My pile of hope. Vintage tablecloths for the front porch. A girl can dream of sunny weather, right?
Observing today:
. . . Spring isn’t ready to arrive. Not really. And yet, despite the deluge that has been our weather, and promises to be our weather the rest of the week, it’s hard to complain when you consider the South. Prayers that direction.
. . .I am utterly thankful for the extra padding on my thighs. I spent a good part of today in waiting rooms. Waiting for a blood draw. Waiting for Xrays. And the frailty of several elderly women struck me. Their tiny bones peeking out from their clothes reminded me that this extra padding I’m carrying around isn’t all that bad. So, today at least, I’m going to rejoice about these thighs of mine.
. . . A clearly sick man struggle with his coat as his wife watched… I couldn’t help but wonder. Is she indifferent? Or, is she really being loving? Giving him his independence, his space, his dignity. And how difficult it must be to walk that line when someone you love is sick. And how deeply blessed I am to be growing old with someone who has that particular skill mastered.
. . . That my husband is a schmaltzy romantic in the most obscure ways. Just realized that the password he set up for an account of mine is actually a numerical representation of “I love Wende”. I’m clueless, sweetheart, but I 7492 you too.
. . . Children grow too fast. Not just their feet and hands and legs, but also their hearts. I bought a pair of tiny, tiny Converse shoes for a nephew I will never meet, and I couldn’t help but remember feet that tiny. Rejoicing over a 14 year old, with feet far larger than mine, who still offers me hugs.
. . . Thankful for the spirit to face our difficulties with joy and gratitude and a sense of adventure. Budget cutting again? No problem, I can do that. Wait, rephrase, WE can do that.
Observing today: Mothering seems to be a “two steps forward, one step back” proposition. It’s important to keep that in mind, I think, especially as you parent into the teen years. Sometimes, your child isn’t ready to be as independent as they claim. And in our case, I feel like it’s time for a remedial course on time management.
It’s too easy to say, it’s a phase or “welcome to teenagers.” It’s also too restrictive to expect adult behaviour, when so many adults don’t seem to get it either! I’m certainly not the paragon of organization. So, we’re taking a step back together. Because parenting is also a collaborative endeavor. We don’t teach lessons to blank slates; our children have moods and personalities and wills and minds of their own! We learn, or don’t learn, together. Give and take, whether we like it or not!
And so we’re learning that actions do have consequences. Which means he’s grounded. Which means I’m grounded. And we start over. Begin again. Me, more present. Him, less free. Eventually, he’ll get it. And then I’ll have to learn the only solo lesson that parenthood has to offer. . . the lesson of letting go.
Until then, we’re in this together, kid.
Note: I read an amazing post on mothering this morning: if you don’t read Dropped Stitches, you really should!
Fah who for-aze! Dah who dor-aze!? Come on, sing along.
I’ll admit it. Last year I had a serious case of Bah Humbug.* If it weren’t for the fact that we decorate our Christmas Tree first as a Birthday Tree for the boy’s birthday, the tree wouldn’t have even gone up. Decorating? If you count dust and assorted piles of laundry strewn around the house. Then, check! Decorating done. The only baking I did was the annual Chocolate Pie, and only because revolution was threatened if I didn’t. It’s not that I didn’t want to filled with the Spirit of Christmas. I just couldn’t summon my holiday mojo. It was on strike and with good reason.
Part of it was that I bit off way more than I should have in re-doing the boy’s room for his 13th birthday. And part of it was the prospect that we could lose our house due to a severe pay cut and a troubled economy. The reality of our situation was overwhelming. I suspect everyone struggles a bit during the holidays, how to pay for it all, how to balance expectations and the inevitable stress. How to avoid the mall after December 15th. But our struggle with the bank only heightened the experience. And it had me wishing for June.
It’s not much different this year. We’re still waiting on the bank. We call only to be told we’re “in process”. The Grinch has a new name (and it rhymes with BofA). Breathing in. Breathing out. Wait, wait, hurry up and wait.  Most of last winter was wasted on worry; today we’re just moving through our lives. Because worrying changes little except the contours of your face.
So, this year I’m banishing the bah humbug.  I’m summoning my inner Cindy Lou Who and serving notice to the Grinch– Our home is a home because we are together, not because we own it. I’m doing the laundry and decorating the halls. I’m liberally applying sugar sprinkles on edible surfaces. Mostly, I’m choosing to focus on the hands I have to hold. And I’m keeping faith that these little choices will add up.
How about you? What are you doing this year to foster the holiday spirit?
* The holidays are often a trigger for depression. When is it more than just “the blues”? Know the signs.  If you or a loved one is struggling with depression, please seek help. You are not alone. ~~Wende
2007– A walk at night with Miss Sophie in the Snow
Ok, so it’s not really snowing here. But my feet would beg to differ. I’m cold! Yeah, I know, whine, whine, whine. Presently, IZ and the boy are off at Costco picking up, among other things I’m sure, an electric throw blanket for miss whines-a-lot. I can’t help it, I’m purple.
And I apologize for the blast from the past photo. I’ve been multi-tasking: taking copious amounts of ibuprofen for a very sore jaw and spending far too much time in the studio. It’s November and Mireio is swapped which doesn’t leave a lot of time for extra-curricular photography or blogging. Â That’s a good thing. A very good thing. But I finding all the dental appointments (and the painful aftermath) to be pressing my juggling skills to their breaking point. So far, I’ve managed to keep all the important balls in the air. But the laundry ball has rolled under the couch and is collecting dust along side the blogging ball.
So, that’s me… cold, whiny, munching pain meds like candy, and hoping the new electric blanket will restore order in my world. Or, at least make me a bit less purple.
UPDATE: It’s 11 pm; I’m snuggled under a warm blanket and can now feel my toes. It’s a veritable sauna on my couch. My husband is a genius and a saint and I need something new to whine about. Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll find something. I’m resilient like that.
