Scrub Days.

Some days, all my best laid plans and ideas for the day just. aren't. working. Getting little minds and hands corralled into any activity is like trying to herd drunken cats. Or juggle them. It's difficult.

I used to end these days crying after everyone was asleep, in my favorite "comfort" pajamas over a carton of vanilla greek yogurt, asking my cat questions like: "Why is this so hard? Why can't I get them to follow this awesome plan? Am I failing all my kids completely? Why do I SUCK?! Do you even care?"

Then, on one of Those Days, I noticed something. I'd stuck everyone in the car and released them into a big park with a field, in effort to not yell at anyone harshly out of frustration. (Don't pretend now. We all do that sometimes. ;oP ) They meandered into a giant pavilion with a sandpit and so immersed their minds in play and their toes in sand that they stayed there happily for 3 full hours. It struck me that this is probably what they needed all along.

So now, when a day's just not working, I scrub all plans. Done. There's now nothing on the docket, except sitting and waiting for the day to tell us what needs to happen for us all to find our balance again. The answer always presents itself, eventually, and it's usually the youngest of us that discovers the truth first. (More often than not, if you let the youngest member of the family set the barometer for the day, things are bound to be more successful all around, in my experience, which sort of flies in the face of conventional wisdom I suppose.)

Sometimes, the solution is a day doing nothing but reading in bed together. Sometimes, we have an impromptu trip to the park. Often, it's building elaborate tents and tunnels with quilts and chairs and tables, and pretending until people fall asleep under a hideout or indoor makeshift hammock. Another favorite go-to is gross motor movement activities like tree climbing or building dams in streams with rocks or scaling giant wood chip mounds. Almost invariably, sour moods are put right again, tempers stop flaring and the pointless urgency of the atmosphere drains lazily out of the day like water out of a long, luxurious bath.

Grace and Lark's bear cave

Sometimes, we simply toss pillows in the floor and watch movies together while eating popcorn (everyone gets their OWN bowl.) If we need to run out and grab snacks just to get through that day, so be it. (And who says anyone needs matching shoes anyway? There are days for nice outfits and matching shoes, and then there are days to celebrate the hilarity of being a little ridiculous!)

Most importantly, there's no pushing through or powering ahead when everyone's got a bad case of "the stupids" (you know, the days when every instruction is met with a blank stare), or the grumpies, or when the whole family is just restless in general. There's only stopping and trying to find our bliss on Scrub days. And that's OK.

It's OK because Scrub Days are about finding something our routine made us leave behind. Relationship. Connection. Alone time. Fantasy. Imagination. Our inner monkey. When we give ourselves time to honor the part inside us that's screaming for air and sustenance, so that we can become balanced people again. Then we can move forward and think about words like "accomplishment" and "rhythm" and "planning".

 All work and no play makes Jane a dull/grouchy/spaced out/whiny/incomplete girl. So instead pecking away at the impossible, we relax and let our Muses carry us effortlessly to where we needed to go in the first place. Does it look indulgent and lazy to others? Sure. Who cares! We know it's wise. We know it works. And that's really all that matters.

Getting lost in wonderland.

Rainbow feet.

I've sat down five times to complete this post, but, because I"m a mother of small children, it's just not happening.

This week was a very long week, emotionally, for reasons that have nothing to do with my kids or Barefoot Man. However, being a parent doesn't stop, not even for the heartbroken. There were still dirty bums, still quarrels to sort out, still meals to cook, still a hot car to climb into, still groceries to haul, still piles and piles of laundry to process and still things to teach and learn.

And because this weekend was "catch up" weekend, while Barefoot Man took the older two fishing, the littles and I stayed at home. They napped and watched an endless loop of Dora the freaking Explorer while I worked my ass off. And all I want out of life is an hour to myself in silence.

Lark is currently trying to cheer me up by singing a love song AT me at the top of her lungs. Electra is jabbering away "mamamama" at me while she digs her little pointy toenails into my already raw thighs. Grace cried about me not loving her while I hugged and rocked and cajoled and slathered sweet words on her like icing on a grumpy cupcake until she passed out from the long day (mercifully). Mirth is practicing the 7.5 year old ritual of informing me about facts I just recently taught her as if educating me (this is her way of double checking information, and a bit of a nasty habit ;oP )

I. am. spent.

I've nothing clever to say.

I do, however, have a lovely picture that was the brain child of both Barefoot and I...the footprints were his idea, and the rainbow colors was mine. :O) It's brightening our back doorstep splendidly. We used basic acrylic paint (such as Plaid brand), and will seal them over with a clear outdoor patio sealer. Fun! :)

Mischief Managed.

Dear Essie, Nomi and Eva,

When your mama was little, I had a lively mind, and a stubborn streak a mile wide (not a bad thing, if you ask me). When your daddy was a small fry, he was lively with a propensity for getting into honest mischief when he was bored. So, chances are, if you have as many babies as you say you want to have, you might have at least one offspring who has a wildly active mind or body.

These are the two year olds who empty not one,

but ALL of the flour

and dried bean cannisters from the pantry while their mommy lays their baby sister down for a nap. These little sprites attempt to get their own cereal and milk at 2.5, climb to the top of the bookshelf at 3, leave the house through the window screen to pick mommy some flowers at 3.5, give all their stuffed animals a

shampoo early in the morning very quietly "so they don't bother your sleep" at 4, and try their hand at making waffles from scratch and doctoring the "diseased" cat with medical tape at 4.5. (And the same children who chase down that very cat and wrestle it to the ground to save an unfortunate mole from certain death!)

Least you think my opinion of lively children is low, let me set the record straight right now,

loves: I'm rather fond of them. In fact, I think they're brilliant in every way. I admire their creativity and drive to accomplish new things, appreciate the fact that they aren't dampened by the arbitrary rules that society deems necessary to set. The soft spot in my heart for lively people is permanent and dear to me.

Teaching respect of others can be a challenge, so, I'll let you in on a secret I've discovered: lively children tend to recognize and honor the boundaries of others more when their own needs are

met. That sounds like a great deal of gobbledygook , doesn't it? What it means, boiled down, is- you may threaten and take and woun

d and restrict as much as you like, but this will likely only serve to frustrate your lively

child. Mommy knows, unfortunately, because I've tried all those things. It was actually Essie, one day, that looked at me and said, "Doing that will only make me madder. I can't help it. I need something to DO!!"

And that's the key, darlings. An active mind literally and simply cannot stop being as active as it is. So, my job as a mommy became not keeping you out of mischief, but giving you plenty of safe exploring and adventure to sink your little teeth into. It dawned on me slowly that I didn't want to slowly box you into something more manageable. I wanted to show you how to be the best and safest spectacular you that you could possibly be without blowing yourself and others up.

Ever notice how all the interesting book characters (the ones who have the best adventures) tend to be a bit different or "mischievous"? Most of them are also the people who have the quick wits and bravery to rise to the occasion when something truly terrifying or challenging presents itself. Never let another person shame you out of playing the role that was written for you; if you're full of spirit, it's for a reason!

It's been hard work keeping you busy. But then, so would have been following you around and bullying and coaxing and begging and insisting that you be still and docile, something completely against your (God-given) nature. So, we dance. We jump, we climb, we take things apart, we cook, we put things back together, we jest, we roll, we sing at the top of our lungs, we read about squirrel anatomy after we find a dead one in the yard, we make approved messes.

I sit cringing sometimes on the sidelines while you crack eggs and get some on the counter, while you hammer away at nails in a board, you dexterously walk narrow rails, while you bury yourself in the dirt in the garden, you teach me phrases of your own invented language and while you construct your very own dutch-hair-fro through copious amount of back-combing (and then proudly wait by the door to go grocery shopping in your new 'do).

And, frankly, loves? Despite the fact that I fall into bed completely and utterly exhausted every night, I wouldn't want to change a thing. I used to hope you got a "more" child in your adult years, as a means of personal retribution. Now, I pray you get the privilege someday, because it's an intensely beautiful and humbling experience to see a being that intense burn so brightly every morning.

I love you.

You'll forgive if this post is disjointed, won't you?

I'm not yet fully awake. I seriously need to consider starting a coffee habit, it seems. A shame, too, having made it 26 years without one. I'm currently eating a piece of quiche. (A friend brought us some after Eva's birth, and I haven't been able to kick the habit since. That, and homemade tomato soup.) Maybe I'll start a morning cup of quiche tradition, seeing that I detest coffee and all.






Eva had her first ped appointment this week- my attempt to sort of get her on the grid, for "just in case" reasons. ;OP

She's 24.4 inches long and 14lbs 2oz! Gooooooooo breastmilk. ;OP Comically enough, I'm down 14lbs since my initial baby/fluid/extra blood volume loss at her birth. We'd better not keep up this pound for pound thing long, though, or I'll be lugging around a 50 lb 1yo in 10 months, lol.

This morning, Eva and Noni were snuggling together on Noni's mattress beside our bed, and naturally, I had to snap a few pics. ::mush:: Noni has decided not to "give Evie to pirates who will chew off her arms" or "put her on a floating iceberg"...now she's simply toned the maledictory statements down to adding the following verse to The Wheels on the Bus: "the Evie on the bus goes far away, far away, far away..." I'll take the improvement. I'm also impressed by the clever play on words. (She might gotten have my dark sense of humor...poor kiddo.) She now loves her baby sister, and all accounts of pirates stealing her are ended with Super-Nomi saving Eva and bringing her back.

We are a family of dreamers...apparently, my girls inherited my ability to remember a great deal of what they dream. Recently, Essie dreamed about our friend Brian standing at our front door, eating a hotdog. It's become quite popular; now every morning, both girls have to repeat the hotdog dream during the morning dream-report session. So, our morning so far has gone something like: wake up with five people piled into my bed, our youngest giggling, our eldest air-trumpeting revelry in our ears, and our 2yo cheerfully recounting the hotdog dream. My husband groaning, pillow over head. Good times.

I suspect I've become a lawn widow. Nate now must spend considerable time mowing. I hear bigger yards do that. If you see my husband, tell him I have quiche for him. The in-a-cup part is optional.

Esther's starting to become concerned with honesty and being trustworthy, and, of course, this makes me smile. This morning, I stumbled into the living room (in search of aforementioned camera), and noticed her playing CandyLand with herself. "Mom, look! I got all the way to Candy Castle! I won!!" (wait for it......) "**sly grin** I may have cheated a little." (snicker)


Now. If you'll forgive me, I'm fairly certain I've just been pooped on.

Missing the Boat

One of the biggest pitfalls of being a researcher and "activist" seems (to me) to be getting so caught up in the excitement of learning all one can about a subject, and never realizing the knowledge in real life. My own life is no exception. I'll admit, to my chagrin, that I adore theorizing and discussing and grappling with a beloved idea to the nth degree while completely ignoring it's application in my own life.

I'll believe a concept in theory, I'll even be wildly passionate about it, but because of my personality type (INFJ), I tend to dwell in my head a lot. The knowledge and wisdom and passion I have for a subject sometimes never translates well to my actual life. It's an embarrassing Achilles heel to have, especially for someone who enjoys knowing a concept inside out. Similar to the "the cobbler's children have no shoes" phenomenon. I loathe it about myself, and try my hardest to stomp it out whenever I recognize it, but I've come to realize that personality weaknesses are generally lifelong chores that need constant attention. I'll always have to question myself: how are my ideals lining up with my life?

Just one example: trying to live gracefully towards my husband and children, and not cultivating adversarial relationships within my family. I can talk about it ALL day long, know why it's imperative, even brainstorm practical ideas and applications, but, at the end of the day, if I'm approaching my family in a way that says, "You'd better do what I say, or else!", I've completely dropped the ball and missed the point of all my "study". Until I can lay down my scholar cap and take up the towel of a servant leader, all those wonderful thoughts are rubbish.

Sometimes, it's painful to step back and view yourself realistically with the measure you treasure and find yourself woefully short of the mark. It's so easy to have a good handle on the letter of the law, and totally miss it's heart in your own life.

So, the pruning begins. Sometimes it means the painful removal of things that aren't "evil" at all, per se, but rather things that distract and clutter my life and keep me from having room to put my own feet to the fire. It's tricky for a theory loving introvert to hop out of her own head and allow the grace that her head loves to permeate and saturate her life in every way. It sweeps me out of my element, and off my feet. It forces vulnerability and failure and humility that I'd rather shy away from. The journey from book wisdom to heart wisdom is dangerous and breathtakingly exhausting. It invites opportunity to be exposed, to laugh with those around me, and to dispel my safe belief that knowledge alone fortifies and sustains.

And that's a very beautiful thing.