If You Give a Girl a Paintbrush

90% of my posts this upcoming year could easily start with "so, you know that I have __________ on my 30 before 30 list? yeah, well..."

See, making that list meant so much more than that list.  With my personality, there is no such thing as anything simple. I'm all "woah" and "wait" and "hold up a sec", and even after I've started something as simple as painting a room I'm all "guys, this is so reflective of my marriage because blah blah blah long story get on with it, Ashley, and get it done".  Anybody still following? Super.

I was saying that the list, now that it's done and made and my friends and family and YOU are cheering me on to be more than a milk machine for the twins, is expanding into this much larger thing than I thought it could or would be.

Case in point, #25 is "redecorate our master bedroom" [and yes, there is a whole long, huge, melodramatic reason it made the cut for the list, so those curious or itching for torture will get that later], but I knew I couldn't start that until I fixed the really, really crappy paint job Paul and I collectively threw up on the walls of our guest bathroom some odd  months years ago and have been ignoring ever since.  It was some light blue nonsense that was reminiscent of an old person's something or other. It was just awful.

We bought paint a while ago for a bathroom plus connected laundry room do over, and it's been waiting patiently and I was procrastinating just as well as I always do.  That was until a few days ago.

After taping and painting and painting and patinting... my friend Natahle brought me over a brush to use (and I imagine it has a name and I have not the first clue what to call it) to "cut in" the paint with rather than using the painter's tape.  That whole learning curve thing. Yeah, I'm all over that with the painting. Cue the horror---ree ree ree ree Psycho shower scene---music.  I actually almost cried this morning because so. much. work. I have a bit of a lazy streak when it comes to doing something new or old or required or really anything.

But no amount of laziness can succeed in ignoring a NAUTICAL THEME IN A LAUNDRY ROOM. I know. I know. Anytime I do laundry I think, you know what this reminds me of?... fish. and sailing. and lots more fish. I bet you all do. Laundry = billowing sails. Laundry = water = ocean = fish. It all makes so much sense to me that it makes no sense at all. Just in case the photos don't seem real to you, yes that's a yellow brighter than the sun and yes, those are fish drawer handles. What more could a girl want?! When we were buying the house and biting our nails, we all but declared, "But it's got a nautical themed laundry room. We've just GOTTA have it!!"

Alas, after the third infraction of shenanigans by the hand of my neglected-while-mommy-paints-the-laundry room 3 year old, I decided painting wasn't safe during the hours of 6 am to 8 pm which explains why it hasn't happened until now.  I thought, caffeinated as I am, I would clean the windows behind the couch in the sun room. Moving the couch in the sun room meant vacuuming there too. And since the furniture was already moved and the windows so beautiful, I thought I would just rearrange all of it. Once I rearranged all of it, I was annoyed with all the kids' books pouring out all over the place in a million different places and decided to ship them back to other areas of the house per help of the 3 year old who was now occupied not with shenanigans but "neaking around like a minja to spy on the babies." Then I saw dirty book shelves, so I started wiping them down which made me realize how messy and cluttered they had become and so I started tidying that area. I saw our "look book" binder and realized I probably needed to transfer that stuff digitally or maybe no but oh my gosh, our wedding album!!!

Babies started crying and I came back to reality.  If there weren't any kids here, I swear I would have this place perfect.

Babies roasting by an open fire whilst mommy paints a square foot or two.

I've had a lot of coffee today, people.

My Battle Cry for Order in This House (5 rules for people like me)

I just found this on my phone. Looks like the 5 second camera tutorial paid off.

I had a morning so awful this week it brought up vivid memories of last summer when I was acclimating to stay at home motherhood for the first time, balancing the needs of a talkative three year old and thirsty bebes, and myself starving for any inkling of sleep to just not die.  Seven months post-new babies and most days here are fairly calm. We have our moments (or string of moments) of "peak stress", wherein I take another gulp of coffee and do a lot of embarrassing self-talk to get through it, but overall things are pleasant. Having a morning where I felt like I was once again on a bus tour of the 1st circle of hell (where there just happens to be kids riding on my lap who are so cute, cute, cute that I love, love, love and kiss, kiss, kiss), was a great reminder that there are seasons of life and we get through things that are hard and are sometimes amazed by ourselves once it's over.  Moral of story: gratitude.  But also... how did we get back here, people??

After several failed attempts at regrouping, I battle-cried to the kids, "New Game Plan!!" and then unceremoniously grabbed some of Thomas's sketch paper nearby and inked out the most important tools I had learned since starting my stay here full time. 

Is it only me that happily tailspins into chaos and then remembers again and again and a hundred times that doing whatever feels good does not qualify as a healthy work ethic? Or no? Speak now or forever hold your superiority over my head. 

I resisted the urge to tattoo my must-haves across my arm (with, you know, that beginner's tattoo kit I bought that one time), so posting them here is the next  best  worst thing.  Assume that as of January 2014 I average getting one of these right on any given day, but I give you my certified promise, or your money back, that if practiced, these five rules can reign in even the craziest mix of peoples stuck inside a house together. 

1. Wake up before kids.  

It is some kind of magic that will never be fully revealed to me but this "rule" is by far the most bang for my buck. Even ten minutes before the 1st whimper or request for breakfast is enough of a head start to keep my head above water.  Jen has said it before, about staying ahead of the curve, so I'll just let you go there and reap all her wisdom.  Wake or be woken is akin to eat or be eaten here. 

2. Keep it clean.

I made excuses before staying home about keeping the house clean, and *surprise* I still make them, but really it's not an option with kids.  Time can't be wasted looking for socks, wiping down counters amid cries for food, or quick-snatching the choking hazard off the floor.  Most of all, my brain in a cluttered house is something completely foreign to me. Cognitive functions shut down. My ability to discipline reduces to groaning and yelling "don't touch THAT!". My joy takes a sharp 90% decrease.  I get that with kids there should be spaces for messy, creative play, but last time I checked, my boys were not reenacting Sharknado in my laundry room.

No, stand to the side. No. Stand to the side. Okay. Good enough.

3. Follow the routine.

Schedules at home are unrealistic what with kids and their wild unpredictability, but routines are such a very, very good thing.  We tweak ours a little bit each week and have quite a bit of work to do, but with nursing twins blah blah blah excuses excuses blah blah whine. There are anchors Thomas can count on to feel secure: "school time" during the twins' 2nd nap, no screen time until after his nap, and reading books before going to bed. My sister-in-law suggested I post a pictorial routine for him and I think that's brilliant, so I'll be drawing that up and plan on putting the most artistic effort into the time mid-day when the babies and Thomas sleep at the same time which will be represented by me lounging on a beach modeling my cute bikini and charming figure while holding a daiquiri and soaking in the sun when in reality I typically sit on the couch and stare into nothing stunned numb with exhaustion for surviving the 1st half of the day.

4. Say it and mean it.

Discipline... Gah. Let me scrub toilets instead. Moving on. The worth of words probably is the best kept secret of happy parents and happy kids world wide. Well, if so, I just let it out the bag. But words mean more than just ushering consequences for hug-squeezing-attempted murdering little baby brothers. It means me putting the cell phone away and really listening.  It means quality one-on-one time, making promises and following through (both on things good and bad), and having conversations with little ones. Good stuff--being fully present with Thomas! It usually means I hear nuggets of questions like "Why did you say "shit" the other day?"  or statements like "Pah. Pah. Pah. Penis. Penis starts with "p" too!"

5. See people. 

Oh man, I really am horrible at all of these. I'm still not sure which is more difficult for me: clothing these little guys and making us look presentable and out the door with our chariot of stuff to go see people OR welcoming people into my frantically cleaned home so I can stress out in between being thrilled to talk to adults and a nut case about remembering I've still got kids to take care of so not so fast on the sipping carefree, Ashley! However, seeing people, and I mean that in loose terms (going to a store counts as defense against my mommy brain turning to mush after the hundredth rendition of "twinkle, twinkle, little star" because I can't for the life of me remember more than seven kid songs I actually know the lyrics to) always puts more pep in my step and I can use all the pep available.  

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   * 

So there you go... my 5 rules for happy mommy, happy home orrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....chaos, death, and destruction. 

There's also coffee, chocolate, dancing with the kiddos, and a whispered Hail Mary. Those do a lot of good and are visited much, much more often than all the necessaries I just listed.

What's on your list? I'll add it to the five things I'm already not doing. Oh yeah!

Simply Being You and What it Can Do

All the snow outside right now and the sidewalk totally mushed up with ashy remains of frozen white, I'd give anything to travel on the very much covered sidewalk.  I've seen the horrors a mix of double stroller + momma + toddler + mounds of snow is capable of so I'll pass today, but the wishful thinking does prick at a happy memory from just a few months ago.

One Sunday afternoon at the tail end of this past fall, I made my way to the front door for a walk around the neighborhood when the first layer of a foul mood began stretching itself into my bones.  It was just one of those days with funk written all over it.  Somebody switched mass times at a church across town and I was not so thrilled by it. Paul and I were doing our usual routine of weekend arguing over projects, much planning and not enough doing. Kids everywhere I stepped...and what was that all about??!  I was exhausted by frowning at everybody (It's so much work to be unhappy!), so I grounded myself by un-grounding myself and with the babies strapped in and ready to ride down the sunset, I went strutting my bad self to the lake and back.

Turns out this was smart because when I returned I was all smiley again.  Mid-way through my walk a figure in the distance flagged me down and I about died of happiness when I found it was my friend Donna (and her boyfriend whom I had not yet met) also taking a walk in my neighborhood (even though she doesn't live here or even in this town). I don't know how she felt when I interrupted her (romantic?) stroll, but I was elated for something, no, someone to get my mind off ME!

Donna is full of life. Energetic. Enthusiastic. Funny. Without even trying, she lifted my stinky attitude just by simply being herself! We had maybe twenty minutes together to ask and answer the usual questions in catching up, to gab about our kids, to laugh at each other, to talk about losing weight and eating ice cream all in the same breath.  It was completely ordinary and yet darn near miraculous the difference it made in me. When I parted ways with her and walked back inside my home, I felt warm with flames flickering in the fireplace and jazzy music playing overhead, happy to see Paul look up at me from the couch (and know he would probably love me still despite my stressed out, always so serious self), and this too--jubilant to be tripping over kids everywhere I stepped.

Donna and I taught together for five years. We've danced together, gushed together, and even though I can't remember it, probably argued over stuff too.  Short of crying on each other's shoulders, Donna and I have shared a lot of yucky stuff with each other. She's heard my secrets, and I've known, despite how tough & independent she is, when her heart has hurt.

Donna and I aren't friends because we're just like each other.  Far from it. She's the 'go' for my 'stop', the 'seize life' for my 'wait, wait, wait'. We aren't drawn to each other due to similarities, even though that's where we might have started.  Our histories. Our marriages. Our religious beliefs. Our music preferences. The differences there have seemed to serve as bridges for us to travel together, across and back, rather than oceans to wave across from our shores.

If friends came with warnings stickers, Donna's might say:

I'm here to stay,

so hate me or love me..

--heads up--

You're getting all of me!

This "all in" kind of authenticity is what I love most about Donna.  She is teased about her taking life by storm personality, but where others see a chance for a wisecrack, I've always seen a loud vulnerability, a willing heart, a leap of faith to live large no matter what.  

In the age of filtered photos and Facebook statuses wiped clean of ugliness (because who needs a permanent record of that?), it's refreshing to just simply be with friends.  I think back on so many times a friend's authenticity, their willingness to be real and get real meant more to me than maybe they realized...

Natahle who after seeing me embarrassed for my sink full of dishes during her visit, thought to send me a photo of her remodel mess atop her table and I smiled at the photo as it popped up on my phone...

To my sister-in-law, Jessica, who sends me encouraging texts about the real stuff that goes down in her home--maybe cracked eggs or crying babies but always, always, a relieved-to-know me on the other side...

To my sister, Andrea, and that one time she cried in my car and we paused our usual go around of fun and silly and I remembered that we all carry with us little parts of broken in our hearts...

To Katie and Allison for welcoming me in for a girls' night recently so we could argue the what's what on spanking kids but see face-to-face that we're all wanting to be with our whole, whole selves to be good, kind, conscientious mothers and that it means reaching out to each other and laughing over our efforts too... 

To three mothers this year who spoke with pure vulnerability and candid openness to me, a story all their own to hide or lay bare, about how rough bringing in a new baby really was...

Oh my gosh....and a hundred other moments of friends (and sisters because I'm big blessed there!) simply being themselves and without knowing it--blessing me immensely.  I was a little less frightened by my own heartache, less embarrassed by my own shortcomings, less disheartened about my own parenting woes, less mindful of all the things I would love to do and all the things I would love to be if I could be perfect --cause I'm not and we're not and that's okay.

So to you, whoever you are, stay open. Find safe places to share your heart--and keep doing it.  Take a note from Donna's book and forge loud in love!

You, just simply being you, is more a gift than you know!

Somewhere is someone returning to her home and a smile on her face (or a smidegon less sadness to carry)-- because you are simply you!

(Or 'his'...I don't want to exclude the 1% male population who visit here. ;) 

A New Year and More Joy Up Ahead!

One year ago, give or take a few days, I sat back into the pew, empty hands on lap and a searching face toward the crucifix.

I had confessed all those ugly things. As a mother. As a wife. As a woman searching and broken and spilling over her hurts. I had spoken through tears and a stammering of my sins of my distrust of God--ramming my will, carving its strength wherever I could force it.

Only a handful of others did their quiet listening and talking to Him nearby. The church's empty grandeur swallowed me. The normalcy pounded too.  Parishioners tidied hymn books, vacuumed, rehearsed in a mess of rooms behind us. Outside this swath of sanctity, cars drove by, mist hung in the Saturday afternoon, and a home waited for me to serve dinner and help a little boy pick up his toys--with kindness.

New life was forming inside me but I wasn't ready yet.  My marriage? My motherhood? Balancing work and home life? I was already such a mess. I couldn't be ready in seven months to welcome another child into our family.

I didn't want to be broken. I wanted to be beautiful and together and perfect and doing all the right things when he or she arrived.

But I knew that isn't how it is.

So, I turned my face to the humanity and the humility on the cross, the hurts spilling over, and I said to God:

I'm giving it to you. All of it. I'm trying to do this. I'm so trying to do this. And I just can't. I'm so exhausted by trying to figure it all out. I'm so exhausted by me, by trying so hard, by failing so much, by thinking I know...So I'm handing all of me over. Your turn.

As if some brat and yet sincere, I smiled large on the way to my dirty car.  Of course He can make more sense of what I need to do, who I need to be. Oh sure, there won't be any miracles or signs or overnight conversions to peace, but for once that whole laying it down at the foot of Jesus bit made absolute sense to me because I had finally done it. My crumpled pieces of paper, hundreds of them, inked like my heart on a page, of my story--me trying over and over and falling short--I unloaded them there at the foot of the cross and walked away.

One month later, I cried at the vision of two babies on the sonogram. Alone again. And instead of the piercing bright of the church, the piercing dark of a tiny room to lay on a bed and stare at a screen and cry tears of joy and laughter for two babies who should have been one, two babies to illuminate further my brokenness and imperfections, two babies to cluelessly raise, to gaze at like they brought with them Heaven and yell at them three years later when I've happened upon a smear of poop on all surface options of our bathroom and them moved on to their own giggling disregard in a room of toys on the other side of the wall.

Even God doesn't hand over perfection when we ask for it. I've been asking for 28 years. I know. According to the book of Ashley, he gives you twins to totally free you of it instead.

I thought I was broken and empty in that pew with little left to give.  Then babies. And little sleep. And a toddler on a warpath because of a mommy shooing him away from her throne of nursing a revolving door of babies for months. And me pouring water over Thomas while, without warning, yelling at Paul, "NOBODY... I MEAN, NOBODY!!...NOBODY KNOWS HOW ABSOLUTELY, ABSOLUTELY TIRED I AM!". And a doctor's visit with all three boys so awful and embarrassing I came home and asked Paul to hug me and never let go. And a dozen other broken moments that had me putting even more crumpled hopes at the foot of the cross.

And all the normalcy in between that had nothing to do with becoming a SAHM or balancing the needs of three kids. Watching too much t.v. and regretting it. Drinking too much at the first sight of freedom with Paul and I out on the town. Saying the wrong things. Saying more wrong things. Thinking even worse things. Eating enough cookies and other sugar-laden stuffs to warrant an intervention.

But 2013 was so much more than all my failures. Scroll through Instagram and Facebook for my excessive displays of joy, all true and even a mere fraction of how I've felt.  Being a mom and wife, and having a chance to do so right now without a job, has brought me crazy, stupid joy.  Maybe it's because I've got an almost four year old to talk to and learn with every day. Maybe it's because the kids are cute and smile at me any time I ask. Maybe it's because the Church really is right, and our little sacrifices really are our journey to happiness.

But 2013 was really, really wonderful even though there were times when I was so very broken, maybe even because I was so very broken.

I can't help but think if I turn to God and let Him steer some more (goodness knows I really haven't given it all over to Him), He may have more difficulties for me in store, but after this year of feeling like all the hard brought me to this immense, persistent joy, I'm looking up to Him with a smile and a laugh and a chorus of boys at my feet.

Bring it. 

Happy New Year! Here's to another one full, full, full...and happy, happy, happy!!

All Those Things to Say

When I grab some time and write some words and then step away and go back to the kids, my head feels just a little bit cleaner. Tidied up, in a British voice kind of way. It's on these trips of sneaking up on my computer that I want to wax eloquent.

Today, I pecked my way, baby squirming on my lap, one tenth of the way through a post about Christmas which opened with this preface about why I don't write about my tucked-up-inside-my-heart Christian faith. I was fumbling before I even started. I mean...baby on lap, so...

Posts I've eeked out recently were about my bleeding heart and babies and babies and how crappy a wife I've been since the babies.

But let's get real.

What the goodness gracious am I doing here trying on this serious face? Hello! I'm Ashley and I've got big important things to say. Never mind that I just stepped in the office after I scraped poop out of my son's underwear right into the toilet (because apparently a child who has been potty trained for nearly the whole of 2013 can revert months after his baby brothers have arrived), figuring oh, I'll tend to this later along with every other crack, crevice, surface, nook, and cranny in this house. And after this post about Christmas. Post-it on brain: clean rest of poop mess before husband comes home and decides I'm unfit to stay at home and Thomas is unfit to grow up.

I would love to feel smart(er) like I used to when I was working. Students raised their hands to pick at my brain.  With colleagues, I'd throw in my quota of weighty opinions or witty lines. I read this in a book last week.  I smiled curious and proud at students and their teeming brilliance (and of course, any stupidity they dared to share as well).  I wore dresses that zipped up the back and I stacked papers and I followed a schedule and lived in a world bound by answers.

And now I'm staring deep into the screen, trying to remember if that's the right way to spell brain.

All my answers are in my actions. Nothing to pencil, edit, scrawl, and type wisdom into when I'm too busy with the physical.

Nurse. Read to myself. Read to kids. Prompt Thomas for manners. Make silly faces at babies. Switch Alistair to floor. Turn kettle on. Press coffee into the cup. Hand Thomas scissors. Stuff diapers. Scroll facebook. Take photos.  Sing songs. Nurse. Text husband. Prep lunch. Put laundry in. Turn music up. Move Emerick to chair. Make weird baby-ish noises at babies and wonder if anyone has done brain scans of SAHM brains to track deterioration. Seal envelope. Nurse. Comfort baby. "Let's put our food down and our hands together." Make a production out of Green Eggs and Ham. Dance with kids. Read a book about a whale. Sing silly songs as a whale. And a rabbit. And a skunk. And a whale again. Wipe counters. Drink coffee. Listen to podcast. Wash dishes. Make plans in head. Write notes. Tidy. Swear to myself I'm quitting facebook for Advent. Read blog posts. Watch youtube video. Wonder how I got on youtube. Nurse. Reply to email. Wipe butts. Smile as he says "aliver us from ebil".  Nurse. Make the bed. Read to the boys. "Space!" "Too much!" "Space!" "Volume!" "Aw, that's very thoughtful of you to do for him." "Too rough. Too rough!" "Space!"

It's good sometimes to have nothing to add to so much noise online.

Because oh the Noise, Noise, Noise, Noise! (Grinch fans, anyone?)

10 reasons I failed in my marriage
How to make Advent sacred and sane
27 ways to involve your toddler in charitable works
5 reasons you should get off facebook
7 reasons facebook will enhance your life
The three words you should stop saying to your toddler
What you should start doing for your marriage every day
18 uses for used toilet paper rolls 
20 photos that will blow your mind
Drop everything and read this post right now about productivity
Getting off-line and 5 reasons it made me a better person than everybody else

All I've got to say today is that my voice at home is quieted just a bit. Little faces interrupt my thoughts over and over again. With cries. And coos. And that lively conversation about Why did that bird die and land on our back porch? Well, maybe an eagle punched it in the air, mommy, acuz it got in his way.

Kids are great.  Their little constant needs are like water rushing over my rock of a heart, wearing down all those craggy edges which want to be heard and validated.  It's a tough job reigning in the ordinary. But it's the first time I've, by way of being pulled away a million times to feed these children of mine, seen what it means to really shut up and listen.

Humility, be mine. Humor, take me the rest of the way. 

And I think I had some other way to really knock this post into shape. You know, end with a bang. But there's a baby crying in the other room. Time to fly!

Life after the postpartum

Oh the things waiting to be discovered in our own home! Last week it was the office I tidied which had been littered with a string of dustish hairballs in the space where I used to write. A couple days ago I gawked at the dirt under the couch pillows. Today it was the master bedroom that sounded the Jaws theme across my eyeballs.

The twins will be six months old in just a couple weeks. Despite all I had braced myself for, I just couldn't have imagined how hard I would fall for them. And really all of this motherly experience, this round the clock and no escaping it version.

Cooking. Reading books. Nursing bug-eyed sweet things. Answering questions about "uhmerica" and God and if he's correct and what kind of a cat is that.  Home is where my heart is. I've landed here full force and have been finding great joy in the work of motherhood.

But there's more to my story than motherhood. I wish I was all the things all the time but I haven't been and I guess I won't be. Bummer. The past six months has been a heavy hand of loving littles.  I knew there was more (and that the dust was collecting) but I figured it could wait.

So, yes, I've got some re-balancing to do. Some straightening up and catching up and finding a place to hang all of my priorities.  Not just singing poorly constructed songs to the tune of Somewhere Over the Rainbow at my babies all day long.

None of us do it all. We have trade offs and should sometimes admit so in light of encouraging each other.

 And that has me wondering about what I'm willing to let go and what I should intentionally pull closer to me.

Today, the master bedroom had its two cents to throw in. No, seriously, I found two pennies. And one dime. A quarter. And a few other things. Two airplane pillows, one lazily spilling out a small pool of its white beady filling under the bed. A print-out of some nutritional information. Three hair ties and two dozen thousand bobby pins. And my breast pump, tubes and all, sprawled out all pompous and proud of how effectively nursing two babies has taken over a pretty hefty slice of the pie these past six months

 I wiped off dust which layered the grooves on the backs of our doors.  I rubbed polish into the wood. A secondhand flower decoration, yellowed and stiff went in the trash. An empty potpourri container seemed a haunting echo of good intentions forgotten.

With each thing tidied, so also my heart. 

I climbed atop our bed, ever frowning at the clash of colors our room has happened to stay: happy yellow walls, a vibrant gold comforter, rich brown furniture. I pulled up the wooden blinds and light flooded the room, making the mess of unfinished work, laundry unsorted, vacuum parked, and a clutter of junk on a bed stand seem even worse than I feared.

Sometimes there's an itch in our heart. Sometimes we just know there's that place to be cleaned. That demon to tackle. That call to make. That stiff and yellowed thing to let go.

Today, I smiled at the days when it was just Paul and I and for the days when it will be just us again. I whispered my wedding vows into the white of the baseboards. I took in the lemon of the shining dresser and looked around at all the crap and thanked God that I have a husband that has given and given and waited and encouraged and let me be all the mom things: the zombie mom, the learning mom, the fresh cookies for my family mom, and the singing and dancing and laughing and glowing mom.

And today I smiled because I remembered. I'm me first and I'm wife next and after those two things I'm a mom. And on a good day and somewhere over the rainbow, I get to be a few more things too.

A Few Tips for my Fellow Introverts (that you might already know)

If there was some kind of Olympics for being an extrovert, my husband would qualify.  He is like the king of the extroverts. And being that I love extroverted people, I married him, among many reasons, because my subconscious thought we would work together well as extrovert + introvert.  That has become the case, but it wasn't at first. It has taken us a while to figure out how to take our differences and magically mesh them. (And we still have a few kinks in the system to work on, so I'm far from expert.)

Today, since this lovely has been circulating facebook, I thought I would chime in on how to enjoy life as a weird introvert. I kid. Mostly. 

These tips do not come without a history of learning them the hard way. And lest you doubt my melodrama, I once cried myself to sleep in our walk-in closet while guests were staying in our home. Yeah, I'm that introverted. And if you have no idea why good, kind, gracious guests would drive an otherwise relatively normal person to cry in her closet, well, you may not be an introvert. But feel free to keep reading to marvel at my weirdness.

1. Layer silence and solitude into your schedule. I realized I was an introvert my fourth year of teaching (only a few years ago---I was in denial for a very long time because I'm entirely convinced extroverts are the. best.). I was crazy busy. Taught an extra class during my prep time. Did extracurriculars. Tutored kids. Had a kid myself. And my husband was busier and busier with his job too. Oh and he traveled a lot.  Despite exhaustion and being immeasurably behind around the house, the strangest thing happened. I started waking an hour before I needed to. I would read or write or just sip on coffee and listen to the birds lift the darkness on the other side of my sun room windows. I didn't plan for it or set my alarm for it. I needed quiet so desperately, my body was willing it. And I found so much peace because of that time.  

If I know I have several social priorities in a week, I have to consciously schedule snippets of time to be by myself. I draw so much from this. And if I don't fill back up this way, I end up cranky and discourteous with others which makes me so very sad.

This brings me to my next point...

2. Develop some sort of plan.
Every time we host a group at our house, my husband and I know I have to have a lot of quiet before and after. Sounds crazy, right? Well, it's that or I'm just a horrible person.  I'm so grateful the misunderstandings about our different personalities are, for the most part, behind us.  He respects my need for space. I try my best to say yes to his desire to be out and about with people. It works because we remember we're different and that's okay.

You know the demands on you.  Figure out little tricks to refuel. You know that satisfying sense of the gas tank filling up? You should shoot for that feeling. If you are missing that as an introvert or an extrovert try some tweaks here or there. I know it's not all about "I", but if we are to serve and love others, we really need to know how to be our best selves first. If that means the indulgence of closing the door to your bedroom for 15 minutes so you can reclaim sanity--do it!

But you don't have to go big or go home. Some small ways I refuel: write, claim kid-free spaces and times, wake early, take just 5 minutes to sit outside and stare at leaves, clean, put cell phone far away, go for a 15 minute walk, take a drive, go say hello to nature, journal, make something pretty.

It doesn't take much, but you want to refuel before you are empty. It's not like you can silence life on demand. Grab those quiet moments when you can.

3. Know your boundaries. None of us get to pull the "no thanks, I'm an introvert" card and just opt out of all social engagements we don't feel like going to, but it is important to know when something is too much.  You can always engage but take small breaks that no one could care less about.  My husband is the oldest of ten and so family get togethers are pretty crazy. And I love them.  But I also know my boundaries.  When I can feel myself getting irritated I go to a room with less people, take a walk with Paul, or just hide in my room for a few minutes with a book. These small breaks make a world of difference.  I always return once again feeling like every soul around me is wonderful, wonderful!

4. Love on others. A danger I've found in being an introvert is that our relationships with others feel a bit taxing and then we can, in a long and winding journey of events, perceive it as just not worth the effort and oops, fade out of the picture. Oh my gosh. I know that just sounds like the worst. I don't know a nicer way to say that it takes us a lot to stick around and play nice.  And you know what, I'll go out on a limb and just say that it is okay sometimes.  If someone I meet is superficial, catty, petty, gossip-y or just generally angry, the chances of me investing in them are about nill.  I just can't. Big time energy suck. I don't know if that's the worst thing ever.

But the worst is when you are so in love with being alone you start just not wanting to be around anyone.  Then something is off. It's not right.  Relationships are worth the work.  Our connections with others really is what life is all about! (Or so said me.) So get your butt out there and work on 'em even when you just feel like reading on the couch until you shrivel and die...or you run out of cookies and milk, whichever comes first.

I'm so grateful Paul is my built in kick-me-in-the-pants assistant. When he sees me slip into the loner look, he sets me straight.  Thank goodness. Because with all the flour, sugar, chocolate chips, butter and eggs I buy in my once a week outings to Sam's... I could read on the couch for a very, very long time.

So, what do you think? Which side of the fence are you on? Have any tips or tricks of your own? Any questions from the extrovert crowd?