Sister/Mouse Help

I know this will shock no one, but my house is dirty. All of it.
This morning I felt like I was on the verge of a Housekeeping-Mothering-Christian Living Crisis.  I don't believe a clean house is a measure of one's Spirituality, but - for me - being surrounded by clutter and chaos is unnerving. It is hard to be a nice mother when my house is dirty. Being a nice mother is sort of a hallmark of following Jesus, isn't it?  I mean, if you are a mother. Non-mothers should be nice in their life calling, I guess.
Anyway. Verge of crisis.
I called my sister Amy to see if she could help me infuse my situation with humor and defuse my ever-shrinking temper.
She listened.
She sympathized.
She posted this video on my Facebook page.

I handed my phone to GBaby so she could watch it while I fixed her lunch.

Her siblings (well, the three that weren't laying on the couch all sick) crowded around her.

And I promptly stopped fixing lunch and grabbed my camera.

Because they are so cute. People that cute don't really need to eat, right?

I love her little hands. They may be almost two years old, but they're still baby hands to me.

This video clip was just what I needed. It felt so nice to have my sister acknowledge my good heart and over-worked status as family drudge.
I am obviously Cinderella.
I even have mice in my house.
Maybe if I started leaving little suits of clothing for them instead of traps they would be my friends.
Then they could sew pretty dresses in the attic while I'm busy fetching food for and cleaning up after my family.
I'd rather have them run the vacuum, but that might be more than their little mouse arms can handle.
Also, I wonder if they can be trained to sing in deeper voices.  I don't know if I can take much more squeakiness.

Complaints Rehashed

On this ridiculously early morning, perspective matters.  I may have to shake my sleepy head a few times to get the thoughts to be more pattern and less confetti, but I'm trying to spin positively, if I must spin at all.

 

Dear GBaby,

Thanks for the quality time spent clinging to me and communicating through grunts, cries and pointing. Maybe next time we could start this at, I don't know, 6:00 a.m. instead of 4:00 a.m.? Perhaps I'm being too picky, since you are finally asleep and I did get to play a little Tetris when I'd usually just be wasting time with my eyes shut.

Breakfast in a few hours!

Love,

Mommy (or Am, as you pronounce it)

 

Shoot.

I think I almost lost the outlook I wanted to keep in this situation.

Oh yes, here it is.

 

Dear God,

Thank you for inventing coffee and for not making rules about how many cups a day I can consume.

Love,

Me

 

If I re-examine the recently irritating parts of my life, I'm sure I would find a better way of looking at these situations.

 

Dear Garden,

Could you just take a break for just a bit on the vegetable production?  I'm a little tired of washing, cutting, freezing, canning. I have other things to do.

Love,

The Gardener's Wife

 

This one is pretty easy.

 

Dear God,

Thanks for the food. I really like to eat and it is so nice to have nutritious food to give my family.  And thanks for the abundance so that we can expect to eat from our garden this winter.

Love,

Me

 

It's actually embarrassing to admit to irritation over surplus. Pretend with me that I wasn't irritated.

 

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Did you really have to move so far away? We are, you know, part of a family.  I love you and miss you and... I mean, I may have to plead a kidney from one of you someday.  Except that no one else in the world understands coffee love/addiction like we do, so I guess I'll just hope that all of our kidneys make it.  Anyway, I know that our close-knit family of ten has morphed into a squalling mass of people that don't fit into one living room and we're all used to different households and standards of "clean and orderly," but don't we love each other still? Don't we have enough love to overcome the differences and the distances between us?

Love,

Sobbing Sister

 

This one is a little harder to turn around. I miss my family. A buncha lot.

 

Dear God,

Thank you for providing for all my brothers and sisters, even if that provision isn't close to me. Thank you that they are healthy and happy.  Thank you for letting me love them enough to miss them.  And thanks for creating telephones and the internets and Kleenex.

Love,
Me.

 

Ok. Now I'm crying a little bit. But it is ok because the makeup that's washing off is from yesterday.  Can we count tears as part of a facial cleansing routine?

 

Dear {Guilty} Housework Conscience,

That dream about mice crawling all over the kitchen and my mother calling to remind me to do a load of laundry once in a while was a little bit over the top, even for you.  Could we please just readjust to the season of life we're in now? You know, that season with lots of children too small to be big help around the house and too big to make small messes?  Because I've also got that lack of sleep thing going on.

Love, Sincerely,

The Homemaker

 

I find this irritation a little bit humorous, although maybe I should find it a bit disturbing.

 

Dear God,

Thank you for making cats that live on the back porch and guard my house.  And also, thank you that my mother doesn't keep track of when I do laundry.  And incidentally, thanks for the modern conveniences (like dishwashers, indoor plumbing and washing machines) that leave me enough time in the day to teach my kids their math facts.

Love,
Me

 

I have to go attend to those modern conveniences now, but I think I can see a trend in this silly little exercise.  The irritations (and even the sibling melancholy) are not going away, and they may be joined by new annoyances.  Addressing my thoughts to the unhappy situation will not get me anywhere but in the mulligrubs.  However, if I rearrange my thinking toward my Creator, I find reasons to be thankful amidst the exasperating state of affairs.  I think God can handle my complaining. He's big enough.

Quick Selections

I'm supposed to be taking a nap with my Willa Beans right now.  Shhh... she already fell asleep before I got there, so I'm sneaking these few moments to myself while my older kids have 18 minutes of "quiet time" left.

Seeing as I'm trying to conserve my mental energy in this heat, I really do not have much to say.  Which means of course, that I will ramble on unedited for a while.  And then I will stretch my arms above my head and wonder why I didn't snatch at the opportunity for 18 minutes of sleep when I had the excuse.  Then I will spell-check and goof around on the internets reading about Brad Pitt's mother and her Republican leanings.  Yup. I love quiet time.

This has not been a very productive week around the Ruffer Homestead.  Bummer that.  My housework has pretty much peaked out at laundry and dishes.  But really, what else is there? With the kids camping out in the living room each night, there's not a lot of sense in running the vacuum.  Or maybe there's more sense in it, but I've never been accused of having too much sense.

Ok. Enough about my under-achieverness.  That topic bores me.

GBaby is obviously a little bored too.

We're going all rural around here and using the clothesline exclusively.  Yes, the underwear and towels are scratchy.  No, I don't prefer them that way. Yes, the house is much cooler without the clothes drier running. No, I will not hang my household's underwear and socks on the side facing the road.  Or the side facing the fields, because Mr. S. and Mr. S. Jr., who own the fields surrounding our yard are out there practically every day. So our unmentionables are safely hidden in the center lines.

I took my children to Sauder Village yesterday. We had one hour to visit before we had to hurry home, slap some sandwiches together and get the boys to piano lessons.  The real reason we went was because I, the Mom, (and thus the Boss of my Children) wanted to pick up some nice fabric at the quilt shop.  In an effort to minimize whining and maximize cooperation among my children, I struck a deal with them: 25 minutes for mom in the quilt shop and the remainder of the time for them to see one attraction.  It seemed like a good plan.  While I made my selections as quickly as I could, they poured over the map.  When I came out, they told me that they'd all agreed on what they wanted to see:

Arguing over checking out the Sauder Village Map.

With purposed steps they led me away from the quilt shop...

...Straight to this!

Of course.
Clever children.  They know how to work all of my systems. 

GBaby, a little less bored without the stroller.

Since the ice cream took care of our pre-lunch appetites, we had extra minutes to see some animals.

Some animals are pretty ugly.

Time is more than up...

Goal Setting for the Y&C Mother

There are some projects - big and small - in the works around this house that are prompting me to reach beyond my Natural Organizational Skills. 
I hope you understand that word "Natural" means "Minimal."  I shouldn't have to explain this one to you folks; I am a mother of five children, still desperately clinging to the words "young" and "creative," (if even only mildly "young" and "creative.")  As demonstrated by my children, a young person is not excessively responsible or organized.  In the same way, common practice demands that creative types are not expected to be tidy or organized.
Even though I don't have to explain, because all my readers (shout out to my Mom & Dad!) are very smart people, I will sum up this equation for you:

Let us keep in mind, (no matter how clever my current obsession with colorful signage) I am only mildly young & creative.  There are days that I distinctly feel the youth and creativity seeping out of me, leaving my aging and unimaginative nerves irritated by the Messy Normal.  Even on the days that I am full to nearly bursting with energetic innovation, I struggle to stay atop the muddle.  It seems that these Projects of Various Sizes (PVS) are pushing my surroundings to Abnormal Messy.  So, I'm trying to become more organized than my {mildly young and creative} natural self. 

I've decided to start small on this neatness effort.  Let's say about the size of a dining room table instead of a whole dining room.

The dining room table at our house, center of household foot traffic, favorite spot for homework-folding laundry-paying bills-coloring-and-stashing-debris, is always often buried under a pile of things not related to dining.  My first {small} step in reaching beyond my Natural Organizational Skills?  Setting the table.  Or rather, setting the goal that each night, before I go to bed, the dining room table will be empty of everything except the tired looking winter centerpiece.  I made this goal on Saturday night, and immediately decided to postpone implementation until the following night.  Sunday nights I am usually trying to make up for all the laziness relaxation I didn't get to enjoy throughout the previous hours of the weekend.  Yes, on the first day of my first small step, I failed. 

I guess I was feeling more Young and Creative (and thus not responsible, tidy, or organized) that night.

Since then, I've met my goal.

Yup.  One whole night I went to bed with a clean table, even though Monday was pretty full of Y&C Motherhood. (Look for more on that, later.)

The rest of my house will eventually catch up.

Probably when the children are grown or I am full-time Old and Boring. 

Me Time

I've been complaining lately - as my husband can testify - that I don't really get to spend much time on my own trivial pursuits.  Mom Life is incredibly rewarding, but emotionally taxing.  When I'm done with the end of each day's laundry, cooking, dishes, toy-picking-up and toilet scrubbing, I don't usually have energy to tackle the fun projects.  Yesterday I decided that the dishes, toys and toilets would all stick around until tomorrow.  I lugged my mother's sewing machine out of the flooded basement and stitched out a few items on my "Christmas Sewing List."  I did accomplish something, but my surroundings degenerated into sloven.  Is "sloven" a word? 
Hang on.
I have to look that up.
sloven [ˈslʌvən]

n
a person who is habitually negligent in appearance, hygiene, or work
[probably related to Flemish sloef dirty, Dutch slof negligent]

OK.
So my house, as many years as it has been around, has not achieved person status.  Thus, my surroundings (i.e., the rooms of my home) could not have become a sloven.  They did suffer my negligence in their appearance.  Still, I do like using words that are related to Flemish & Dutch.  I haven't had any Flemish relatives before.

I'm off subject again, aren't I?

Anyway.  Time for my own pursuits.  I've got to type quickly, as the taco meat is going to burn (it is Thursday, people!)

Good News: I am going to have a little "Me Time" today.  Several hours of it! And it's going to cost lots of money!  Woo-hoo!

Bad News: Today's "Me Time" is brought to us by the dentist. Yuckity-yuck.  I have some emotional baggage from my dental past.  Maybe this is due to being a sloven.

Not a Real Blog Mommy

I feel as though each time I actually do click "PUBLISH POST" I must re-introduce myself since such great amounts of time lapse between entries. [Hi, My name is Honour, I have a lot of kids in a big house. My kids say funny things and entertain us endlessly. My house is old and a constant source of work.]

What keeps me from writing? There is no shortage of inspiration around here. There's this cute little Lover of Standing...

Can you see the delight on her face? Doesn't it make you want to go find an ottoman and hold on to it? I had no idea furniture-assisted standing was such a wonderful thing. Imagine what she'll think when she can be up without help! And how about that helpful boy in the background? I have no idea what I would do without him around. He makes me smile.

We've also had a slew of Birthdayness going on lately.

Someone is always celebrating around here. More cupcakes coming later this month.

We also have been watching a LOT of this:

I'm sure that my esteemed readers (thanks, Mom & Dad) will recognize this activity. All three of my oldest children have chosen to play parks & rec sports this season. So four afternoons out of the week find us watching soccer, soccer and flag football. I'm ready for it to end. Very ready.

So I'm not lacking inspiration, just time. What is it that takes up most of my time?

Life.
Messy.
Silly.
Sometimes Irritating.
Always with lots of Laundry.

Let's walk through this picture, the one that "Real Blog Mommys" never show.

Upper left hand corner: a Fall Dress I made for G.Baby. I am so proud of this dress, since I got all creative-and-adaptive with it, only loosely following a pattern and adding touches of my own. Full of vanity, I love every compliment that she receives while wearing it. If I were a Real Blog Mommy, I would have already posted a charmingly upbeat tutorial with lovely pictures of each vintage button (really vintage - rescued from the trash!) and a link to my etsy shop where you can purchase one for your own darling infant!
Is anyone picking up on my little burst of jealousy here?
Moving on.

Middle background, behind Baby's head: a Stack of games for the "Family Game Night" we never had. [Sorry kids.] A Real Blog Mommy would have not only held "Family Game Night," she would have coordinated clever snacks and had a meaningful lesson to go with each game. And invited the neighbors.
And taken great pictures.
And posted about it the next day.
Let's keep going.
Center of picture: Four baskets of laundry, in various stages of folding. Real Blog Mommys do not mention laundry. Their children are clothed at all times in adorable, hand-crafted togs that never become soiled.

Foreground: Playdough. Not homemade (as a Real Blog Mommy would have) but a true obsession of the green-dressed beauty. We take playdough to soccer games. To the grocery store (it stays inside the diaper bag there). To Grammy's house. She loves playdough. I hate it; it is messy and the colors are always mixing themselves up.

Foreground: The Boxcar Children. One of my favorite bits of children's literature. A Real Blog Mommy reads to her children nightly. I am just thrilled that my children are independant readers so they can fulfill their reading requirements for school with minimal involvement on my part. I just approve their books, initial their charts and smile... And then scramble at the end of each month because I remember that my kindergarten student isn't actually reading yet (although she interprets the pictures wonderfully and provides much more interesting dialogue than the authors provide) and we have to read 30 books before bedtime so that she can get her reward from her teacher tomorrow.

Center: Much-cuddled (if diaper-neglected just the teeniest bit) Baby. Caring for my children and trying to make our home a clean, loving environment for growing those children up takes up the majority of my time. I do not have a "real" job and I have absolutely no idea how "working mothers" actually hold their lives together. I seem to struggle just to find my way out of a grungy t-shirt. Our home is constantly messy and always enduring one improvement or another. We know from pictures that Real Blog Mommys have lovely homes, white teeth, well-behaved children and sew, cook, homeschool, publish books, run an etsy business, volunteer, and photograph their every perfect moment.

I suspect that they also have maids and nannys hidden outside the edges of each photograph. This suspicion maintains my feeble grasp on sanity. That and the fact that I absolutely love my life, messy, silly, sometime irritating and full of laundry.

PS -- for those of you that are worried, G.Baby spends almost no time on top of the dining room table. She is the only part of this picture that was posed. W.Beans and the various props happened to be there already and I just plopped the baby in there and snapped a few pictures. I promise.

Been Busy Much?

Life has continued to move along since I last updated my little spread here. Anecdotes and witticisms worthy of sharing with the World Wide Web are constantly popping into my brain, but time is not free around here. I know, I know; you make time to do what you want to do. This is slightly true.
Only slightly.
Some of us are busy enough making time for what we must do right now (can or freeze the produce that is ready right now and will not be available next week) that what we would really like to do (sleep, read, write, socialize) is put on layaway.
Do stores do layaway anymore? Or does everyone just use credit cards?

So maybe later this week I will write.

Or maybe in the winter. When the garden is not bursting with tomatoes.

Playing {Mad} House

I must admit to swinging on the playground of emotions. Especially of late. Certain days of my life as Keeper of the Home are such fun that I feel as if I'm playing house. Other days I walk through laundry piles, tossed shoes, scattered books, smeared food and feel anxiety, exhaustion and anger overtake me. Of course, the house is usually clean (or clean in significant parts) on the good days.
So why are my emotions so closely tied to my home? This seems wrong. Shouldn't I be more even?

Happily, today is a clean-house day and we're having fun.

And then...

I took children with me to the grocery store.

Sitting Around, Not Doing

If the cupboards in my kitchen could see my invisible thoughts, they would slap their doors in raucous laughter. If cupboards could laugh, of course. Each morning this week, I purpose that This will be The Day that I sew Those Easter Dresses. If the cupboards can laugh, they probably can talk to the sofa as well. If the sofa is listening to the gossip through the house, it would shift its pillows in disgruntled agitation. "Sew? What about running the vacuum around here? How will she ever do anything if she never gets off my cushions?" Assuming a sofa can fuss, this one must also be bothered by the frequent diaper changes upon the upholstery. The house may be laughing at my neglect of duties and hobby, but A tiny head, soft with downy hair, just fits in the crook of my elbow, and it won't fit there for long. A small body, new to this world of light and sound, sleeps best when resting on my chest. A little mouth spends every waking moment rooting around for something to snack on. Yes, every waking moment. How do I take care of all that when sitting before a sewing machine or marching behind a vacuum? So I'm mostly just sitting around these days, justifying myself out of the chores and fabric. Ok, I don't sit that much, but it feels like I do.