I woke up this morning to Finley spooning me. Her face was close enough that my hair fluttered as she sighed. I kept my eyes closed because I wasn’t ready. She ran her finger up and over my shoulder again and again. I listened, the house was quiet but for the ceiling fans running. “Where are your sisters?” I murmured softly enough that she’d know I still wasn’t committed to waking up. “Briar is downstairs, when I looked for Ave I couldn’t find her in her bed. Did Dad leave?” I nodded, she hugged me tighter. I cracked an eye, she beamed at me. I tried to keep it open, but the pull of sleep and the resistance to all that the day would…
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“We’re going to try and have an adventure, ok?” I gently cajoled. “Really, what is it?” They asked. I shook my head, “I want it to be a surprise.” They blurted out guesses that quickly began to make my plans for an afternoon at the county fair seem kind of lame. “Nope,” I said trying to keep my spirits up as I weaved defensively through the weekend traffic. “Mom, is it ok if I take a nippy-nap?” Finley asked quietly. “Sure, of course. Do you feel sick?” I asked worried. “Yes, do you feel sick, Fin? Are you going to throw up, because if you are we should stop,” Briar said in a mixture of fret and lecture. “No, I’m just tired.” I wondered…
Categories: Me
Tagged: acceptance, Confidence, daughters, memory
This week was awful. My disbelief and heartache were unrelenting and compounded by Sean’s absence. I needed escape or purpose or both because everything felt hopelessly out of control. But what to do? I drew upon a combination of needing to change things and remembering that I am capable.
Our laundry room has long been the root source of my unhappiness. I mean, the laundry just never ends and the room never fit. The shelves in the cabinets were too short, too shallow, and the wrong height. The wallpaper border always made me feel like I was living in someone else’s house. I loathed the dirty blue color and the entire room came to feel like a jail cell.
I decided to redo it; all of it. I researched shelving options. I knew that I wanted to be able to store hampers and quilts. Our kitchen renovation did away with the place where I stored all the medicine and first aid supplies, so I wanted something to fit that bill too. I also needed a system for the broom and mop.
I took a big old breath of “Why the hell not?” and got to work. You can see the transformation right down there.
My heart still hurts and laundry is still a chore, but somehow taking control of the space and giving it touches that make me smile soothed me. Oh, and pushing past my fear and doing it myself made me feel incredible.
Do you have any spaces in your house that make you feel heavy? Or that make you feel light?
Categories: Me
Tagged: DIY, home improvement, laundry
I have a few closet admissions—I’ve always like Rick Astley, not leaving the house on Sunday is something that I cannot abide, I have never gotten R.E.M. (the band, or sometimes even the sleep), I kill spiders, ants, and other crawly things, but I almost always try to save moths. Here’s the thing, the only part of those admission that really matters is R.E.M. Because at the end of the day, particularly these past few weeks, everybody really does hurt. In Ferguson. In Gaza. Next door. In bed next to you. Across the country. In the penthouse. In the encampments. Online. In person. In Syria. In school. At the office. In Hollywood. In silence. Places I couldn’t find on a map and people I…
Categories: Random
There isn’t much that calms me down, which as I get older is becoming a problem. Stress tangles inside of me, festering in knots that I can’t find my way to untie. The furrows in my brow deepen, the acid pings and gurgles from my stomach grow to a roar. My worry launches itself from the laundry piles to the greens that are going bad in the crisper, to the jumble of ill-fitting and tired underwear in my dresser, to all the things I want to do with the girls but can’t get to because I have to be at a meeting and I still have to do a grocery shop, and for-the-love-of-all-that’s-good-why-is-time moving so fast?
“You just have to lower your stress, Amanda,” Sean will say. I completely agree, but knowing how to fix it and not feeling more stress at the thought of having to reduce stress is beyond me.
Exercise charges me and clears my mind, reading can distract me from my worries, swimming offers me quiet, but the hurdle of feeling like these things are selfish trips me up.
Do it for your health, which makes you stronger for the girls and more capable of managing the rest of your day.
Do it for yourself. Just do it.
Sometimes I do, but it doesn’t exactly make me feel calm. The only thing that really lowers my shoulders and soothes me is gardening. I love the ritual of watering, the unwrapping of the hose, feeling the water surge through in that first spray, and then guiding the arc of water from my hand to little plants. I revel in the sensation of my fingers in the soil, the gritty feel of the earth in my hands, even beneath my nails. The smell of the grass nearby or of the marigolds soldiers that keep the bugs at bay, it fills me with a sense of belonging and when the chives tickle at my legs or the cucumber leaves catch on my hands, I feel capable. I made those. I will nourish my family with these.
This week the first of three bulbs that I planted sometime earlier this year finally began to bloom. I couldn’t remember what color they had been, or even the kind of flower. The excitement of seeing that something actually grew and transformed from the odd, craggy lump, to a burgeoning creature made my heart race. I checked on it every day, until this morning when I tiptoed around the curving stone stairs and it finally revealed the full blossom to me. The payoff for my patience was intoxicating and the sight of the water droplets on the petals felt as if they were cleansing me too.
I hope something new opens for you, whether it’s a fresh start, an opportunity, or a wildflower on a walk. I hope you’ll come back and share what you discovered.
Categories: Me