Soak it up, Shake it up

Sitting down to write has become some what of a dreaded task. I pace in front of my tiny laptop for a good half hour before perching myself upon the very edge of my wooden yellow chair. I start a sentence, take a diet coke break, finish the sentence... This nasty bout of writers block is merciless. It pulls at the seams of my imagination, it frazzles every last creative hair on my red head. Sylvia Plath writes, "Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." These words ring unbearably true. There's no excuse for not writing- worst case scenario? It won't be eloquent, it won't make sense, it may not inspire, it may not mean anything... I've been learning about my own insecurities. Digging deep into the depths of myself to find that unnerving voice that sparks fear into my finger tips, making them timid. I think the biggest of my insecurities, as far as writing is concerned, is the fear that I may disappoint. There is the expectation- to be a blogger, to write weekly, daily, often. People ask me regularly why I don't start writing a book. Let me tell you the honest and raw answer: Publishers have deadlines. I can hardly write one blog post a week, a feeble attempt. Imagine writing a book in a year. The main problem is this: it would have to make sense. After hours on end, piling pillows onto my hard yellow chair and cracking open can after can of diet coke, I had one page. Hardly a page at all, really, as it was banged out in size 14 font and had plenty of run-on sentences and spelling errors. I scanned it over and over again- searching for something salvageable. Nothing. I clicked the little red X in the corner of the screen and as if to mock me, the program asked, "are you sure?" Yes, I was certain. There was nothing there but the ramblings of an undereducated wanna-be writer. It wasn't going anywhere- a short story that had run itself into the ground before the first paragraph was over. An entire book in one year? I may need twenty. But, dear readers, I haven't given up. This isn't a testimony of trying and failing, this is evidence that I'm trying, failing, and running back towards the wall- full speed ahead. I imagine there will be a thousand, maybe a million short stories that will be dumped into my overflowing virtual recycle bin. But there will be at least one worth sharing.

Oh, Lawd. Pray for me until that day comes, with a special request that I don't get carpal tunnel.

***

On to real life matters.
Kade is becoming more and more bright each day, charming everyone around him by blowing kisses, making scrunchy faces, and giving the most magnificent hugs the world has to offer. He pats your back, as if reassuring you, instead of the other way around. He holds my face between his chubby little hands and puts his nose to mine, a friendly reminder that I'm his mama and he's my baby and we're madly overjoyed over that fact alone.

It's a recent goal of mine to be more active with Kade- this has prompted walks around the block, sliding down the slide in our new backyard, and an evening spent at our local "Kangaroo Zoo." (Pretty much a building full of inflatable toys, all of which Kade is too small for which requires me climbing up them with him attached to my hip) In our new place, we are within walking distance of three parks, the library, the swimming pool and a local favorite doughnut shop. This is the neighborhood I grew up in, the neighborhood I thrived in. I can't wait for the weather to warm up so I can spend hours on end walking around, getting ice cream, swimming until our hands are pruned, pacing through the endless shelves of books.. a learning opportunity around every dusty corner.

Things are hectic. I feel overwhelmed and air headed. Today, while moving furniture for the umpteenth time, I had forgotten the keys to the storage unit. A twenty minute drive to retrieve them was enough to leave me gritting my teeth after an already stressful day, running on little sleep after a late night of cleaning. As if on cue, picking up on my mood, Kade let out a giggle from the back seat. I glanced back and he grinned at me, holding his shoe in one hand and a bare foot in the other. I faced forward again and turned up the radio- singing to my stereo and feeling lighter. Gosh Darn It, if anyone can clear the sky of dark clouds, it's this little dude.

 

Kade and cousin Braxton were playing with "The Basket" today. It was a train, a car, a plane, a motorcycle popping wheeleys. 


I'm searching out, almost desperately, more happy moments. More opportunities for little perks- like soaking my feet while Kade plays in the tub. Or letting Dotty have a front row seat to all of mine and Kade's adventures, letting him dangle out the "pack pack" or sit buckled into the shopping cart.

"Kade, where's your eyes?" Lord all mighty, can we just admire those lashes for a moment?

And then, there's haircut number TWELVE. He's getting more patient. He's had lots of practice.

And, like a rock, there is my grandma. Always opening her home to us- our home away from home- and being really patient with me when I lose my focus. And especially for inspiring me with her fun ways in keeping the kids busy. Holy Cow, where does she come up with this stuff?

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

I'm praying things will start moving more smoothly- we'll get settled in, make it to church, read books before bed, have time for cuddles and lazy afternoons. Until then, we'll soak up the shake up in the best way we know how. 

With a sense of humor. 

 

To and Fro

I find myself often referring back to something my mom taught me. I was eighteen, pregnant, behind the wheel of her shinny red car. Slow down into the curves and speed up out of them. Funny, at the time I was irritated- absolutely flustered because there is a good reason I waited so long to get my license. She had told me this before but I'm clumsy, I turn too sharply, or I don't turn at all. I wasn't listening. Now, two years later I think back on those words with a whole new perspective. When life throws you curves, slow down. As the curve is coming to an end, speed up. Work harder. It seems these last couple of weeks, God is testing me. Curves are being thrown left and right so quickly that I can hardly dodge them. All I can do is slow my pace, take a deep breath, search deep inside the very fabrications of my soul and find faith. At the end of the night, when Kade is asleep and I'm alone with my thoughts, it's very easy to fall into a sort of sick sadness. My light is dim for the night and the darkness starts to creep in. Of course, admitting this is difficult- the words don't splay out in front of me smoothly. It's a choppy, timid rhythm. Insecurity at it's very finest.
If I only wrote when I was belated, lets face it, this blog would be sappy. It wouldn't be real- a web of lies crafted together to impress who? I'm here to tell the truth, to learn to tell the truth more often and more willingly. So, here it is: Sometimes, I'm sad. I get lonely. I got pulled over again. After spending the entire day working on my car, I had a stinking head light out. I sometimes forget to pray. In the midst of all this trial and tribulation, I stand strong but when the door closes I am a heaping pile of sheets and wool socks, shaking and calling out God, where are you?
This is absolutely ridiculous, of course. God is always here, he never goes any place. There, in the crooked smile of Kade's face, the way he clapped his hands and danced in the glow of the police lights- there is God. There is faith and hope and love. And the most important of these is, you know the verse, love. And those nights, when I'm reduced to a small pile of rice packs and wet hair, there is Kade giggling in his sleep- serenading through the baby monitor and filling to the brim every inch of air around me. You see, for every bad, there is a good. It's all about balance, baby. If we knew everything- if we never faced bad days, never battled to have our way- we would never think of Him. The idea is to trudge through the mud with a grin on your dirty face. In my case, imagine a baby building mud pies beside me, his yellow raincoat squeaky clean and his face a rosy red.

***

Moving is a huge task. Boxes fill every square foot of my apartment. Impossibly making it smaller than before. I fret around Kade, terrified that a box will come tumbling down. This is unlikely, granted. I am Super Mom, Packing Professional. I whisk about the house putting heavy things in the bottoms of boxes, blankets in the top, stacking perfectly even, never more than two boxes high. It's a Lego maze, little trails of Cheerios guide you in and around the living room. A tippy cup is tipped sideways atop a small box, cars line the edge of another. By the end of tonight we will be in a new place. There is a part of me, small but unwavering, that is sad. I was ecstatic to move into this apartment- the vaulted ceilings, the way Kade's room is just a stretch of the living room. I decorated in warm colors, I bought colorful food, I did my best to make this a home. And it is. So while I'm looking forward to starting fresh, there is a nostalgia here. It's already seeping into the walls, my memory soaking up the textures, the smells, the sounds. Storing it all in a safe to be re-opened on a particularly long night. A treasure box of remember when...

It seems like February is my transition month. For three years now, the only way I can describe February is drastic. Here I am, unemployed, moving, single. A year ago? I had just gotten a new job, my relationship was blossoming, I was moving into my own apartment. We found out Kade had a heart defect.

Maybe it's the winter. My mind is numb, my nerves are deadened. I need some stimulation.  
Well, I certainly got it.

*** 

Moments ago, I sneaked ever so quietly into Kade's room. I perched myself upon a box and watched him sleeping, sighing. His new glow in the dark pajamas shown bright and he wiggled his sweet bum in the air, tucking his legs in tighter against his chest. He has ketchup on his face, left over from our dinner date. Because of a late night at grandmas, we skipped bath time, slid directly into lullaby's and tucked ourselves quietly into the still of the night. We didn't even bother turning on the bedroom light, my hands have dressed this baby often enough that they need not be guided by light, but only by memory. This warms me. This is something I never want to forget. Something to write down and read back to myself in my old age, reminding myself of my sweet baby boy and how well I know him. I could dress him in the dark, probably in my sleep.

Admist the sadness, smack dab in the middle of a dark, suffocating hole of lonliness, there is a comfort that there will always be something I know. I know my son. I know what he likes and doesn't like, what makes him happy and what comforts him. I know how to tease him into a volcanic eruption of giggles and squirms. I know that he likes to talk when we go on walks, babbling and squealing and inquiring "Dat?" an airplane; a fire truck; a heart shaped rock;

Times like these are when I make lists- lists of things that make me happy, things that have occured lately that are precious and soothing.

Like a trip to Ikea with my sister, a "road trip," giant pieces of pizza and picking out plush vegestables for Kade to cook with.

Teaching Kade his body parts. Kade, where's your nose? Marveling at how incredibly bright he is.

Hours of "Bananagrams" with my grandma and sister. Learning absurd words and laughing hysterically when I knock down Emily's pyramid.

Family.

Late night trips back and forth to and from the laundry mat, smelling like tide and eating oatmeal cookies.

Plain and simply: watching him grow.

The theme of this post is a back and forth kind of deal- some things are hard right now. Some are simple. But I'm swaying somewhere in the middle, which is where I'm supposed to be.

Faith Never Failing

Today was laundry day. This fact is evident by the jeans I'm wearing- bought at the beginning of eighth grade, the bottoms torn and tripping me as I stride through the grocery store. The fact that I used a t-shirt to dry my face this morning? That just drives it home- It was most definitely laundry day. I enjoy the smell of tide. I like hanging my shirts to dry, the way my room perforates downy for the entirety of the day. I like pulling the clothes out while the dryer is still running, folding them still hot, and tucking them into the deep drawers of my antique dresser, still warm and free of creases. I iron Kade's button down shirts and hang them on crocheted hangers, ready for anything. Doing laundry is bliss to me, the perfect way to start a day like this one.
There is, of course, an ebb and flow. Yesterday, I was full of doubt, today I feel like a floating free spirit. I knew that was going to happen. God has these funny ways of nudging me along, reminding me always that right around the corner is something new.
I'd like to add here that I'm still in the middle of an infuriating writing funk- it happens.
I'm looking forward to the next month: a new beginning, more time for sewing, simplicity at it's finest. The hustle and bustle that has been my life the past year is being overshadowed by a revolutionary idea: Slow the heck Down. Have you ever tried observing things as if you had opened your eyes for the first time? For example, Kade always observes things with a fascination that I crave. He intently stares at objects (old or new), wants to know the texture, if it makes noise, how it works, the each and every cog and wire that fabricates whatever whatcha-ma-callit he's got in his little fingers. When did we lose that passion? Perhaps, as we get older, we get so accustomed to things, ideas, thoughts, that we don't appreciate them anymore. Sound familiar? I don't want to do that anymore. I want to wrap a quilt around my shoulders and appreciate every thread holding it together, I want to smell it, to note the way it lays, stiff or soft. I want to finger paint. Sound crazy? It might be- but when was the last time you dipped your hands into a deep plastic cup of paint and went nuts on a piece of construction paper? These things keep us young.

Be barefoot, forget to brush your teeth sometimes, drink your coffee as sweet as you like it- with real sugar. If I see splenda in your hand, you'll be scolded sister. Make a crown from flowers and twigs. Go swimming in the river. Or, if your really desperate, do them all, at once. If that's what it takes to get a little spring back in your step, then please, for the love of Pete, DO IT.

My day was overflowing with good vibe, ebb and flow type stuff. Kade and I joined my Mama for lunch, snow flurried down as we indulged on Mormon Muffins and roamed through the shops. I bought fabric to make Kade a new bedding set. I bought valentines. I went to the grocery store and filled my cart with fresh fruit and a bottle of laundry detergent (needed after how much laundry I did this morning). Birthday cards for my brother and sister lay on the desk, anxiously awaiting a kind, sincere message to be scrawled across their textured insides. I seized the day, Kade's yellow raincoat was removed and replaced so many times his head was spinning. We were in, we were out. We were happy campers.

To make up for yesterdays disaster of a diet, Chef Kade made dinner tonight. Tortellini, sweet potatoes and chicken. He was in heaven.

We used the "Good China." 

 

I also turned this: 

  

into this: 

Hallelujah! We're getting closer. 

***

Kade didn't want his picture taken today. He was a ball full of energy, but when the camera came on, he was a turtle in his shell. Stop it, Moooom. 

Kade-stay-cation

Smack dab in the middle of a serious, no, a chronic case of writers block, I find myself frustrated and exhausted. Boxes are stacked in my living room, Cheerio's are smashed into my carpet, and our oh-so-energetic-college-student neighbors are throwing a party; on a Tuesday night. In the middle of this, I sit in the same sweats I wore to bed last night. My hair is a twisted, curly mess, the rubber band barely containing it, a thick knot at the nape of my neck. I stared at this screen for freaking ever. What sort of inspiring words do I have tonight? You have to write something! Jessica, pull it together dude. So, here it is, the grand theme of today: Sometimes, no matter how hard we try or how well we display this put together facade of "such a good mom," we have our off days. When I say we, I mean we. Please, someone side with me here and concur that you are a pledged member of the Actual Person club. Kade had Nutella for breakfast. He ran around in a diaper and socks the entire day. He ate TWO huge cookies, one after another and when he didn't want his nutritious dinner (which I prepared in a last ditch effort to salvage the day), I caved and let him fill his belly with tapioca and buttered rolls- chocolate milk on the side.
You see, for all the days we find ourselves breaking a sweat dancing across the kitchen, making pancakes, coloring crayon masterpieces, going on walks... we have these days. When such days come to a close, I find myself tired and a little bit (forgive me) ashamed.
Oh boy, now I've opened a rather large, squirming can of worms. I feel inept and weary and if I were to write a review of my day, it'd go something like: Girl, you could have done more, you could have tried harder. Slow Down, for gracious sake. But, the truth of the matter is that while I sit in my sweats, suffering from a rather infuriating bout of writers block, pausing every third word and backspacing vigorously, Kade is asleep on the other side of this white textured wall. Last time I peeked in on him, he was covered in sleep lines, like little canyons dancing across his cheeks and shoulders. His arms and legs are tucked under him, his bum straight up in the air, and Dotty sits guarding him, just inches from the top of his flushed face. Obviously, he isn't as enthralled in shame as I am. In fact, I think it's safe to say, after reviewing today's photos, he had quite the relaxing day- sort of a Kade-stay-cation. He likes tapioca pudding, he'd much prefer some chocolate in his milk, thank you very much, and he'd rather run around the house clad in a kangaroo printed diaper than his jeans and t-shirt any day. I suppose this post was more for me than for you, dear readers: a reassurance for myself that while I may feel down, tomorrow is another day, full of opportunity. It is okay to have off days. Off days make us human- bring us back to the raw center of This is life, and it's hard. But it doesn't have to be miserable.

Just ask this guy- does this look like a bad-day-face? 

I'd like everyone to meet our new pal, Jelly Cat. Kade parades around the house with JC in tow, patting his back and kissing his little nose. This morning, I caught a glimpse of him spooning air soup from a tiny toy pot into JC's mouth and wiping his face with a tissue. He also carries him around in his mouth- biting his ear and dragging him on the floor, choosing his old method of crawling as opposed to his bounding steps. Of course, he prefers Dotty for sleep time, but JC is his new partner in crime during waking hours. It melts me.

He pats JC's head and says, "Shhh." 

It was a particularly exhausting day- it seemed nothing got done and I had a big fat list of "I wish I had," toward the end. Some days are like this, but watching my baby nurturing his baby, tells me that I'm doing something right. It makes my heart swell with pride.

I'll be back tomorrow with a (hopefully) more refreshing post. Until then, JC got strawberry jam on him today, Mama duty calls.