The backpacks dropped on the floor just inside the door near the bottom of the stairs are heavy.
I keep stubbing my toes on them, pausing to cast a disappointed look at the basket sitting empty
beside them;
it is the job of this basket to corral the backpacks.
The breakfast dishes from each morning greet me at the end of each long day.
I cringe at the bits of dried-on food, trying in vain to avoid noticing the mostly empty dishwasher sitting
inches away;
it is the job of this machine to keep dishes out of sight.
The laundry basket sits tipped on one side just inside the door of the tiny laundry room.
I cannot open the door to get to the dryer without a complicated dance with the door
and the pile of clean clothes;
it is the job of this basket to contain those clothes.
The refrigerator packed full with food just two days ago appears alarmingly empty again.
I fill it regularly, making sure that there is food to feed five hungry people for at least
one work week;
it is the job of the refrigerator to be full of food.
All these undone jobs mock me as I walk from room to room day in and day out.
I issue clear reminders, simplifying as much as possible so there is no
confusion over what to do;
it is my job to see the jobs get done.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Another First Day
The kids start school tomorrow.
Can you find your other shoe?
I've been back for two days.
What do you mean, "what other shoe?!"
I'm already worn out, but somehow still energized.
Eeew! what is in this backpack?
Summer seemed shorter this year.
Hey--use soap. You need to smell clean for tomorrow.
I think we're all looking forward to a consistent routine.
Did you set your alarm? Really?
I know the kids are glad to go back....mostly.
I know you think you know where your key is...where is it really?
Tomorrow morning we'll all be excited; tomorrow evening, exhausted.
Why are you still up? Go to bed! Yes, I know it's still light outside.
Tomorrow is another first day.
Yeah, I know. I'm excited too.
Can you find your other shoe?
I've been back for two days.
What do you mean, "what other shoe?!"
I'm already worn out, but somehow still energized.
Eeew! what is in this backpack?
Summer seemed shorter this year.
Hey--use soap. You need to smell clean for tomorrow.
I think we're all looking forward to a consistent routine.
Did you set your alarm? Really?
I know the kids are glad to go back....mostly.
I know you think you know where your key is...where is it really?
Tomorrow morning we'll all be excited; tomorrow evening, exhausted.
Why are you still up? Go to bed! Yes, I know it's still light outside.
Tomorrow is another first day.
Yeah, I know. I'm excited too.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
7 sets per second
Did you know Lego sells 7 sets every second? Yep, for real.
I know this because Husband got an email from Lego today. He loves Legos. A lot. So do Oldest, Middle, and Youngest. We probably have enough Lego sets at our house to qualify as a small store.
The email came because Husband and Youngest were putting together a 1,000+ piece set last night and there was 1 white piece missing. Over 1,000 pieces put together and 1 not there. They called Lego (did you know you can get a real person at Lego at 9pm?) and were told a new piece would be sent out right away. The confirmation email that came today included the fact. Seven sets per second. That's a lot of Legos.
My dining room table currently doubles as a display space for the most recently assembled pieces, and Husband's office has several more. Lego sculptures adorn spaces here and there around our home--some are sets imagined and created by Lego, and others were crafted by my own team of visionary Lego experts who live and work right here.
Our basement holds tubs of Legos--some sorted by set, but many dumped together into large containers meant to store things like bed linens or winter clothes. They don't stay in storage; they are periodically brought upstairs to litter one room or another for a day or a week or so. Oldest has dumped multiple boxes of Legos out on the floor of his room. He's been sorting for days. Youngest started to do the same, but lost steam. Or maybe interest. He did build a really cool......something. I don't know what's happened to the sets in Middle's room. Over time all 3 have created buildings, spaceships, castles, forts, room layouts, cars, planes and lots of other stuff, all full of extraordinary detail.
Our front room was once carpeted with Harry Potter Legos for over 2 months. There are a lot of Harry Potter sets at our house, and they were all out at once. I shudder to think about the lack of opportunity for vacuuming, but have wonderful pictures of Husband and kids surrounded by piles of brightly colored blocks, sorting and building together. We all worked on it--it was a big project. We never really finished, but with Legos, can you ever really finish? I'm not sure.
On our trip this summer, a much-anticipated destination was the Lego store in Mall of America. If you've never seen it, you really are missing something. There are stunning models that can be seen from inside the first floor store, but even better from the second level of the mall. They are huge--larger than life huge. Even teenage Oldest was impressed. We visited the store several different times, waiting until the very end of the day to make purchasing decisions. I didn't watch the lady ring things up. Sometimes I'm better off not knowing.
What I do know is that Lego sells 7 sets per second, and we're a part of it.
I know this because Husband got an email from Lego today. He loves Legos. A lot. So do Oldest, Middle, and Youngest. We probably have enough Lego sets at our house to qualify as a small store.
The email came because Husband and Youngest were putting together a 1,000+ piece set last night and there was 1 white piece missing. Over 1,000 pieces put together and 1 not there. They called Lego (did you know you can get a real person at Lego at 9pm?) and were told a new piece would be sent out right away. The confirmation email that came today included the fact. Seven sets per second. That's a lot of Legos.
My dining room table currently doubles as a display space for the most recently assembled pieces, and Husband's office has several more. Lego sculptures adorn spaces here and there around our home--some are sets imagined and created by Lego, and others were crafted by my own team of visionary Lego experts who live and work right here.
Our basement holds tubs of Legos--some sorted by set, but many dumped together into large containers meant to store things like bed linens or winter clothes. They don't stay in storage; they are periodically brought upstairs to litter one room or another for a day or a week or so. Oldest has dumped multiple boxes of Legos out on the floor of his room. He's been sorting for days. Youngest started to do the same, but lost steam. Or maybe interest. He did build a really cool......something. I don't know what's happened to the sets in Middle's room. Over time all 3 have created buildings, spaceships, castles, forts, room layouts, cars, planes and lots of other stuff, all full of extraordinary detail.
Our front room was once carpeted with Harry Potter Legos for over 2 months. There are a lot of Harry Potter sets at our house, and they were all out at once. I shudder to think about the lack of opportunity for vacuuming, but have wonderful pictures of Husband and kids surrounded by piles of brightly colored blocks, sorting and building together. We all worked on it--it was a big project. We never really finished, but with Legos, can you ever really finish? I'm not sure.
On our trip this summer, a much-anticipated destination was the Lego store in Mall of America. If you've never seen it, you really are missing something. There are stunning models that can be seen from inside the first floor store, but even better from the second level of the mall. They are huge--larger than life huge. Even teenage Oldest was impressed. We visited the store several different times, waiting until the very end of the day to make purchasing decisions. I didn't watch the lady ring things up. Sometimes I'm better off not knowing.
What I do know is that Lego sells 7 sets per second, and we're a part of it.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Insulation
Today I read something a friend wrote in which she described me, along with others, as being insulated by books. I chuckled, but then realized that she's right. I do use books as insulation.
When things get too hectic and stress builds, I often insulate myself from the madness by rereading old favorites. It serves to create a familiar place in the middle of chaos and uncertainty.
When faced with long, cold winter days or steamy hot summers, I insulate myself from the elements by literally surrounding my favorite spot of the sofa with new reading material.
When there are appointments to keep and children to taxi to and from lessons, I insulate myself against the cracks in time by tucking a book or magazine into my large slouchy bag.
I use books as insulation all the time--to keep in the happy or ward off the stress, to keep my cool or warm my soul. Books temper me. They keep my mental and emotional climate stable. Books as insulation. Who knew?
When things get too hectic and stress builds, I often insulate myself from the madness by rereading old favorites. It serves to create a familiar place in the middle of chaos and uncertainty.
When faced with long, cold winter days or steamy hot summers, I insulate myself from the elements by literally surrounding my favorite spot of the sofa with new reading material.
When there are appointments to keep and children to taxi to and from lessons, I insulate myself against the cracks in time by tucking a book or magazine into my large slouchy bag.
I use books as insulation all the time--to keep in the happy or ward off the stress, to keep my cool or warm my soul. Books temper me. They keep my mental and emotional climate stable. Books as insulation. Who knew?
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
BONS at my house
The BONS (my writing group) were at my house tonight. It was super fun and I love that they all came and stayed until late. We always leave feeling so energized. But I'm tired now--winding down--so this slice will be a short list of tonight's highlights.
1. making a meal out of our favorite cold appetizers and desserts
2. washing it down with berry lemonade and lingering conversation
3. my family and BONS meeting each other
4. sharing our writing pieces, progress and stumbling blocks
5. giving and getting feedback and encouragement
6. my daughter giving everyone pedicures (massage and pretty painted toenails!) while we worked
7. a special stone with a message for each of us
8. a break to swim in the pool
9. ice cream from the local stand--raspberry, lemon, butter pecan, and peanut butter
10. more talking, more laughing, and plans to meet again
1. making a meal out of our favorite cold appetizers and desserts
2. washing it down with berry lemonade and lingering conversation
3. my family and BONS meeting each other
4. sharing our writing pieces, progress and stumbling blocks
5. giving and getting feedback and encouragement
6. my daughter giving everyone pedicures (massage and pretty painted toenails!) while we worked
7. a special stone with a message for each of us
8. a break to swim in the pool
9. ice cream from the local stand--raspberry, lemon, butter pecan, and peanut butter
10. more talking, more laughing, and plans to meet again
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Night Swim
When the pool water warms and days stay hot until after bedtime
it's time for a night swim.
Suits are pulled on and towels dropped poolside,
but voices stay low and lights off.
Only the single underwater light glows,
shifting white yellow green blue red purple.
One by one we step quietly into the still water
and slip below the surface.
Night swims are hushed and slower than daytime,
with no cannonballs or splashing.
We glide underwater, back and forth,
twirling, graceful merpeople just for a night.
Fireflies light up the yard and hover in the air
and the moon peeks from behind sparse clouds.
One by one, we start to float,
looking for stars and softly naming constellations.
After a while, when fingers and toes turn pruney,
and we are floating and gliding silently,
we know it's time.
The night swim is almost over, but we hold on
just a little longer.
Because night swims are anticipated for weeks
and talked about for months.
So we stay just a few more minutes.
it's time for a night swim.
Suits are pulled on and towels dropped poolside,
but voices stay low and lights off.
Only the single underwater light glows,
shifting white yellow green blue red purple.
One by one we step quietly into the still waterand slip below the surface.
Night swims are hushed and slower than daytime,
with no cannonballs or splashing.
We glide underwater, back and forth,
twirling, graceful merpeople just for a night.
Fireflies light up the yard and hover in the air
and the moon peeks from behind sparse clouds.
One by one, we start to float,
looking for stars and softly naming constellations.
After a while, when fingers and toes turn pruney,
and we are floating and gliding silently,
we know it's time.
The night swim is almost over, but we hold on
just a little longer.
Because night swims are anticipated for weeks
and talked about for months.
So we stay just a few more minutes.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Caught
I only meant to sit for a minute,
but I leaned back and
felt the breeze skip over my skin and ruffle my hair.
I closed my eyes and felt the sun's early morning light
warming the back of the chair.
It was all over after that;
the chair kept calling me back,
first to finish--the rest of the coffee, the last chapters of the book.
The sun crept around the corner of the house
to finish warming my winter-chilled toes.
Later I found myself in the chair again;
it wasn't planned, but it happened anyway,
this time to start--the next book, the first of the summer ice cream cones.
The breeze danced across the porch,
tempering the heat of afternoon sun.
I only meant to sit for a minute,
but I leaned back and
slowly but surely, between the warm sun and gentle breeze
pieces of a whole day slid by in that chair
at the end of the porch.
but I leaned back and
felt the breeze skip over my skin and ruffle my hair.
I closed my eyes and felt the sun's early morning light
warming the back of the chair.
It was all over after that;
the chair kept calling me back,
first to finish--the rest of the coffee, the last chapters of the book.
The sun crept around the corner of the house
to finish warming my winter-chilled toes.
Later I found myself in the chair again;
it wasn't planned, but it happened anyway,
this time to start--the next book, the first of the summer ice cream cones.
The breeze danced across the porch,
tempering the heat of afternoon sun.
I only meant to sit for a minute,
but I leaned back and
slowly but surely, between the warm sun and gentle breeze
pieces of a whole day slid by in that chair
at the end of the porch.
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