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Currently Browsing: Daily Shalagh

The Spilled Milk

I think the number one thing I feel guilty for in raising my kid is all the times I yelled about the spilled milk. Yes there’s bound to be spills. Yes, my boy was a spastic child doing his spastic thing. And yes, as Big Bird sings on Sesame Street, everybody makes mistakes. But for the love of Pete, the apple juice and grape juice and milk that have poured down on my clean kitchen floor time and time again. And all those dried sticky puddles under the table legs. They always just aggravated me. Like being mugged just as you are entering a nice restaurant.

Depending on the day, I can be a little more or less irritated about the spillages. I have to stop everything that I’m doing to hurry and grab a thirsty towel to take care of that wet unnecessary mess that is still pouring off the table onto the floor as I am fetching the towel. I have yelled. Many times. I always regret it. That’s just bad parenting. It was an accident, right? Even when it’s the third time this week.

art in the kitchen on spilled milk on shalavee.com

What do you do? Sippy cups forever is my first thought. But I didn’t want to give him a complex like “night-time underwear” would. I think for a while we banned all beverages at the table. Why not? He drinks it and then refuses to eat his dinner because he’s full anyway. Fiona's backwash on spilled milk on shalavee.com

 

And then, after I’d written the most of this, trying to find a way to begin again, not wanting to keep doing this when my baby girl grows old enough to have an open cup, he spilled the pitcher. The entire pitcher of grape juice. I am often aghast at the complete lack of sense that a 9-year-old boy has. Why wouldn’t you just move the pitcher on the counter while you’re digging in the fridge for the (whatever it was)? And I yelled. Sigh.

If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

Layers

So busy these pasts couple days working to actually feel like I’m making progress. Going to do this and finding I still have to take care of that. I cleaned up the craft room so that I could start another project only to find the un-ironed clothing from months ago sitting there with cat hair on them. So many layers of leftover work.

There are boxes and piles of papers and cards and photos and art supplies here and there. Leftovers from people I was and people I thought I might be. Layers of clutter and indecision. Consideration and indecision are my masters. And I am left in the chaos in between.

layers on shalavee.com

As every purposeful task seems to hinge on a previously undone one. As I stumble on another layer, a wadded up incomplete project in a shelf corner, half of me wants to be OK with, “Oh but you had a baby”. But the other part wants to cry “BS”. There’s a pattern of sabotage here.

So I pulled out that ironing and began to iron only to find that at least four shirts had spots on them. Back downstairs they went to be treated. My hard work recently to shed a few pounds worked and I was cheered to try on clothing and begin the fall wardrobe change over. But that could and would have been easily thwarted with that feeling of being bloated and bulge. It seems I missed out on wearing lots of my clothing because I gave up on myself at a certain point. I can’t wear this and that dwindled my wardrobe down to a handful of OK pieces. I am going to say that shut down of possibilities happens in other areas as well.

Out the barn door on layers on shalavee.com

I think there’s a system of abundance and creativity that gives over to doubt and forgetfulness. I never see what I’ve accomplished. I don’t follow through completely and keep on task. I am made of layers of doubt and resentment and shame. And it’s everywhere. It’s on my body and in my closets and in my head. I’m listening harder to the reasons and excuses I come up with when I touch something or don’t touch something. And “I don’t know how to” and “ later” are two give-aways that this is the manifestation of my stuck and dealing with this particular thing is exactly what I need to be doing.

Bloggers Meet-Up

I got this idea into my head that my geographical area here on the Delmarva peninsula, with its multitude of writers, needed an opportunity to network and connect on the subject of blogging. That the people who are timid to start need support. And the people who have started need camaraderie, commentators, and technical reference resources. I had the idea to create a bloggers’ meet-up. I think it’s a really good idea. Really.

So my friend Christina created a graphic for me and helped disperse the event information. I was excited to be available to help all the people that I just knew needed a network or support or a new direction. And when the day finally came last Sunday, I took my cookies over to the Rural Life Museum here in downtown Denton to meet and greet whomever would show up.

Rural Life museum in Denton for the Blogger's Meet-up on Shalavee.com

 

Thankfully, the someones who showed up for this maiden Meet-up were near and dear to me and they came armed with a mission. And I can say that I helped them to move from a concept to some action steps for their blog that make sense of what they’ve considered. In other words, I helped them. And that made my ever-loving day. We answered their “Why” for blogging and that freed them to move onto the how.

Rural Life museum in Denton for the Blogger's Meet-up on Shalavee.com

If you live here on the Delmarva peninsula, are considering starting, or have a blog and need support, and you missed the bloggers meet-up event this weekend, I am planning to have an encore meet-up in maybe February of 2015 when we all have really nothing better to do but get out and on with our lives. Looking forward to that and please, if there are questions or discussions that need to happen earlier, please don’t hesitate to ask and talk to me here or at any other communication platform you and I share. There are links on the sidebar and in the paragraph below.

Sincerely,

Shalagh

 

If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

Happiness Set Point

I had heard about this concept a while ago and then it faded from my memory as life’s interesting tidbits are apt to do. Recently, it came up again, I can not remember where, and I thought, I need to look into this concept again. The Happiness Set Point, aka and related to the Adaptation Level phenomenon and subjective well-being and hedonistic adaptation to positive and negative experiences.

It probably wouldn’t surprise you to know that I was a psychology major before I changed to Mass Communications in my Junior year. It may surprise you to know that my Father is a big wig in the psychology world developing his own personality test to aid companies in finding the best people within their own companies to do the job. I have always loved the concept of teasing apart the knot that seems to be our psyche and our behaviors. I’m a dabbler and this was my daily dabble.Happiness Set Point on Shalavee.com

When I found the definition to this theory, I was intrigued and horrified all at once. The Set Point Theory of Happiness, as summarized on The Changing Minds site, states that after the initial excitement settles down after you’ve won the lottery, you will revert back to being as neurotic or as extroverted as you were initially. You are who you are, be it your genetic propensity or environmental influences, an external stimulus will effect you temporarily. I say, unless there is some sort of profound spiritual and mental shift or changing of values, you will still be you through most of your life’s ups and downs. Happiness Set Point on Shalavee.com

I have been thinking how much of a Lady of Perpetual Discontent I seem to be. I’m always wanting to make it better,  be happier, and see clearer. Under it all, I think I waffle on the concept of “fixing” myself. That is another subject for another day. So it seems to me that my happiness set point, even though I do laugh a whole lot every day, isn’t as high as I’d like it to be. I would like to prescribe to more gratitude journaling, to writing permission slips for myself, and am endeavoring to take myself less seriously while also taking myself more seriously in the matters of my talents. Because using those is what really makes me happy. Even you can see that. And my husband says, if it doesn’t make you happy, then you’re not doing it right. Not so much do I need to fix it but change perspectives a little on how I see the life I am living at any given moment.

 

PS. I found this subject actually depressed me and I began to feel slightly hopeless. It seeped in me, a general unwellness that said, you’ll never get any better at doing this. And it took a sermon on Hope and sighting a fawn at the end out the window to realize I had in fact begun to feel that way.

If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

Mama Had a Toddler and Her Head Popped Off

I’m chewing my lip again. I’ve returned to that place I escaped so long ago. Toddler-hood. And it’s all the Hell I remember it to be and more. The place that makes the strong feel like failures. And there’s nothing more than live in survival mode to get you through.

This morning, all I wanted to just make the breakfast. Wanted to and had to are synonymous. Maybe I also wanted to take a bathroom break, meditate, write, drink more coffee in an empty house with all day alone to look forward to. But I’m smoking crack if I think I’m getting a soul satisfying amount of alone time in the next 16 years. Presently, at 48, I fear that when Fiona gets dropped off at college, I’ll be dropped off at the retirement village door. Lot’s of alone time there.

Fiona and the goose statue (3)

I had to peel her screaming conflicted self off me and lock her out of the kitchen to finish making breakfast. Seems everyone, family and strangers alike, want to guess why the baby is fussy. Is it/it must be a) She needs to poop, or b) she’s cutting teeth, or c) she didn’t get enough sleep, or d) she’s hungry. This past two weeks, it was each one at the same time AND she’s trying to figure out if she needs me or not and if that’s a bad thing or a good thing. And if she stops needing me, will I disappear or abandon her?

Later, I discovered that silence, although bliss, needs to be questioned and investigated and there’s no such thing as Toddler proof. She’d taken a blue ball point pen and scribbled a 3 inch by 3 inch glob of blue ink on the arm of my chair cover. I pulled her out of the chair and peeled off the cover and promptly sprayed it with Resolve, Shouted it, and added clothes detergent and then scrubbed at it with a scrub brush. It worked but gift horse silences need to be heeded from now on. She’s a member of the loud family. There will always be a price to pay for her silence. 

Fiona and the goose statue (3)

We’ve begun to put her in the time out chair aka the thinking chair, or what my first-born called the Fixing chair. That has done a wonderful job of allowing her some separation from her out of control impulses. She actually seems to be grateful for the time and boundary.

I would be lying if I said I was looking forward to the rest of the toddler years with anything but dread. It’s Clash of the willful Titans and she may be cute to you but she also has no issues with you. It’s my soul she needs to devour before she can move on to toy with yours. She is our little Fuego Rojo. Wished I took naps. Maybe the unconsciousness would distract me from the twitch that’s starting up again under my left eye. Hello irksome old friend.

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