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A Real Day

I lived another real day. Nothing “exciting” like a grocery store run. Just waiting on a service man, cleaning up a pee puddle or two from a stubborn 4-year-old daughter. Stasis. Stillness. Stupid brain.

Wishing I’d grabbed those few valuable moments of peace when she was sulking and half-naked in her room upstairs. But instead, I just wasted a half hour looking for that perfect rug online again. A real Day on Shalavee.com

The waiting has gotten me so much more than I’d credit it for. The waiting has made me catch up and slow down with my real purpose. Catch sight of who I really want to be : Me. I am a professional pusher and waiter. I got good at expecting way more from myself than I knew I could do deliver so that I would feel anxious and bad. And then I embraced stopping and listening to myself too.

I am good at waiting. I waited on you long ago at that restaurant. Now I am just awaiting my antibiotic to kick in and vanquish the umpteenth sinus infection, mother natures way of humbling my ambitious self out every time. The truth and the trick is? You aren’t ready until you are. What you do when you do it is proof of that. And using your expectations that are above and beyond your current capacity to torture yourself will only irritate and irk you in unnecessary ways. A real Day on Shalavee.com

Sometimes the time while you are awaiting the shift is torturous. It feels like spending long long days with a toddler trapped inside waiting for a delivery man. Because that’s what it is. And it is what it is until it isn’t anymore. Knowing this too shall pass, that soon this will all be a memory (nightmare) is how you live through it to tell another better story. Wait for it. You’re worth it.

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 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.

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My Life’s Forgotten Plot Twist : Fiona

Life happens while you’re headed in another direction. Sometimes life’s intentional. Sometimes it’s happenstance. Sometimes forces of natural science and fate converge and you get a Fiona. She is the plot twist in my life. The one I fought and fought which finally aligned. And as miraculous as her birth was, I’ve just as easily forgotten this little miraculous plot twist in my life with the relentlessness of her toddlerhood. My life's forgotten plot twist Fiona on Shalavee.com

As times passes, I forget that she was my last ditch effort at fertility and children. And that it worked. She’s the pink elephant miracle in the room now. I forget because all I seem to remember is my striving, my longing to be more for me and its long entitled deep roots in my life. It stems from my legacy of not enoughness. And I lose sight of my miracles as I fall back on my familiar discontent.

That she and I are finding out who we are simultaneously should be a wonder to us both. That she humbles me out so that I must take this discovery process slow as to continue to be present for her. It was never her that was in my way anyway. It was always my fear. My life's forgotten plot twist Fiona on Shalavee.com

Forgetfulness is the enemy when it allows us to let go of the things we once deemed magic. The miracles that made us revere our luck, our existence. And then these fade and the magic disappears in the cracks of the mundanity of life. And we forget who we are and how we were made.

Fear is the enemy when it belittles our abilities. It forgets us as we are standing on our hard earned ground. Like a bully it pushes us and then wants us to fall down. Pairing the fearful and the forgotten me and everything that I have achieved in the past decade disappears. And I vanish into dust. I am only as memorable as I make myself. And I know Fiona’s purpose herself is far greater than that. She reminds me how important she is to the world every day. And so I must remember and cherish and share my life’s little plot twist.

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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Making Fresh Pasta for the Fresh Tomato Sauce

Usually in August every year, when the tomatoes begin to stack up, I suddenly need to make tomato sauce. I roasted the cherry and grape tomatoes and added them into the sauce for a twist. It was so sweet I had to add a little rice wine vinegar to bring back some acidity.

Making pasta on Shalavee.com

And since I’m making fresh tomato sauce, it’s also the perfect time to make homemade egg pasta. There is nothing in the world like fresh pasta. And luckily, the making of the dough is one thing that three-year olds like to help with and can actually help with.Making pasta on Shalavee.com

Making pasta on Shalavee.com

So this time it’s Fiona who cranked my pasta machine handle. And other than cranking it the wrong way several times (“The other way, the other way”), it went pretty well. Until Eamon came in and wanted a turn and she threw a fit and stormed out. Making pasta on Shalavee.com

The process is about as easy as it gets but you do need the machine to do the rolling and cutting of the dough. We’ve gotten our money’s worth out of it alright. And as long as there’s a young one in the house, I’ll have to do less of the work. See this previous post on making the dough for this linguine or raviolis and for more pictures and a recipe.

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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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.

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