Mea Culpa

It's funny... I haven't felt much like writing a lot lately, which is not like me. I am an external processor -- my inner dialogue is pretty lame and I need to say things out loud, even if it's just between me and the shower (although, let's be honest, the number of showers I've had by myself lately are about, hmmmm, none). I love to talk things out but I also really need to write. I use this blog, I use a *gasp* paper journal on and off, I use email, I use post-it notes, I use lists, I use the backs of envelopes... some of it is organized, most of it isn't, and a lot of it is making notes and lists that the mom-I-want-to-be would be very proud of because it means I have my stuff together, which I most certainly do not. It's all writing, though, and it's all ways for me to feel like I'm living my life productively.

But, lately, I haven't been writing. My receipts are very unsullied and kinda organized and I don't even have post-it notes anywhere that I can find them. I have been rolling this thought around in my head -- what does it mean that I haven't been writing -- and I finally came to a place tonight where I decided that while I've just been riding along with a natural ebb and flow, it's time to ebb back toward scribbling on my post-its. Part of me knows that because I don't have an everyday companion to talk about things with right now, I have been more internal, that the mundane things don't casually come up in chatty conversation and therefore the deeper things don't creep out either. On the positive side, however, it feels like our family has finally turned a corner in what has turned out to be a very difficult preceding couple of months. Our living situation in Penticton was stressful and the the move itself, while welcome, came at a difficult time and was a little busy to coordinate. I also missed being home in New England because my brother's family was going through their own difficult time and I couldn't do anything to help out. Now, though, for lots of different reasons the proverbial light is blinking away at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Our house is cozy and cute and homey  and doesn't have a dozen strangers trouping through it every week since it's not on the market. John's workload is lighter, we have family close by, we're finding stuff to do -- there is so much to do here, wow -- and I'm just that much closer to being able to get on a plane home should I need to. All of this indicates to me that there was too much going on to be able to process any of it. At the risk of sounding dramatic (there's already a little too much drama in my house these days), life had become a lot about getting up and getting through the day, more about existence, rather than really -- oh, I'm going to say it, get ready -- sucking the marrow out of life. I feel the marrow-sucking itch returning, though. I feel more ready to laugh and say "sure, go ahead if it makes you happy" to my wild and crazy daughter who is very hilariously cranky sometimes (but keeps hitting her brother, grrrr) yet still impossibly funny and clever (and cute, she reminds me). I feel more ready to hold and snuggle Mr. Beefcake rather than absent-mindedly pick him up and put him down a dozen times a day. I feel very ready to enjoy Jack's own Oscar-worthy performances when we throws himself on the floor because he really needed those grapes or to give Molly the undivided attention that she needs rather than being continually exasperated and getting my knickers in a twist about little things. My munchkins deserve a better mom than they've been getting, frankly. I was doing too much managing and not not enough examining where they were coming from. I didn't stop and stoop down to their level enough over the past few months and I really was looking at the world from five feet in the air rather than three feet, and three feet is where all the good stuff happens. It was a vicious cycle of not processing my stuff and unknowingly getting tangled up in it. It meant nothing good for anybody, but I hate the disservice that it does to my kids the most.

I don't know why I'm writing all of this, exactly, other than to say thanks (again) to all those who have been stuck reading kinda lame blog entries or who are wondering why I don't email back for two days. I haven't felt like thinking, or I couldn't really think because there was too much stuff bubbling right below the surface that I didn't want to look at. I wasn't sad or angry or pissy every day or anything, but I wasn't really present. Being present is what I strive for -- I know that I will continue to make a million mistakes a day with my little people but if I can at least be present for them, well, than I feel successful.

This blog is a little over three years old and it's a treasure trove for John and me. We love looking back at pictures and seeing what life has morphed into since we started recording it in this way. I'm not sure what I'll think about these past few months a year from now, but I needed some public cleansing for myself and to take this opportunity to scratch beneath the surface a little bit. I'll save you all from any more of my babbling, random thoughts but the act of putting fingers to keyboard here jump starts the whole process for me. This probably won't make sense to anyone else but thank you for bearing with me. I don't know if I'll post anything more interesting in the near future, but maybe you'll at least be interested in hearing about our cute neighborhood or, just to stick it to you easterners one more time, our lack of snow (there is snow in the forecast for the weekend so you can laugh at me then). I'm not a super writer, please don't think that I believe that about me-self, but I do like it and, apparently, need to do it. I also can actually stomach to re-read what I write here most of the time as opposed to some of my journal entries from high school -- those are just painfully awful.

This is what my climbing monkey likes to do all day long -- up, down, up, down, up, down.

And this was what my domestic diva fixed for herself for breakfast the other morning. I heard rustling in the kitchen sometime around 6:30 and came out to this scene. Proud as punch of herself to have rummaged up some carrots and hummus... I'm just glad that she has outgrown cracking eggs on the kitchen floor.