Sometimes I forget to spit out the seeds…

Posts tagged ‘about me’

Saturday Musings on my Porch

I woke up this morning, after eight hours of sleep, feeling like I’d just finished a full day of hard physical labor.  My energy level picked up, but not much.  I managed to get a load of dishes washed, help my little girls straighten their rooms, sort and file six months worth of paperwork, and turn dozens of frozen bread ends into bread crumbs.  The last was an effort to make room in my freezer while we were trying to determine if our full-sized freezer had died.  Turns out it had just been left open, and we didn’t lose any of the contents.  Praise God for mundane victories, right?

I paused between projects to get a bit of fresh air.  I moved to our huge screened-in porch, which is one of the focal points of our new home.  New, still, in my mind, sixteen months after moving in.  I’m sitting in a wicker chair I inherited when my grandma moved from her large home in the woods of western Massachusetts, to a tiny apartment here in upstate New York. Outside, I can see the bright blue sky, visible through the greenery of a tall, sprawling tree next to the driveway.  The wind whips through the branches, and also makes the loose sheets of plastic that covered the porch screens for the winter flap around wildly, with a sound that is actually quite lovely and peaceful.

Gazing across our driveway to the side yard, I glimpse a sea of green grass with an abundance of yellow dandelions. I never can understand why people spray chemicals to kill those lovely flowers.  Our “neighbors,” row after row of headstones, decorated with flags and flowers, receive many visitors today.

Looking down the expanse of the porch, I see towels and bathing suits, hanging on hooks and draped over benches; evidence of a pre-lunch swim in the creek.  A path of small mismatched rugs extends from where I am to the door, covering the tile that isn’t really meant for outdoor conditions, and gets dangerously slippery when wet.  The stacked up bins of shoes and boots sit near the door.  A crate we found in the barn attic, filled with century-old encyclopedias, acts as a table for the spigot-ed jar of bubbles and basket of sidewalk chalk.

The house paint is chipped, the ceiling fans are ugly, and the metal nameplate by the door bears the previous owners’ names.  (Why in the world haven’t we taken that down yet?)  The pieces of wicker furniture would look so much cuter if they were painted to match and had new cushions.  But despite these flaws – and perhaps even because of them, because I know there will never be an end to maintaining and improving this home – I am filled with thankfulness for what God has blessed us with.  The exhaustion that threatened to overtake me a few minutes ago has receded a bit, and I feel refreshed.  The refreshment is mostly mental and spiritual, and my body is still weary.  But it’s enough to get me through the day.

Confessions

I recently realized that a blog site I have been reading also has a “confessional” section.  Anyone can post their “confessions” anonymously as a way to vent.  Others can offer their support with “like,” “hug,” or “me too!”  I can see the value in that….for commiserating about the hard parts of life.  For getting things off our chest.  It’s also a pretty dark place, with people telling secrets that are heart-wrenching, or scary, or even dangerous.  And there’s no way to reach out to those people, due to the anonymity.  More on that another day…..

Today, I thought I’d share some of my own “confessions.”  Nothing serious, or heavy….just for the fun of it.

My bathroom floor is absolutely filthy.  My kids rotate bathroom duty, so the essentials (toilet, sink, garbage, etc.) are taken care of.  I always intend to get in there and tackle the floor….but I don’t.  Between the painted tiles that everything sticks to, necessitating a scrub-by-hand-on-your-knees approach, and the claw foot tub that is impossible to clean under, it’s the worst job in the house.

I fake-nursed in order to sit on the couch longer and not feel lazy.  When I had nurslings, and they fell asleep at the breast, I would often just pretend they were still eating so I could rest some more.  I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who used that tactic.

I like mayonnaise on my cooked spinach.  Just a little bit, mixed right in.  Creamy, vinegary…yum!  My husband thinks it’s very weird and gross, but I’m the only one in my family who eats cooked spinach, so whatevs.  All for me.

My kids are not allowed to say the “f” word.  No, not that one!  I mean, obviously that one, too.  But also the one for gas.  I hate that word.  It makes me gag.  Sometimes I really can’t believe that anyone says it.  If you say it, I might judge you a little bit.

Of all the changes in my body after having children, I mourn my feet the most.  Stretch marks, loose skin, and other unmentionable things, are permanent evidence that I’m a mother.  And I’m fine with that, really and truly.  But my feet.  They are more or less the same length, but the ligaments seem to be permanently relaxed, so they spread when I’m standing.  I can’t buy strappy sandals anymore, or cheap sneakers, because they usually don’t come in a wide width.  I didn’t know how much I loved cute shoes until I couldn’t wear them anymore.

I served my family leftovers for dinner four nights in a row.  I always plan my menu with a leftover night in mind.  But this week, my mother-in-law brought me a bounty of Easter dinner leftovers.  With the weekend leftovers already in my fridge, we were set for the week!  I added a couple of frozen pizzas one night to break up the monotony, although monotony wasn’t really a problem with the number of choices we had.  Last night I served it up on platters and called it a “smorgasbord”.  I call that a total win.

I made up a song about corn bags, and now I’m forced to sing it every night.  My mom made my kids each their own corn bag for Christmas.  The first time my little girls used them for bedtime, I sang an impromptu song as I delivered the warmed-up bags.  It’s to the tune of “We Got a Dollar” from The Little Rascals.  “I got a corn bag, I got a corn bag, I got a corn bag with zebra stripes (or princess crowns, or sock monkeys)!  I got a corn bag, a warm corn bag, a warm corn bag with zebra stripes!”  If my husband or older kids try to sing the song and deliver the corn bags, they protest loudly.  I’m stuck for life.

So what about you?  Leave your confessions in the comments!

I Carried a Watermelon?

I’ve been blogging in my head for years, pretty much since I stopped journalling after high school.  A couple of times, I tried to force myself to journal again, but I’m a mom….of eight kids….and we home school.  Hand writing is time consuming.  It didn’t stick.

I’m a writer at heart.  I remember writing stories as early as 2nd grade.  Throughout my childhood, I wrote stories, songs, and poems, and journalled obsessively.  In high school, I wrote a book report that was about twice as long as it was supposed to be.  Cutting that piece was torture.

So what held me back from starting a blog?  I was afraid people wouldn’t read it.  I procrastinated.  But mostly, I couldn’t come up with a name.  I researched “how to name your blog.”  One suggestion was for your blog name to clearly depict what your blog was about.  But I don’t want to be limited to a theme.  I plan to talk about God, marriage, parenting, home school, pregnancy, childbirth, friendships, health and nutrition, and whatever else I feel like talking about.

I want my blog name to be a reflection of me.  I started forming a list of quotes from my favorite movies.  “The Princess Bride” yielded some real gems…..”As you wish,” “No one to hear you scream,” and “Anybody want a peanut?”  Fun, yes.  Memorable.  But not blog-worthy.

Two more of my favorites, “Sweet Home Alabama,” and “While You Were Sleeping,” offered me nothing title-worthy.  (“And then there was leaning” just didn’t cut it.)

What brought me to “I Carried a Watermelon”?  Good question.  “Dirty Dancing” was a movie that I was, most certainly, not allowed to watch growing up.  It was, however, a staple at slumber parties for many years.  (Sorry, Mom!)  And it’s really a GREAT movie.  Amazing music, impressive dancing (no, not even including the dirty stuff), a great love story, Patrick Swayze in all his youthful glory, and Jennifer Grey, pre-nose job (which is how I prefer her).

“I Carried a Watermelon,” for those of you who don’t know, is what Jennifer’s character, Baby, says to Patrick’s character, Johnny, the first time they meet.  She’s come to a place where she’s not supposed to be, and he asks what she’s doing there. In awe of his hotness, she tells him that she carried a watermelon.  Then he walks away, and she can’t believe that she said such a stupid thing to this really hot guy.

What does that have to do with my blog?  Well, nothing.  But get this.  My tweenaged BFF had a nick name for me…..it was Watermelon.  And being pregnant, which I’ve done eight times, is kind of like CARRYING a watermelon.  Really.  And I like watermelon.  Ok, so not the most philosophical reasons for choosing a blog name, but I LIKE it.  It’s me.  It pinged my heart a bit.  So there it is.