critters that occasionally stops into our home for a break from the outdoors.
I don't like what a hole in my yoga mat says about my fitness regimen. I think it's saying not only has my purchased equipment been getting rusty and moth-eaten, but my body's equipment has been doing the same. Clothes aren't fitting. Muscles are feeling stiffer and unused.
So, I'm doing my PM Yoga as a single step toward a better me. If you think this has nothing to do with a spiritual decluttering journey, think again. Two nights in a row, I did this soothing evening meditation, complete with pleasant feelings that go with looking at a lush garden with an ocean in the background. Good stuff.
Last night, I got ready for company. I got some clutter stacks out of the way that I've been trying to go through, dusted, laid out the ingredients for making dinner the following day, bookmarked the recipes I was going to use, and even set the table the night before. This is the kind of thing an organized person does.
Behold the power of a little PM Yoga.
So...there's a hole in my yoga mat. It's probably going to get put in the trash, because I'll never be able to do yoga and not think about a mouse hanging out right where that hole is....but maybe that little hole is the springboard I needed to remember not to let caring for myself be low on the priority list. After all, I'm worth more than a yoga mat. So are the people around me who have to deal with Grouchy McCrankypants whenever she shows up. So, here's to a new day full of soothing music and mindful breathing. Namaste backatcha, yoga lady.
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