Category: Getting Things Done

Testimonies to the daily grind of getting things done.

The Level Ground

It’s interesting to me how many areas of my life are intersecting during this season – one of the side effects of so much introspection, I suppose. I’ve been reading a book that Kristin recommended, Writing from the Inside Out, by Dennis Palumbo. As a former Hollywood screenwriter and current psychotherapist, Palumbo has a unique insight into the writer’s life, and I have found this book very useful on many fronts.

He talks a lot of going the distance with writing, of not being in it for the rewards, but rather, for the craft itself. In a section he titled, “Inspiration,” Palumbo paraphrased author George Leonard from his book, ‘Mastery’ –

Leonard contends that the peaks of achievement, whether in the arts, sports, or any area of endeavor, come from a love of the day-to-day practice of the thing. Because the truth is, in any consistent endeavor, you spend most of the time not on the peaks but on the level ground, where you rarely see any noticeable improvement. If you just live for, or get pleasure from, the peaks, you never grow. Love the craft, the practice of your art, and the peaks will come.

There are many monotonous aspects to being a stay at home mom. Many days my time consists of coloring, cartoons, time-outs, and poop – things that don’t exercise the brain, but definitely exhaust it. Sometimes – even though there are more bright moments to being a mom that I can count – it’s difficult to stay motivated under piles of laundry.

Three weeks ago I wrote about a new routine I was trying out, and so far it’s been going well. I think it’s the perfect ratio of tasks to white space, because I’ve had busy days where I’ve had to shuffle things around but I’ve still managed to get it all done by the end of the week. Busy days and projects are my biggest distractions to the mundane tasks because I’d rather re-organize a closet than wash that same damn pair of pants again.

When I read the above passage in Palumbo’s book, it resonated strongly with me concerning the day to day chores of my life as well as with my writing life. It is true that life is lived on the level ground. Sometimes we despair, and sometimes we soar, but we always come back to level. At least we hope.

Having my work defined has freed me to live more in the moment, to have fun, and to adjust for spontaneity (yes, Bryan, I can hear you laughing from the basement – you can say you told me so). It has even allowed me to find a little bit of joy and sense of accomplishment in the mundane. Having a vacuumed rug, a clean bedroom, and a pleasant smelling bathroom is very rewarding.

And it means that when Ruthie, who has turned into a chatterbox overnight, relays stories and memories of her trip to the children’s museum on a bus with Bryan (because she sees a bus driving in the lane next to us), I am amused and in awe of her memory and vocabulary and ability to communicate her thoughts and make connections. I don’t turn up the radio and ask her for quiet time, but I engage. Because I’m learning to embrace the level ground, I am discovering peaks in places I once dreaded.

And even now as I’m writing this essay, I recognize the significance of this passage in my Recovery – especially when it says that the level ground is ‘where you rarely see any noticeable improvement.’ It’s like spending every day with your children, not realizing how much they are growing because you have no perspective. Then one day their pants are too short, or you stumble across an old picture, and you suddenly see them differently, and you realize they are bigger.

Recovery is a lot like that. Just when I think I haven’t changed a bit and I will always live in a funk of bitterness and anger, I read an old post or some notes in my recovery journal or a friend reminds me of how things used to be, and I suddenly have perspective. I see that I have changed.

The level ground is where it’s at, people. I’m convinced of it. The sturdier the ground you’re standing on, the stronger the rush when life peaks.

God Bless Step Five

Last week I turned a corner; I flipped a bit; did a one-eighty – whatever your preferred analogy is for experiencing a rude awakening. I continue to feel the peace of God in the midst of total awareness of my depravity. Rather than feeling overwhelmed and depressed by the guilt of my sin, I am feeling motivated by the conviction of my sin.

God bless step five.

In an unexpected way, God has given me a super duper dose of empathy for my children. He has shown me clearly how small my words can make them feel, and how devastating my controlling attitude is to them. This week I have felt a tremendous amount of patience for my children – especially Ruthie. The small things that normally send me over the edge I now have compassion for. Things like, Ruthie waking me up at two in the morning by crawling into bed.

It started last week when I didn’t turn on my laptop until the kids went down for a nap. The morning was so peaceful and focused that I continued to follow that routine all week. Sometimes I needed to open my Outlook for a glance at my calendar, but I would make a point of shutting it down after I had a grasp on the day.

Having this time on Tuesday afternoon to write has really put me at peace with the rest of the week. I no longer hover over my laptop the very moment Ruthie finds herself engaged in something besides me. I just leave it alone until the kids are in bed, and even sometimes until Tuesday afternoon.

And in seemingly unrelated news, I have completely dived in to a weekly routine. Yesterday while the kids napped I came up with a weekly schedule of Getting Things Done, and I couldn’t be happier. It’s like the sun came up after 40 days of rain – I feel revived, refreshed, and motivated by the order around me.

I am on a mission to spend my days working and my nights relaxing. I am feeling tuned in to my children rather than distracted by them, and I find that I bust my ass to Get Things Done when I ignore my computer. This makes for less frequent posting, but for hopefully a more peaceful home.

What I love most about my new routine is that it doesn’t account for every minute of my day. It basically covers laundry and cleaning the house so I still have time for play dates and spontaneous trips to the park. I don’t feel suffocated. It’s perfect.

Times of Refreshing

I’ve had a very. bad. week.

The Ya Ya Sisterhood movie comes to mind – the part where Sidda is young and her mom disappears for days on end, blacked out, and wakes up in a hotel room on the coast. This is how I felt yesterday. I felt like abandoning my children just to get away and have to have some time to myself.

My desperation and rage was so intensified I actually called a friend to tell her, just so someone would know. That’s what you learn in recovery – that you are not alone.

This is my afternoon off. I have a babysitter come once a week in the afternoon so I can run errands in peace. But I’ve had such a bad week I decided to indulge in a little free time with my creativity. I am sitting in the coffee shop across the street from my house, with free wifi, sipping wine, and eating goat cheese with honey and walnuts. I feel decadent. Relaxed. At peace.

It disturbs me a little that I am most at peace away from my family. There is an unbalance there. It has me leaning more toward a structured week, one with specific events built in to specific days, though flexible. My kids are not of an age or personality to just play while I clean the kitchen – they must be engaged and refereed. The bad days come when I expect I can do more than I really can. The bad days happen when I pretend my children are not there.

I talked to Bryan today. He is at a conference in Florida. He told me he had eleven hours of sleep last night, and was currently at Universal Studios. I wanted to kick his teeth in, but he was not standing in front of me. I want to be happy for him for getting a day of vacation from his busy work schedule. But I fought with my daughter for an hour and a half last night to go to bed, and she still came into my room at five this morning. I envy Bryan that he is away so much he actually misses this family. I envy that. I look for every opportunity possible to be AWAY from my family. I would feel better if I missed them.

We have a renter now. We’ve always rented one of our five bedrooms to someone, but took a break over the summer for a remodel project. Posha moved in this last week and I think that will help a lot. She is smart, and funny, and understands the recovery process. She can drink wine and watch t.v. with me when I’ve had a bad day. She can stay with the kids in an emergency while I Get Out.

I think one of the things I wrestle with the most is reconciling how Good I’ve got it with how fucked up I am. We can afford to go out a lot, eat fancy dinners, hire a babysitter, see a concert, whatever. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have an anger problem, and a depression problem, and that I am easily overwhelmed. I have become what I have always feared I’d become: high maintenance.

I take solace in the concept of phases. My girlfriend currently has one child in all-day kindergarten, and another in all-morning preschool. This means she has three hours EVERY MORNING all to herself, and the rest of the day with just one child. This gives me hope, because I am not far from that life.

I am not far from having all morning to myself to write or otherwise Get Things Done.

Which leads me to the other thing I wrestle with: the fact that I am a stay-at-home mom with a husband that funds my lifestyle. Because of him, I can sit in my thinking chair every morning, enjoying my cup of coffee. Because of him, I am not also juggling a full time job. Because of him, I don’t have that much to worry about, financially.

So my complaining must be taken in context, I suppose. I am careful to distinguish the struggle of a rageful mom from the struggle of a discontent housewife. In many ways I am fortunate. But in many ways I am special – I can not do things that other moms do. I know this, because I know lots of moms and I see what they do and I am envious. I have limitations.

It is at this point that I realize I am Drunk Blogging and there may not be an end to my lamenting. So I will spare you now and bid you goodbye.

An Untitled Essay on Writing and Wickedness

I’m tired.

Exhausted, actually. Mentally, and physically tired.

I have seven essays drafted on writing, things that I am processing as I push through the TALKING about writing so I may actually get to the business of DOING the writing. But my brain is so mushified that all I can bring myself to do at this moment is stare at the wall and cry.

Writing is healing, and when I don’t have time to write I die a little inside.

I don’t know how to find the time to fit this into my life. I read blogs of other writers who have one day a week devoted to writing, or several afternoons a week. Of this I am jealous, as I have to squeeze my writing in during an episode or two of Dora the Explorer on most days.

I used to write in the evenings when the house is quiet, but lately I’ve been so behind on basic household chores I’ve found myself vacuuming, or folding laundry, or picking up clutter. And by the time I finish doing this I am too tired to think of anything to write that requires me to dig deep.

I’ve been contemplating routine again. I’ve said this before, but I phase in and out of the scheduled life. In the past, meal planning and scheduled shopping and cleaning days were empowering, but there came a point when even my basic hygienic duties were being neglected so I began doing just The Next Thing.

Today I was talking with a friend who also struggles with depression. She has come to the conviction that time can not stand still every time she is in a season of depression. She must find a way to push through and keep her household running. I understand this, but I do not understand how to execute.

In some ways I believe routine would remove the need to think so much. I would simply go to the grocery store on Monday, clean the house on Wednesday, etc. But in some ways I also find routine stressful. Time slots fill in quickly with Shoulds and Musts and I begin to see a dense forest rather than a peaceful meadow. Eventually I end up spending an entire day in my pajamas because I just can’t bear the thought of DOING something anymore.

But routine might open up the space to write. Wide open meadow-like space rather than disjointed and multitasking moments that make my brain feel like a fragmented hard drive. Perhaps that’s it: I need to defrag my life.

Bryan and I fight the most over this issue of planning. He prefers a schedule, written where we can both refer to it. I also value routine, but writing it down or printing it out creates in me an anxiety that darkens the soul. I fear the failure of more things that are undone, of lists unchecked, of schedules abandoned.

Tasks are measurable. One could look at my schedule, look at my living room, and see that I did not clean as it dictated on my list. But how do you measure the energy and brain power it takes to teach and train a strong willed child? To referee scuffles between siblings? To shepherd, rather than dictate? An entire scheduled day can be derailed by such things.

This week I have been feeling as if God is tearing back the scab of a wound, leaving it raw and vulnerable. My selfishness, my need to control, my unkindness toward Ruthie – it is nothing short of hideous to me. I am sickened by my behavior and the brooding in my heart. Yet, even in my repulsion, it seems I lash out even more.

I am fighting myself. I am fighting God. I know I will walk away with a limp.

(I’m not sure how I got from the beginning of this essay to the end. Clearly, a good free-write exercise can really clear my mind and flush out what’s hiding under the surface of my stress.)

Keeping It In Check

Today during the kids’ naps I drafted an essay, read some blogs, and bookmarked several posts, thoughts, and insights that have inspired me. I feel I am constantly battling time, because at the moment I’d much rather finish my thought than empty the dishwasher. This is the point when discontentment can creep in if I don’t keep it in check. So I remind myself that I may not have been able to finish my thought, but I DID write 450 words today. And that’s not bad for an hour’s work.

Striving After the Wind…

I haven’t felt much like writing lately. Can you tell? This blog has taken a turn toward online photo journaling and reports of what I did yesterday, more akin to my journaling style of junior high.

Many questions are in my mind, like… do I really have anything to say? Does anybody out there even care about what I say? And… remind me again why I’m doing this?

I’ve been in a funk about life in general, and I think I’ve finally put my finger on it. After a friend left this morning I was sitting in my Thinking Chair contemplating the laundry and the lunch that needed to be made, and I found myself wondering, What Is The Point? Why Do I Bother? And so forth. I had fallen into the Black Hole of Purposelessness we all fall into from time to time, whether we are stay at home moms, working moms, college students or career women.

I found myself staring at all these trees, yet completely missing the forest.

It’s easy to lose motivation for doing the laundry if your only motivation is so your family has clean clothes. Hell, I can certainly wear the same clothes for days on end and turn my underwear inside out for double the inventory, but does that serve the greater purpose I’ve chosen in my life? Does that glorify God?

I decided to draw inspiration from Ecclesiastes, since Solomon also struggled with the meaning of life. It’s been awhile since I read it, and I certainly didn’t take the time for seminary-level research, but I was reminded of a few good things:

“There is nothing better for a man than to eat and drink and tell himself that his labor is good. This also I have seen, that it is from the hand of God. For who can eat and who can have enjoyment without Him” (Ecclesiastes 2:24-25)?

“One hand full of rest is better than two fists full of labor and striving after wind” (4:6).

“Guard your steps as you go to the house of God, and draw near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools; for they do not know they are doing evil” (5:1).

“Here is what I have seen to be good and fitting: to eat, to drink and enjoy oneself in all one’s labor in which he toils under the sun during the few years of his life which God has given him; for this is his reward” (Ecclesiastes 5:18).

I find much comfort in completing tasks. It gives me purpose. I can see results. But it is easier for me to find more joy in COMPLETING a task than it is for me to find worship in DOING the task. Hence, the easy burnout when I find myself completing the same task over and over again.

Today I am reminding myself that all work is futile unless I enjoy the work in God’s presence. I am reminding myself that my sacrifice of work is foolish unless I am drawing near to God and enjoying his presence. And finally, that in laziness I will perish, and that working too much is vanity, but a healthy balance of rest and work is good.

Mad Housewives Unite!

Mad Housewife WineMy friend, Jenny, and I both had commitments to watch someone else’s kids last night, so we decided to consolidate our tasks and hang out together in the process.

And, wow, what a night.

At one point we had seven toddlers under the age of four running around! I actually find this sort of thing fun, though exhausting. I actually went to bed before midnight last night (doesn’t happen often).

Jenny brought along a great wine for us to share after most of the kids were in bed, admittedly chosen only for the label: Mad Housewife! It wasn’t the smoothest red I’ve had, but it’s definitely worth buying just to display the bottle somewhere in your home! The back of the label reads:

Somewhere near the cool shadows of the laundry room.
Past the litter box and between the plastic yard toys.
This is your time.
Time to enjoy a moment to yourself.
A moment without the madness.
The dishes can wait.
Dinner be damned.

The Toddler WhispererWe had so much fun last night – changing diapers in shifts and taking turns as the tickle monster – that it got me thinking about other ways to share the burden of otherwise isolating or mundane tasks, making them a bit more fun.

For instance, before Thomas was born I had an ‘errand swap’ arrangement going with one of my friends – she watched Ruthie on Tuesday morning while I went grocery shopping or to my OB appointments, and I watched her kids on Thursday morning while she ran errands. It was a great way to run those multiple errands where you’re in and out of your car several times.

Several years ago when we were both first married, that same friend and I did a housecleaning swap. Every Friday we’d meet at someone’s house to clean the bathroom, kitchen, and do the vacuuming, and the next Friday we’d do the same at the other’s house. At the time, we both lived in small apartments, and working together we were able to clean an entire apartment in about an hour. It was fun, and motivating, and a great way to hang out when married life gets busy with other things.

My other friend and I have also talked about next Spring when our yards and gardens are overgrown from the Winter’s neglect. We’ve talked of taking turns on a couple of Saturdays helping each other weed, prune, and prepare our vegetable gardens – a job that may take all day alone, but much less time when working together. Plus our kids can play, and our husbands can make dinner for us, and there is so much fellowship that happens with sharing these kinds of tasks.

I think it’s easy for wives and mothers to feel isolated from others. As our lives become more complicated, our spare time is continually shrinking, and it becomes increasingly difficult to connect with other people. For many of us, our only friends are the people we work with, or if we stay home with preschoolers, we may not even have that luxury.

I think about the gal who baby sits all the children at my gym. She has a 10 month old, and almost every day that I’m in there she has another question for me – When did your kids start walking? Do your kids keep taking their shoes off? What do you do for teething pain? Is it hard having two kids so close in age? I just get the feeling that since she’s asking a complete stranger these questions, she must not have many other people in her life who understand her frustrations and insecurities.

I have a Shakespeare quote on a matted photo of me with several of my friends that says, “I am wealthy in my friends.” I think up until recently I’ve taken my life for granted, assuming that everybody has lots of people in their lives to share the emotional load of being a wife and mother. But as my world expands more and more outside of my home and my church, I’m meeting other women who are more isolated than me.

It has simultaneously caused me to invite them into my world, and become more grateful for the women in my life who influence and support me. Friendships are important to me – I’m a deeply loyal person. When life gets busy and I don’t see my friends for some time, I begin to feel isolated.

Why not multitask by hanging out together while Getting Things Done? What if we started some kind of crazy, housewife revolution to get us all out of our own mundane lack of motivations? Hey, I’ll clean yours if you clean mine!

The Digression of My Culinary Prowess

I have always loved to cook. Even as a single woman, among contemporaries who ate take-out or ramen noodles, I enjoyed experimenting with different recipes and ingredients.

From the time I was in college until I got married I lived with other people. Sometimes it was just me and my best friend, and other times, like the summer I rented a house with four others, or the two years I lived with up to ten other women (Yes, you heard me. That’s another story), it was many. In all those scenarios, preparing a meal was a community effort.

For years my friend and I shopped together and split the grocery bill. We took turns cooking for each other, and we entertained a lot. The summer I lived with a few other gals we often shared meals together pot luck style, and the crazy two years I lived in complete insanity with far too many women, we pooled together our money hippy style and all took turns cooking dinner.

Now that I’m married, I love it when Bryan cooks with me. He’s pretty handy in the kitchen, and on many occasions is the family chef, but my most favorite times are when we cook together. There’s always loud music involved, and wine, and a little flirting. It is a time of family celebration, even if we are just celebrating Tuesday.

When Bryan travels I am lonely, but I think it mostly hits me around the dinner hour. I’m so accustomed to the plurality of the process that I seem to lose motivation when it’s just me and the kids. After three years of cooking fresh and (mostly) healthy meals for my kids, this week I finally broke down and bought a bag of frozen fish sticks and a bag of frozen tater tots.

I know it’s not the unforgivable sin to serve convenience foods to my children, and it’s not like I haven’t fed them pizza or Chinese take-out a dozen times in the last six months, but there’s just something about fish sticks that resonates in my mind as the ultimate sell-out for me. There is no community in fish sticks. There is no process in fish sticks. There is no beauty in fish sticks. I bake them, and I feel sad and lonely.

And to top it off, my kids LOVE fish sticks and tater tots, and completely cleaned their plates in five minutes. No arguing was necessary – no stalling, no counting bites or offering rewards for finishing their meal. Gulp, gulp, gulp.

Sigh.

Well, lest I become sad and depressed over processed seafood, I captured two very adorable children enjoying the bounty of fish sticks tonight in this short video. There may not be beauty in the preparation, but the consumers make it all sparkle like Christmas.

Baby Steps

I know I keep bringing this up, but I can’t say it enough: I’M FEELING GREAT!

As I look back on the last year of blog posts and remember this, and this, and this, and how angry and depressed and incapacitated I was, I thank God for bringing me through it.

We have come full circle, leaving the gate open for Ruthie again so she can get to the potty when she needs to. As before, she often visits our room in the middle of the night, or wakes up at 5:30a.m. for the day. But this has not caused the same response in me as it did a year ago, and I’m not even using the t.v. to get me through the day like I did back then.

I also pulled out my household binder for the first time in almost a year to access my packing list for camping. Flipping through it I found old project lists, seasonal maintenance lists, my garden journal, and my basic to-do lists – and I was actually inspired and energized by the idea of organization!

Bryan still makes passing comments about my dislike for organization – largely because of the chaos of the last year. I admit, I’m a great starter, but not a fabulous finisher. However, given the circumstances of the last year I will say in my own defense that I used most of my energy just to get the basic day to day shit done without completely raging on my children, leaving very few brain cells for accomplishing anything remotely grand.

Raging saps my energy.

NOT raging seems to sap even more of my energy.

But I am learning new habits and new coping methods. And I’m learning to avoid the rage triggers before my blood begins to boil. NOT raging is becoming the new norm for me, leaving energy for me to get back to the business of Getting Things Done and loving on my children.

I’ve been cleaning my house a couple times a week. My garden is weeded. (Mostly). I’m keeping up with the laundry. And I’ve been cooking real meals again. This morning I actually got up early to plan my week: when to run errands, what to cook, etc. I can’t remember the last time I thought about what to make for dinner before 4pm of that day.

I think what I’ve learned most during this recovery process is that life returns to normal in baby steps. I’ve had to let go of the idea that I could draw a line in the sand, set a deadline, or otherwise mark a launch date for getting my life back.

It started with vacuuming a couple times a week. When that felt easy I started picking up every night before I went to bed. And when that felt easy I tackled the piles of clutter around the house. And when those were all cleared away I saw how beautiful my house was and now I’m motivated to keep it clean so much more!

And now, once again, I’m ready to tackle the Project Lists.

Baby steps.

Basement Remodel: FINALLY!

We are finally ready to start moving Bryan in to his new office this weekend. The painting is almost done, and we put together two Ikea bookshelves tonight. In the photo below you’ll see the paint color and the brown trim, and the really cool ducting we had put in. The beam at the top of the picture will also be painted brown, and you can see a corner of the rug folded over on the floor. Besides the center beam, I also need to paint the doors, but all of that can be done around all of Bryan’s things. I just want him moved in so I can put my house back together!

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Back to Basics

I am remembering who I am.

Over the years since I’ve been married and had kids, I’ve listened to a lot of voices outside of myself as to how a wife and mother SHOULD run her household. I’ve tried schedules, I’ve tried lists, but for as long as I can remember – even as a kid – I’ve loved making schedules but hated following them.

Last week I realized I was driving myself insane by trying to follow someone else’s method – whether it be Bryan, or the Flylady, or another mom, or a book, or whoever – because I had completely ignored how I best Get Things Done.

Last week I had a burst of motivation and cleaned my kitchen. I cleared off my deck and made it look homey. I cleared off the dining room table and piano and cut flowers from my garden. I cleaned my room.

And my house looked beautiful.

And now that it’s not still looking so beautiful (life happens, dishes get dirty), I’m totally okay with that because I know in a couple days I’ll get another burst of motivation to swoop through and clean it all up again.

AND I’M OKAY WITH THAT.

I’m so tired of the pressures of Monday as cleaning day, Tuesday as grocery day, Wednesday as friend day, etc. What if on grocery day my kids are cranky and I’m feeling on the edge of insanity? Would YOU want to run into me in public? What if cleaning day is sunny and beautiful and we’d all rather play outside than dust the piano?

That schedule may work for some, and it may even be good for me during another season, but right now I’m feeling the need to embrace the Me that I know best, the one that can deal with a little bit of chaos, then swoop in and bring it all to order. And most importantly, I am embracing the Me who has an anger management problem, and acknowledges that rage comes when my carefully planned schedule gets hijacked. I am doing what I can to avoid the rage triggers until I am better at heading them off when they rise up.

And yes, Bryan, I can hear you talking to your computer about the fact that you live in this house, too, and what is she thinking? But I figure as long as you have clean clothes to wear and food to eat, and I’m not just sitting on my ass watching t.v. all day long, your needs will be met, too.

The point is, I took great joy in cleaning my house this week, and I felt refreshed by the task. I didn’t trudge through it. I actually put the kids to bed and cranked up the music and sang at the top of my lungs as I cleaned the kitchen. And when I was done I sat down with a glass of wine and read a book, satisfied with my productivity.

And today? Today I am less motivated. Today I will maintain, and probably do a couple loads of laundry. But I know myself well enough to not expect a lot of myself when I’m feeling like this. I will be a more patient mother today if I don’t constantly feel like something’s not getting done. And I know from experience that I will likely get a second wind later on and end up painting trim in the new office. That’s just how it goes.

I am remembering who I am, and it is bringing peace to my mind.

Basement Remodel Saga: Floors from Hell

Poor Bryan. The one thing he wanted to accomplish this weekend was sanding and staining the cement floor in his new office, but two trips to McLendon’s, three methods, and one full day later, only about two feet along the short wall have been stripped. When he emerged from the room in a cloud of dust he was like the Peanuts character, Pig Pen. And he was very discouraged. I hate disappointment – it leaves one feeling as if time was wasted, but what else could have been done if not by trial and error?

Basement Remodel - floors

Things That are Cheaper Than Therapy

My Garden Therapy has yielded results! I’ve never been happy with the bare ground under our dogwood tree. There had been a hosta to the left, but it never did well so I divided it and moved it to another part of the yard. Last summer I had also planted some alyssum as a border in front of the tree, but they didn’t get enough sun, either, and never filled out.

Scruffy Garden

While my dad was putting in the new drip system I transplanted my two rosemary plants from the pots I carted around during my apartment-living days, and placed them in a nice, sunny, south facing spot on the other side of the tree. In front of the tree I planted a drift of five astilbe which will produce pretty pink feathery plumes all summer. And back by the fence I transplanted a few Jacob’s Ladders from an over crowded spot. They’re ferns that will shoot up blue spires. At the very base of the tree I planted some ground cover to help keep the soil moist.

Pretty Garden!

As soon as I get everything planted in other parts of the garden, I will have a chance to secure the black tubing with some wire and hide it under the dirt.

I’m so excited and feel so productive!

p.s. do you see the five month dead Christmas tree in the background??? Perhaps I’m trying to beat the record?

What a Drip

I just went outside to turn on the drip watering system my dad helped installed in my garden yesterday. It was our first home project together. Ever. And it was strangely comforting and normalizing to have my father helping me with a home project. It was all his idea, too. He mentioned the equipment he had, he hauled it all down to my house, and he designed the layout.

Dad the Landscaper

The man has energy! We started out the morning digging up and pulling out weeds in my rose garden. From the moment his shovel hit the dirt until he drove away in his Land Rover the man never. stopped. moving. It just goes to prove how ready I am for a workup by a Naturopath to find the source of my lack of energy, because by hour two of hard garden labor I felt bested by a 68 year old retiree!

Thomas the Assistant Landscaper

Around 4:00 we came in and I gave him a soda for the road. I thanked him for coming, we hugged awkwardly, and we shared a brief unspoken look that communicated the deeper significance of our time together that day. I am blessed by healed relationships, changed perspective, altered expectations.

All is quiet on This Pile these days

Slumber Party

I’ve been super busy finishing up the painting in Bryan’s new office, so all my spare time has been devoted to that and the mounds of laundry that piled up after traveling for two weeks. With Bryan gone so much I’m left with little energy for things that re-create me, and spend most of my time lying on the couch or soaking in the bath. I’m not even watching t.v. or reading my blogs!

I’ve been feeling lethargic, weepy, impatient, and unmotivated again lately. I should probably mention that I weaned completely off my Zoloft while we were at the ocean (going into the week I had been taking 25mg every other day), so I’m probably feeling the effects of that. I’ve replaced my medication with Vitamin C and a B Complex, and Omega 3. At first I felt great on the vitamins – full of energy, and pretty stable emotionally. But now I’m back to sitting in the dark and taking long hot baths and losing it with my children.

But the good news is, I’ve scheduled an appointment with a Naturopathic Doctor who will help my body get back into health again.

Bryan is still traveling a lot, but I’ve been keeping busy with play dates to break up the time alone. The other night my friend’s girls spent the night and we watched Meet the Fockers, and other friends have been coming over for dinner every night because they haven’t installed a stove in their new home yet. Frankly, I look forward to those dinners every night, because by the time they arrive I’m exhausted and they are the kind of friends who don’t take any shit from sassy three-year-olds. Paul said to Ruthie the other night, “I’m your mommy’s friend and I don’t like it when you talk to her that way.”

I may sneak into their house and cut the gas line to their stove to delay its installation another few days!

It’s interesting being on the other side of a bout of depression, feeling like I may be mildly depressed again. I don’t feel panicked or doomed. It just is what it is. I’m trying to do less, take care of myself more, and just be okay that things may not be getting done.