Not That Mama

Ten minutes ago, I took Lucas into my room to change his diaper. I walked past piles of books in wire baskets, clothes that need mending, extra blankets, bins of baby things, and the list goes on. I thought about problem solving specifically in the area of all our books and learning resources. The wire baskets are typically on a long buffet type counter just outside my kitchen but birthday season is upon us and we use that counter for food during parties. It gets tiring bringing everything in and out so I leave it in our room for the summer and then put it all back again when the birthdays are done in September.

So I thought about those moms who see a mess like this and immediately set to work building shelving, re-purposing rooms or closets, hunting thrift stores and yard sales for just the right bookshelf until they fix the problem of “too many books piled all over the house.” I changed the baby’s diaper and was reminded again that I’m just not that mom. Oh, how I would love to be, really. But in this season especially, I am not. And in all honesty, I never really have been that kind of person at all. I have built a desk, spray painted countless things, applied contact paper to beautify various pieces of furniture but I’ve just never been the type to try and work and plan in order to fix the mess or clutter in my home.

What I have become is someone who ignores the mess. Every so often, it creeps into my consciousness and rubs irritatingly against my brain for a bit. But then I sigh or on a really bad day, have a cry, and move on. I tell myself that someday, when my kids are mostly grown or out of the house, I’ll get organized. Maybe I will, or maybe at the end of this intense journey of parenting many children, I will hire someone else to do the work for me. Or move into a tiny house.

Twelve Years

Twelve years ago, after posting thoughts here and there on MySpace (yes, I’m that old), I started my first blog. I have had a number of them, mostly because I keep trying to rebrand myself when I feel I’m getting too whiny.

I was talking to a friend who recently published a book and she mentioned using some content from her blog in her book. Not to say I’ll do that, but it did make me think about how much I’ve written and how far I’ve come – or how much I’ve stayed exactly the same. So I went to that original blog and found my very first post. It was short and to the point and I can see how much I’m the same person now, plus six additional children and a house that is three times the size but somehow feels less messy even though I’m not sure my housekeeping skills have improved.

This is it. I hope to re-read most of what I’ve written in the last twelve years, if just to see what I can learn from myself and to remind myself of how far I have come. Screenshot_2019-05-17 Life as a Housewife(3)

Stagnant

I saw an illustration today that punched me in the gut. I saw it right after I was lamenting the fact that here we are, here I am, in the same place, doing the same things, day after day. Never moving forward, stuck. And then this reminder that where we are and where we want to be aren’t always far apart.

your comfort zone

I will admit that it is difficult to be a person convicted of my rightful place in my home but bubbling over with dreams and goals. Do I lay those things down for good? For five years? Ten? When I will likely have babies or small children in my home for twenty more years? Even now, I took advantage of relative quiet and a burst of inspiration to write and was immediately accosted by a four year old asking for an apple and a show on the computer that I’m using. I want to be this but I need to be that. So what do I do with my time instead? I waste it. I freely admit that. I feel like I’m just supervising children all day and constantly being interrupted every time I try to do something of any importance so I fiddle around scrolling Facebook and lately, playing games on my phone or the computer. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

But there is always this feeling that the graphic above is truth. That it really isn’t very far from where I am to where I want to be so desperately. That it has more to do with stepping outside my comfort zone than it does with my daily life and its demands. Commitment is required and commitment is uncomfortable.

At present, I am faced daily with my aching and overweight body. I want to be gentle with myself, being less than four months postpartum. I want to mend my broken body the right way, rather than rush to lose weight and not actually fix anything like I’ve done in the past. But TIME and EFFORT and so many other things prevent me from digging my heels in and striving for the balance I would have to support so delicately.

I am challenged by a writing project I started recently and dozens of others I’ve started in the past, sitting in the documents folder of my desktop, waiting for inspiration and hard work. Waiting for commitment.

Two days ago, we drove into the country to drop our two oldest kids off at camp for a weekend retreat. As we drove past cattle farms and fields dotted with new calves, I talked about how much hard work farming must be; what a different lifestyle that would be. But really, all of us could stand to live in hard work because it makes rest so much sweeter. What I’m doing every day with all this idling is not rest, even when I tell myself that it is. I have stood by and watched as people around me have found an abundance in life because they chose to work hard. The hard truth is that hard work is just outside of my comfort zone. I’ve never had to work very hard for anything, if we’re being honest.

I use my “mother of many” status to excuse my behaviour. And maybe there are some things I just cannot do at this point in my life, hard work or not. But the truth is that I’m lazy most of the time and comfortable in it. But this kind of lifestyle leads only to being stagnant and that is a special kind of discomfort, an itch that cannot be scratched by anything other than hard work and commitment.