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The Smell of Muffins Means Home

It’s Saturday and it smells like muffins. Some moments were a struggle. My boy says, “It seems like you’re always either having a really good day or a really bad day.” I said this one isn’t too bad but sometimes I just have to move through it.

Like getting Fiona dressed and her teeth brushed. I don’t necessarily enjoy those activities, especially since now that I’ve said “Fiona not in Mommy’s face, it’s the one place she wants to put her hands and her toys while I’m down on my knees dressing or diapering.Fiona's room on Shalavee.com

I spoke to my friend about my regular Motherhood overwhelm and she said it seems like maybe, since I had a rough childhood, maybe I’m really hard on myself. I’m trying to create this mythical childhood for my children and my expectations may be high. I agreed.

I have buttermilk in my refrigerator because it makes yummier baked goods. Today I found the recipe for buttermilk muffins in the Joy of Cooking. I made half of them with chocolate chips and half with strawberries. My children have no idea that other children don’t probably get freshly made pancakes on school mornings. They take their luck for granted. And as I said in this post, I’m OK if they don’t truly know the hardship that other children suffer.Fiona and muffin tins on Shalavee.com

The muffins are for a church potluck where Eamon gets to find out who his secret mystery friend has been. We’ve given our children family, community, clean diapers,  milky sippy cups on demand, and unconditional love. And muffins. And that is truly all that children need to grow up mostly functional. And I’m good with my motherhood over-achievements so far. Tossing in some radical self-care just in case though.

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.

Live Imperfectly and Find Your Now Purpose

I’ve chased myself around the barn for a long time. I’ll pursue what it is I think I am, my passions or purpose. I’ll exclaim them here or there and then I get distracted. I put down my tiny self-eurekas and then forget to keep looking. My process starts and stops often. And I never feel like I truly have a sense of me , my purpose, my “definition”.

Somehow culling yourself down to a sentence or two of purpose seems in many ways important. To rebuild an intentional life, it’s good to know specifically what you truly want to accomplish and are thrilled about doing.You can change it but somehow you should know this about yourself to fulfill it.

But every time I pick up the task of pinning me down, of distilling my life’s purpose, I get distracted. What I really am is afraid. I’m afraid to pigeon-hole myself, that my definition won’t be perfect, I’ll have forgotten something, etc.. But perhaps I’m truly afraid of claiming who I am because I’m afraid to be the real me.Live Imperfectly on Shalavee.com

Sometimes we hear our clans tell us that if we don’t do it their way, they won’t support us. We’re afraid we’ll be abandoned if we don’t do it the way others expect us to, even if no one has ever actually said this or described these actions to our faces. We’re just certain there’s a “right way” that’s not exactly our way. 

I wrote a post not too long ago entitled Perhaps it’s Permission and Not Purpose You Seek as a way of clue-ing myself into this. We’ve forgotten who we are. We’ve done it the way we thought we were supposed to do it for so long, we’ve forgotten who we are. We’re freaking out and dying inside because we’re not us and we’d have to ask permission to do it another way. But what if we found out what really means the most to us and just did it, even if we did this purposeful action as just a hobby while we kept up the “real” job, we’d will feel immensely relieved. You’ve got to know to go. Live Imperfectly on Shalavee.com

So I’m afraid to claim what I value and what I’m passionate about. Ok. So I’m afraid of who I am truly. OK. I’m glad I got that off my chest. Now I’ve got to get back to imperfectly defining myself because I have business to get onto after I do. And I promise myself, I will always be ready to edit my definition of purposeful life if it doesn’t fit with where I am now. Live imperfectly people!

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 Relentlessness of Motherhood

My go to word in describing parenting is relentless. My baby daughter, ungrateful and miserable, can cry at me at least ten times today, what feels like 70 percent of the day, beating me down further and further into defeat. The relentlessness is daunting.

You’re review is in. Fifty percent of today will not meet with her satisfaction and, according to her, you suck at parenting.

My top seven words to embody my experience with motherhood are:

  1. Chaos
  2. Temperance
  3. Perseverance
  4. Relentless
  5. Confusion
  6. Patience
  7. Exhaustion

All problems could be solved, you think, if only I had their money or their family. Those people with their 5 extra family members to spread out the stress of the 16 plus hours a-grueling-day of care-taking and giving. If only I had their time and money to buy nicer clothing to cover up my ever-widening butt until I could hire that trainer to help me widdle it down. For now, I wear my ill-fitting sweats, placing my greying thinning hair into something up-ish. My nails and cuticles dry and ragged for lack of care. I have that look of survival and neglect. That wild look that says I’ve thought about fleeing in my fantasies. The dull look of disbelief that this will get better no matter how many times people insist it will. Beaten and hopeless is all the rage in the truthful Mommy circles.At the grocery store years ago on Shalavee.com

If only I had the money to buy a SUV that I could comfortably load and buckle my child into without having the rain soak my back. Then I’d slip into the front seat and drive smoothly away to drop my privileged child off at that member of the care-taking team whose day it was to take them. Or I’d hire a housekeeper/child care-taking person as a stunt double so I could escape and make art or do lunch or have beauty salon time. Where’s my miracle money? My large ever-loving family? Where’s my get out of hardship free card?

No I won’t be looking forward to “taking care of myself” with a kale and flax smoothie tonight. Instead I’m thinking of making pasta with gravy, cheese, and deep-fried potatoes and a side of beef so that I can feel an ounce and moment of comfort that I never feel in my day-to-day existence. Wash it down with a 12oz glass of Shiraz and pray I can stay awake to watch any escapism television.Baby Fiona on Shalavee.com

Why is it wrong to want it to be easier than this? To want the release of the hardship and grinding daily agony. I want to feel light and unencumbered. I want privilege instead of lack. I want a child who doesn’t make me constantly feel like I’m failing her. I want to stand here in the winner’s circle and not the survivor’s circle. Like my mother did. Like hers before her. Because deep down I don’t believe there’s any other way for it to be but hard.

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.

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