A Road Less Travelled

James and Theresa were in Atlanta from Thursday to Saturday last week. I was home with six children. Now, you should understand that the five older children are all capable of being more help than they are bother. Not they always are, but they’re capable of it. All I really had to do was step up a little in my general awareness of what needed to be done around the house, make sure it got done while constantly maintaining an awareness of who was watching Margary, and make monumental efforts which only kind of worked not to get annoyed with the children over the odd noises they constantly make or the silly arguments I kept having to break up. How hard could that be?

About Friday afternoon I knew I could make it through until James and Theresa got back, but I was having serious doubts about my ability to do this for the rest of my life. I mean, this is what I’ve always planned to do with my life–stay-at-home mom, homeschool mom, homemaker… But somehow in my plans I was always better at it. I was only just getting done everything that needed to be done, and that was with five children who were big enough to help. I remembered in the morning that I needed to brush Elsie’s hair and finally got around to it at four in the afternoon. And that was doing pretty well with my time magangement–a lot better than I normally do when Theresa’s home. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to do this for the rest of my life; I was just pretty sure I’d never be able to handle it.

Saturday afternoon I realized that I’d just about made it through. I’d been the equivalent of a single mom of six children (though at least I didn’t have to have an outside job…) for three days, and I’d even kept the kitchen mostly clean. I learned once again that what I can or can’t do is irrelevant to what God calls me to do, because even when I can’t handle it He has it completely under control.

Now if I could just remember that for more than five seconds at a time….

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One thing I realized while Raquel was here is that I am very unused to sharing my space with someone else. There were only a few times that I actually felt invaded, but those few times took me by surprise. I would open my door and my room wouldn’t be what I expected in a way I couldn’t figure out. Sure, the treadmill was made up like a bed, but that was funny. Besides, I hadn’t had enough time to get used to the treadmill in my room before it was a bed. And sure, I’d taken to knocking on my own door before I went in even when I knew Raquel wasn’t in there just to get in the habit. But I normally knock on closed doors; it’s a compulsion. I think what struck me as different and strange every time I opened my door was the smell.

Okay, that sounds bad. I’m not saying Raquel smells bad, you understand. I’m sure on most days she smells nice. I haven’t made it a practice to smell my friends so I’m not an expert on Raquel smells. I do know that she doesn’t smell like me. So, since she’s been spending so much time in my room, my room is starting to smell like her and not like me.

It’s weird to me how important this is to me. I don’t really think about how things smell until they smell good or bad. But there have been times in the past that I’ve felt my space was being invaded and both times it was because my room was starting to smell like someone else. There are certain smells that I associate with good memories and other smells I associate with pleasant places- baking bread, cinnamon, my mother’s smell when she just woke up, campfires, fresh cut grass, coffee brewing. My room doesn’t smell like any of those things; it just smells like me. I guess I smell like home and sanctuary. I should be a scented candle.

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I went outside in the back today and picked berries! We have a few mulberry bushes that are so huge that the term bush is a grievous misnomer. The bushes resemble trees more than they do bushes. I’m surprised that the mulberry trees still produce berries at all because I had always thought that a plant can either grow big or grow fruit, but not both. Plants don’t multi-task very well. But the trees have been producing berries all season and show no sign of stopping.

The children have been enjoying going outside and eating food right of the tree that made it, but I haven’t really had the burning desire to go pick berries. But today I happened to be outside and I noticed there were a bunch of berries they were growing mostly at my eye level and above. I thought “I bet the kids can’t reach those.” And then I thought “I can reach most of those.” And then I thought “Hey, maybe I could pick those!” So I got a bowl and picked berries right in our backyard. I went from having no interest in picking berries to wishing we had a ladder so I could reach even more berries.

I can see why people get such a buzz from gardening. We live in the middle of the city with a concrete slab covering half of our backyard and I was able to find food out there. Not much food, but I saw a lot of berries that should be ripe in a day or two. And when they’re ripe I’m gonna go pick them.

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Spring is in the air, the flowers are blooming, and I’m researching the process of fermenting cruciferous vegetables. Yes, indeed, all is right with the world.

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 I heard a story once about a preschool that had a nicely fenced in play yard for the children. They had this brilliant idea that if they took down the fence it would encourage the children to explore and open their horizons. So they took down the fence, and instead of playing in the whole yard as they used to, the children all clumped together in the middle where it felt safer. As I recall they put the fence back up.

I’ve just realized that my budget is a lot like a fence. I’ve always assumed it was there to keep me in reasonable boundaries and prevent me from overspending. But, while this is a very useful function it does serve, there’s something else it does that might be even more useful for me. My budget gives me permission to spend money on things I’ve budgeted for.

I keep starting to freak out because I feel like I’ve spent a lot of money over the past few weeks. And between some good deals I found online recently, thrift-storing (yes, I just verbed ‘thrift store’–deal with it) to find some needed clothes for my summer wardrobe, and splurging on an fancy restaurant one evening with Gabrielle (which we’d planned beforehand and saved up for, and also probably deserves a write-up of it’s own, if only to review the restaurant), I suppose it’s true that I’ve spent a lot of money.

A part of my brain keeps spluttering at me that I’m spending far too much money, and no one cares if these are all good and reasonable purchases, the point is the final price tag! But then I look at my budget and all the money that’s been building up in various categories because I ‘didn’t want to spend too much money’. Am I still within budget? “Well, yes,” that part of my brain splutters, “but, but…”

“Good,” says the rest of my brain, “so shut up already.” Aren’t boundaries great?

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So. Hi. I’m still alive. Just in case you were wondering. I can’t even claim extraordinary busyness as an excuse for not posting. (Well, except for maybe last week when we were trying to get ready for Liberty Day.)

So why haven’t I posted? Well, I could refer back to the boring thoughts post. That’s part of it. But mostly it’s because I’ve been in my least favorite state of life. This is the state where my life is chugging along just fine, and I can’t point to anything that’s wrong, but I just can’t get it together.

I much prefer it when my life is outwardly crazy and I have a great attitude about it. It’s much easier to answer difficult questions such as, “How was your week?” when I can reel off a string of events and finish with “but it was lots of fun”. When life is fine but I’m not quite, it goes more like this–

“So, how was your week?”

“Oh… okay, I guess.”

“Only okay? Why, what happened?”

I pause and consider. I was fuzzy headed and could never seem to remember what I was doing. I kept snapping at the children and I don’t know why and couldn’t seem to stop no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t get anything done, and I don’t know what I did with my time. I couldn’t seem to muster the energy for what I was supposed to be doing and couldn’t figure out if I was just being lazy or I really was that tired. These all seem like hard to explain answers that make me sound whiny. So I give a true but barely tip of the iceberg response, “I guess I was just tired.”

At least this time I’m having one of those learning-something-I’ve-always known experiences. As all Reformed people know, the Christian walk is not about having an emotional experience. God is faithful independent of our emotions, etc, etc. I think I’ve always assumed that meant we don’t we don’t have to be enthusiastically joyful all the time; being even-keeled is also acceptable. And being sad or low is okay as long as we have a valid reason and it makes us feel dependent on God. Of course it sounds dumb when I actually spell it out in words, but most of my vague impressions do.

So here I am, and I don’t feel like doing any of the things I’m supposed to being doing. And I’d really, really like to–because it’s so much easier to obey when it’s fun, right? But maybe that would be too easy. I don’t feel excited about this opportunity to learn and practice things I should know. But I know that I am completely dependent on God to get me through (even if I feel like I’m just floundering) and I know that His plans are always better than mine. And that’s good enough. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

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Well, it turns out that a great way to get one’s mind off of life being strange and the family being sick is to come down with a 102.4 fever. Really, it takes your mind off of life. My favorite part was the shiver that would start way down on my legs and shoot up my body. I wasn’t cold, mind you. It was very toasty under the blankets. My feet were cold and my head was hot. It was impossibly cold without any blankets, almost unbearable with one blanket and way too hot with two. It took me about fifteen minutes to decide whether I wanted to roll over or not and then when I did I realized it had been better the other way. I had a glass of water sitting next to my bed, but drinking involved sitting up and that was way too much trouble. So I would lie there and fantasize about bendy straws. I’m pretty sure I got dehydrated, but we don’t have any bendy straws so it’s not my fault.

Trust me, if you’re looking for a way to forget about how strange life has been lately try getting a bad fever. It’s fun and educational. I’m not sure the remedy is worth the problem, but it works. It sure does work.

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I’ve always been inclined to design my own craft projects. I mean, why follow a pattern when I can just grab some yarn and make it up as I go along? (Intriguingly, this makes me the exact opposite of Theresa who flies by the seat of her pants at most things but plans craft projects meticulously, while I require a plan to function in most of life and prefer to make up on the fly when it comes to crafts.)

Lately, though, I’ve been following patterns. I saw patterns that I particularly liked, and knew I couldn’t duplicate them on my own without an extraordinary amount of effort. So I said, “Hey, I’ll just use this pattern.” and went with it. Here’s the weird part: I’ve really enjoyed following along as someone cleverer explains how it’s done.

At first I was concerned that I was losing my touch. Then I realized that I probably appreciate it so much because I am a designer. For the same reason a musician hears more in beautiful music, a writer savors that perfect flow of words, a game designer likes the ‘crunchy bits’ in others’ games, or a photographer notes excellent composition in a picture, a designer of patterns appreciates a cleverly placed set of decreases.

Which might just mean I’m a designer. And I always thought I just crocheted stuff.

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 I wrote this yesterday, but couldn’t post it because of technical difficulties. So here it is now–

 I’ve discovered a few things recently. First, a website called Gothic Eyes are Moping introduced me to a new use for eyeliner: drawing designs on one’s face. For a girl who always backed away slowly when approached by a frighteningly cheerful person offering to airbrush rainbows or teddy bears on her cheek, I find these decorative swirlies oddly appealing.

Second, when I wear these designs out in public, people ask if they’re tattooed on. My reaction the first time this happened was along the lines of, “Do they think I look like the kind of person who would tattoo this… Oh. Yeah. I guess I do.” Weird…

Third, there is no way to blend into the background when I have blue or black swirls drawn halfway across my face. This is probably fairly obvious to everyone else, but it was a slightly shocking thought to me today. I forgot to feed the parking meter before I went into the library, and so I had to slip out halfway through my visit to tend to that. At least, I intended to slip out. That is my general habit—just slip through and maybe no one will notice that I just left and came back again. And then I realized that I was wearing obvious makeup and everyone probably saw me go past both times. Huh.

There’s this strange disconnect between my makeup and the rest of the world. I don’t wear it to attract attention to myself. I drew blue swirlies on my face this morning because I thought it would be fun. I didn’t actually intend to go out into the world and have anyone see them. In fact, I tend to forget that I’m wearing odd makeup when I’m interacting with people unless they mention it. Then my mental image of myself clicks over with a jolt into what they’re actually seeing.

I think it boils down to this: I’m not used to looking as freaky odd on the outside as I am on the inside. (Unless you count nice, sweet, conservative girl as freaky odd.) I’m used to being able to pretend to be quiet and polite for as long as I want to. I am well accustomed to being the little girl who impresses her elders and is overlooked by her peers. Now suddenly (well, not really so suddenly) the things I wear ‘just because they’re pretty’ are turning that on its head as soon as I step out my door.

I’m not sure I have any interesting conclusions to draw from any of this. I mean, I already knew I was freaky odd. I just keep forgetting that other people can tell that more easily than they used to…

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It’s been kinda a tough month. I haven’t written about it because I honestly just couldn’t be bothered. We got home from Erie and found our upstairs furnace broken. Seth had gotten really sick in Erie and was struggling with asthma or bronchitis or something. I was coughing pretty bad, too. It’s just made it kinda trying. And this month that was going to be lean to begin with was now going to be leaner because it’s cold upstairs.

And then Sunday our van wouldn’t start. This was really a blow. The Lansberrys came through for us and we made it to church, but the broken van was hanging over us. We’d need to do something and we already felt tapped out.

Monday morning I was all set and ready to write either a blog post or in my journal thanking God for our broken furnace, our broken bodies and our broken van. But then Crystal went outside to try the van to see if she could get it going enough to get it to the mechanics. It started right up on the first try. She let it warm up and then turned it off and back on. It turned on with no problems. So I didn’t write my post because our van wasn’t broken anymore.

The leanness in the house has been mostly reflected in there not being any easy food in the house. A child will ask for a snack and it’s like “Um, let me drop everything and spent half an hour in the kitchen and then you can have a snack.” That’s really frustrating. Tonight our neighbor stopped by and said someone she knew had just given them a bunch of stuff from a food pantry and it was more than they could use. She dropped a large box of some healthy snacks and some fun snacks right in my arms and then asked if the kids like honey Cheerio type cereal. She left and came back with another large box full of cereal packets.

I don’t think even she knows how well timed this was. I’m not sure she’ll ever know how helpful this was. I was effusive in my thanks, but I don’t think I said what I wanted to. So now I’m sending up my thanks to God Who works out these things and drops snacks on our doorstep. Our van starts and we have two big boxes of snack food. My hands were already full and still He gave me more.

To our most holy, most beautiful Lord,
May my feeble words express a part of the wonder I feel.
You’ve opened up Your hands on more occasions than I can count
And yet a box of snacks is what moves me to praise.
For our snacks and our van I give You thanks and praise.
Amen.

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