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.