The past two days have been nothing but rain. You think I kid. I do not. I have been watching for a break so that perhaps I could start a 60 min. walk dry, even if I couldn't finish it dry. No such luck. True Oregon rain all through the morning, the afternoon, and on through the evening. I had forgotten. Spoiled by Utah autumns where the leaves crunch beneath your feet the whole season long. Where your never have to worry about your riding boots having wet toes and never think to yourself, maybe I should trade these riding boots in for some rain boots so that I can go grocery shopping.
This morning, as soon as were up, it wasn't raining and I bundled Alaska into her coats and socks and shoes with a blankie. We set out at a jog and slowed to a walk as I got a pain in my side. The sun was hiding behind a couple of soggy clouds, but it was dry. And my dry, I mean there was no rain falling from the sky. There were definitely enough puddles to keep the most ruthless of puddle-jumpers happy for five hours. The long grasses of summer were beaten down, having succumbed to the constant pressure on their long stems. Trees jangled and tipped a leaf's amount of water onto Alaska and I as we passed under their branches. Leaves scattered parking lots and tripped on the sidewalk. The rain had pulled them down to earth where they would find their mortal fate.
We were 15 minutes from the house when the rain started up again and I began a slow jog, pulling the umbrella over Alaska's torso. We had been in worse, that's for sure. Just the week before we had slipped into the store real quick on our way home from a walk to pick up a few items and we came out to a full on rain storm. There was congestion at the sliding doors as everyone who had just checked out came to a halt at the sight of the rain that was not there when we all went in. It was a mess as they put on jackets, pulled up hoods and located their car from the covered entry, calculating the most direct cut.
And there was me and Alaska. I take the stroller into the store with me when we're coming back from a walk because it's less transitioning and my stroller has way better steerage than any cart I have pushed, which means we're in and out faster as I glide past carts blocking isles as they search for the perfect cake mix. I was wearing my t-shirt and shorts, 'cause it has been a nice day, and she was in jeans and long sleeves. We took a deep breath and in we went, jogging hard. 10 minutes to the front door and we had to cross the highway that always has the longest lights. Biggest blessing, I pushed the button for the light to cross, and it lit up, allowing us to barely pause at a light that we usually spend 3 minutes at.
The high school was out for lunch and the teachers were standing at the cross-walk, in their slacks and leather shoes, to deter the underclassmen. Sharing jokes under umbrellas I knew I wasn't going to pass them without a comment. "Well! What are you doing out here in the rain?" me, "We got caught" them, "Sure did. You're doing great." Not as painful as I had thought it may have been. I gave a little wave and we were almost home.
I don't mind being caught in the rain as much as the idea is uncomfortable. It's just a hassle to get a shower with all your clothes on, and running shoes. I think it's time I start doing early-morning water-aerobics again. My first friends in St. Helens were the little, crinkly ladies who show up at the pool at 5:45 am each morning for their exercise and I haven't seen them since summer started. It was easier for me to go on a walk then to get to the pool at 5:30 in the morning. I do believe the reverse has come this past week.
Pour on, rain. I've got a swim suit.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Friday, September 27, 2013
The Bloggess
Ok. For real guys. I just found this blog and it is the most hillarious thing to have ever happened to me. Have you ever seen me laugh so hard I cry? No. Me either. But I totally just did. Twice.
Check this out. But don't check it out if offensive language offends you. Nope. Don't. But if you don't mind too much and need a good, hard laugh... you can thank me later.
http://thebloggess.com Entry on Sept 17, 2013
But that's not what this is about. This about me. And a phone. I hate punching in the numbers to listen to voicemails. So I don't. And when my mailbox is full, I like to keep it that way as long as possible so that it is impossible for people to leave messages. Phones are for texting, not for talking, unless there's an emergency. Like I forgot about visiting teaching. Then I need a phone call to remind me of places to be and things to do. E-mail, facebook, texting... there are so many ways to get a hold of a person.
This is an entry by the bloggess, edited for your viewing pleasure. And I thought I would share since it's something I can so totally relate to.
Check this out. But don't check it out if offensive language offends you. Nope. Don't. But if you don't mind too much and need a good, hard laugh... you can thank me later.
http://thebloggess.com Entry on Sept 17, 2013
But that's not what this is about. This about me. And a phone. I hate punching in the numbers to listen to voicemails. So I don't. And when my mailbox is full, I like to keep it that way as long as possible so that it is impossible for people to leave messages. Phones are for texting, not for talking, unless there's an emergency. Like I forgot about visiting teaching. Then I need a phone call to remind me of places to be and things to do. E-mail, facebook, texting... there are so many ways to get a hold of a person.
This is an entry by the bloggess, edited for your viewing pleasure. And I thought I would share since it's something I can so totally relate to.
A series of voicemail messages I listened to a year and a half after they were sent because I don’t know how my phone works:
Yvonne: Argh. This lady at the drugstore just coughed H1N1 all over my daughter. Call me in 4 months when you actually get this. I’m sure we’ll still be friends then. Probably.
me (leaving myself a message when I couldn’t find my journal to write in): Why don’t people use “let’c” as a contraction for “lettuce”? It would save time. This is me, by the way. Not future-me though. Just regular me. Hope we’re doing well.
My sister: Hey, someone in our family died but I’m not telling you over voicemail because that would be weird. But you’re never going to get this because you never listen to your voicemails. It’s like I’m sending a time-capsule into space that no one will ever find. I though you were supposed to be the responsible one.
My sister again: It’s mom’s birthday today. I’m calling to remind you. You owe me.
me again: Hi. This is just me pretending to be on the phone so that I don’t have to make eye contact with the crazy lady on Main who’s always talking to herself. Except that technically I’m calling myself to leave myself a message so I’m basically doing the same thing. I bet this is just how the crazy lady got started.
My sister again: It’s daddy’s birthday today. I’m calling because you said that I didn’t remind you about mom’s birthday even though I totally did. Does this phone even work?
My sister again: Hey, did you know it’s your birthday? My guess is “no” since I didn’t remind you.
me (leaving a message to myself again): If dead people want to wear open toed shoes in their caskets do the morticians give them a pedicure or are you just stuck with however your feet looked when you die? Do you have to pay extra for the death pedicure? I should get a tattoo on my chest that says “Put me in feetie-pajamas when I die”. That way I’m warm and I’m saving money.
me again: Okay, I just remembered that I don’t have any feetie-pajamas and it would suck if right before I died I ballooned up to like 500 pounds and Hailey was all “HER DYING WISH WAS TO HAVE FEETIE PAJAMAS” but they can’t find any in my size and so she spends all her time looking for enormous feetie-pajamas when she should just be taking care of herself. Now I’m all depressed. Forget the tattoo. The tattoo was a terrible idea.
Victor: WHY DON’T YOU EVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE?
me (leaving a message to myself again): I was calling to remind you to write something funny about birds but then I got distracted by my own voice on the answering machine and now I don’t remember what I was going to say. It was about birds, I think…? I lost it. Way to go, us.
my sister again: It’s mom’s birthday today. Honestly, I don’t even know why I try.
Laura: Okay, why do you even have a phone?
Coast into September
We still talk about it. That one day. That super hot day. The day of all summer days. And it wasn't even summer. School had already started the week before.
It was a Wednesday and I had decided the previous Sunday that Alaska and I would be at the coast on Wednesday. I had it all figured out. We would need to leave in the morning in order to beat the heat since our little car has no a/c and then come home in the evening with just enough time to shower off summer sand before going to mutual at seven. It was 9:30 when we pulled out of our apartment complex and I turned up the country, settling in for a long drive.
We made a few stops, one in Rainier to pick up some sand toys, which they didn't have any of, so I got a couple of metal spoons to dig in the sand with and as an after-thought a package of fruit snacks. We had crackers and applesauce and waters and juices. We were going to be ok.
Stopped at a used furniture store on our way through Astoria. I am always on the hunt for a china cabinet that will fit into our over-sized bathroom to store towels and miscellaneous bathroom items. And I found one. For $250. Much out of my price range. Especially since it would need a nice coat of paint to update itself. Passed it by and we headed onto Seaside.
Usually we stop at Del Ray as our beach of choice because it is less crowded than Seaside. Today, though, I wanted to be around some people. And have a back-up plan of the seaside aquarium if Alaska got tired of the ocean before it was time to go. I shouldn't have worried.
We took our time parking, taking the luxury to find just the right spot. I loaded up our jogging stroller and thought to myself, "Next time, we'll have to bring a wagon" First we'll have to get a wagon. I watched two mommas carry umbrella strollers down the steps that lead to the sand and may have smiled to myself when they pushed to go forward and their itty bitty stroller wheels dug into the sand, not turning at all. Their surprised faces were priceless and then they giggled nervously to themselves. I could see their minds turning, "How are we going to get closer to the water? I have a baby, a bag, and a stroller to now carry. Ooof.
There was no way I was taking my stroller down those steps, there had to be a way around. And there was. Which led straight to a couple of swings. Alaska swung to her heart's content, always asking 'more' in sign each time the swing went slower than a push from an under-doggie. That girl loves a good thrill. We stopped by the bathrooms real quick and then made our way down to the water.
Spreading out our blanket on the sand, I changed Alaska into her swim suit. We took pictures and ran out in the waves. That girl loves the water and we spent two hours galloping in the waves before coming out for snacks. There were lots of grandmas and grandpas out walking their dogs, and Alaska noticed every single one of them. While we were eating goldfish crackers Alaska couldn't help but notice and be amazed at how close the ducks (read: seagulls) got to our blanket. She chased them around and enjoyed her time drying off. We had one more hour in the water before the wind picked up and I called it quits. We changed and made our way back to the car after stopping by the swings again. Having a swing open to use on both the way to the water and on the way back from the water goes to show how many people were not at the beach. It was so nice to have it to ourselves.
We stopped in Gearhart to look through a home junk store and had dinner right next door at the burger place that sold malts and had battered fries. It was delicious. Alaska slept the rest of the way home and we got back just in time to take baths and get over to the church to help lay out bark chips. It was so refreshing to come from the coast where we had been cool all day and be outside in the left-over heat of the day. It was perfect. And I am so glad that I got to spend it with my punk-a-bunk. She is so absolutely my favorite to hang out with. I want to keep hold of that.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Where We're Supposed to Be on Sunday
Today we had our first major melt-down at church. Alaska was having a hard time keeping quiet, aka, whimpering and whining and nothing could be done to make her stop. Not even fruit snacks. The ultimate measuring stick of unfixable unhappiness. Handsome Husband took her out to the foyer where she screamed and cried for 15 minutes until he took her home to bed. I guess she kept crying, "Momma." and wanted to go back into sacrament meeting. Which is good. We've had to take her out less times than I can count on my hand because we do whatever it takes to keep her quiet and in our pew. I want her to know that sacrament meeting is where she needs to be and it's a time to be reverent. Today's episode has confirmed we have succeeded. The little fact that she wanted to be back where she knows she's supposed to be instead of roaming the halls. Made my heart smile.
Columbia County Fair: July
I love farmers' markets. I love festivals. But I love fairs the most.
I love looking at the animals and eating the food.
I knew Alaska wouldn't last forever, so when we went to the fair we made sure to see the animals first. She aid moo when we saw the cows and "dog" when we saw the goats. She loved the bunnies and it filled my heart with joy as I lead her up and down the isles of cages, her little eyes looking at each. I've yet to find someone who loves looking at bunnies as much as I do, she followed me close behind and looked at each and every one, where as I am so used to Steven pulling me through, suggesting that every bunny looks the same. Alaska was a faithful follower and didn't mind that there was a whole row of bunnies with the same colors and markings.
Walking down the isles in the swine barn, the pigs snorted at her through the bars and she was not impressed. She stepped away and gave them the, "who do you think you are" look. However, her side-step from one side where the pigs were sticking their noses into the isles swiftly took her to the other side of the isle where another snout just about brushed her arm. She got her, "I am so freaked out right now" face on and took a couple of quick steps forward to get away. I was so proud of her though, for taking care of the problem on her own instead of reaching backwards to me, to pick her up.
Meandering through the pictures and quilts and photos I noticed much of what was at the fair was entered by kids, and perhaps that's the way it ought to be. A way for kids to showcase what they are interested in and working on and proud to share.
I hunted down my curly fries like a mountain lion hunting a jackrabbit. I had searched all the fairs over in Utah for two summers trying to find them. Utah always slices their potatoes too thin and it created potato chips instead of curly french fries. I took my own ketchup bottle and hauled it around in the stroller so that I didn't have to depend on the fair's ketchup supply that always seems to be low and ridden with germs.
Another thing Utah does is they call their elephant ears 'scones' and serve them with honeybutter instead of the traditional powdered or cinnamon sugar. And you know? Sadly I had gotten so used to that, that I missed the honey butter as I chomped into my deep-fried dough of yummy goodness covered in cinnamon sugar.
I had my first hand-dipped corn dog. Not much to talk about. I didn't realize it would be so soft. I prefer my corndogs from the roaster at the local mini-mart where they have been rotating in circles for 5 hours, creating the perfect shell around a juicy dog. Next year I will skip that and go for the Philippino food. It looked so tasty. Almost worth the $8 fair entry fee again the next day just to eat dinner there.
Finished the night off with some carnival rides and I think, perhaps, my awesome dream of finally having Alaska to go on rides with (Steve gets sick) may have been crushed. I didn't feel so good after the first two and never got quite back to feeling right until I got home. I may have just outgrown carnival rides. Which makes me super sad, because Alaska will never have the cool momma that takes her on all the rides in the evening when everything is lit up. She'll have to go with her friends like the rest of them.
I love looking at the animals and eating the food.
I knew Alaska wouldn't last forever, so when we went to the fair we made sure to see the animals first. She aid moo when we saw the cows and "dog" when we saw the goats. She loved the bunnies and it filled my heart with joy as I lead her up and down the isles of cages, her little eyes looking at each. I've yet to find someone who loves looking at bunnies as much as I do, she followed me close behind and looked at each and every one, where as I am so used to Steven pulling me through, suggesting that every bunny looks the same. Alaska was a faithful follower and didn't mind that there was a whole row of bunnies with the same colors and markings.
Walking down the isles in the swine barn, the pigs snorted at her through the bars and she was not impressed. She stepped away and gave them the, "who do you think you are" look. However, her side-step from one side where the pigs were sticking their noses into the isles swiftly took her to the other side of the isle where another snout just about brushed her arm. She got her, "I am so freaked out right now" face on and took a couple of quick steps forward to get away. I was so proud of her though, for taking care of the problem on her own instead of reaching backwards to me, to pick her up.
Meandering through the pictures and quilts and photos I noticed much of what was at the fair was entered by kids, and perhaps that's the way it ought to be. A way for kids to showcase what they are interested in and working on and proud to share.
I hunted down my curly fries like a mountain lion hunting a jackrabbit. I had searched all the fairs over in Utah for two summers trying to find them. Utah always slices their potatoes too thin and it created potato chips instead of curly french fries. I took my own ketchup bottle and hauled it around in the stroller so that I didn't have to depend on the fair's ketchup supply that always seems to be low and ridden with germs.
Another thing Utah does is they call their elephant ears 'scones' and serve them with honeybutter instead of the traditional powdered or cinnamon sugar. And you know? Sadly I had gotten so used to that, that I missed the honey butter as I chomped into my deep-fried dough of yummy goodness covered in cinnamon sugar.
I had my first hand-dipped corn dog. Not much to talk about. I didn't realize it would be so soft. I prefer my corndogs from the roaster at the local mini-mart where they have been rotating in circles for 5 hours, creating the perfect shell around a juicy dog. Next year I will skip that and go for the Philippino food. It looked so tasty. Almost worth the $8 fair entry fee again the next day just to eat dinner there.
Finished the night off with some carnival rides and I think, perhaps, my awesome dream of finally having Alaska to go on rides with (Steve gets sick) may have been crushed. I didn't feel so good after the first two and never got quite back to feeling right until I got home. I may have just outgrown carnival rides. Which makes me super sad, because Alaska will never have the cool momma that takes her on all the rides in the evening when everything is lit up. She'll have to go with her friends like the rest of them.
Let the Girl Sparkle
Oregon's 'extra rainy' season has begun. Washing the smell of sun-warmed blackberries back into the earth. Creating prisms on the leaves of all the trees that are reluctantly turning from green to orange. Rinsing the red slide at the park and soaking into the barkchips. The days of sandals are over as little feet tap in puddles from the car to the house. Alaska's sandals have gotten a good wear this summer as her only shoe for both park playing and being rinsed Saturday night, aided by a toothbrush, for church going. They have been our summer love.
We went to Payless today to find some closed-toed shoes that may be more practical in the rain and playing on wet playground equipment. No such luck for a momma on a mission, but Alaska's eyes filled up on pink sparkles. Cinderella slippers covered in glitter and heart confetti. They are most definitely not practical. Too gaudy to wear to church and too sparkly to wear to the playground.
But she loved them. She let me try them on her in two different sizes and listened patiently as I showed her how to un-do the velcro that keeps them pinned to her feet. She then proceeded to walk down the isle and pull every pair of pink glitter shoes out of their boxes and try them on. I am a stubborn shopper, but I do know that when something catches your eye more than once and looks just as glamorous as it did the first time, it's best to follow your instincts and get it.
Alaska does love a good shoe and she's been known to wear other people's shoes around the house and to pull shoes out of boxes at stores to try them on. However, they have never before been consistently the same shoe. She was totally entranced by the pink glitter.
As I knelt there, watching her carefully put one shoe on, and then the other before continuing down the isle to the next box of pink sparkles I could either resist and walk out with no shoes since none of them were what I was looking for, or I could let the girl have what her heart desired. She's not always going to be brave enough to wear pink glittered shoes. Let the girl sparkle, I say. We got the shoes. And she'll be wearing them to the playground and I think that's ok.
We went to Payless today to find some closed-toed shoes that may be more practical in the rain and playing on wet playground equipment. No such luck for a momma on a mission, but Alaska's eyes filled up on pink sparkles. Cinderella slippers covered in glitter and heart confetti. They are most definitely not practical. Too gaudy to wear to church and too sparkly to wear to the playground.
But she loved them. She let me try them on her in two different sizes and listened patiently as I showed her how to un-do the velcro that keeps them pinned to her feet. She then proceeded to walk down the isle and pull every pair of pink glitter shoes out of their boxes and try them on. I am a stubborn shopper, but I do know that when something catches your eye more than once and looks just as glamorous as it did the first time, it's best to follow your instincts and get it.
Alaska does love a good shoe and she's been known to wear other people's shoes around the house and to pull shoes out of boxes at stores to try them on. However, they have never before been consistently the same shoe. She was totally entranced by the pink glitter.
As I knelt there, watching her carefully put one shoe on, and then the other before continuing down the isle to the next box of pink sparkles I could either resist and walk out with no shoes since none of them were what I was looking for, or I could let the girl have what her heart desired. She's not always going to be brave enough to wear pink glittered shoes. Let the girl sparkle, I say. We got the shoes. And she'll be wearing them to the playground and I think that's ok.
Coping Strategy of Cleaning
Put the baby, the toddler?, to bed early tonight. Handsome Husband is out changing tires in the dark of the night after coming home for some warm taco soup. And me? I am at home, sitting on the couch with Kitty Kitty in my lap, surrounded by two-days worth of mess.
Yesterday was a 'dump-and-leave' kind of day and today was a, "I don't have time to clean up, nor entertain Alaska' kind of day. Which means she entertained herself by emptying the dishwasher, pulling out fabric scraps, getting into my makeup bag and examining everything in it and then bringing it to me. I never understand. The house can be completely picked up and perfect, and then one day can make it look like I haven't cleaned in two weeks.
But I am here. Present. Listening to Jack Johnson.
Handsome Husband made the comment of how much damage Alaska can do to a clean room the other day. And you know what? It wasn't even that bad. It could be picked up in 10 minutes I think I have been forever scarred by having three younger brothers. Where a room could easily take a hour to pick up, much less vacuum and dust and organize. There was always a room somewhere that had a complete carpet of cars and trucks and plastic dinosaurs. And later, legos. Those legos. They never stayed in the room they were supposed to, either. I was always vacuuming up small pieces and would hear a chugga-chunk-click and they were sucked up. My heart stopping each time, willing the vacuum to keep working because I didn't have time to fish something out that couldn't be suctioned into the 'forever goneness' of the vaccum bag. My mom had to repeat often, "If it's big enough to see, it's big enough to pick up" But those legos. Sometimes I never even saw them, just heard their clattering death.
My most memorable cleaning experience, besides spending hours on my hands and knees tossing dinosaurs, legos, blocks, cars and trucks, action figures and stuffed animals into separate plastic baskets is cleaning my own room with my mom. Once. That's all it took for me to never let that happen again. Moms throw stuff away. Sometimes important things.
We were having company that summer and because my room was the biggest, I would be evicted and set up on the floor downstairs somewhere. Things weren't especially bad - except the one corner. There was a corner that the ceiling slanted sharply over, and it wasn't really big enough for anything. Except to shove everything. I mean everything. All of my school work that they send with you on the last day before summer vacation. The pencils and crayons and pencil shavings tumbling out of my pencil case. Clothes that I didn't feel like hanging up or shoving into drawers. Toys. Stuff. Paper. It was a wreck and took two days to clean out. And my mom was there for all of it with a big, black garbage bag. It was bad enough that I never shoved stuff in that corner again.
I think I have just always been a cleaner and an organizer. When I was little I remember how much I loved to clean the bathroom with a wet wash cloth and a bar of soap. That was pure joy to me. Plus I got to play in the water. And organizing the junk drawer was a favorite of mine. I loved cleaning windows. Cleaning and I have gotten along for quite a many years. Don't get me wrong, though, those hours spent picking up boy toys were not my own doing. That was Saturday chores. And in highschool I was too busy and resented any mess that I had to clean up that wasn't my own. Which is why my main chore became the bathroom and vacuuming the stairs and upstairs hall. I didn't think it fair that I should have to pick up after the boys or do any other house chores because I was hardly home, and when I was, I was in my bedroom, the bathroom, or eating dinner. I used the bathroom the most, so I was ok cleaning that. And I did have to walk upstairs and down the hall to get to my room, so that was a decent chore as well. Anything else met a, "But I didn't make it!" when asked to clean something.
I quickly learned that the best gift to give a mother is a clean house and it was often that my mom would leave for a few hours and come back to a clean kitchen. Sometimes if she were to be gone all day and I was babysitting the boys I could convince them to help out and clean up the living room before they put on a movie or played a video game while I did everything else.
Some people eat or exercise when they feel themselves spin out of control. I clean. My self-induced therapy. And on a hard day, you can count on me going through clothes, a closet, toys, anything. And the more I can donate to goodwill, the better I feel. Which means we don't have a lot of 'extras' laying around. If it doesn't get used, worn, played with, it's gone. I try really hard to keep my hands off of Steven's stuff, but I have been known to get rid of clothes and books without asking for fear that they stick around.
It's a better coping strategy than most, I'll give it that. But it's weird recognizing that in yourself and knowing that when the house is a little messy it means that you are happy and content with life as is. And realizing when the floors are spotless and all the dishes in the dishwasher that something is not lined up. Not always. But most of the time. And I never even knew it. I thought maybe I was always cleaning because our house is so "cozy" small. But after writing all this out, I do believe it is because it is something that I can control when there are so many other factors that I feel like I cannot.
While I sit here, surrounded by a mess that is telling of two busy, productive days, I count my blessings for the messes that I am able to let go. At least for today.
Yesterday was a 'dump-and-leave' kind of day and today was a, "I don't have time to clean up, nor entertain Alaska' kind of day. Which means she entertained herself by emptying the dishwasher, pulling out fabric scraps, getting into my makeup bag and examining everything in it and then bringing it to me. I never understand. The house can be completely picked up and perfect, and then one day can make it look like I haven't cleaned in two weeks.
But I am here. Present. Listening to Jack Johnson.
Handsome Husband made the comment of how much damage Alaska can do to a clean room the other day. And you know what? It wasn't even that bad. It could be picked up in 10 minutes I think I have been forever scarred by having three younger brothers. Where a room could easily take a hour to pick up, much less vacuum and dust and organize. There was always a room somewhere that had a complete carpet of cars and trucks and plastic dinosaurs. And later, legos. Those legos. They never stayed in the room they were supposed to, either. I was always vacuuming up small pieces and would hear a chugga-chunk-click and they were sucked up. My heart stopping each time, willing the vacuum to keep working because I didn't have time to fish something out that couldn't be suctioned into the 'forever goneness' of the vaccum bag. My mom had to repeat often, "If it's big enough to see, it's big enough to pick up" But those legos. Sometimes I never even saw them, just heard their clattering death.
My most memorable cleaning experience, besides spending hours on my hands and knees tossing dinosaurs, legos, blocks, cars and trucks, action figures and stuffed animals into separate plastic baskets is cleaning my own room with my mom. Once. That's all it took for me to never let that happen again. Moms throw stuff away. Sometimes important things.
We were having company that summer and because my room was the biggest, I would be evicted and set up on the floor downstairs somewhere. Things weren't especially bad - except the one corner. There was a corner that the ceiling slanted sharply over, and it wasn't really big enough for anything. Except to shove everything. I mean everything. All of my school work that they send with you on the last day before summer vacation. The pencils and crayons and pencil shavings tumbling out of my pencil case. Clothes that I didn't feel like hanging up or shoving into drawers. Toys. Stuff. Paper. It was a wreck and took two days to clean out. And my mom was there for all of it with a big, black garbage bag. It was bad enough that I never shoved stuff in that corner again.
I think I have just always been a cleaner and an organizer. When I was little I remember how much I loved to clean the bathroom with a wet wash cloth and a bar of soap. That was pure joy to me. Plus I got to play in the water. And organizing the junk drawer was a favorite of mine. I loved cleaning windows. Cleaning and I have gotten along for quite a many years. Don't get me wrong, though, those hours spent picking up boy toys were not my own doing. That was Saturday chores. And in highschool I was too busy and resented any mess that I had to clean up that wasn't my own. Which is why my main chore became the bathroom and vacuuming the stairs and upstairs hall. I didn't think it fair that I should have to pick up after the boys or do any other house chores because I was hardly home, and when I was, I was in my bedroom, the bathroom, or eating dinner. I used the bathroom the most, so I was ok cleaning that. And I did have to walk upstairs and down the hall to get to my room, so that was a decent chore as well. Anything else met a, "But I didn't make it!" when asked to clean something.
I quickly learned that the best gift to give a mother is a clean house and it was often that my mom would leave for a few hours and come back to a clean kitchen. Sometimes if she were to be gone all day and I was babysitting the boys I could convince them to help out and clean up the living room before they put on a movie or played a video game while I did everything else.
Some people eat or exercise when they feel themselves spin out of control. I clean. My self-induced therapy. And on a hard day, you can count on me going through clothes, a closet, toys, anything. And the more I can donate to goodwill, the better I feel. Which means we don't have a lot of 'extras' laying around. If it doesn't get used, worn, played with, it's gone. I try really hard to keep my hands off of Steven's stuff, but I have been known to get rid of clothes and books without asking for fear that they stick around.
It's a better coping strategy than most, I'll give it that. But it's weird recognizing that in yourself and knowing that when the house is a little messy it means that you are happy and content with life as is. And realizing when the floors are spotless and all the dishes in the dishwasher that something is not lined up. Not always. But most of the time. And I never even knew it. I thought maybe I was always cleaning because our house is so "cozy" small. But after writing all this out, I do believe it is because it is something that I can control when there are so many other factors that I feel like I cannot.
While I sit here, surrounded by a mess that is telling of two busy, productive days, I count my blessings for the messes that I am able to let go. At least for today.
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