shifting dreams

I want to be self-sufficient.  I want to be debt-free. I want to build a home off the grid, live of the land, have a ceramic studio, raise animals and teach my children to do the same.  Or so I think.

Alan wants to be a school principal.  In the meantime he wants to pursue his Ph.D in Educational Administration.  He has no interest in my dream of living off the land and he doesn’t want the responsibility of any animal, let alone a cow that needs to be milked twice a day.

Because I love this man and want to be with him forever, I choose to shift my dream.  My dream requires his participation; I will not force it onto him.  I choose to fit into a new framework that respects his space.

I have had my way plenty of times over the course of our almost 12-year marriage: the babies, the cat, the house, the parenting style, the organic food and natural medicine, the no-vaccinating, homeschooling, homebirthing–those were all my ideas.  And he has embraced them, every single one.  I am fortunate; I know that.

This time it is his turn.  I will shift my dream to make room for him, room for us both.  A compromise.  Perhaps we can have some land, but a regular house that is on the grid.  Perhaps we can have a few animals and grow some food, but not so much that it requires machinery and a lot of manpower.  Perhaps I can have a clay studio and he can have his motorcycle workshop.

I am shifting my disappointment into possibility and compromise. A new dream.

We can’t always have exactly what we want, but if we are flexible, we might get something even better.

 

finding my voice

Revisiting my older posts gives me a sometimes awkward glimpse of my journey.  At any given moment I seem to think that I have mostly everything figured out, that I write in my authentic voice.  But in going back and re-reading my words, it becomes clear that I didn’t have everything figured out.  My voice and words from the past seem inauthentic now; my ideas seem off.  Perhaps authentic at the time, but not now.

Exploring and evolving all the time is how I find my voice.  My voice changes as I grow.  I am steadily abandoning total idealism and moving onward to realism.  I am finding the desire to say it with fewer words.  Less is more.

Having a blog is a reminder of where I have been and where I am, though at times, awkward.  Still, I like the continuity this blog has given to my life, the connectedness between my years, its nakedness.  It is safe to be me.

 

Mama and Mia book club

My biggest girl is eight.  She is growing before my eyes, morphing into a new form of personhood that feels suddenly foreign.  Her mannerisms, her sense of humor, her enjoyment of making faces in the mirror–they are typical, but new.  Typical of someone who is eight.  New to me, although I suppose that once upon a time, I was a very similar eight-year-old, morphing into someone new.

She will never be little again.  To say that it doesn’t hurt would be untruthful. The other day I decided that I am going to try my darndest to make the best of this, without holding her back, without getting too nostalgic.  Be in the moment.

Mia and I started a new tradition of choosing a book to read together at bedtime.  Only she and I will read the book together; not daddy, not by herself.  It is ours. Our club.

When we’ve finished a book, we write an inscription in the cover so we always know when we read it.  We will save the pile of books and she will soon have a collection of memories and good books that she may one day read to her children.

I have always read to Mia, but not so deliberately.

Doing things deliberately makes them special.  Doing things ritually and with pleasure makes them sacred.

We are on our 3rd book tonight, Miracles on Maple Hill.  We tried out a few pages of Huckleberry Finn, Roald Dahl’s Matilda, and the American Girls series before landing on Miracles on Maple Hill.  That one was just right.

Our first book was Charlotte’s Web, our second, The Hundred Dresses.  Charlotte’s Web is one of my favorite books of all time.  It is beautiful.

Our Mama and Mia book club is a blissful end to the day.  Truly.  It is a chance for us to snuggle, be still, and connect.  It keeps me in touch with the new person she is becoming.  It lets her know that with all the changes that are still to come, I will still be here: beside her all the way.

 

things I love today

Ten things I love today:

10. Shopping at the Wedge without the children and browsing the Health and Beauty aisles so long that I think dust began to gather on my groceries,

9. my cupboard of homeopathic remedies and essential oils and other little tricks that I have learned to use over the years,

8. Biotics Intenzyme Forte–18 pills per day for clear skin, my magic bullet for conquering my once-stubborn acne,

7. that I am finally learning to stop taking things personally and start laughing about them,

6. The Nourished Kitchen monthly meal plan subscription,

5. my plan to make a double batch of winter stew to eat all weekend so I can relax instead of cook,

4. my plan to make fresh vegetable juice in the morning to make up for my lack of vegetables this week,

3. my children, who are wearing semi-matching superhero outfits today, consisting of underwear, ballerina slippers, belts, and a leotard,

2. my husband, who is my rock,

1. and lastly, the hot epsom salt bath with essential oils, candles lit, and Enya that is waiting for me.  Yes, I am that cheesy.

 

this is really my life

Today I woke up from a nap and had a revelation:

“This is my life.  This is who I really am.”

Since I can remember, I have been waiting for my life to begin.  I have been waiting to figure out who I am, waiting for my life to happen, feeling an odd sense of disconnect from the reality of my life. Suddenly I realize this: I have already made my mark. Who I am has been long established.  I am embedded in the memory of each person I have connected with in my 33 years in this world.  I am unveiled. I find it funny that I am perhaps among the last to realize this simple truth. This is the real me. This is my life.

I have a unfamiliar sense of comfort in this new revelation. Suddenly I realize that I don’t have to try so hard anymore.  I don’t have to pretend. It is safe to be me.

There are people who know the real me and love me, anyway. They have seen me without makeup on, in a messy house, when I am frazzled, when I am caught up in one of my many dreams, when I yell at my husband for using the wrong milk in the oatmeal.  Having those people is indescribably special.  It proves to me that I am lovable.

I am working towards being one of those people (who knows the real me and loves me, anyway).

 

a lovely day

This has been a lovely week and today was an especially lovely day.

I have been sleeping well and eating well this week–and hence I have been cooking a lot.  But because I have been organized this week, cooking has been unusually pleasant.  I could get used to this.

Today I ate no sugar or flour and I can already feel the affect.  I feel calm and good.

This morning we had a lovely little playdate with friends and then went to a homeschool program at Westwood Nature Center, which was absolutely lovely.  It was fun and simple and well organized, and the staff is superb.  Some of my favorite people are naturalists at the Three Rivers Parks.

Anna loved the puppet show at the end of the homeschool program and was laughing and making comments out loud throughout: “That is SO FUNNY!” “Is that a FOX?”

Today was one of those days where I love my life so very much, love my girls, love and appreciate my husband who goes to work each day, love that I am homeschooling, love the community that I live in.

 

do no harm

Please, please respond to your babies’ cries.

Please remember that your baby is a tiny human being who depends on you to show him that the world is a kind and loving place where his needs matter.

Please remember that thousands of generations of babies around the world have been raised without cribs, baby monitors, pacifiers, and other products of consumer culture–but instead with a sling and a mother’s breast.

Please remember that currently, our country has among the highest rates of depression and suicide in the world.  We are not a happy people.  Let us learn from those who are. It all starts with how we welcome our new ones into the world.

Tonight my heart goes out to the babies who do not have their needs met because the sun is down.

 

dilemma

Last week I kept up on housework and laundry, made three meals a day plus snacks, did a big grocery trip with the children, took the girls on two outings, took Mia to acting and choir, and took care of another child for one day. I wrote out the meal plan for the week ahead, started a batch of sourdough starter, and made a batch of yogurt and kefir.

Anna did not take a nap this week on my clock, despite waking up too early and getting to bed too late.  I went to work three evenings this week, came home from work and put the girls to bed and then caught up on housework.  My New Year’s resolution of nurturing myself each day manifested itself in little ways: a bath one evening, reading a little here and there, and running errands by myself.  Although grateful for those little luxuries, I want more.

Having meals and a neat house and children who were mostly happy was very nice.  But I am now completely and utterly exhausted.  I feel unappreciated and empty.  I have given all that I have and am left yearning for something more–something that makes me feel special and appreciated and beautiful and worthy.  Being a homemaker has got to be one of the most underappreciated jobs there is; it is a job that never ends, doesn’t pay, and whose daily work can be undone in a matter of moments.

This week I went above and beyond.  Most weeks I don’t.  I like the results of going above and beyond, except for the emotional deprivation that accompanies it.  It is my dilemma.

 

my longest friendship

When I was 9 years old, I moved to the United States with my family from Denmark.  I spoke broken English with a thick accent, wore bright green rubber boots every day, and didn’t know the meaning of the word “fart.”

Another girl had just moved to my school and she sat in the same reading class as mine.  She used a pencil that had been sharpened so many times that it was very short, and I was worried about why she did not have a long pencil.  She also had the sweetest smile and kindest face.  She gave me her phone number, I called her, and we had a playdate that involved Barbies and a mini trampoline.

That was how I met Jolene, who has been my devoted friend for almost 25 years.  I owe our keeping-in-touch to her; each time I have moved to a new place without notifying her, she has found me.  At times I am quite sure I have not deserved her devotion and care, but she has given it to me even then. She’s called me and written me and has recognized every single one of the 24 birthdays I have had since 1988.

Today is Jolene’s birthday.  I appreciate and admire her.  She has a strength and persistence that is contagious.  She makes me want to be a better person. She is radiant and beautiful and I love her.  I am grateful she is in my life.

Happy birthday, Jolene!

 

media overdrive

I am exposed to about 9 hours of CNN per week; my lovely elderly lady likes to have it on when we are together.  I respect her interests, but lately it has been much too much.  With all of the Newt and Mitt and Obama arguing and discussing, I think I actually dislike politics and am not sure I even want to vote again.  The whole thing is so intense and negative and biased and annoying.

I am also on Facebook overdrive once again.  Too much information, too much wasted time, too much of a lure for something that adds nothing to my happiness.  I have too many people on there and think about them too much.  I want to think more about me and my little family and how I want to spend my time.

I want to close in for a while, live a secluded and quiet life as much as I can until I feel balanced again.  So I deactivated my Facebook account and will bring a photo album or two to my next shift at work–in hope that this may instigate a turned-off television.