uncomplicated

This afternoon John caught a rare nap with Axel. When the bigger boys tired of amusing me with their antics, I set them up with old episodes of the Pink Panther before slinking into the bedroom myself to join my biggest and littlest of boys.

Of course I woke them up.

But the three of us lay there in the big bed with afternoon sun pouring in on a Sunday afternoon, and I thought about just how lovely it must be to be a baby.

Really - can you imagine being that loved? It's incredibly uncomplicated at this age. There's just current; no static.

How nice would it be to have a day or two in your adult life to be loved like a baby? Arms the length of your body wrapping you round, ceaseless kisses, very few expectations draped over your day, and oh -- to be carried.

The list of needs would be short. A thumb, a chest strong or soft. Feeling the steady reassurance of the familiar bass beat thumping the rhythm of life.

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Blur

I cannot believe the level of TIRED I'm operating from these days.

Last night was the first night in two weeks that we weren't up multiple times in the night with one of the three kids and their GI bugs. Changing blow-out diapers and racing kidlets to the bathroom in a semi-conscious state for thirteen days in row tends to result in Fuzzy Brain. And I will tell you, it's a lot easier for me to deal with Brain Fuzz when I can stay in my pajamas until noon, drinking coffee and playing legos (ok - let's be honest here - watching them play legos from my perch on the couch) than it is to catch my bus, gather my thoughts, and coherently lead or engage in a meeting without zoning out in the middle of someone's question or response.

So yeah, I've been tired and drinking far too much coffee since I started working again. But I'm loving my job, it's still feeling right, but I don't quite feel that we've (or I've?) settled into a new rhythm yet. Again - honestly? It is easier for me to leave home at home than it is for me to leave work at work. I struggle with setting these mental boundaries. And I feel a little guilt for not thinking about my kids while I'm at work.

I had a harder time leaving my firstborn six years ago when I was in grad school and working part-time than I do now. But in the meantime, I've had three and half years to be home full-time. I was ready to dip my toes back in, and I know this third baby of mine is a thumb-sucking (read: self-soothing), easy-going, crib-napping dreamboat who adores our babysitter and doesn't bat an eye at Mama leaving, as long as he has one or two of his big brothers around to maintain some normalcy. I step away knowing the boys are still with their family - they've got each other - and I'm able to leave guilt- and worry-free. (For now. It's only been four weeks. Heh.)

My biggest struggles are letting go of work when I get home or on my days at home, and not letting time turn into one of those moving sidewalks at the airport. I work so hard to live in the present moment, but this job has me picking up my pace and I've been finding myself in those 'where did the day go' moments that I try to avoid.

So how do you do it Mamas? Any tips for setting mental boundaries, for creating rhythm and balance as you dance from professional mama to professional whatever-it-is-you-do-for-pay? I think the key to enjoying my job and minimizing the guilt of leaving my kids is to be fully present wherever I am, but I'm struggling with it a bit.

I've already got the let-the-housework-go thing down*, but I'm all ears for other suggestions.

note the lego-textured flooring

Can't wait to hear what you have to say, so lay it on me. Thanks, friends.

*you know it's gotten bad when you only see three overflowing laundry baskets in the livingroom because the fourth one has been there for so long your brain now registers it as a piece of furniture. o'well. at least it's clean laundry.

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Gathering

"If you were to host a party and could invite five beings: living or dead, fictional or real, animal, human or alien, famous or personal, who would they be?

Would this be the party of a lifetime, or if you could have it, a weekly event?"

She asked the questions and told us she'd let us know when our twenty minutes were up.

Weekly event. Thursday nights. Potluck gourmet vegetarian dinner at my house. But someone would have to clean it first. That would have to be part of the deal.

Let's see...there'd be me, Jesus, John, and ... I don't know. I have a few ideas, but mostly they're people I'd feel obligated to invite because they'd be totally pissed if I had Jesus over and they couldn't come, too.

The setting: somehow my house would have to be cleaned, but there's no way I'm doing it. If I had to clean each week, I wouldn't do it. Wouldn't host. Would rather cancel than deal with my mess.

Although we could always meet out - maybe at The Weary. A regular table for our Thursday night crew.

I think it would be cool to meet Jesus. There's so much I want to learn - I don't really even have a ton of questions for him. I just want to listen to him talk. Tell his stories. That man knew how to use a metaphor. Finding meaning in the ordinary, using the little things of life, the daily grind, to make a point, teach a lesson. And always so gently, and with grace. Jesus wasn't in your face preaching at you. No - he got down and drew in the sand until everyone shut up, till they quit their bitching and were ready to listen. And then? He'd ask a question. A really good question.

I think it would be tough, having to think that hard to answer his questions. To think about what he was saying. To decide if I wanted to live my life that way - really giving up what I had, what I thought I wanted, to follow him. To work for truth and mercy and to care for the poor, the voiceless, the earth. Really, to set aside the bullshit -- which can be fun, but really a lot of it is just distraction -- for the real stuff of life and live fully. Be fully alive and striving to live the way life was meant to be lived.

I'd love to listen to Jesus. He'd be a great dinner guest. I bet he wouldn't even mind if the house was dirty. He's a come-as-you-are guy, for sure. He wouldn't mind the chaos, the kids. We'd talk through it, letting them climb over us or snuggle in. Explaining it to them when they asked, drawing them in, making them feel they were part of it. That what he has to say is for their ears, too.

So why don't I invite him in? Into my home, my life? Make space for regular Thursdays with Jesus - a potluck and a little conversation, a listening session? Really, I just want to hear what he has to say. I'm sure my questions would come up as I go.

Wow. I could make this happen. I've so much to learn, and he has a lot to teach, to offer. I'd like to know what he really has to say - not just the distorted bullshit that the self-righteous patriarchy says that he says. (I have a feeling a lot of them wouldn't really like Jesus if they actually listened to what he said anyway. What's the saying? If God hates all the same people you do, then you can be pretty sure you just made him in your image?)

Anyway, I need to look for myself. To get back to what he really says and then wrestle with it, instead of fighting or embracing what I'm told is in the Bible.

But I'm guessing Jesus could fill me in on that over dinner. Maybe a chickpea curry with tofu. And tomatoes and green beans. And a couple of good IPA's.

"If we learn to open our hearts, anyone, including the people who drive us crazy, can be our teacher." - Pema Chodron

***

Lifted from my writing practice journal. Thanks to my inspiring teacher Miriam for the writing prompt and the reminder to let my pen follow my brain without judging or editing.

:::

And per Tuesday tradition, linking to Tuesdays Unwrapped, where we call the gifts when we see them.

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my poet

I tuck him into bed, and in those first still moments of the day, he tells me,

"You know when we're driving, or when I'm outside? There's music out there.

Not like guitar music. But like...in the wind.

That's why I like being out there. There's music that the sounds out there make.

If you listen, you can hear it."

Oh, buddy...I want to hear it, too.

:::

Tonight, we put the two little boys to bed and let O stay up with us for a while. The little brothers snoozed away as John finished up in the kitchen and I sent a quick email to our babysitter.

O wandered from one room to the next.

I feel like I'm standing in the middle of nowhere.

That's funny. Why?

I don't know, I'm just lonely.

Something feels a little off for them when they're apart.

***

Every Friday my friend Lee posts conversations she's had with her kids, and she invites her friends to share their stories, too. (So I'm linking up today.)

Sometimes the stories are funny, and other times, like today, she touches on something that grips your heart a little tighter. Go check her out, she writes a blog called Moms Without Blogs, because she's cool like that. Her philosophy is to keep it real, to show that as moms, we don't have it all together all the time, but that that's OK. ("Being a supermom is simply a state of mind.") She's the real deal, folks.

And, I want to thank Heather and Cybil for giving my blog a little shout-out over on their blogs. I appreciate the kind words, and I'm so glad to know you've enjoyed reading what I write. Really, it means a lot. So thank you.

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mmmmmwuah!

He loves giving kisses.

sometimes he comes at you open-mouthed...

or takes his cues from the dog...

but other times he puckers right up.

who could resist?

he's on the receiving end plenty, too.

xoxo

for You Capture - kisses

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textures

It's taking a little more effort to stay in the moment amid the busyness of our new schedule. I work so hard at paying attention. Being where I am, fully. If I open up all my receptors and I receive the moment with all of my senses, life becomes so much more vivid.

I'm not getting it down on paper or in print as often as I had been, but I'm writing it down at the cellular level -- letting it become part of me, so when I move on to the next day, or even the next moment; I go with an added layer of texture.

***

"I like how the highway sounds, Mom."

Tires rumbling over road, on our way to my sister's, he notes his observations along the way.

He notices everything, that kid.

A green semi cab parked next to a purple one, down in a parking lot beyond the exit ramp.

"Those colors look nice together."

His stuffed dog clutched in hand, resting on his quilt at kindergarten.

"My giraffe feels the same as my quilt. I like bringing Baby Dog because he feels different from my quilt. I like how they feel together."

Laying on his back in a pile of snow in the front yard. All by himself, watching the clouds race across the sky.

He pops inside to tell us,

"It's really nice out there. I like how the Quiet sounds."

I'm writing it down, because he's too little to see his own gift.

I want to see life like he does.

***

Have you ever watched an icicle melt? There's this moment, when the ice is still ice but it's moving towards water, it's morphing before your eyes, and then the instant it crosses that threshold -- a most incredibly perfect round reflective drop of awesome.

You see it coming, and for a moment it's there, suspended, and then gone.

***

I feel like I've dropped off the face of the Internet. The days I'm home with my boys, I am home with my boys. I'm appreciating them so much these days. Their stories, soft cheeks, and brand new words each and every day.

I'm learning a lot about this business of life-living from watching them in action. I'm trying to pay attention to the details.

When you're looking for them, there are always so many little gifts waiting to be unwrapped.

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A tale from the river

I dip my paddle in the river and feel the pull of the current. The baby stands between my knees, clutching the gunwales with his chubby fingers. He strains to see past me, peering at Dad who sits smiling in the stern, instructing our two other boys, three and six, in their paddling “technique.”

We’re on our first overnight canoe trip, paddling down a stretch of the Wisconsin River with three other families. John has been pushing me to take a river trip since we had our first son, but until now I have been hesitant to try anything bigger than a lap around the lake or a mile long stretch of a quiet creek.

To continue reading, please head over to the online (PDF) issue of the Canoecopia Gazette. Click on the section "Reflections on Paddling" and scroll down to page 64. Sorry for the treasure hunt -- I can't link directly to my article.

***
This is my essay out this week in the Canoecopia Gazette, the magazine put out each year by the good folks at Rutabaga, the paddlesport shop. The Gazette is a combination of personal essays, news, feature stories, and product reviews from the paddlesport industry and Rutabaga, specifically; and of course a thorough guide and preview of Canoecopia, the world's largest paddlesport expo held here in Madison each March. (That's canoes, kayaks, and stand-up paddleboards, for those of you going 'huh?')

I wrote about that overnight canoe trip we took on the Wisconsin River back in September. But really, it's about more than that. (It's always about more than that, isn't it?) Anyway, the print edition of the Gazette went out across the nation this week (paddlers: go here to get on the mailing list for next year), and it is available online as a PDF. (not a PFD. ha! Had to get in the paddling humor.)
(And if you're local, you can pick up a copy all over town.)

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Excuse the mess, but we live here.

"Excuse the mess, but we live here." -Roseanne, from the Roseanne show.

I race in the door at 5pm as the sitter and her daughter rush out. The boys are hungry and the baby scurries up my body like a little monkey, clutching my hair and flashing his 8-toothed smile.

I promise dinner, but am foiled when I shove a wooden spoon too far into the high-powered blender and splintered wood blends with pinto beans. Maybe if the blender baton wasn't lying under the toilet on the bathroom floor - where the baby left it a week ago - I could have whipped those beans without utensil casualties.

I settle for bacon and eggs, with Life cereal and skim milk as an appetizer, knowing my hubby can fend for himself when he gets home. But before the bacon is done cooking, my 3.5 year old has fallen asleep at the kitchen table. At 5:30. Good thing he's still in his jammies from this morning.

I leave him lying on the bench while I toast some bread and pop the baby in his high chair. My 6 year old is finished eating by the time I sit down with my dinner, so I shovel it in alone, listening to him shout his stories of the day from the living room.

Tonight is surprisingly typical. When I'm scrambling to feed the kids and get the dirty dishes off the counter and listen to their stories and double check that the sitter got my email about our schedule change, I wonder if everyone else's life is this chaotic.

I tell myself it is. That everyone is really this messy and crazed and eating cereal for dinner a couple nights a week. But every now and then I wonder - is it just me? Do other people somehow manage to pull it off with a little more grace?

Because I'm pretty sure my house is messier than anyone I know. Dusting? I thought that went the way of wearing slips under skirts. (It was for our mother's generation, not something we ladies of the 21st Century have to deal with.) Washing the floors? Well...I spot clean if someone's spilled or peed.... (What's the point in washing the whole floor, really? We're just going to walk on it again.) Vacuuming? Exactly why I rolled up the rugs months ago. It's much easier to swoop down and collect the tumbleweeds of dog hair. It's just too bad the dog stopped eating the dropped Cheerios and Goldfish. By the third kid, he turns up his nose and holds out for PB&J crusts instead.

People ask me how I do it - how I find time to write (blog, freelance, now my new job...) with three kids. Honestly? I don't clean my house. Pretty much ever.

Also? My kids dress themselves. I insist on teeth brushing, but their hair? Meh. I hear dreads are back in fashion. You'd be surprised how much time you can save by letting your nappy haired kids run around in sweatpants and their favorite hoodie instead of fighting over outfits and grooming every day.

Most of the time I'm glad I've adopted this laid back approach to childrearing and house maintenance. And honestly, days when the baby is teething and he's camped out in a sling all day, it's an accomplishment to get a load of diapers washed.

But sometimes I wonder if I'm trying to pass off laziness as priority-setting.

What do you think? How on earth do you do it? Do you keep it together - the kids, the house, your job, your passions, your relationships...?? How on earth do you do it? Are you as messy as I am? What do you let go? What's non-negotiable for you? Who wants to come clean my kitchen?

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Faces

Three of my favorite faces.

I'll never tire of seeing them.

Kissing them.

Capturing them.

These are the faces I cup in my palms, I press to my lips, I hold to my cheek.

:: ::

I'm two-thirds of the way through my first week on the new job.

I love it.

I'm really excited about being part of this project, and I already have so many ideas swirling around, springing up.

The timing was right.

I love being home full time with my boys.

It fulfills me, it inspires me. I love it completely.

That's how I knew this job was the one to take.

It's not often black and white.

We are more complicated than our choices.

More complex than our labels.

I love being home with my boys.

I love what I do for a living.

I'm so glad I have been able to try both.

To do both.

To be home with these faces.

To come home to these faces.

And this time around, I leave with an easier mind.

Because while I am stepping out for a good chunk of the day,

I am only one of many. I am not their only source of love, of comfort, of delight.

They have each other, these three.

Brothers are a beautiful thing.

***

linking up today to You Capture, this week's photo challenge: FACES.

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Carry

There are times we may look big and strong and tough

[at least big and strong and tough enough]

to handle life on our own two feet.

But some days are harder than others.

And I don't think

that we ever get so big

that it doesn't feel good

to be

picked up

and held close

and carried for as long as it takes

to feel right again.

me & my big lug 3.5 year old

(mei tai by babyhawk)

***

another tuesday unwrapped

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