Friday, November 11, 2011

wrestlers and looters

I cleaned out the car this morning. My hands were freezing, and therefore it took a while to unpack the half of my house that had found its way into our vehicle. I’m not sure how so much stuff accumulates in there, but strangely, I find that I miss it after it’s all gone. I have become accustomed to being able to rummage through the odds and ends and find whatever I need when I’m out and about. Kind of like when I clean out my purse; when it’s in its normal state, I’m bound to find a pen when needed. But a clean, empty purse always fails me.

The girls play some wrestling game on the trampoline while I throw out all of their backseat garbage. I’m never sure when to step in and stop activities such as throwing each other around and sitting on top of each other all while laughing and giggling. Because we all know that it starts out innocently…and then the attached scarf somehow gets ripped off of the coat. There is momentary sadness, but then the freed scarf opens up a whole new world of possible trampoline games. I don’t have the heart to scold and warn when the two of them are actually getting along and having a grand old time. And now that we’re inside and our noses and fingers are returning to their normal color, they think I don’t know that they’ve stolen the Halloween bag to pillage its contents under their bed. To be 4 years old again, and never have to give a thought to cluttered cars or ill-fitting clothes. I might as well let them enjoy it while they can.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

no more country roads

This morning I woke up determined to get out of the house. Well, I guess that’s not entirely accurate. First I woke up determined to slide out of bed without waking Gracie’s warm little body that had crawled into bed with me shortly after His big warm body had crawled out of bed in the wee hours of the morning.

Two hours later after a few minor meltdowns over applesauce in the oatmeal instead of the standard milk, we made it out the door. The cold does something to my soul, and I am determined to battle it this winter by exposing myself to sunshine and civilization at least once a day, with my three amigos in tow.

I deemed today IKEA Tuesday because children eat free on Tuesday. Add that to the genius of IKEA’s “smaland” and you have the perfect combination. Our isolated basement is pretty close to IKEA, so when I have no food in the fridge, it’s a lot easier to go to IKEA than to the grocery store for nourishment.

We had our daily allotment of Jacob time for a short 20 minutes or so. Perched on the bathroom counter, Ellie observed his daily afternoon shave while I ironed some crisp new lines in the sleeves of his white shirt. I then proudly presented my crock-pot chicken sandwich to this handsome husband of mine. Proudly, because I so often fail in this simple domesticated task. We all miss Jacob’s cooking, almost as much as his absence in the evenings. After tying on his apron, which Ellie deems his “skirt” as she scrunches up her nose in disgust, we bid Him goodbye and saw Him out the door. I hate to see him leave again so soon. But such is the life of a family who must make two house payments.

I am trying to embrace this new phase of single parenthood that has graced my life since the onset of Jacob’s second job. I often find myself thinking, “hmm, I’m betting that this new perspective will serve me well at some point down the road.” There’s something about being the one and only to wake up with three little people under the age of 4 and spend every second of the day with them until they are tucked into bed at night. Hence, the new phase of this blog where I will find sanity and joy through documenting these days. I think writing has a way of forcing one to see the beauty and sweetness in the otherwise mundane happenings of the day. In the writing of it one must articulate and acknowledge the details of life that we too soon forget. Kind of like a mango: I forget what an amazing experience it is to eat that fruit of all fruits until I force myself to just pay the dollar for one, carefully carve it open, and take that first bite. Really, it fills me with an almost tangible joy. Sigh. If only I had more dollars to spend on such an experience. We’ll hope that writing does it for me J