Settling in to life

I've been a full-time mom for a week now. I have no other purpose in life besides that job. Well, no other paying purpose, I should clarify.

It's both scary and exciting all at once, knowing that my time is (somewhat) mine again -- at least naps are, knowing that I can stay on the Internet and surf around for fun, and not feel any guilt.

I do feel a bit guilty about not picking up in the housekeeping department, but I'm giving myself a full week to just splurge with my time. And since I'm not very good at staying still that now means I have taken on a house project (or two) this week.

I have been giving a lot of thought to what makes a house a home and the thought of nesting. It could be that I've been watching too much HGTV, again. But, after picking a very wrong agent to sell our house, taking a job that will be just down the street and knowing that a change may be coming down the pike for my better half, we have taken our house off the market to let life settle. It's a decision that is both comforting and disappointing. The upside, because there always is one in most situations, is that I'm free to decorate, again. There are so many ideas spinning in my head -- none of which are even feasible since we will be selling this house one way or another.

So now with a little extra time since the girls are easier to deal with, and come August a little extra money ... what makes a home? Here's my list so far. Please feel free to add to it with your own thoughts.

1. Textures: I love seeing fabrics, metal and wood in a room. Rustic. Woodsy. Soft, like wrapping in a blanket. I'd like to incorporate more of this into our living spaces in the next few months. Bella's talked a lot about her home, and blankets.
   
2. Colors: Personal colors, vivid, earthy colors. I have a very strong lean toward oranges and browns. I'm going to do our kitchen in various brownish reds. It's partly there. In fact, I might be spending a great chunk of summer tearing down wallpaper and painting the four rooms left bearing the old stuff.
   
3. Creative spaces: I think our house has great flow, but there is a creative block I am sure. I am no feng shui expert, but I know how I feel. That said, we need more visuals on the walls that inspire more than the desire to head to the local art store.
   
4. Plenty of light, but privacy, too: This is a hard one to achieve in the city. I think our house has a good amount of light and privacy -- at least the inside does. But, I could do better with some of the window treatments and that is a goal of mine. Good, beautiful shades or curtains in all the rooms. I, personally, also feel that good blinds or shutters add to a home. Not sure this is in the cards for this old house.
5. A place to gather: We do not really have this space. I've never really had this space so I guess it's no big loss. Our backyard is about the best we have for a group to sit around and chat. I've worked on our living room being this central point but I'm not sure it's working.

Tip of the day: Twin toddlers make great wallpaper removers. Free workers except they ask for a lot of juice and Cheerios in return.


How about you? What makes your home?



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Wake me up when it's over

I had every intention of getting up today and writing a stellar post of how thankful I am that my girls sleep all night and have just about every night since they turned a year old.

As it would happen, last night was not a great night of sleep.

They woke for the first time, collectively, in quite a while. And those kind, the ones when Da! and I have to both be in coaxing and coddling for nearly two hours, are never good nights.

But, I can't blame them. It wasn't their fault.

We woke them up.

The scurrying from window to window, the yelling, the upstairs and down.

A terrible thing happened outside our bedroom window that involved calling police and yelling at the Dispatcher to hurry and send an ambulance. Her mediocre questions unraveled me.

Honestly, I thought I had just witnessed a murder, or at least an attempted one. I know crime well enough to be smart, and made sure to get a good glimpse of the suspects.

The victim -- probably not much of a victim at all -- was just laying there, in our driveway, dead for all I could tell.

His attackers rolled away quickly, but smoothly, like they have done this time and time again.

Police never did make it in time because Mr. Dead woke up from his beating and slowly. staggered. away.

It's no wonder that one of our girls woke up crying. It's no wonder they couldn't go back to sleep for a while.

I couldn't either.

So, today. Today. I am thankful for yoga class that just might release some of the fear -- fear that is slowly turning into anger -- that is still rising up within me.

I'm also thankful that the house is already for sale. That even though it's slow going, that decision has been made.

Because, and I DO NOT SAY this often. I made a mistake moving here. It was my bright idea.

We never should have.

I'm sorry, Dan.

Yes, yes, I do want to leave ALL of this.



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Happy Happy. Joy Joy.

MPJ is hosting a group writing project, inspired by my first one held earlier this month, and so I must participate. Besides, it's a nice topic: write about your happy place.

Two years ago my happy places had many of the same elements: libations that either contained grapes and alcohol or java and caffeine. It probably meant dropping a nice chunk of change. Consuming and wasting, eating and drinking without cares, without worries, without responsibility.

That was then.

My happy place is much different now, and I don't feel it often anymore. Not since becoming a mother.

Please don't misconstrue my words: I am happy much of the time, but always with a heaviness of stress or anxiety or worries or doubts.

Motherhood has been very hard for me; harder than I thought it would be. And, so my happy place is a feeling; I associate it with feeling no pain, no worries, no hardship, no struggling, no setbacks, no heartbreak.

Just bliss, fleeting as that moment may be. In fact, it lasts only seconds, at least when I've experienced it.

I'm sure I experienced it before being a mom, but I didn't know then to relish it like I do now.

The last time I felt this bliss was about a month ago. My in-laws invited us over for dinner. They live only 10 minutes away, but we do not see them more than once a month. The time of day was perfect for our schedule so there was no rushing around, and unlike most of our family events, it was just us. No other relatives to vie for the last piece of bread.

There was a ton of great, home-cooked food and plenty of it. There was wine -- and coffee -- and iced cold water in between. There was lovely cinnamon bread, and dessert. There was someone to bring me my food, someone to clean the dishes afterward and adult conversation in between. I still had to lean down to pick up food that had been dropped; but it wasn't dropped on purpose like it usually is at home.

The dinner was wonderful and toward the end, as my belly felt full and my tension relaxed, I felt a moment of bliss.

I felt, for one of the very few times since becoming a mom, truly nurtured and taken care of. That dinner, in all of its forms, took so many of my worries away. Nothing else mattered, but us. The house that needed cleaned, the now dusty-looking for sale sign sitting unmoved, the cluttered counters, the insurmountable piles of clutter in the storage room ... it was all sent out in one big breath to the universe.

So, that's my happy place. It can happen when I least expect it, though it is extremely rare. It can happen anywhere, and most of the time I don't know it will happen until I'm in the moment, and suddenly catch myself smiling for no reason, for every reason.

Sure, the euphoric state of bliss is fleeting.

I'm fine with that as long as it returns to me again and again.

Sweeping up blog crumbs

Housekeeping on the blog is in progress. I've put the two little ones to work.

If you can bear to read this entire post, which I warn is long and full of venom and spit, you just might be able to enter a contest for a giveaway I'm offering this week.

First up is the change in how things run around here. I now have an "anonymous" commenter who is leaving comments that I feel are personal attacks on me. In the grand scheme of life, these are minor comments that shouldn't bother me. But, I'm not feeling like being attacked these days, not here, not on this blog anyway. Attack all you want on my other blogs.

So, no more anonymous posts are allowed. Sorry for any inconveniences, which pretty much includes my grandmother. I'm just not into people leaving messages without a name. Let's blame it on my journalistic integrity.

Now, here's 8 things about me you might not know.

1. This is my blog and I'll cry if I want to. I'm a very hopeful, positive person. But, this is a journal, of sorts. What I write about here, what I share here, are my daily internal battles as a mother, as a writer and as a woman. I also attempt to reach some level of humor about some of our daily fiascoes. If my daughters ever do read this blog, it will be a miracle since I'm not copying these posts or saving them. This isn't to say that I'm writing anything I wouldn't share with them. It's purely up to serendipity is all I'm saying.

2. I am not, and never will be the kind of person who fakes happiness just to make life seem better. I am in love with life's challenges, chaos and disarray, which all make for great writing material. Life isn't all puppy dog tails and sunshine and neither am I, neither are the hundreds of news stories I've written or read. In fact, I cannot stand people who put on false smiles just for the sake of others. If you're miserable, be miserable. Don't lie. Be honest.

3. I love being at home with my daughters. Nothing else has ever given me more purpose or pleasure. But, it is also the hardest job I've ever had, which is saying a lot since I spent many days in my working life interviewing people who's loved ones were just killed either by a gunshot, a knife, a car, or God forbid, a train.

4. I often ask for your advice, but I rarely ever take it. In fact, I hate getting advice. I do, however, like hearing about other people's experiences.

5. Never, ever, ever will I think that being thrown up on not once, but twice, in one week is what motherhood is all about. Nor, is catching colds. And, never, ever, ever will I feel blessed for such moments. I am, however, blessed to be able to wake up each day as a Mama, to feel wet kisses on my cheeks and to hold two babies in my arms as much as possible during the day

6. I am slowly becoming addicted to having a clean house, but I still hate cleaning. I am not a fun person when all I have to worry about is having a clean house. I pity those poor families with cleaning Nazi's in control. Then again, I'm cleaning with the hopes of some perfect person walking in with their fat wallet to buy this house. That's a different level of cleaning, I suppose. Maybe that's the kind I hate ... but maybe that's the kind of cleaning I'm now preferring. Oh No!

7. I enjoy cursing on special occasions. Language, in general, and the use of words thrills me. A good curse does my soul good. It's better than smoking, doing drugs, drinking or living with a drunk. It's better than judging others, saying sexist or racist jokes. It's better than stealing, lying and cheating. It's definitely not something my girls will be harmed by as there are many other intricate things about me that will send them to therapy. Still, I didn't grow up in a house with curse words, yet I've cursed as long as I remember. Middle school teaches our nation's children everything they should not do and then the kids march right out those school doors and do it all without their parents ever knowing. With that, I vow to never share another curse word on this blog for fear of God Almighty coming out of the wood work to profess my sins.

8. Fear consumes me. Fear of being forgotten. Fear of being unsuccessful. Fear of being a bad mother. Fear of being a bad wife. Fear of walking by myself. Fear of being watched. Fear of being left. Fear of spending too much money. Fear of dying. Fear of others dying. Fear of running out of money. Fear of my children getting hurt. Fear of my husband failing. Fear of being friendless. Fear of people getting to know the real me. Fear of myself. Fear of never achieving. Mostly, fear of uncertainty.

Gosh, was that 8 already? I was just getting warmed up.

If you are interested in reading some of the posts I've written that profess my endless love for both my husband and my daughters, just go here, here, here and here.

Thanks, Isabel for this 8 Things tag. Mama Zen is up next with a meme about how I'd spend a million dollars.

I think just about everyone on my blog roll has done the 8 Things meme, but if you haven't please let me know and then I'll tag you.

Now, finally, in honor of Writer Mama, who is going to hold a month of Back to School giveaways, I'm going to giveaway a copy of her book, "Writer Mama." All you have to do is leave a comment on this post between now and Friday at midnight. The randomly chosen winner will be announced Saturday. You must leave your e-mail somewhere in your comment in order to win this prize.

Greener isn't possible without more green

As soon as the For Sale sign went up, so did our hopes. Even though our motives for moving were strictly aligned with convenience of being closer together each day, and spending less money each month, easy times have made those motives less pressing.

Instead, fleeting thoughts of all the hard times we've had in this house dashed before our minds and the possibility of leaving it all behind, finally, for something brighter, safer, more civilized grew like weeds before us.

Our new house will have cleaner neighbors, more quiet neighbors who don't curse so much, less drug addicts, less trash-filled sidewalks, a more family-friendly environment, etc.

The fantasies spiraled out of control.

Until we started actually looking at other neighborhoods -- in our price range.

What we've learned, quickly, is that our neighborhood is not that bad, after all. We knew the house was outstanding, but we know it more now. Each house we've looked at -- all entirely too small for a family of four with a big dog -- barely stand out as potential, let alone promising. Except one or two.

Each has one property within sight that is unsightly. Each has some kind of a loud noise to interrupt the sweet moments -- a fire station siren, traffic from the Interstate, construction. Even friggin' airplanes taking off from a local airport.


How will this work?

Unlike this house, most of these houses need something substantial, like a finished basement, a deck, or a fenced yard, to make them functional for our family. For the right house, we're willing to put in the effort, if there is any cash left, which is doubtful.

The truth is, despite what our families might feel inside and never actually say, the neighborhood that we're in now offers everything we're looking for in our new house. It's got charm, walkable destinations galore, character -- lots of characters, too. Half the people who walk by our front stoop appears to be mentally ill, poor, uneducated, homeless, on-the-verge of homeless. These are the kind of people many Americans only read about in newspapers.

But, they are real people and I love smiling at them, and wishing them a good day. I love capturing a gleam from them as they realize they are waving to twins.

And, we've got color here -- not just at the farmer's markets, either. It's not drastically white like these other neighborhoods, where we're more likely to hear country music instead of Latin and R&B. And, wake up one morning and smell what our neighbors are cooking and your mouth will drool. It takes everything within me not to go barging in asking for a bite.

This is what I want our daughters to grow up with.

What we're realizing, now that the house is actually for sale, and despite the once-a-year dramatic hardships, this house is our home, and it's going to take four really special walls to replace it.

If anything can.

Celebrating transitions

Each of you, with some help from me, took off your sandals yesterday, and learned what it feels like to walk barefoot in the soft green grass, to gallop along cool, damp brick walkways, and trek through woody mulch. You passed from texture to texture, carefully, sometimes with a slight wince, but always with eagerness, always with a smile.

I, too, am treading lightly, but eagerly this week as we transition from two naps to one.

My writing will suffer the most since the only way anything gets done around here is while you are napping. I'll have to be a bit more organized, a lot more flexible and slightly more ahead of the game than usual.

But, I learned from you today as you stepped one foot in front of the other into new territories.

Some steps require a little more gentleness, a little more attention, but in the end, it's worth the adventure because new doors fling open, and fabulous light that shines down on us.

Of course, there is more to this than our daily schedule. Our lives, too, are about to change. New adventures are upon us.

Wait for me.

Non-signs 2 and 3

The Da! still refuses to believe in signs so when we had an infestation of flies at our kitchen window yesterday, he thought nothing of it. Perhaps that's because he didn't have to see them, kill them all, kill more, then kill even more all day. So far today, none.

Instead, we had a basement full of water. Yup, a drenched basement discovered just 4.5 hours before a house showing. Only our second day of showing since the leak in the roof on Sunday.

And, this is not just any old puddle. This is gushing water inside and outside the house when water runs.

I don't know. If these aren't signs, what are they?

Top 5 Ways to keep it clean

These are the tips I've gathered from you, dear readers -- in a roundabout way. I may have put my own little snippy spin on them because I am feeling at a loss of real, honest-to-goodness thoughts today.

To keep a clean house you must:

1. Sell the kids. Clearly this is the top priority because not only are they mostly the cause of the mess, but they are also not helping you clean it up.
2. Put the husband to work. Sure, mine already does the dishes and the laundry, but it wouldn't kill him to work in a few bathroom swishes here and there.
3. Clean while sleeping. To have a clean house at all times, we need to BE the cleaning, this means that while we sleep we should be cleaning.
4. Scrub floors at least weekly. More than two weeks is gross.
5. Pile the clutter on the stairs. Yup, just stick it all on the stairs, then when you go up, take something and shove it in the closet. Any closet.

So, there you go. LTMD's cleaning tips directly from the readers!

When everything is clean

I must admit, I've never been real interested in cleaning. I've always been more interested in living life than preparing for it. And, since we hardly ever have visitors to our home, it had become a clutter zone. That's all gone, except for the storage room where those taunting old journals are sitting.

Now that the house is sparkling, clutter-free and actually decorated I'm left to drum my fingers on the desk. This means I'll have to write all day when the girls are napping. No more marathons to pick up, pack up, remove junk. No more sprints to get the floors clean.

It's all about maintenance now. If I do a little each day, it might stay like this.

Still, it's a lot of work keeping a clean house. It makes me wonder about the women who obsess over having the cleanest house around. How much living do they really get done?

Now that I want to keep it clean, in case someone wants to see our house, I am sort of obsessed. I love that it's clean, but I don't want to keep my girls from doing their usual terrorizing of All Things. They enjoy making use of every nook and cranny of the house.

Any tips for keeping your house picked up and clean without taking too much time out of the day? Perhaps, I will enlist a little help starting today from FlyLady.

Shh. Listen.

Dear girls,

Shh. Listen. Do you hear that?

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

That's the sound of Mother Nature telling us something. We don't know what, but she's using that leak in the roof to whisper sweet nothings, or somethings, in our ears. And she's doing it the very night before people are supposed to come in and tour our home in hopes of finding their new one. She's doing it the very night before our first day of being on the market.

In the four years we've lived here she's never said a word.

Until now.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

"It's a good thing I don't believe in signs," Da! said.

"But, if you did, what do you think this sign means?" I asked him.

"I don't know."

Me either. We'll keep listening. Shh.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.