An attitude of gratefulness.

"Oh, the Lord is good to me..." He has given me a desire of my heart!! And I hadn't even prayed for it yet. (A very bad habit of mine.) I have been led to a handful of wonderful, Christian, some homeschooling, some farmhousey living, seeming-to-be like-minded mom-blogs. (Hyphen-happy!!!!)

For years I have loved writing. For several months I have been searching for some blogs that I would enjoy reading, blogs that were topically-similar to my current interests, and blogs that were - selfishly - ones that my friends hadn't already found, doggonit! I felt the same way about my college: I wanted to go somewhere where none of my friends or people I knew would be. I still, secretly, very teen-ily hope that hubby's job will someday transfer him somewhere so that we'll have to strike out on our own, knowing no one, and start fresh. (Of course, it'll have to be somewhere perfect and beautiful, not too hot, close to the ocean...but I'll let God handle those details.) And so it was with the blogs I wanted to read - I only had recommendations from friends. The blogs were good, of course; the fact that someone else had found them first didn't diminish their worth in any way. But I'm the same way with movies - the more you tell me how good of a movie it is, the less I'll probably like it. I don't like having someone else's opinion first. Unfortunately, the same happened with the new pastor at our old church, who started preaching there while I was away at college. I got TONS of rave reviews about her...and I'm afraid I never truly got on board with her after.

Have you read between the lines up there that my life isn't the way I want it? You're quick. :) My family "duplexes" with my parents. That's a nicer way of saying "lives with." Because we don't live with them. They have the back of the house; we have the front and the upstairs. My hub and I (and by extension, our four children) have never lived "on our own," "in our own place," or any other phrase you'd like to use for "leaving your parents and starting your adult life together." And we started our married life with one child each, which very much added to the no-honeymoon-phase experience.

Then, around a year ago, my in-laws' living situation changed (he was training for a new job, far away; MIL moved in with her mom - big mistake) and she ended up coming to live here, followed about 4 months later by FIL when his far-away good-idea job didn't pan out as hoped. Soooo....we are - on our side of the house - a "family" of 8. Counting my parents, and the whole house-proper: 10. (This poor house...)

So here I launch my idea of a blog of gratitude. I am bitter. I am snarky. I can fall all-too-easily into the "depths of despair," much to the frustration of my husband. I am, I think, prone a little to depression. And I am often jealous. So off I go, in my far from perfect life, to seek out the silver linings (which I happen to be pretty good at finding), the thankfuls, the gratefuls, and - hopefully - the changed attitude. :)

Things I like.

I'm interested in some things. Amazing, isn't it?? I'm a mom...but I have outside interests!

I am trying to be more content with my family as my God-given job and hobby right now, rather than looking outside of myself and my house for something to make me feel fulfilled. But these aren't things that would be taking my focus...just the things that I truly enjoy reading about, researching, looking at, thinking about, and being surrounded by. And I want to write them down, because every so often...I happen to forget what they were...

In no particular order:

- Amish / Shaker / colonial living. I love the ideas of living more simply in my kitchen. Not organically, although I think that would happen by default. Moreso the economy of space; minimalist furniture; the use of stone, wood, and glass; etc. I love farmhouse kitchens, I have open shelves for my dishes, and I have my pots, rolling pin, and Foley food mill on the wall. Not just in the kitchen, either. I don't like clutter (anymore), I'd love to be able to see under whatever furniture I own (except maybe the couch), and I often make references to hanging my chairs on the walls. It would certainly be easier to sweep.

- Tudor England. I can't explain this one, except that I read The Other Boleyn Girl waaaaaay before it was a movie and then became popular. I don't have the fairy tale myth-view of the castles, kings, and princesses, but I do love the realistic life and times of royalty and castle life.

I used to love ballroom dancing... I can't describe the thrill I had watching really good ballroom dancers, and how my feet would move on their own as I watched. I itched to be on the floor and move that way. I even took one ballroom dance lesson, and I ended up pairing with the instructor, who said I was a natural. It was a BLAST twirling around out there with someone who really knew what they were doing and knew how to lead. I don't know that I'm as psyched about it as I once was, though.

I do, however, still want the body of an Olympc volleyball player. I discovered that during the Beijing Olympics in 2008: I want to look like Kerri Walsh. When I watch people exercising, straining really hard, making progress, accomplishing their goals, becoming healthy, crafting their bodies into the image that they feel like in their minds...I yearn for that. Unfortunately, it's all VERY hard work, and it takes time...which I don't have. I'd also be doing it relatively solo, except for my husband's well-meaning support...but I think both of us know he's no Olympic coach.

That's all I can think of for now. I'll add stuff as I come up with it.

The parable of the clean spoon.

This morning I saw a life lesson reflected in a clean spoon I was washing. It was icky...not four-days-old icky, but covered with some food of some kind, something that I expected to scrub for a bit, but with just a few passes with the scrub brush, it was gone and looked like new. It struck me how simple that was...so simple, that something I'd thought would take a few minutes and some effort to make right again was taken care of so quickly, and to better results than I'd thought. There's definitely a washed-in-the-blood reference to be made there, but in the moment it was more a call to...contentment? Hard to figure out how I got there, but in one silly clean spoon, I found joy. It was one of those moments where things just slid easily into all the right grooves, and me doing these things -- being a mom, trying to live clutter-free, keeping things simple, putting a value on hard work and a little bit of effort before to save giant issues later -- felt worth it. And beyond that, made me feel a lot closer to these my goals than I usually do!! Hooray!!! Thank you, Jesus.

Then this afternoon I found this blog/website called Homestead Happenings. It's a Christian homeschooling mom of 8 who gardens, grinds her own flour, makes her own soap/shampoo/laundry detergent (and sells it on her little Crystal's Country Store website, no less), and finds time for website maintenance and a monthly newsletter. And I think......are you kidding me??? I have four kids and I often feel like I'm losing my mind! How does she get 8 kids AND the organic living AND the writing career?!?! It's not fair. [insert pouting lip and stomp of foot] However, in my defense, she doesn't have two sets of parents living with her...and I think some of her kids may not live at home anymore...she did mention a grandson.

But. Lately I've been thinking about turning my desires to be an expert at something...inward. I need to be an expert at my own family, raising my own kids, keeping my home (not my house) in order. And I've been thinking about paying more attention to my days...making sure I'm not getting so in the habit of trying to clean and organize that I totally miss something that's finally been organized successfully! When I walk into my kitchen, I see a clean kitchen table! That's no smnall feat, and nothing to be overlooked. Sometimes I even see bare counters and I think, "whoa...step back..." Things ARE getting accomplished, and I don't want to miss them. And I REALLY have to stop being in the mindset of "well, when I finally get the house clean I'll have all this time to spend with them..." because you and I both know that day never comes, but the day WILL come when they won't be in my house to enjoy it being clean OR messy.

Wake up, Carrie. Enjoy cleaning and organizing and let yourself thrive on order when possible, but don't let it blind you to your children asking to play with you, which they won't do for much longer.

Wisdom of the ages.

I think I'm going to close out a couple of my other blogs, so I wanted to move some things from them over to here so I don't lose them completely.

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Elijah thought he might take his fist to the dog...

Mommy: "No! No, we don't hit the dog."
Elijah: "Because he get mad."
Mommy: "Uh-huh, and what will happen if he gets mad?"
Elijah: "He'll eat my arm, and everything."

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Elijah came into the kitchen, shaking several rattling things noisily.
Elijah: "I'm a Christmas parade!" He crossed to the other side of the kitchen. "Now me not a Christmas parade."
Mommy: "No?"
Elijah: "No...now I just a boy playing music."

Elijah: (walking into the living room, still shaking his rattling things) "Morgan, me a Christmas parade!" Several seconds pass.
Morgan (watching tv): "Elijah, you're being too loud!"......"Elijah, you're being TOO LOUD!!"

Morgan enters the kitchen. "MOMMY, Elijah's being TOO LOUD."
Mommy: "Well, so far I haven't heard you ASK him to do anything to change that. You're only telling him he's too loud. Maybe you could say something like, 'Elijah, could you be a little quieter so I could hear the tv?"
Morgan (on her way out of the kitchen): "Or maybe he could go somewhere else."
Mommy: "Or he could go somewhere else, but why don't you say both of those things, give him an option..."

Morgan (to Elijah in the living room): "Elijah, do you want to be quieter, or go somewhere else?"

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Today, Elijah showed me the monster -- blue with purple spots -- that Morgan drew for him on a paper plate.

Carrie: Yeah, buddy, that's so pretty!
Elijah: No, not so pretty. So, so, so, so cool. Like a racecar.

Right. My mistake.

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From November 12, 2009, when Matthew was 5 months old...

Let's see if I can remember how this goes. More often than not, I write these in my head first, when my hands are not available to type, so I have to try to remember them when I finally get to the computer.

My favorite place in the evening is at the computer. ...No, I should rephrase that. I actually love being on the couch, but usually I'm holding a sleeping Matthew, and the computer chair provides adequate support for my sleeping arm (the same arm that holds him while he's sleeping often falls asleep because of it) as well as entertainment for me until I put him down. I have learned how to type very well one-handed. (Jon has previously mentioned that I now type faster with one hand than he does with two. Eventually, however, the carpal tunnel will probably catch up to me.)

The past several evenings, Matthew has decided to be fussy. He'll want his bottle, eat very happily for about 20 seconds, and then fuss and twist away. So I stand him up, I talk, he fusses (and lately blows raspberries), and then in a few minutes we'll start over. I have found that, in these instances, he needs/wants to be convinced that he needs a nap -- this involves his very special blanket (almost the only one we've used since he was born, thanks Amy & Ernie!) covering his face, and being thunked on the bum very rhythmically. Eventually, he concedes. There is, however, something that makes this process go much quicker.

I watch him.

I look him straight in the face, and I watch his eyes. When I'm looking at the computer, he knows I'm not paying attention, and he fusses more. When I'm staring at him, he'll close his eyes halfway, open them again, look up at me, and close them very slowly. But very deliberately. Then he's asleep.

I'm watching him. I see everything. My entire focus is on him. If anything happened, I'd see it immediately, and thus take care of or fix it. All I'm doing right now is caring for him.

I've heard a thousand times that God cares for you (one of my children's recent Bible verses says so; occasionally they walk around the house reciting "God cares for you, first Peter five seven"), but it's another one of those instances when you know it, but you don't KNOW it. Tonight, I KNOW it.

God. Is. Watching. Me.

With all the other people who probably need more help than me, He's staring straight in my face. He's looking right in my eyes (even if they're closed). All His attention is focused solely on me. And if anything is going to happen to me, He'll see it immediately -- moreso, He'll see it coming! -- and take care of it.

*sigh* God is watching me. (*sniff*)

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Morgan: You're dead. For the rest of your life.

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On a Sunday morning...

Daddy: Elijah, did you find your shoes in your room?
Elijah: No.
Daddy: Boy, where did your shoes disappear to??
Morgan: California?

(in the church foyer)
Mumma: Elijah, get up and go sit there where I told you to.
Elijah: No, me can't...me stuck in a puddle.

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Morgan: "I'm so talented. I'm full of surprises."

Insanity.

Insanity.

Tonight I went to Walmart (by myself) to buy Easter basket stuff for the kids (by myself). (I only mention it because it's something Hub and I usually do together, but this week is especially busy for him with being in the Living Last Supper on Friday: lots of rehearsals. The only day we'd be able to do it together is Saturday night, and that seems wrong somehow.)

I got the stuff for the baskets no problem, then started in on Morgan's tights, Elijah's shirt, and then thought I'd check for a shirt for Sabrina. She should have one, of course, but she's 13 and the chances of me finding something she'd think was acceptable were slim. But I looked anyway. It proved to be almost as much annoyance to do it without her there as it would be to do it with. It's not that I don't like shopping with her...when the time is right. But on the fly, it's not a pretty sight. Every shirt must be viewed, considered, and then possibly viewed again. Then, at the very end...she might have to look at shoes instead.

I was on the phone for the next hour, sending texts, sending pictures, asking which one she'd like better of the few I could find that she might like coupled with the few that we'd allow. After trying on two shirts of my own while waiting (BIG mistake, by the way; don't try on shirts while you're pms'ing, for one, and for another...just ICK...I was reminded again why I'm doing this Lenten journey), I decided I was just going to get this one shirt I was waiting for her answer on, and just take it back if she didn't like it, and go home.

I got home at 10:30. For the record, my ideal bedtime is 9:30, although I've just about never made it that early. One of our nephews was staying the night, so when I got home, he, Sabrina, and Hub were playing Mario. I joined in for a short while until Hub started using his Yoshi to bounce me all over the place, and then I gave up.

Just add it to the list of things you don't do while pms'ing. On the flip side, my kitchen table looks much better. (Or...it did, until we got pizza for dinner.) Here's praying for a better day tomorrow! :)

Wannabe productivity.

My kitchen has reached overwhelming proportions.

The table is more than half full with Stuff (mostly papers, but also things).

Every piece of silverware is in the sink, and for two days we've been washing them as we need them (wash 6 forks for dinner, wash a knife and two spoons for breakfast, etc.). The trash hasn't been emptied so there's a shopping-turned-trash bag set up on the counter, on the toaster. There are four coffee tubs on the back of the stove, two with new coffee and two with used grounds. (I would throw the used away, personally, but it seems to be my in-laws mission to fertilize our pine trees.) There is a pile of plastic shopping bags on the floor so I can't get to the hutch with my cookbooks (hence the cookbooks piled on the table), and a shirt plus some other things stacked on the breadmaker in the corner next to the hutch. On it goes...

I have routines. I <3 FlyLady to death, but I'm bad at keeping my paper of routines open in front of me constantly -- mostly because I don't have enough flat surface to set out the notebook. I have a timer, but it's usually being used to time certain urchins' Wii and computer times. I could borrow my mom's...but it's not mine and that (wrongly) annoys me.

I am lazy. Active, but lazy, because the things I'm doing, by the end of the day, don't seem to have added up to much.

This morning, the kids and I took recycling to the dump, bought pull-ups and forks at Walmart, put money in my Pampered Chef account so I can start up my website again (yay!), and then went to the park for probably about half an hour (before I decided it was too cold to stay and Morgan got a nosebleed while warming up in the car). Those were productive things.

Then I come home to my weirdo sloppy kitchen, the one I want to start simple-ly transforming into a real farmhouse kitchen, and my insides go "urgablechsighdepressing" and all I want to do is play Mario.

Can you see me? I'm pulling on my cowgirl boots (that I own in some wonderful parallel universe) so that I have bootstraps to tug on. I'm swallowing my perfectionist pride and am heading over to borrow my mommy's timer.

Our inner selves.

It's impossible, of course, to get the exact likenesses of yourselves in these things, but I think this captures our spirits. :)

Thank you, WiddlyTinks.com!