it's everywhere

I looked around my house this morning.

There were annoyances in every room.

Hailey's laundry that I lovingly washed dried and folded was still not put away.
The boys room was a mess.
I almost tripped over a basketball on the stairs:

There was caravan of vehicles on almost every surface:

An empty sippie cup lay abandoned on the kitchen floor:

Breakfast sloppily consumed, but left for me to clean:

Books strewn around the library floor:

shoes laying in the middle of the playroom:

Breakfast toast on the library couch:

And a backpack plopped by the front door and left there all night long:

I started to get annoyed.
Kids: Professionals in the art of mess making.
Does it even cross their minds to pick up after themselves?

Then I stopped.
Took a deep breath.
Did some meditating. (not really, but wouldn't I be so much cooler if I had?)

And I realized.
I remembered.
All that mess means childhood is alive in my house.


And that is something I am grateful for.

That we might have joy

Tuesday it snowed where I am. Like, a bunch. Like, so much that I didn't want to go anywhere. So I didn't.
The house got cleaned.
The dished were washed.
Laundry got done. (not finished, done. I'm not a magician.)
There was a plan for dinner (so what if half of it came from a box?).
Porter was asleep.
Jonas and Hailey were at school.
And Caleb was quietly playing DS.
So I sat down to do some mending.


Serious.
With like, a needle and thread.

I sewed buttons back onto a few shirts
and I whipped up a little number for Hailey.

As I was sewing in my quiet little corner of the universe,
I realized I was oozing
domesticity.
And no, I don't think that's a word.
I felt like a pioneer.
Minus the gigantic skirts constantly posing a tripping threat.
Minus the sister wives.
Plus electricity and heat.
Plus a cell phone handy (you never know when you are going to get a text from a friend that promises to regale for me tales of psychotic in-laws.)
Plus my ipod quietly shuffling through my library of songs.
And then it hit me.
I feel so at home with my place in life right now.
Peace.
Glad to be a mom. A wife. A homemaker.
Is life perfect?
Uhhhh, no.
Do I have to make sacrifices to live the way I do?
Uhhhh, ya.
Would I like to change some things?
Yes, please.
But when you add up all the good, it's hard to make molehills into mountains.
Then I realized maybe that is what all those trail blazing, long suffering pioneer women must have worked so hard to feel. That is what they walked all their miles for. What they buried their children and their husbands for.
Peace.
Amazing what enlightenment you can receive from a little needle and thread.

And no, that pile of ironing was never even touched.
And I reserve the right to further complain about my life at any given moment on this blog.

P.S. I have gone back and forth on whether or not to post this post, worried that people will misunderstand the meaning. So, to clarify, I am not suggesting my way of life equals your peace. Instead, I am suggesting that peace can be found in your life if you are seeking it. So don't start that hate mail! I decided to post this mainly because I want my kids to know, when they are grown and I am gone and have nothing of me but these words to read, that being their mom and being their dad's wife made me happy, gave me peace, and filled my life with joy.


So here's to hoping you feel the same about your fabulous lives!

Blue skies are here again

They are.
It has been a long few weeks full of work and absentee husbands, car troubles, floods (in our own house and in others as well), appointments, assessments,preparations, and shopping with four children. Let me say that one again: shopping with four children... but we survived.

And Saturday was our day to celebrate.
We celebrated a successful summer.
Days filled with field trips, water fun, trips to the library, friends, and yummy summer food.
We celebrated a dad home for the whole day. Or afternoon at least.
There was sight seeing, talking at accelerated paces, hugging, tickling, joking and general merriment. (yes, during celebration you may use words that have been retired from regular use in the English vocabulary).
We celebrated the end of our "courage" theme and talked about how everyone rose to the challenges in their lives.
We gave Hailey props for kicking every one's behind in the courage department this year, thanks to diabetes!
We celebrated the beginning of another school year by having our annual back to school feast.
The fancy glasses were taken down from the top shelf. The steak was cooked to medium rare perfection and the corn on the cob was as tasty as ever.
We celebrated the beginning of our new theme:



Focus.
We talked about what everyone can choose to focus on. We made goals. Oh, how I love goals.
We celebrated going back to school [insert hallelujah chorus singing praises here].
We had a back to school fashion show, that ended much like one a few years back. Then we settled down for father's blessings.

And then we, the 30 something parents, promptly crashed with fatigue from all that celebration.


There is a reason celebration doesn't happen every day.