The Risk (and Gain) of My 1st Year as SAHM

It was this time last year I walked away from my job as a teacher. I grabbed the last few items from my classroom: my portfolio bag, a fake magenta flower arrangement, and a few thank you notes I scrawled last minute to people I hated to leave. I turned in my keys and cried like I was some super hormonal woman overstuffed with babies. Because I was.

If there is something I want to write more about, it’s about being a woman.  If there are things I’ve been avoiding writing about, it’s some things about being a woman. Being a mom. Working. Or “working”. Gender differences. Wanting more kids. Not wanting more kids. Dressing for stretch marks and love handles.. And despite so many of us aware it doesn’t have to be a versus situation with all those priorities most important (schooling, feeding, working, etc.), it still feels like it.

I’ve been at home a year and I’ve found a few great mommy friends that aren’t scared enough by my methods of motherhood (which recently did not exclude hosing down my 4 year old’s naked butt in the backyard with my guests an earshot away) to stop coming over. I love them. I’m so glad to have them for companionship. Sometimes, though, I think of how I don’t quite fit. It wasn’t long ago I was giving them the raised eyebrow. Not them exactly….just all women working (in bunny ears)( and maybe even literally in bunny ears since I've now come to find myself in a host of ridiculous get-ups to buy time) at home.

To my stay-at-home-mom friends, I’m happy to extol the virtue of extended breastfeeding (or what I’ve come to intimately appreciate as lazy parenting) and the tenets of classical education.

To my working friends, I’m happy to pretend that my absence from teaching is akin to stepping out to get some air. In this case, air defined as an unprecedented amount of yelling and crying. Me, not the kids.

A litmus test for my personality is in digesting this statement I will now make on leaving the workforce:

It was, and continues to be, the scariest thing I’ve ever done.

Oh, I know, I know. You’re thinking, wow, that’s pretty lame. And I totally agree, but hear me out.

After you look at my cuties for one teensy second...

1st, there was a loss of half of 100,000, give or take several thousand (but definitely take). And I would care about that being private information except that’s it’s not because I was a public school teacher and I know people would look it up anyway, so I thought I would save them the trouble. Just kidding. You would all just guess that I made crap.  But it wouldn’t matter how well you are off or how much you love the home or your kids, if you aren’t freaked out by losing that kind of money, I just can’t understand. Because I’m evil or something? Moving on.

2nd, there was parenting.  As a working mom, it was easy for me to divert my attention away from my faults as a mom.  I know multitudes of wonderful mothers who are clearly in the captain’s seat despite being away for their 40 (or 50 or 60) hours. I was not one of them.  I rode on the coattails of the daytime care givers. He learned to use a fork? Awesome. You taught him to say thank you? Great! On most days you would have found me in a quiet school (because other mothers had already flung their door shut to snatch up their littles and not miss one more minute) hunched over my desk grading essays like my life depended on one. more. comment. Every one of my teacher evaluations deemed me competent. Almost every one of my experiences disciplining my firstborn deemed me either a. incompetent or b. in a catatonic state.

After a few months at home and some time after the twins were born, I found there was even more to fear.  How a home is ten layers of quiet that is normally okay or great to think in but can cut deep on a bad day.  How my heart shouldn’t rise and fall on my husband’s praise, but it often does because the rest of my conversations bob between comical and illogical musings of a 4 year old.  How it feels to get no more than two consecutive hours of sleep for three months and yet work in close proximity to three beds, two couches, and a dining table that would do just fine. How doing what you believe in is sometimes no fun at all and instead of it being no fun at all with a laughing co-worker, it’s just no fun at all. How not showering in 72 hours feels like you haven’t died of stench and wow, showering after 3 days feels like I just visited a spa...maybe I’ll try this again but not admit that to anyone!. How I’m watering my irrelevancy every time I snuggle up to Thomas and giggle over a few chapters about Ralph S. Mouse or Annie and Jack or Danny and Josh or Christopher Robin or Charlie because my comrades have been reduced to:

a.) People small enough I’m in charge of wiping their butts

b.) Characters in children’s novels

c.) Stay at home moms who have yet to figure out that I’m an imposter

A couple months ago, I went out for a birthday party for a friend I worked with last year. There was some “work talk” at the table. A lot of it. There were also drinks at the table. This combination, in excess (and maybe just the drink part), later culminated to something of a horror scene where I shot up in bed at 3 am to a baby crying in the other room and me with eyes wide open and internally yelling, as if shocked awake from some nightmare, “OH MY GOSH. I’M JOBLESS!!!”

See, even if I was the best mom (hahahahaha, that’s ripe) and we were filthy rich (Richie Rich times three, to be exact), I would still be pretty much freaked out about being off the grid.

One of the cornerstones of my personality is that I’m terrified of risk.  Absolutely terrified. I have to quell panic attacks when people share photos of a tattoo they just got because I’m thinking, Are you sure about that? Oh my gosh, you are sure. Of course you’re sure; you just got it. This is real and already there so I should say something and stop staring. Am I smiling?  Did I say something? Oh wait, I'm staring at Facebook... I’m so terrified of risk that when other people take risks I put on the burden of being terrified for them which is probably good because a lot of you look just fine, if not downright joyful, about the risks you take.  

Leaving the workforce was completely uncharacterisic of me. The only thing as uncharacteristic would be me being a mom...which I am...to three.  So, leaving the workforce to be nothing but mom served up what should have been epic disaster. Oh, and it did. But not like what I mean. There’s been so much nursing and so little showering---that kind of stinky disaster--yes!. But not the identity struggle I anticipated.

Me before the black hole of jumping to SAHMing it:

Outgoing? Nope.

Visionary? Woah. NO. No. No.

Extrovert? Nope.

Leader? Hahahahahahaha.

Nurturing? Hell no. Never been.

Selfless? <silence>

Risk-taker? You’re drunk. Go home.

Here I am, at home, being very much different than what I thought I was.  I’m assertive, decisive, and quick to act. I’m drawing boundaries (aka saying no) with others and teaching my son to respect me and his dad. I’m actively searching for and nurturing friendships. I’m laughing more as I loosen my grip and need for control.  I’m feeling good about being a mom (and I didn’t for a very long time which makes me very sad for time lost feeling crappy). And I’m falling in love all over again with Paul because that’s vulnerability which is risky and I know risky because I quit my job to just be a mom.

I’m so grateful for this past year. Just like any other job, I’ve learned a lot the hard way--that’s H as in hell, heckling, hurl, and hurt. I don’t know how long I get to stay at home or what’s ahead to discover this year. For now, my take away, other than a home and family pretty happy and healthy, is that I loved diving into something scary and finding I’m so much more than the labels I saw as absolutes.  There is no price to put on the freedom of breaking those illusions. 

But if there was a price, I would say it would be half of 100,000 give or take several thousand (but definitely take).

A Day in the Life

When I was working full-time, I carried around a curiosity for what those stay-at-home moms were doing.  Really, I didn't hold an altogether respectful attitude about those on the other side of the fence.  Call it jealousy or ignorance, I wondered why it was the mommy bloggers all too often seemed ungrateful or bored or lazy. Can't they just pull it together and get more done? I mean, c'mon, I'm working AND doing all the things.

And there was a smidgen of nice curiosity too. That kind of daydreaming wistfulness that takes you away from the day job. I wondered what it felt like to be full mommy full on all the time.  A naked wonderment at the women brave enough to stay put. I still wonder the exact same thing even though I'm doing it.  It has taken months of tweaking our rhythm and uncovering tricks, but those are mine--what about everyone else? Even my close mommy friends, the ones I visit with and discipline alongside and send my dramatic texts to, I wonder what their days look like. Not a cleaned up, perfected version.  Just the mundane & beautiful & ordinary all mingled together.

So, without further ado, a real honest-to-goodness boring and uncut look at my life at home (on a pretty typical day). 

Oh, and this version is a wee different than others I've seen. This is ordered by one photo and some related notes per hour. If I included all the things I do in a day around here (or the things I hear or see or think, my goodness), well, we just wouldn't ever escape this post. It would have all of us dribbling boredom out of the side of our mouths.

My day starts at 6:00 with nursing, diaper changes & feeding all the people in general, but I didn't think to do this until...

7:00 

Breakfast dishes. Laundry started. Tidying things up. To do list written for the day. Twins happily playing on their own. And Thomas and I attempt to put new handles in the master bedroom (that I'm slowly, slowly and with a lot of help from my friend, Natahle, redoing). Despite a great deal of morning person enthusiasm on our parts and a competent Youtube video, the ordeal ends in Paul's handle halfway done and mine about a quarter of the way.  So both not done is what I'm saying.

8:00 

Alistair & Emerick are so attached to each other, this is what it looks like when I'm feeding them their breakfast. The other watches and waits (and smiles!).  We've been up for two hours with me primarily working around the house and feeding people, so this is when I give the kids some attention. Supervising Thomas play with his brothers. Tickle the babies. Read some books. Daydream about the days of getting a shower without fear of child destruction and/or destruction of child.

9:00 

The babies are down for their morning nap so Thomas and I step outside.  After a short mommy & son sword fight, because I'm the best influence, I grab all my gear and start thinning through the plants on the east side of the house.  Thomas waters plants, hides behind our Asian maple pretending to be a ninja, and talks to the neighbor so much the neighbor has to excuse himself from conversation (of which I was absolutely zero part of because I'm pulling out more dead excess mass from our plants than there are plants). He also pulls a dead flower behind his back and tells me he will kiss me and I will fall in love with him. Then he will use his magic flower to turn me invisible.

10:00 

I'm sweaty and exhausted from yard work. This, plus a generous amount of humidity rolling into out area, has my hair looking like I lost a fight with a cat whose sole attack strategy revolved around perching on my head. I'm also exhausted by the prospect of managing clothing and bodily function removal for three boys before going to the store and myself looking just like this. This entire hour is spent nursing, changing diapers and clothes & gathering people into and out of the car for the grocery store. 

11:00 

Because I would rather poke my eyes out than go grocery shopping in my "free time" (haha, like I have any of that), I sport around the kids in this fashion.  The twins are super easy. I talk to Thomas a lot about all the food, the meals we are going to make, etc while I point to my grocery list and have him cross words off and sometimes help bag or place foods in the cart. The kid is like that plant in Little Shop of Horrors. He needs your blood (attention & educational fodder) at all times. He did tell me when I pulled into the parking lot spot that he would just stay in the car while I shopped. I definitely considered. 

12:00 

We eat a quick lunch. And here's one of my favorite anchors to our day. Thomas and I cuddle in my bed and read his chapter book. Today, it's Winnie the Pooh. I laugh at the nuance and Thomas laughs because his mom is laughing and because he is vaguely aware Pooh is adorably daft. No matter how our morning has gone, we always read about twenty minutes after his lunch and I let the babies play with each other in their sunroom cage as pictured below. Then, I nurse each baby and read a book to each separately and tuck them into bed as well.  Every day I think I'm going to do some sort of freedom dance by this point (all kids curled into balls and smushed up faces on sheets) but all I can manage is to turn on my warrior woman internal voice who says to not sit down or you will slip into hibernation and surface in three weeks.

1:00

Put away groceries, clean kitchen, and tidy up the house, and picking up my sanity one minute of podcast at a time. And since doing all those things are just about as boring and un-photogenic as you can surely imagine, I present here a random photo of this watercolor beauty I managed earlier this week complemented with, of course, a unicorn Thomas made two days ago. 

2:00

I think one of the things you learn once you've breached the more-than-one-kid zone of parenthood is this: you make food well before you need food. Hunger makes for an oil spill of all kinds of nasty emotions, and that's just when I don't get fed. If we're all hungry at the same time (6:00 am on a lot of days), it's a nuthouse of quakery and crazed lunatics out for some protein, dangit. So, I make roasted corn salsa and clean up the kitchen againagainagainagainagainagain. I mean, what?

3:00 

It's so quiet in the house and it's raining outside. This time of day, during the twins' 2nd nap and during Thomas's nap, is when I make calls, go through mail, send emails, write, etc. I will sometimes take a 20 minute power nap but this is becoming more rare now that I'm getting ample sleep at night. Here I am typing this post about what I was doing yesterday at this time. Get it? I'm typing right now just like I would be typing yesterday. Hey, I never said this was going to be interesting.

4:00

Hey, look! The kids are up and adoring each other.  Routine at this time looks the same way every day: 1. Thomas wakes  2. Snack  3. Thomas plays until he asks for screen time  4. Thomas is given his list of chores for the day and he does them at his own will and supervision (It's ingenius, I tell you--do this if you need space at 4:00 because you are completely spent. Kids have an innate way of navigating a wayward course toward chores which means they become sparse real quick.). I tidy up. Vacuum. Finish a project I started earlier.

5:00

This is a photo of beer. Because discipline. And four year olds. And a traveling husband who is on his way home but will be on a call when he arrives and maybe leave again next week. Judge me, but I won't feel bad at all. Walk a mile. Stay a week. ;) *and the wee black item is a Lego helmet

6:00

The kids adore their dad. I adore their dad. Paul is almost home from a week in D.C. after a week previous in D.C. and this kid, who can be found at any moment of any day moving his mouth or moving his feet but probably both, perched himself on the couch and wouldn't move for ten minutes because he didn't want to miss the moment Paul pulled up. Heart = puddle. 

Welp, friends, that's a day in the life here at the Anderson ranch.  I couldn't quite figure out how to get photos of how stunning I looked doing it all, but I'm sure you can use your imagination.

xoxox

Ash

Quick Takes: Death, The Ultimate Play Date Hostess & A Video of the Twins!

-1-

I’ve been working on my play date hostessing this year and it shows.  Today, I served what turned out to be pumpkin bread for lunch (oops!), cleaned up broken glass in the backyard, and hosed both poop and pee off my child while also holding up a towel (gotta be discreet, ya know!).

At one point, my friend’s child and Thomas were both running around in the non- broken glass section of the backyard.  It was a vision of two boys in nothing but underwear and flip flops laughing in circles, high weeds underfoot, chasing after each other with sticks and shouting. And all I could think was, Yes, I’ve finally made it. I reached a motherhood milestone where I’ve found a friend I feel so comfortable around I’m happy to be with even when I’m having very, very real mom moments. Because, dude, that’s my life.  Come on over to eat "lunch" while standing at the counter and holding a baby and hearing me shout things like “No, no, boys. Don’t run over there in the poop zone!’

-2-

Heaven. Death. Eternity. These are like the trifecta of my worst fears. Like woah. If you wanted to annihilate me while sitting on a couch and equipped with no weapon save the weight of your iphone, you could opt to go the verbal route, saying things like “You will die one day, Ashley. You can’t be absolutely sure what will happen when you die. And it will happen FOR-EV-ER!!!”  I will breathe heavily, go crazy-eyed, shed some tears, and panic attack myself into a one woman riot. I imagine, anyway.

My mother-in-law recently heard me blaze on about my fear of death enough she thought to buy me this book:

...and guess what! I did not know what the Catholic church believes about heaven (in fact, according to this book, what all Christians believe about heaven.) That’s a bit embarrassing to reveal but hey, maybe there’s another misdirected control freak out there terrified she will have to one day die and wondering if there's a book that could curb her from that one woman riot against the dying of the light.

Even though I’m still reading the book with one eyebrow way up high in the skeptical arch, I’m finding it a great source of comfort. Have you read it? Do you ever fear death? Do you have questions about the afterlife?

-3-

Podcasts! I listen to them a lot so that I can feel like I’m in conversations with adults in between wiping off (or hosing off!) butts. I need some recommendations though. A blogger on my feed recently posted something about podcasts and I thought I would read it later but now I have no idea who it was. Helpful side comment, huh. If you have a favorite podcast or know that recent post, would you please leave a comment and let me know. I would so appreciate it. I need to switch things up a bit & since podcasts are one of my tried and true sanity savers, momma needs some help!

-4-

Is it still spring cleaning season? Are people still building up their little gardens? Any of you able to stop time so I can squeeze some of this in? What happened with the past two months? I have so many pressing things on my list and a lot of things are just not happening. I’m suppose to be doing all the things because I’m a SAHM, right? Good days for me are a calm mommy, a clean kitchen, and the teeniest slice of “other” tackled on my list. You?

-5-

There are two things I think that every parent everywhere should do:

1. Read to your child.

2. Walk with your child.

These two things are possibly my two favorite gifts my parents passed off to me and now I get to pass them to Thomas.  No matter how yucky the day has been emotionally, Thomas and I always open up over a book.  And he always opens up when he walks.  There’s so much hope, creativity, love, and connectedness that blooms quiet each time a book is open or a loop is taken around the block.

This week, Thomas told me his Aunt Elsie teached him that if you blow on dandelions you get your wish. Just say the word, he said. He told me he wished that I would stay, and with a little questioning he explained that meant he didn’t want me to leave or for anyone to take me away. Oh brown eyes. No, I’m never going away and I’m definitely never going to die. Ever.

*No, I didn’t really tell him that but I seriously considered it.

-6-

Here’s a snippet from a post I wrote recently but was cut [didn't make it to the blog] due to Paul’s apt assertion that the conclusion felt like he was being force fed rainbows:

I want to climb metaphorical chairs and shout to my peers. I am NOT the mother you think I am. (I’m better and worse than that.)  I am NOT the wife you think I am. (I’m happier and sadder than her.) I am NOT the person that you think I am. (I only buy makeup from Clinique and often eat cheese paired with wine but can be found wearing the same pair of shoes until they start resembling something pulled from a trash can and own so few clothes I could seriously fit them into a single suitcase.)

This snippet shines light on the reality that I’m hard on myself and not fair with others (in that I make them out to be the best Catholic! the smartest shopper! the calmest mom ever and how does she do that?!). Working on it. Grace. Gotta channel that!

-7-

.Yeah, This video is not working at this time. I just signed up for Vimeo. Come back soon & maybe the babies will cooperate then. :/

Check out other Takers at Jen's at have a great weekend!

xoxox
Ash

Notes from a Lonely Housewife

Last Monday, Paul left for a 5 day work trip to Washington D.C.  I got a call that night as I sat in Paul’s parents’ sitting room situated on the other side of the state. Paul said his trip was extended a week and should he fly home in between or just stay there.  We decided for him to stay there and for me to linger around the care of his parents for a few more days. They pour magical cocktails.

Signature look on Alistair. Cautious amusement from cousin Everette. 

Baby Gladiators.

I know a lot of life to be happy accidents. I also feel like some things just are.  Like my decision to be a teacher. My desire to dance. The way my chest gets pulled up in a happy ache as I walk up to receive Communion.

This is how I feel about Paul traveling and his work.  Somehow, the life of a lonely housewife foreshadowed into my fifteen year old heart.  I’m okay with that stretching that happens between us when he’s out of sight, out of state, or just darn unavailable.  It’s okay because I always wanted to be the supportive wife.  When I was 19 and thinking of landing such a role, I had something else in mind: packing a UHaul in our Missouri driveway (I’ve lived here all my life.) and waving goodbye to friends so we could lay down roots in a climate that labels 40 degree weather frigid. Traveling trophy wife.  Instead, I lean over my Missouri kitchen counter and yell past the chocolate stuffed in my mouth that I’ll be right there to wipe Thomas’s butt.

For your pleasure and in no particular order, I present unglamorous details of a wife holding down the house without the better half.  And they all start, because I say so and I’m in charge here, once upon a time…

… I took Thomas to Chic-Fil-A to break up a super bleak and very cold stretch of days with just the kids. Invisible food poisoning on his plate. At 3 in the morning Thomas walked into the bedroom and threw up into his hands. I canceled the playdate for the next day, the only time I would have talked face to face with an adult during the five days Paul was gone.

… I watched 8 parts of a documentary about the Boxing Day tsunami on YouTube with my iPhone in between nursing babies and eating bowls of cereal. End of story.. I watch weird stuff when he’s gone as some twisted preemptive strike against disaster.  Two trips ago it was The Dahmer Files.  Two nights ago it was Blackfish.  I once lay in our big empty bed listening to a 911 call. The comforting phone operator lulled me to sleep.

… Paul walked in the door from a 4 day trip a few months after I had the twins.  On this trip everything went perfectly. I was so together and so great with the kids. I held the twins in my lap on the couch.  Paul walked through the door in mid-afternoon on a call, waved hello and turned the corner to go straight into the office to finish the day’s work. I burst into tears, the babies bouncing a bit until I knew he couldn’t hear me over that conference call.

Oh, but these are the bad stories.  There’s so many great things about Paul traveling (and working a lot) too. Like, how our clumsy re-entry into togetherness has sometimes brought a glass of wine to my lips or how I’ve acclimated to solo parenting by talking to myself a lot and liking it.  Two weeks ago I walked into the family room where I found Thomas stirring his Lincoln logs with a Lincoln log. I threw out my arms and shouted, “WILL YOU PLEASE JUST CALM DOWN. JUST. CALM DOWN” before I stole myself into the other room and started my 3rd podcast of the day.

This trip has been different. Thomas is still at Nana & Papa’s. Paul is still in D.C. The twins occupy each other in the sun room with happy shrieks and swiping of toys.  I really am on my own.  

I’ve actually gotten things done this time too.  I spent time with my sister, Amanda, this weekend shopping and catching up.  I filled out these beautiful baby shower invites for my sister, Andrea, who’s expecting identical twin boys this summer. And I visited Target 3 times in the past 5 days for, among many other little projects, revitalizing our master bedroom. Think soft. Think sheek. Think vavoom. Think the walls will paint themselves?

Thank goodness for Paul’s family for taking me in last week and letting Thomas play “I live here” for another week.  Thank goodness for my sisters (and sister-in-laws too!) for helping me fill the hours. Thank goodness for a wee bit of peace to write this out to you.

Thank goodness for a man still waiting on his trophy wife to bloom.

xoxox

Ash

Thomas arrives sometime tomorrow. Paul arrives tomorrow night. Ba da da da da. I'm lovin' it.

The twins begged me to get a photo with their uncle E. Bunny

Paul Bought Me a Chromebook

Paul bought me a little Chromebook. I’m typing on it these very words. Typing and smiling. Smiling and typing. I don’t even care what words show up. They’re all welcome today. Every last one of them.

My husband knows my passions and cheers me on despite my arguments to dig in and let safety trump risk. He wants to see me put in the hours wrestling words.  I have to pry criticism from him. When he does, he gives me one point of advice. Genius, that man. He knows I already have enough fear clamoring within. There's this general impression he's nodding his head, some stoic coach while I sweat out the thoughts.  A really great paragraph. A nod.  A flop of a post. A nod.  Something worked and I laughed at an image I created. A nod.  

This Chromebook is another nod from him. Don’t stop writing.  I love this nod.  Anywhere me and my crazy thoughts go, so there are my children clawing at me. But also now, my Chromebook too!

This weekend, I wrote over 3000 words. All I wanted to do was get a feel for the keys. I've read about pushing oneself to a word count of so many thousand in a week or in a session, but this wasn't about that at all.  The boys were all asleep and Paul was at an eye appointment and I lost time in between opening up Google Docs and looking up from the screen. When I stopped it was because I had been typing so long I had become thirsty. I wrote for myself. It was so wonderful.

For the first time in a very long time, writing made me happy. I wasn't editing it with my parents in mind. I wasn’t trying to be cooler or smarter or more together than I am. It felt as simple as a quick walk around the block breaking off into a sprint. I finished, surprised by myself and grinning wide. I’ll take more of this, please.

I’m pursuing writing with intention now, but this isn’t to be confused with pursuing writing with seriousness. There’s a time to be critical, to take a step back or a closer look with a red pen.  I had been doing so much of that, I had nothing left to say.  

In all the things I’ve loved, they wilted when my focus became a grave, white-knuckled grip. 

My mother had to remind me last summer to think kind thoughts about my son first before untangling the mess I had made (yelling all the time and letting him run wild or watch t.v. until his brain fell out of his head) after the twins were born.  

I climbed early up the ranks as a high school cross country runner. The faster I became , the more passionate I became and that passion translated into crunching numbers and thinking way too much. It drove out all the joy and when I should have been peaking, I failed, cheering for those who still had that spirit of running for running’s sake. 

When I struggled in my new job last year and fear kept flashing inside me, I wasn't able to move forward until I remembered that the simple things like laughing with my students was my most important priority, not the last.

This unexpected gift, this Chromebook, reminds me writing is a treat to myself. If it ever becomes something enough for someone else, bonus!

My writing is going to start here on a blank document and when I see it spill over from things just for me to things I’m okay sharing, I’ll move them to my blog because I never want to stop sharing.

As a mom of three boys, I live in prevailing anxiety over their safety.  Before this Chromebook, I had a computer Paul set up in the home office.  But I can’t form a cohesive paragraph in front of a computer if it means either waking up at 4 am or ignoring “adventures in detachment parenting” happening on the other side of our ranch house.

Stephen King said something in On Writing of having a place to go in and shut the door. He said nothing of what to do with the kids on the other side.  If he had, it would’ve been something like “buy your wife a $200 Chromebook.”

Technical Difficulties

Way back photo. I'm this now but dark circles under my eyes and longer hair.

I miss this place. Or rather, I think I miss how I felt about this place, this blog.

The last few months I have just felt so quiet, like even those things I'm sifting through and figuring out, they're just not really worth sharing. I use to feel like I had these big, beautiful thoughts, and I was happy to parade them around. Maybe a word or two here, an image there, a paragraph--maybe it did mean something to someone/s sometimes. You're gonna hit the right note if you bang on the piano for awhile.

I write and I post it on this blog, but I wouldn't call it blogging. Much like the way I've been in my relationships (every single one right down to my marriage), I throw up my words and turn up my noise and then slip out of the room.  Vulnerability is not my forte. Now that I'm passionately working on listening, I'm desiring something greater than the solo dance of me on stage, alone.

Hello there. I see you. This is me waving.... hi, friend!

Thomas delivered his rendition of The Very Hungry Caterpillar to the babies before their nap time earlier.  Emerick perched on my lap and I spotted the parallel. I gorge myself on food for the soul constantly. Reading books. Discovering new ideas with friends. Podcasts over dishes. Kissing the cheeks of little souls and wondering what story is inside those smiling eyes. Cookies. (yes, they count!)

I'm always buzzing with a new thought, a new improvement, a new interest, a new project, a new person, a new method. Always something. But there's something markedly different about this season I'm in right now. I feel as if I've been gorging on humility. Not the falsehood of humility, the I'm-not-good-enough or I'm-not-important or I'm.... I'm....I'm....I'm... mememyselfmeMEMEmeeeeeeee!

This humility is me seeing that:

I should be happy for others' gifts as much as my own. (Am I?)

I should seek to understand others as much as I seek to be understood.  (Do I?)

I should give others grace just as I hope for it from them.  (Do I?)

I should reach past independence into interdependence, past myself into community, past perfection into vulnerability.  (Have I?)

I love a stage. I always will. As a kid, I was shy and I was quiet until I spoke and then I was loud. A little awkward.  Like, hey kid, turn down the volume kind of loud. I'm comfortable dancing crazy, writing crazy, thinking crazy for all to see. It's a thrill, a joy, that thing that clicks all things perfectly into place inside of me.

I want to write my life loud. I want to lean into the beauty I find in words. Right now that just looks very different than what it has meant in the past. Now it's this: Journaling more. Being an ordinary mommy with no more of an agenda that to serve and seek to understand her children (by things no more extraordinary than measuring flour, listening to his dreams of ninjas and speaking in a calm voice when he's lost his cool for the 3rd time in less time than it would take me to nurse two babies). Reading lots and nodding to those voices different than mine. And listening to others (especially that wonderful husband of mine who has been waiting for me to turn down the volume for years).  I'm trying my best to weave authenticity into my days rather than run here each time I think I've found a tiny piece of it.

Blogging is so weird, isn't it? Here's my mind and heart. Bon appetit! So is dancing in front of large crowds of people I don't know and I love that too. I can't help it. I've tried. It's a sickness.

I'm not leaving here. Just rearranging some things.  And hoping to let down my guard, join in more, and show you I'm a happy mess who is a great many things hiding too.

I'm having some technical difficulties. Voice. Audience. Purpose. Pretty much everything important when it comes to writing. I'm praying when the mic comes back on, you're still here.

Much love and coffee.
Ash

The Guaranteed Grace of Sacrifice

I feel myself beached. My little sailboat of a soul happened upon an island this past month or so.  This island bears a banner: Rest Here! It also has a tiki bar with free alcoholic beverages and there's always an available lounger (equipped with umbrella) for me to stare out at those rocky waters I've just escaped and dig my feet into wet sand where little waves rise and sink, tickling my toes.  Never mind in real life this sort of leisure is packaged in a childless trip to Mister Hotshine where I say "yeah, yeah, okay, sounds good, no I don't think I'll get that today" to the service worker and go right back to laughing at Erma Bombeck with complete disregard for the stoic gentleman to my left.

Two years ago I feverishly applied for my dream job and felt great heartache in between letting go of my teaching post of five years (which had become an enormous comfort) and starting the position I had secured. Then, I threw myself into my new job and found myself up to my eyeballs in humility because it was quite the transition. Just as I was finding my bearing that first year, I found out about the twins and made the decision with my husband it was time to go home and stay there for a bit to play day care provider, etc, etc. 

Having twins was the job which was given to me amidst all this and without my written request, but even if that doesn't count in your book, in the past 18 months I've acclimated to two new and significantly different jobs: a high school English teacher in an inner city school and a stay-at-home-mom with three boys at her feet typically begging for more food.

I've been thinking of what I've gleaned through the hard work of taking on new challenges. Last week, I pulled out an index card and penned my rookie mistakes, then went about the house tidying up and running memories through me of the tears, the grit, the plans quickly tossed, and the kids who all but laughed in my face. Mostly, I smiled about how there were days I thought I was going to finally resort to hating my life. 

And now here's this Lenten season where we will ourselves into the hardship rather than wait for it. When we tie up our intentions with a wee bit of suffering, we wonder if there really is much of anything to reap from turning off the t.v. for a month, skipping dessert, or talking in kind tones to our children rather than yell scream. And what more of placing more fears at the feet of Jesus and more blessings at the feet of those more needy than ourselves?

I'm happy to look back and see things have turned out quite well so far. My sons seem happy, I'm delighted to be at home, and my husband's stamp of approval is tentative which I can only respect him for considering the enduring state of the laundry. I consider this a wild success. Maybe my expectations are low. You go have yourself some twins. Oh shoot, I can't go saying things like that. Even my sister has twins on the way. 

Anyway, life goes on. People can either jump into the hard or find themselves there, but either way, if determined enough, they'll find a way. I've found my way to all kinds of things. Some success. Lots of joy. New skills. And a monthly Amazon subscription to strong coffee! 

Okay, kids. Time for mommy to slip into the bedroom and ignore things for 5 minutes.

But, and that's a BIG but, I wouldn't have made it this far (to the beach with a daiquiri sparkling under the sun) if I hadn't given up some of myself. 

Some of my ideals. Some of my self-righteousness. Some of my sleep. Some of my free time. Some of my fears. Some of my plans. Some of my waist line. Some of my pride. Some of my answers. Some of my map. Some of my absolutes. Some of my failings.  And lots of my money.

Two years ago I started that new teaching job thinking I knew a lot about a lot to do with teaching. And then I was stripped of a great deal of that.

About a year later I started that thing where you just hang out with your kids all day while running back and forth from room to room to read books, change laundry, load dishes, shred unwanted credit card offers, and re-binkie babies. I thought I knew a lot about how to be the best new mommy with the invisible SAHM label. And then I was stripped of a great deal of that. 

And here I lounge on the beach and smile at those waves thinking about how little I knew. It was a fun ride even when I was scared shirtless I was going to drown out there with no one to rescue me, no one to bring me home, and no one to write up an obituary about all my selfless causes. 

A difficult two years seem behind me, and I just confessed to Paul last night: I've never been happier in my life. Maybe even by a landslide. To let loose and find I may not be as fabulous or all-knowing as I thought--it's wonderful, it's exciting, and it's freeing. 

I wish you the best with your Lenten resolves. Throwing yourself into the difficult is a courageous feat. Don't be surprised if the hard leaves a hole, a space, an island--and joy rushes in at your side to deliver you a daiquiri! (Or that book you put on hold at the library. I can't exactly make any promises.)