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Currently Browsing: Silly I Tell You

In Your Face

I am large and she is small. While I tend to her needs these days, I am stooped down often sitting on a stool while I’m dressing, diapering, buckling, or scolding her. And I’m right in her line of fire. I am the sight-line, the moving target for her assault.

Toddlers are spastic. They get excited when they eat sugar, are cold, or have to pee. And when they’re excited, they are likely to mess with and shriek at whatever’s in their face. Which means me at bath time, me at diapering time (now done while she’s standing up out of respect), and me whenever I have to lean over to buckle her into the car seat. In Your Face on Shalavee.com

When we are face to face, apparently it’s an invitation to poke at me, shriek at me, cling to me, or whatever other action suits her mood. The other day she bit my butt as apparently my butt was right at her eye level. She’ll squeeze my cheeks (face), puts her hands down my shirt, and now has suddenly taken to assaulting me with kisses.

When you have children, you already give up your privacy while peeing. And considering the lack of privacy they have when they’re diapers are being changed, I guess turnabout is fair play. I remember when Eamon was about this age, he came home from his daycare and told us that the teachers had taught him about “persable space”. We still use that phrase. We still don’t truly respect it.In Your Face on Shalavee.com

So my thought is that soon Fiona is going to need the same talk about personal space and permission. Because however I ask her to respect my body will teach her to tell others to respect hers. While she is terribly cute, she’s also most annoying pointing her spastic attention cannon at me.

Until she says very sweetly “You’re a very good Mommy”. Where does she get this stuff?

And 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 orPinterest 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.

I’m In Waste Management and Sanitation Control

I often joke that I’m in waste management. On the kinder less disgusting side, I’m the recycleables schlepper, the playroom toy drawer cleaner outer, and the seasonal wardrobe sifter through-er. I have all say in what’s good and bad in the fridge and the pantry as I do all the cooking. And yes I’ll scold you if you don’t recycle that bottle.

On the less glamorous side,  I am also the diaper changer and the cat-box cleaner. I understand that in order to have beasties and babies to love, you have to tolerate and not complain about the circumstances that bring your nose to the direct vicinity of other beings’ poop. But I can also tell you that my patience with all of this is wearing thin these days.Valentine's Day roses on Shalavee.com

Seems Miss Fiona decided to take a hiatus from her potty “training” (aka regressed) after her third birthday. She will pee all day at daycare. She’ll perch her little butt on all public toilets including the ones at the library, YMCA, and grocery store. But when she comes homes, there’s something about she and I and our relationship that she’s reticent to let go of. It’s a Baby/Big Girl issue and it’s all hers.

In a classic case of projection, she’s constantly accusing her brother of calling her a baby. Except he doesn’t. So she’s stuck straddling the baby/toddler line trying to live the benefits of both. Until last night when I got mad because she peed on the rug right next to the potty while I was sitting there. And after she stopped crying from the swat on the bum, I believe she was relieved I’d drawn the line. They always want to know where that daggone line is. No piddling on Mommy’s Rug! Then last week? She pooed in the bathtub. Sigh.Fiona in the tub on Shalavee.com

And in the cat-box realm, we have that old outdoors cat who’s been rehabilitated and I’m trying to get her to use the cat box I want her to use. Except that means in the meantime I’ve had a cat box awkwardly stuck in the middle of everything and the other cats zealously tossing the litter every which way. Sigh. Twitch. Sigh. It’s a lot of hard work with multiple boxes and diaper pails and I commend anyone who has more than one bum to change within a day. I am doing the best I can but I can’t say I ever aspired to be a sanitation expert. That just came with the Mom job.

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.

My Grocery Shopping Fantasy : Being DONE

I declared sometime during Thanksgiving week, in the middle of the continuous trips to the grocery store for yet more nuts I thought I’d gotten and more butter and those trash bags I forgot to get, that I wanted to be Done with grocery shopping!

Wouldn’t it be fabulous if you could know that this shop was going to be your very last. You would never have to run to the store for the one thing you’d forgotten ever again. To never have to pretend to care about planning out the meals and stocking up the cupboard or getting everyone’s favorite this or that. To just be done the have tos of food hauling.Crackers and the bags from grocery shopping on Shalavee.com

I don’t mind the cooking too much. That’s creative. But everything else about the meal prep can feel very much like drudgery. Mostly I’m resigned to slog through until it’s over. I try not to think of the decades upon decades I’ll have to continue this task.

Because don’t even suggest that Mark does it. I sent him to the store for Stove Top and chocolate syrup. He gets two boxes of stuffing which I really didn’t want to eat anyway but he likes it. And he bought a name brand syrup when it needs to be just a store brand. He overspends when he goes. I’d rather have him drive me there, pack my bags, drive me home, hump the bags in, and unpack them with me. And that hasn’t happened in a really long time.Fiona grocery shopping on Shalavee.com

You know of course, I could feel the same way about doing the perpetual laundry. The Sisyphean nature of the never-ending laundry pile is maddening if you thought about it. And once I start the laundry, I have to go all the way. It gets folded right out of the dryer. I am a lousy folder but at least there’s no wrinkly blob shirts being worn.

Yes OK, maybe one day I’ll be able to afford to farm all the Cinderella work out. Hire people. A girl can dream. But for now, I am the best darn Cinderella this household’s got. I’m totally looking forward to little hands getting bigger to help and resigning myself that doing good job at all of this is noble. My family is important enough to me to want that for them. Providing endless opportunities for my indulged children to turn their noses up at a good meal I’ve prepared and wear the sweatshirt with the breakfast peanut butter on it to school.

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.

The Doing

The wash was still running as I took my tenth pee break of the day and contemplated how much time does all that I do really take. I hardly ever have a seat except in this situation. So what percentage of my life do I spend doing what? I would be surprised and flummoxed by what I guessed was my truth.

There’s the general household and familial obligation work including, but not limited to:

cooking, meal planning, and feeding

cleaning the house ie floors, surfaces, bathrooms, windows, and linens

laundry washing, folding, and putting away

physically attending to the children ie diapering, dressing, brushing and bathing, and disciplining

paying the bills and balancing the checkbook

grocery shopping and putting away the groceries

chauffeuring and errand running

snuggling with children,watching movies on Friday night, and fun activities

Messy closet on Shalavee.com

And then there’s the ‘me stuff’ which would include:

writing/journaling/blogging

exercising

appointments

showering and beautifying myself

reading blogs and emails

arting and creating

chatting with people, emails, and social media

picture taking and photo editing

sprucing and styling and decorating

Repasse on Shalavee.com

When I tried to guess how much I did weekly in every category, I discovered that apparently I’ve been squandering three whole days every week doing nothing. Either that or I don’t realize how much time I actually spend doing all of these things. Then I went back in and adjusted the times and I only ended up with 8 untethered unspoken-for hours. Truly, I think I didn’t account for the fun times.

How do you budget your time, manage your time squandering, and delegate stuff so you can get the better stuff done more? My friend Jane Barry says she does her creative work first no matter what. She says all the housework will get done eventually anyway and the rest of the day will be more happy because she know she spent time creating just for herself. I quite agree. Eat your colors on Shalavee.com

In her newsletter, my friend Sandra quoted singer Paul Simon in an interview with Alec Baldwin on his podcast as giving the same advice. You need to do your thing first. Do your work at the get go of the day and then, as time allows, check in on others, do your piddly stuff, and be distracted. But if you don’t do your work, when does it get done?

Trick for me is that there are some tasks that need uninterrupted out time. Like bigger writing and projects. And those most definitely can only happen on childcare days. What if I’m uninspired when those days come? Too bad because that’s all I get.

And from recent experience, even the boy (and the husband) can’t be present when I’m trying to work because he also just doesn’t know how to stop talking or thinking of himself. I found myself so irritated with him as I was trying to jam out some blog posts for this week that I had to banish him to his room or somewhere so that he couldn’t keep interrupting me.

What I’ve learned? That I’ve been desperately in need of this back to school time to get some of these bigger projects started. That apparently I really have no idea how much time I spend doing what I do. And I should really prioritize my art more than I do. Because when I create, my soul soars and I’m a way better and more creative parent as well. This time inventory was an interesting practice in self awareness.

Do you suspect you misuse your time? September is here now and there’s some big Fall cleaning in need of doing. What about y’all?

And 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 orPinterest 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.

Garden of Doom

The sainted shrub did not resurrect itself this Spring. As I suspected, I had killed my birthday present to myself. The forever lusted after beautyberry bush, with its sumptuous purple berries clustered up and down its languorous limbs, was decidedly dead and was probably doomed to be yard waste from the moment I laid eyes on it last September at the Adkin’s Arboretum’s native plant sale.

Fiona at One in the garden of Doom on Shalavee.comI blamed it on last October not being as rainy as I needed it to be. The truth was that I didn’t remember to water my special shrub enough. It died of thirst right there is its driveway grave, expensive and neglected. I really hadn’t wanted the bush to die, I was just busy keeping a toddler alive and in check inside. So last week,  I ceremoniously yanked the beautyberry’s carcass from that specially dug hole and surreptitiously tossed it over the side of our yard. I was pulling the band-aid off quickly to avoid the constant pain of staring at its dead shell in my driveway anymore. Dearly departed Lady Rose in my Garden of Doom on Shalavee.com

I have a self-proclaimed brown thumb. Not as if the pre-Spring weather last year didn’t make it that much worse when a final frost killed this giant Lady Rose shrub above and my rosemary bush plus took the fig and hydrangeas down to the ground. Yes, I had help putting my garden into their present shambles. But somewhere along the way, I lost heart too. My garden of doom on Shalavee.com

Before the children became my omnipresent purpose, I spent hours and hours outside playing in the dirt of my house’s 9 flower beds. I have horrible luck with plants but what did survive managed to make me feel kinda good. Now I go out and all I feel is overwhelmed and like a failure. Worse, I do things like leave perfectly good planters and pots out in the weather to freeze and crack. Nothing can escape my doomed touch. Neglect and decay and ruin seem to be my decorating theme outside. One year old Fiona tending the garden of doom on Shalavee.com

Thankfully, my husband Mark has gotten the planting bug and I watched him practice his own garden therapy last year when he lost his father to congestive heart failure. Gardening was really so very good for his soul as was the ritual distribution of his bounty. I hope to be back to gardening again some day. But until that day, I’ll try not to think about my garden.

Of course, this is also me hoping that those of you out there who love digging in dirt and like me, can find pity enough in your hearts to help me out of my dark doomed garden place. Anyone? Perhaps your name starts with M?

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