Cutting the fat out.

Got this term from my old partner in crime, Molly. Such an apropos statement to summarize the plot brewing in my head as of late.



I think (I hope, I desperately hope) that I'm on the verge of something super. I mean, really, really monumental. I'll explain:



Had a terribly gracious friend send her cleaning lady to my house the other day as a sort of combo birthday/anniversary gift. I use the term "house" loosely - I suppose if one refers to an apt. containing two small children, all of their worldly possessions including a multitude of plastic gadgets, clothes and furniture, one kitchen about the size and shape of a cucumber, and two not-too-terribly organized (read: incredibly disorganized) adults as a house, then yes, that would be what we are renting. Yes, my heart goes out to myself often these days. A little too often, it would seem, since at the present moment I am sitting here penning a missive to you about the piles lying about my house instead of getting off of my rear and getting rid of, say, just one.



So, in a very providential twist of loveliness, I had forgotten that aforementioned cleaning lady Genius On Kneepads was scheduled to be attending my house this past Monday afternoon. Monday was set to be a busy day for me, as all Mondays for the rest of the world are, and my main two objectives for the day were a dentist appt. for the toddler (infant in tow) and cleaning my entire townhouse top to bottom so as not to let New Babysitter in on our very messy, somewhat dirty little secret - that in my home, rarely are the dishes done, rarely is the table swiped clean, and never is the laundry complete, folded and put away. I mean never. Which sort of gives me a little segue into the main theme of this post, thus allowing me to avoid another digression. Yay!

So, as I haven't asked permission to use her name, I'll call my Fairy Cleanmother "N". "N" is amazing. I have to say I was a more than a little apprehensive about this experience, and did (insert sheepish grin) tear about my house in the hour before her arrival throwing clothes, shoes, Barbies and Play-Doh into baskets and behind closed doors. Even then I knew there was no hiding it. Oprah, here I come. I'm a hoarder. And I mean the worst kind. No, I don't have paths through my home (at least not yet) walled with clothes and trinkets, but I am that girl who, when offered something, says "yes" before the person has a chance to detail what exactly they're passing on. Bad news, people. And I mean it's embarrassing! I'd take a picture of my basement just to prove it to you - and if anyone needs a good laugh and you're, say, my best childhood friend or a member of my family, let me know and I'll take that picture. But otherwise - uh-uh. It's a scary sight. Games piled on wedding memorabilia alongside sporting equipment toppling over Christmas decorations and topped with say, an art project from the third grade. And it doesn't even have to be a particularly good one. All I have to do is see the date and I am loathe to part with it.

Well, "N" and I really got down to it on Monday, and man, I would have paid for the pep talk alone. And what I came away from our realization that we are both enslaved to this "keep it, might use it, don't touch it for five years....but NEVER throw away" mentality is this: it's time to pare down. Get back to the basics. Regroup. Clean up. Clean out. Throw out. (don't throw up).

The staccato statements make it sound so simple, no? I know it won't be. But I think I might be finally ready. What I seek most of all is the freedom that I hope will come from being rid of all of these belongings which I could argue even literally weigh me down. Hold me back. Keep me homebound. Cramp our style.

So while lamps and tables and old swimsuits and forgotten pictures lie in sweet repose down there....I muse. Little do they know, life's about to change for most of them. I've got a lofty goal - five boxes. That's all I want left. I'm not limiting myself on size, unless anyone suggests otherwise. I'm open for those, by the way - suggestions. This is not my forte - I mean the word organizing really gives me a cramp in the side. My own father has seen me in tears many times in the middle of a room with my belongings/homework/packing strewn about me, beyond frustrated because I don't know where to start and how it will ever end.

More importantly, a good friend of mine has of late been teaching me about how to do this on a more personal level. So introspection has ensued and it's been good. Cutting that fat out could do me a whole lot of good, and could only in turn be beneficial to those around me.

Gearin' up for a change....it's about time sister....

it's not easy outsmarting a three year old.

Exhibit A: a couple of months back on that splendiferous, sunny, sugar-laden holiday also known as Easter, our little family had taken a trip to visit extended family. On the way home after a busy, busy day of hunting eggs, one sprinkle-encrusted toddler piped up from the back seat, "Mom, can I have some gum?". Mind you, this was following 7 mini chocolate eggs, 3 lollipops, 2 peeps and one very ooey gooey Cadbury Delight (c'mon, life's no fun w/o exaggeration!!). Suffice it to say the kid may as well have eaten her weight in sugar, more than exceeding her quota for a week.

And as any mother who wants to keep her sanity along with a bedtime before 10 PM replied, I said, "No, honey, you've had quite alot of sugar and treats for the day."

After hearing nothing but silence from the backseat, I turned to my husband (w/ a half-smug look on my face for winning that battle so....quickly and painlessly) and proceeded to discuss some inside joke we'd shared earlier in the morning.

(k- remember that painless part).

And so Nick and I giggled together, and rested back on our haunches, exhausted but satisfied after yet another 2 family holiday, silently congratulating ourselves on keeping both children from hurting anyone else or themselves and not throwing up on anyone else or, themselves.

It was only after a few more exit signs that the little voice from the backseat piped up again, "Hey Mom?". "Yes, my dear?". "Does candy have sugar?". Naively chuckling to myself at her ever-burgeoning level of intelligence, I reply, "Yes, Ella, candy most certainly does have sugar." "Oh."

And husband and wife exchange knowing, amused glances in the front seat and the drive home continues.

A couple of minutes later....

"Mom?". "Yes, babe, what's up?". "Does gum have sugar?". (ok I'm not kidding you - this conversation has been going on now intermittently for a good 7 1/2 min. at this point. Quite long enough for my ADD-raddled mind to have forgotten how it began). "No, well, not alot at least." "Oh, then can I have some gum?". "No, Ella, I told you earlier! No gum, no more treats, no more candy for the rest of the night!".

(and here she pulls out the big guns...)

"But you said that gum doesn't have sugar!!!".

Deductive reasoning? Not cool, dude. Not cool at all.

Exhibit B: On the way home from an end of the year potluck celebration at preschool. Female toddler trying desperately to avoid nap-time. Pulls out a double whammy, "Mom, can I watch some TV after you make lunch?". The whammy is two-fold, and I will explain how. #1: watching TV will postpone any trips upstairs to bed. #2: there is no lunch to be made, because we just ATE lunch at the potluck. This she knows. But this she continues to pretend NOT to know. I will expound. "Ella, we just had lunch, silly!". "But, but, but, I didn't have lunch! I just, I just, I just jus jus jus had DINNER." Oh man! Blocked again. Toddlers all over the world in an alternate universe are applauding that one. You've really got her this time. How is she going to use logic to argue with the illogical? Good job, brave pre-schooler. You may just have outwitted her this time. You are well on your way to eating popsicles for every meal and covering every surface in the house with crayon in reckless abandon!

I digress.

"No, Ella, we just had lunch. Dinner-time is later." "NO! (whining) But, but butbutbutbut I CHANGED it!" Wha? Oh, you did, did you. You took upon yourself powers that belong not even to our own president, most likely, and altered the names and times of two everyday meals. Uh-huh. "No, punkin, we just had lunch" (wearily, now). Note to self: repeating logic in an even-measured tone to a toddler will get you nowhere. I repeat, nowhere. Even if that mom at the playground - you know, the one with the perfect blond bob, J-Crew boat shoes and striped layers, whose child wouldn't be caught dead in anything BUT baby Gap, you know the one - even if that mother looks to be in control as she's repeating to Cadence that, "Cadence, honey, it's time to go now, we need to return the books to the library before it closes.", well, she's not. Because behind the perfectly Burt's Bees glossed tightly wound up smile hiding clenched whitened teeth, she wants to pull every strand of perfectly straightened hair out just as much as you do. Trust me.

We'll digress alot on our journey together.

In a moment of truly desperate brilliant clarity that is only bestowed on mothers of especially challenging intelligent children such as mine, it came to me like a rare perfect Ohio spring day - unexpected, undeserved but well-utilized nonetheless. "Well, honey, see, we just ate, right? And since it is the time of day when we usually have lunch, and we ate, that's how we know it was lunch. DINNER-time is not until this evening, after Daddy gets home."

And while minions millions of toddlers all over the world blinked back disappointed tears, realizing that their hero had not come after all, a hushed sigh fell over the vehicle.

"Oh." she replied softly.

Pulling into my parking spot, I pumped an imaginary fist into the air, knowing I had earned my own double whammy. Keeping a toddler fit at bay thus prolonging baby brother's nap-time? I think my work is done here.

just the latest and greatest....

Ella and I made some fantastic chocolate cupcakes the other day (recipe compliments of my friend Mary). This is actually an original recipe straight from her kitchen - she's quite the patient and creative one. I've decided that the golden ticket(s) for perfectly rich, decadent, moist chocolate cupcakes are the sour cream and bold coffee that perk up the recipe (no pun intended - really). Anyway, all that to say that this moment was captured while one very sweet-toothed toddler was most likely contemplating just how much homemade chocolate frosting she could fit into her cheeks in one bite.

Ahem.

And on another day, in another part of the house, with the other tyke, I had an impromptu photo shoot (a habit as of late) when said younger tyke decided to take half as long of a snooze as the sweet-toothed one. I mean really, what to do with that adorable face but take pictures of it?? Please.

Lastly, and a bit random....I have to say I've been a bit overwhelmed (in a positive way) by the kindness, generosity, and patience of my friends and acquaintances from small group/church in the past week. What I now begrudgingly refer to as the "Debbie Downer Doldrums" attacked in full force on Mother's Day and made for an unpleasant beginning to that week, which sort of carried on into the next....until I found myself in a bit of a teary mess on the phone with a girlfriend who I've known a relatively short while....but I do believe she was providentially prompted to take that phone call, and to listen in her sweet, caring, quiet way, and to pick me up with a gentle pep talk so that I DID make the play date with the kids, thus letting a bit of sunshine into their day and mine. When you really think about it, she was my sunshine...for her and for the sympathetic ears at our small group, I am so grateful, and I know Nick is as well.

Take that, Debbie Downer. Geesh.

-A Changing Woman

Blogger's Block

How's that for some apropos alliteration?

I really wasn't quite sure how long it had been since the last time I'd posted until just now when I checked the date. Not quite a week? Feels longer.

And I'd love to go into oh such great detail about the Latest Happenings 'round here, but have been advised against it, by my very sage mother. Knowing me, this reticence to share intensely personal details of my life will last for only a requisite short while, but, maybe every minute counts. Succinctly put: Big, Big Revelations to come concerning my past. Let's hope that along the journey, my load is lighter than it has felt, well, since forever. I hate being cryptic.

So enough of that, and on to my latest foray into some sort of natural therapy with which to calm the nerves and re-direct the negativity. Spring has...yes....("we" *read: I* don't do cliches) and in light of this, and aided by my very impulsive, compulsive nature, I've taken to the furled, tangled, monstrous mess of God knows what in between healthy hosta plants flowerbeds in front of our townhouse. I've no idea what I'm doing. None. For once, I don't care much, either. Normally when I begin a task such as this, I've done my online research, I've picked my co-worker's brains, I've read the glossary, etc. This time, nada. Just a little spade shovel (see, not even sure if that's what it's called), some cheapo rain boots from Walmart, the aforementioned monstrosity, and a few sweet pink geranium plants from Mom. It started with the geraniums....

....then....two hours later....and half the bed cleared....I fell into mine, exhausted and (dare I say it?) happy.

That half-cleared flower bed called my name all morning too, in between orders for triple tall half-caf lattes and orange mango banana vivannos. By the time I was on my third espresso macchiato of the morning, I'd already planned my trip to Marc's and was pleasantly surprised to receive a text from my darling husband who had just so happened to plan a Daddy and Co. picnic over lunchtime...leaving me free to rush over and buy some flowers after a lovely dentistry appt. Just l-o-v-e-l-y.

I've only started small (?). About a tray and a half, along with six vegetable plants. No biggie. We'll see what happens. More joyous root-pulling ensued this afternoon, and it was fantastic cloudy hazy weather for it. I mean seriously, what could be more fulfilling than carefully poking and prodding, digging around and gently following the dratted thing until you've got it out where it began? It's almost - ALMOST - as good as pinning down that exact verbiage which denotes the very unique, extremely specific emotion you're experiencing so that you can capture your reader and hold him in the experience with you. *sigh*

Lest I've lost you with lofty allusions to onomatopeia and imagery as they relate to weeding - meet my new friend.

We passed briefly while working around each other this afternoon. He was amenable enough, and I promised to do my very best at not disturbing his environment. See, I know nothing about gardening. For all I know, he plans on snacking on my every last viola. Again, we shall see.

My other (much better, bit cuter, more verbal) little friend helped by watering the gnome. Very important, gnome-watering. How else is he going to grow? I ask you. I shall have to pick up some small flowering plant to nestle in his little bucket for her....or, just let her live in her perfect imaginary little world where gnome-watering is crucial and necessary to said gnome's existence. I'm kind of leaning towards the latter.

And when did I start capitalizing things again? Well that's an interesting little step in a different direction. Feels less cobwebby. I think I might just like it. I think I might just keep it.

Incidentally - something else I'll keep, and store in the forefront of this mangled, tangled brain of mine....the very warm and pleasant, kelly-green appearing and smoky espresso smelling thoughts of those Great Starbucks Customers who matter more than they know, with their genuine appreciation of my work.....I'd name you all and your drink, but I know not every red-blooded American is as prone to airing their dirty chai laundry as I am.

Aren't hostas gorgeous?

-A Changed Woman

starting to realize that if i had a dollar...

...for every time my mom comes over and cleans something in my house to make herself me feel better i'd definitely be able to buy a few pairs of these for my children.

how cute are they?? babylegs.com. but the site's kinda screwy and i always have trouble w/ most of the links....so i don't know if i'd be able to order them anyway if i decided to splurge.

twelve bucks so SO worth it for this particular brand of pudgy fashion though. puh-leeze.

speaking of my mom - i was alerted today of an oversight on my part in one of my previous posts which included a picture of my mom's my Aunt Thea's meatloaf. my apologies! the person who originally shared that recipe definitely deserves the credit as it is bar-none the best meatloaf i've ever had. so, an apologetic shout-out to my mom's sister/best friend in Chicago for her sleuthing skills in finding the best ever meatloaf recipe. :)

and a last apology for this post being so meatLESS. it's late, and i have to grind coffee and get a starbucks in working order at the ungodly hour of 5:30 AM.

i will leave you with a crappy astute observation my 3 1/2 year old made today. it went a little something like this:

"hey mom, your tummy's getting bigger!".

no, no baby coming (are you kidding??). just too much moosetracks, not enough treadmill, and the false notion that maybe i am still pregnant so i have a license to eat and drink whatever the heck i want.

-A Procrastinating Woman

feeling grateful.

my mama dropped off some peace and her prowess in my kitchen yet again this afternoon....attacked my fridge with her very own brand of uniquely efficient vengeance...*sigh*. simple pleasures.

speaking of....

....i had some fun with my birthday camera. subject compliments of my husband :).

life as i knew it yesterday.

man. holy crap. yesterday was a bad one, to put it mildly.

so have you ever wondered what a full-blown panic attack feels like? well, i'll tell you.

ever been tied to railroad tracks only to realize a train is speeding towards you, with no signs of stopping?

or...

ridden on an especially turbulent flight?

here's a good one...

how about when you were in third grade and cheated on that test. 'member when the teacher's aide knocked on the door of your classroom, shot you a sorrowful look, then handed Mrs. McCracken a note? and the way your palms (and entire body, for that matter) went from sweating to freezing to sweating again in the span of about 3.4 seconds? 'member the interminable trek to the principal's office and the inexorable feeling of impending doom that weighed down your little self as you trudged slowly but surely toward the man who held your very fate in his hands?

it's sorta like that, only about 5 million times worse.

oh, and add to that the very certainty that at any moment, you will not only become unconscious, but never wake up.

pretty dreadful.

i'm not sure yet why this is the soundtrack of my life right now, but one thing is clear - someone's out to get me, and they're not nice - oh, far from it. see, as sure as i am about the existence of God and that he is made of Love and Forgiveness and Honesty and Passion and Grace, i also subscribe to the somewhat unpopular belief that the devil is alive and real and not a whimsical scarlet creature who makes random appearances on the shoulder of sitcom characters for comedic purposes only.

i can't give any other explanation for why such an experience would exist - one which is capable of utterly convincing a human being that they will surely pass into another world if they allow themselves to, well, pass out.

i'm sure there are many other opinions and you're entitled to any one of them. i can certainly attest to the fact that panic attacks are not only psychological but also very physiological experiences and have been widely studied, verified, etc. scientifically speaking. yeah, i get that. i also get that these days, for some reason, there's a dude out there (in here) who is hell-bent on taking me down, blurring my focus, sealing my lens with the black cap of hopelessness....

and it's rough going when you can't see very well. forget the bruises from knocking around in the dark....it's really more the frustration of not being able to find that sliver of light, that long vertical crack that gives you a goal to move for, gives you the motivation, the mobility necessary to get yourself out of that room full of, well, crap.

you've seen glimpses into my other days (and if you haven't, feel free to scroll down). it's not like this 24/7. thank God, quite literally. and it is therapeutic (for me, if not for you - sorry!) to account for the journey in this way...i am thankful for that, for the ability and willingness i've been graced with to put my experiences into words on a screen, therefore minimally exorcising them from my head.

so i feel a little lighter, now. and two little bundles wake up from dozing soon, which is a source of great HOPE and love and joy for me. so i suppose i am To Be Continued. very likely, knowing my oppositional nature, my next offering for you will contain some sort of photo involving crossed eyes, pudgy toes or the beauty of kelly green grass after rain. let's hope...