People Who Acknowledge

One of the things I clearly remember being taught as a child is manners. I was to call adults "sir" and "ma'am", and never call them by their first name unless I was invited to do so. When I needed to get the attention of my mother who was already engaged in a conversation, I was to (politely, never screaming) say "Excuse me" and then wait until I was addressed to speak.

And I was always, always, always to say "please" and "thank you."

I do this with my own kids now. We start practicing "please" and "thank you" early on, arguably before they know what it means (or can even properly say it. Although there is something to be said for the insane cuteness of a one year old's "tank too"). I'm a firm believer that being polite and gracious will get you so much farther in life than demanding, entitled behavior.

2015: The Year of Just Doing It.

At the end of last year, I hit a breaking point. The every day ins and outs of being a stay-at-home mom were starting to wear on me, a thick itchy sweater that I couldn't take off or find peace in. I was frustrated and restless, and I knew I needed to find something outside of the identity of "parent" to channel my energy. I even knew what I wanted that something to be. The only feeling bigger than the discontent with the rut I was in, was the fear I had about climbing out of it. I was stuck in an endless cycle of my own making (and of all the cycles to be stuck in, one you actually made yourself is the most irritating).

So, I just kind of...stewed for a while. And obviously by that I mean I complained. To God, to my husband, to all of the crazy voices in my brain and heart. I complained about the lack of motivation I felt every day and the hollow, unfulfilled part of myself no amount of Target shopping runs could fill (forgive me, Target. It was a weird time). I yammered on and on about needing a creative outlet for poor, oppressed moi, all the while avoiding actually doing anything about it. I wanted to write, and in particular start a blog, but I didn't want to do it until I was sure it would be perfect and without fault and I was the best writer I could be. Clearly I had very realistic*, attainable** expectations.

*idiotic

**unreachable, never going to happen

And then one day, a tiny whisper broke through all of the noise I was making about why I couldn't do what I wanted to do (and I'm just going to straight up point out the divinity of this whisper, because I can be quite loud and distracting when making nonsense noise).

Just do it. 

But I can't    

Just do it.

But    

Just. Do. It.

Oh.

You mean I could just try something out and not have to be immediately fantastic or perfect at it? That maybe I could find joy and peace even when things were messy and I was stumbling my way through? Hmm, that seemed super unlikely given my personality. But dissatisfaction with the way things were was at an all time high, so I (very, very, I can not overstate how very slowly) started writing and then sharing. And you know what?

It was hard. And scary. And I didn't always find immediate joy and peace in the moments of messiness and stumbling. Sometimes I was happy right away with what I had written. Usually though, I wanted to scratch my own eyeballs out.

But it was also wonderful and fun and heart changing. And most of the time those things had nothing to do with what I had specifically written, but because I had written anything at all. I didn't stop being scared, but I stopped letting that being my deciding factor. The strength I found in opening up when writing translated into being more honest and bold in my every day life. I found encouragement when I thought I'd find criticism (or at least eye rolls and heavy sighs), and level ground with people I hadn't previously thought I had much in common with. I stopped thinking of every tiny reason not to step out of my comfort zone and instead just focused on actually doing it.

So, cheers to you, 2015. You beautiful, responsive, unrelenting year of growth, I'll never forget you.

AGAIN

If you had told me eighteen months ago that I would be pregnant AGAIN, less than a year after my youngest had been born, I would have laughed in your face. And possibly hit you (but that would have been the pregnancy rage hitting you, and I’m sure I would have felt badly about it. Sort of).

   

If you had told me eighteen months ago that not only would I be pregnant AGAIN less than a year after my youngest had been born, but that it would not be an “Oops!” baby (or the more PC term “surprise!” baby. It’s okay, I understand. Can I introduce you to my third born and resident "oops/surprise" baby?), but rather a planned and hoped for pregnancy, I would have immediately cut off all contact with you because I have a policy about not letting crazy liars speak into my life.

An Absentee Blogger

Heeeeeey. Remember me? The writer of this blog who was all "I'm going to write twice a week!" and then "Once a week! Count on it!" then "At least once every two weeks" until finally the dark days came and it was "See you in six weeks, buh-bye now" ?

Oh, hey.

I would like to present my case for Reasons I've been an Absentee Blogger:

Exhibit A: Books

Just stacks and stacks of books. Logically, I know there are other things I should be doing, but then my heart goes, "Yeah, but wouldn't you rather read that new YA series until your eyes fall out of your head?" Yes. Yes I would, heart. And then my laundry sits on the couch for a week straight, unfolded.

Exhibit B: Fall

At first this was because it was Fall and 70 degrees out and it was too glorious to be cooped up inside on the computer. Then it was because it was Fall and 40 degrees out and rainy and a reminder that life in Michigan was about to suuuuuuck and I needed time to mourn (ie. watch Hulu and pretend outside didn't exist).

Exhibit C: Hamilton the Musical
I can get roughly six minutes into a conversation with someone before I have to bring up the genius that is Lin-Manuel Miranda's Hamilton (which is three minutes longer than I've probably wanted to say something about it). A hip-hop musical about history shouldn't work, but holy crap IT DOES. Sharp, witty, heartbreaking. BRB I'm going to go listen to it again.

Exhibit D: Birthdays
My oldest and my youngest turned 7 and 1 respectively within 5 days of each other. And it didn't stress me out at all*

*totes a lie. SO MANY EMOTIONS.  I don't care to talk about it, actually.

Exhibit E: Slater Baby #4

Oh yeah, also we gleefully lost our minds and decided to add another hooligan to our brood. NBD. Except VERY BIG DEAL and we are super pumped to meet him or her come May (or June. Slater babies do not give a crap about due dates). We are also excited to write the book "Wow! Another One...Yikes." Working title chapters include: "Why, yes I do find my husband attractive." and "Wait, what do you mean THAT leads to BABIES?" ;)


Evidence not submitted (you're welcome):

• Cheeseburgers, and the Gollum-like enthusiasm this baby holds for them. My preciousssss om nom nom.
• Morning sickness. Even if Mabel did tell me I looked pretty "holding your hair back when you threw up in the sink, Mom."
• Misery, form of pregnant-did-I-shower-this-week-oh-wait-I-have-to-throw-up-again Me.

 Case closed.

Home School: The First Week

Ella, talking to Dan at dinner tonight: "I did so good in school today, Dad! I didn't cry once!"

It took a full week of home schooling, but on the sixth day Ella made it through all five subjects with nary a tear in sight. Last week's crying was sponsored by:

• Math (double digit addition)
• Math (double digit subtraction)
• Mom's inability to find seeds anywhere to do the "make something grow!" science experiment (yes, I actually do understand planting season ended long ago, Mr. Home Depot employee. But science is for all seasons apparently! And also I didn't open up the teacher's guide and find out about the needed seeds until class started, so please stop looking at me like that.)
• Mabel getting to "do whatever she wanted" (re: destroy my house) while Ella had to do school work. 
• Mabel making Matty laugh while Ella had to do school work. That's HER job.

The last two weeks

I hadn't really intended to take the last two and a half weeks off from blogging, but here we are. I wasn't feeling overwhelmed by it (even after the 5 posts in 5 days challenge, which actually turned out to be easier and more fun that I had anticipated), but I also wasn't constantly itching to write another post. Usually I get sort of panicky if I haven't written anything in a while, but these last few weeks had me decidedly relaxed about the whole thing. As I am almost never relaxed about much, I went with it and took a break. I like to think that it's because I'm becoming more Zen as I age, but there's a much more realistic chance that since fall is almost here (as is apparent by all the autumn themed memes people keep posting on Facebook. Seriously, STOP IT. Do you know what comes after fall in northern Michigan? That's right, a frozen hell. Stop rushing it!) and our laid back summer schedule is about to become very un-laid back, my brain just shut down and went into the fetal position to prolong the imminent stress that will undoubtedly come soon enough. Either way, thanks brain!

A follow up to "The Voice" post (and being a giant mess)

A few months ago I wrote this post about the evil, ugly voice residing in my head. It was born out of a very real place of fear, and came after days and weeks of feeling depleted and frustrated. I was so sick of the self loathing that kept me from being productive that I just dumped all of the raw emotions I was feeling into a post, hit publish, and said "good riddance, dummy!"

It wasn't enough to just write it down. I needed to purge everything and set fire to that stupid voice. I wanted it out and away from me. Clicking "publish" felt like saying a giant, "Screw you!" to all the hateful things I was feeling about myself at that time.

 The post about the voice showed very little restraint. I felt pretty broken and I did almost nothing to sugar coat how I felt versus what I chose to share. I made little effort to talk about some powerful way to crush the voice and only briefly touched on what helped to calm the inner beast. I didn't feel positive before, during or right after writing it, and I stubbornly wanted that to be very apparent.

I wanted it to be clear that I didn't have the solution to my problem. Or better yet, that I logically knew the solution to my problem, but right in that moment I was still struggling to get to it. I was still clawing my way through the mess. There was no shiny bow to wrap up the loose ends; no fist pump freeze frame or soaring music. Nothing to indicate that the story was finished, simply because it wasn't.

I worry that when I use this space to address a personal struggle or vulnerability, that it comes across as if I've already completely worked through it and am now bestowing my "wisdom" on the world.

Ugh.

Even just writing that makes me cringe. It is so easy to fall into the trap of "beginning, middle, end of story." The ability to have that metaphorical shiny bow wrapping everything up is so constant and tempting. And false. The truth is I almost always struggle with the more "serious" (for lack of a better term) posts. Partly because I'm usually still working through whatever topic is on my heart at the time. And partly because I want to be open and honest and convey those things in a way that rings true to who I am.

Nothing in my life is without it's loose ends or messiness. That's easily identifiable if you've spent any time with me in person (or even just passed me in the grocery store as I try to keep my baby from jumping out of the cart while his sisters beg for donuts). But hopefully I'm doing a semi-decent job of expressing that here, in a place where it would be easy for me to paint a different picture instead.

In short, I'm a giant mess without all the answers.

(Thank God)