Chasing Waterfalls

Sundays are family days in our house.  We always do something, maybe we'll hit a museum or a park.  But the rule is that we do it together.

I have visions that these are going to be days my kids will remember when they are older, perfect days forever etched in their memories.  More often they are days I would like to forget.  Someone cries, someone throws a tantrum, they both fight.  Then I worry is the forced togetherness too much, should there be time for individuality instead.

But it's not too much.  The kids can and should be able to hold it together for a few hours of family time.  It shouldn't be a battle.  So we have talks about choosing happiness, choosing joy rather than choosing to be in a bad mood.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't but we soldier on.

There are times, maybe one in ten, where it is all worth it.  The fights over what to do, the tantrums in the museum are forgotten on a sunny and warm day in the park.

We chose to follow a path along a small lake.  We rambled on looking at trees, rocks and plants.  We stopped to stare in wonder at holes in trees and in the ground.  Who lives there?  We explored  the lake's shore.  Fifteen, twenty minutes spent watching a frog in the water, laughing as his whole body puffed up to let loose a might croak.

We found a waterfall.  We sat on rocks at the base letting the water spray us.  We reached out to touch the cool, clear water.  We looked for tracks of animals who might have come early in the morning to drink, to splash, to play.

We walked on through native prairie.  We climbed trees.  We discovered a beautiful field of flowers, a riot of purple and white.  We laughed at the flower's name.  Phlox.  "Momma it's a field of phlox.  A fabulous, field of phlox.  I wonder if we'll see a fox in the phlox."

It's days like this, one in ten kind of days, that I etch into my memory.  These are the days that keep me going every Sunday.  These are the days that make Family Day worthwhile. 

Run On and On

I started running.  This is nothing new.  I've run before.  I've participated in races.  I hated every second of it.

So why would I start again?  There are a lot of reasons.  I'm doing Weight Watchers (again) and I actually wanted to lose weight.  Activity is a great way to do that and running is an activity.

I had friends who were on similar journies.  I followed their progress on Facebook, every morning at the gym, every morning doing something.  I felt their passion.  I saw their results.  I wanted that, oh how I wanted that.

I was inspired.  I had a goal.  So I laced up my shoes, walked outside and I ran.  I ran 2 miles and I felt great so I did it again and again and again.  I finally found what I had heard so many runners talking about, endorphins, a runner's high.

The feeling carried me through my day.  I went to bed excited to get up early and do it again.  There have been mornings full of sunshine where I have felt the power of something greater than myself.  There have been mornings full of clouds where I knew running would clear away the clouds inside of me.

There is a time in every run where I want to quit.  I can feel it coming.  My body will ache, yelling do you not remember you are 43, you should be in bed.  But I know that just a block or two more and that feeling will leave.  It will be replaced with a feeling of calm and of strength.  I yell back at my body, I am doing this because I am 43, because I am getting stronger.

I am doing this because I love it.  I love every second of it.

Contagious

Activity begets activity.  It's evident in my running.  Once I start I can't stop.  I run one day and the next thing I know I am waking up at 6 am four days in a row to pound the pavement.  I love it.  I need it.

I'm finding it now in other areas as well.  Rather than sitting and watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy during Lion's nap time, yesterday found me on my hands and knees digging through our game and puzzle bins.  Games and puzzles that had not seen the light of day in months were taken downstairs.  A part of me wanted to take them directly to  Goodwill but baby steps.  Once I know they have all the pieces and no one asks where they are, they will be gone.  I know that now.

After I hung the canvases on the wall, I knew it needed more.  So Lion and I got the paints out and went to work.

It was fun.

It was comforting.

It was familiar.

The rhythm we had was so much like the one I used to have with Bunny when she was his age.  The questions about what will happen if you mix one color with another, the desire to paint one after the other, all so similar.  He's even painting his own version of Hamstacks (albiet without the fascinating backstory of French scientists who live at the circus).

And now I'm blogging again.  I haven't blogged with any real regularity in months, maybe even a year.  But here I am three days in a row in a place I haven't been in so long.  I don't know why but it just feels right.  It feels like something I need to do.  My first blogging home But Why Mommy doesn't feel like fits anymore.  I'm still a mom but it's not all I am.  This is freer, there are no expectations here.

I once had dreams of being a style blogger, a craft blogger, something.  Now I don't.  Maybe it's age, maybe it's maturity, maybe it's apathy.  I'm writing for me.  I'm writing about the things I want.  There are no apologies for being gone for so long.  I obviously needed the break.  There are no promises of more.  I may be here in a week, a month, a year or I may not.  But I am here now and I think I'd like to stay.

Half Finished

I am the queen of half finished projects. 

I get a brilliant idea in my head.  I rush out to the craft store.  I start.  And then I don't finish.

My room is full of baskets containing unfinished crochet projects and yarn that didn't quite make it into a project.  The craft room of doom contains piles of beads, empty canvases and a dormant sewing machine.  Even if I finish a project there is no guarantee that anything will be done with it.  It may lay forgotten on a table or a shelf for months.

Last year we repainted our green living room a lovely latte color.  It is brighter and lighter but it lacks the punch that green had.  So one day when the kids were painting, I decided to join in.  I grabbed three canvases, some mod podge, textured paper and a bunch of paint.  I glued, papered and mixed the paints on the canvases.  It was fun and I was pleased with the results.

I had every intention of hanging the canvases on the living room wall near the TV. 

I meant to do it, I really did.  But I didn't.

The canvases were added to the piles in the craft room of doom.  Every time I saw them I meant to hang them, I really did.  But I didn't.  I did nothing with them for months.

And then one day in a fit of inspiration, I hung them on the wall.  The organization may not be the greatest but they are on the wall.  I finished something!

The Rummage and What Is Left

I struggle with stuff.  Not doing of stuff but the having of stuff.  I like stuff.  Having stuff around makes me feel better.  I have the things I might need ... someday.

I also hate stuff.  I hate that we have too much stuff.  I hate that we have junky stuff.  I hate that our stuff is all over.  Having stuff around makes me feel anxious.  I have things that I will never need ... ever.

So we had a rummage sale this weekend.  We sold some stuff and we hauled the rest to Goodwill.  The stuff was out of our house.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  Stuff was gone, we had space.

But then I looked around and noticed there was still stuff everywhere.  Bins full of kids toys and books were gone but bins full of kids toys and books remained.  Paperwork overflowed.  There was not enough space for what we had.  That sigh of relief turned into a gasp of panic.

A beginning was made but so much work still needs to be done.