When you no longer notice the beauty in the things you possess, and shop for new, “more beautiful” objects.
When politely ignoring a situation doesn’t make it go away.
When you’re so over-scheduled that you can hardly wait to go to bed.
When you hate getting out of bed in the morning.
The froth is the perfect warmth as it clings to my lips. The nutmeg tastes earthy. The espresso is strong enough without stealing the show from the froth. And the sugar…. oh…
Starting the day with cappuccino is a fine way to practice a little self-care. This is indulgence with a kick.
When I brew a cup of tea, Jenny runs over to stand next to my cup. Her turned-up nose hovers over the steam as she inhales deeply. She loves the smell of tea but isn’t fond of the taste. She often asks if she can dunk my tea bag while she watches the hot water take on the soft yellow of Chamomile. She likes knowing the color comes from flower petals.
I think she’s drawn to the ritual of the process. She’s fascinated by the little envelopes that hold the dried leaves. She likes the names of tea: English Breakfast, Orange Pekoe, Honey Bush, Peppermint and Lemon Zinger.
And so she spent the better part of a sunny afternoon, sitting out on the patio with paper, embroidery floss, staples, tape and markers to make her own tea bags. Her tea bags contained imaginary dried petals and herbs.
Will and I marveled at how much they looked like real tea bags. Maybe these were tea bags for baby dolls. They might be used for a party with imaginary friends.
Jenny served us up some “steaming hot tea” in pastel-colored cups with mismatched saucers. Will asked for Peppermint. I chose Earl Grey. Continue reading →
My breathing is loud. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I can’t remember if this is the sixth or seventh lap.
Does it even matter how many times I climb this hill, just as long as I get out here and move?
I get to the top and survey the river. Through the pounding I hear my thoughts:
I head down the hill and wonder if this upcoming birthday could quietly sneak away in the night without anyone in my family doing anything about it. Through huffs and puffs, I laugh at myself because I know it’s not so much about the day, as it is about my perceptions of what it’s like to be turning 50. Continue reading →
There are the frazzled days when, for no apparent reason, you feel out of sorts.
Maybe you blame it on the full moon.
Perhaps you need to eat more protein and less carbs – or less protein and more carbs – I can never remember. You may be dehydrated, or you slept poorly.
You sit quietly, coffee in hand, sifting through the thoughts mulling around in your head, trying to filter out the cause of the frazzle-ness. You find several potentials – emails that need answers, an over-baked tray of cookies, the need to run out to get milk, or a dwindling supply of firewood. None of them amount to enough to cause the Frazzle.
The exercise of sorting through and examining the thoughts helps you see that what you are craving, though, is control.
This moment – right here, right now – demands a bit of control.
Not the heavy-handed I’ll tell you what we are having for dinner and you will eat it kind of control, but the kind of control that attempts to gently pull in fractured energies and encourage focus.
In an uncharacteristically desperate attempt at gaining control I make the bed – the same one that will go for days without being made.
The making of the bed starts a snowball effect. (If I made the bed every day, I wouldn’t have an obvious place to start the snowball effect. Isn’t rationalization handy?) The snowball builds as I clean the cat box, take out the trash, sweep the front stoop, straighten the cushions on the couch and refold the blanket on the rocking chair.
The completion of each chore, starting with making the bed, allows me to pull in all those scattered energies, get some semblance of control and focus on what’s really important – figuring out what to make for dinner.
Sitting on the cold pew, with the stiff lace collar scratching the tender skin of her neck, she glanced sideways to see them reading those black books. She assumed there must be power in the words since they gathered together every Sunday to read from the same book.
She doubted how much power could be in those tiny black letters on the filmy pages since there were hardly any pictures mixed in.
It was when they stood to sing that she felt a surge of energy. The people seemed lighter when they were singing – less dreary. Were the words in the songs more powerful, or did the music imbue the words with magic?
__________
When she learned to read, she discovered the magic found in words and books. She claimed a favorite corner in the school library – the only one with a window. She’d sit in the quiet with a stack of books and inhale the scent of library dust, which smelled nothing like ordinary house dust which she’d scattered to new corners with a Pledge-soaked cloth. Continue reading →
He said, “Mom, why do you think I’m outta sorts today?”
I said, “Maybe you’re wishing we had snow. Maybe this is the pre-dad visit funk. Maybe you need to eat something. Or, maybe it’s just one of those days.”
And because the hot water of the shower has a way of warming my skull and opening my brain to the current of ideas that passes in and around this house, I came out of the bathroom with an inspired thought.
It wasn’t because I was on my second glass of liquid courage.
It wasn’t because my kids were milling about and I was trying to lead by example.
It wasn’t because I’d been reading The Inner Pulse, by Marc Siegel.
It was because I wrote of this very thing in Seeing My Path.
I inherently believe that I can’t change others.
I do believe change can begin with me. Continue reading →
I am a work in progress and so is this blog.
First, some chronology to set the stage:
5 1/2 years ago – Stuff three boxes, buckle two young kids into car seats, leave husband, nice house, financially secure future, perpetual stomach aches and nicest yard* I’ll ever tend.
5 years, 5 months ago – Discover NPD and naively present the concept to narcissistic husband and helplessly watch as message falls on deaf ears.
5 years, 3 months ago – Buy tiny, cozy, safe home for the three of us. Put holes in walls, roll in grass that is never fertilized, refuse to make beds, leave projects out in plain sight, smile and laugh every day.
4 years, 4 months ago – Youngest starts public school. Take a temporary, part-time job with family. Rush between commitments like every other family in the U.S. Stomach aches start to make a reappearance.
4 years ago – Divorce is finalized. Kids seem to be coping well with divorce, not so well with public school. Continue reading →
It’s cold outside.
I won’t know anyone there.
I can’t go dressed like this.
Everyone will be younger.
Everyone will be older. Continue reading →
I could have said, “Geez you guys! I can’t handle this stuff laying around everywhere!”
I could have said, “I want more time to do what I love, instead of having to pick up after you two!”
I could have said, “I need a break from this mess!”
I could have said a number of things, but while I was washing off the metaphorical dirt in the shower, I hatched a better plan.
It went something like this:
Take out a piece of paper. Continue reading →
One day, I’m going to get an internship at the Behr Paint Factory. I’ll show up for work in jeans and sit in one of those spinning desk chairs that tip back. I’ll prop my feet on the desk and throw Nerf basketballs in the net above the coffee machine. I’ll spend the whole day brainstorming with my jean-clad co-workers about paint names.
I’ll yell out, “Champagne Moon, you know, for that iridescent yellowish quality that a full moon has.”
The gal at the corner desk will say, “Crushed Grass, you know… when you step on grass and it gets that lighter shade of Kelly Green.”
There will be that guy in the office who hits on every female, and he’ll say, “How about Wet Sheets, for….”
And the girl at the corner desk will roll her eyes and cut him off. Continue reading →
I have a choice.
I could wake this morning, annoyed that winter is on its way, and I’ll soon be shoveling walks and hauling firewood; or I could appreciate the built-in exercise routine that doesn’t require a monthly health club fee.
I could be angry that I am a single mom with full responsibility for raising two kids by myself; or I could appreciate how fortunate I am that they are with me 98 percent of the time.
I could be missing the much nicer house we used to live in, and the lack of money worries; or I could appreciate that this home is full of love and comfort, and my kids have learned valuable lessons that come from living within our means.
I could be annoyed by the mess from the English Muffins and coffee makings; or I could appreciate that they can make their own breakfast, and make me a cup while they’re at it.
I could be anxious that I’m single and 49; or I could revel in the sheer joy of being single and 49.
I could be worried about what the future holds, and whether I’ll benefit from the choices I’m making; or I could trust that the level of contentment I see in the three of us is a good indication that we are headed in the right direction.
I could be cranky about having started a bathroom remodel when I know next to nothing about such things; or I could turn this into a homeschool project where all three of us learn in the process.
I could bark at the kids when I can’t handle the mess; or I could acknowledge that this is their house, too, and gently ask them to help when I feel overwhelmed.
__________
I could choose to see what is wrong in our life and our choices; or I could choose to see what is right.
I can choose to wake with a positive attitude and greet my two with a smile and a kind voice that gets the day off to a good start.
I have a choice.
*Thank you, Kate. ;)
They are in there.
I promise.
You might have to train yourself to look at things differently.
Some bright spots may require a little effort on your part.
Some bright spots just happen.
Once you notice them, savor them.
