Juniper and Coffee

Kindness

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 05 Aug 2015 11:00:00 +0000

I've been thinking a lot about kindness lately.

It's late in the summer. The kids have been together too much. They argue. They say mean things to each other in an attempt to provoke a reaction. We talk about what they could have done differently. It gets better for a while then lather, rinse, repeat.

It drives me crazy and I bet it really isn't that fun for them.

So I've started talking about kindness: what it means, how to do it. what it feels like when you are being kind or someone is kind to you.

Kindness is like a smile that starts from the inside and then you want to share it with someone else. Sharing it will make you feel even better and perhaps make that smile even bigger so you'll want to do it again.

As I was talking about it, I decided action is a much better teacher. So I issued a challenge, every day this week they have to do one kind thing for another person in our family (since there are only 4 of us it means a parent or their sibling). They shouldn't tell the other person they are doing it and they shouldn't expect a thank you. This challenge is about showing kindness because you care about the other person, because you think it will make them happy.

In our discussions my son said "Fine! I'll be kind to you because you are making me do it!"

I almost slapped my forehead in frustration. "No honey, this isn't about making you do something you don't want to do. It's about doing something because you love the other person and you want to show them."

He nodded. "Okay then how do I be kind? Tell me what to do?'

"Well it's not about me telling you. It's about you doing something because you want to."

"But I'm only 6. I don't know what I want to do."

"Okay. How about this: Pulling the cat's tail is not kind. Petting the cat is kind. Hitting your sister is not kind. You can be kind to her by ..."

"Drawing her a picture?"

"Yes that is kind. A picture or something like that."

I told them I would also be doing kind things and I would share what I had done so they could understand and hopefully learn about kindness in the process.

So for the month of August we are going to practice intentional kindness in our house. Kindness to ourselves and to those around us. I am hoping that when September rolls around we will be filled with a lot more love for each other (or at least the kids won't be fighting so much).

Style, everyone has it

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 29 Jul 2015 20:52:00 +0000

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to create. As a pre-teen I made friendship bracelets and woven ribbon barettes. I moved on to t-shirts adorned with wedding rosebuds from the craft store. Once I think I tried to make a dress out of an old batik bedspread (it actually turned into a giant floor length poncho).

Once I discovered beads I had found my groove. I could string beads and make something beautiful. It was an amazing feeling. If I want a necklace, I could make one. And I did. Over and over again. I made them. I sold them at craft shows, farmer's markets, in stores and on-line. At one point I even quit my job to make jewelry full time. I had some success. I had a piece featured in a fashion spread in the local newspaper. My name was mentioned in the on-line version of Women's Wear Daily.

But life moved on, I went back to work and didn't have the time necessary to create as I would have liked. Then came kids and it all went out the window. I would go weeks or months without making something. I lost focus. I began to doubt myself. Then fear took over.

I'm not good enough.

I don't have style.

I'm not creative.

I believed it. Sometimes I think I still do. There is nothing I would love more than to create beautiful things, but ... So I don't.

I have bags and boxes full of supplies, paint, yarn, beads all waiting for that inspiration to strike. Pinterest both helps and hurts. I see all of the cool things I could make and I want to run out, get the supplies and start right now. But then I get overwhelmed with all of the things. It's too much. I can't right now. So I don't.

But when I do, it's totally worth it. In fact, despite all of my anxiety about creating, I actually have pieces I've created on display in my home. Sometimes I amaze myself.

Around

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Tue, 28 Jul 2015 17:34:00 +0000

Lately summer has seemed too long. The kids are fighting more than ever. It's hot. We are doing the same old, same old and it's gotten a tad boring. So I decided to shake something up.

I grabbed my camera and told the kids we were going for a walk. Normally a request for a walk is met with grumbling but I told them we were going to take pictures of the cool things we find. If there was something they liked, we could take a picture. That seemed to perk things up a bit.

I love our neighborhood, cozy bungalows and tree lined streets with a mix of new and interesting businesses. When we first moved here we had the bungalows and trees but there were no businesses to speak of. If we wanted dinner, coffee or to do a little shopping, we had to drive somewhere. Thanks to the dedication of local residents and the city, our little corner of the world has gotten a lot cooler. It's now a happening place to be. I just love it.

Perhaps the only way to get a picture of them together.

My favorite coffee house.

Always mugging for the camera.

Handmade chocolate? Yes please.

A book for every age.

The only way I can get a picture of her.

Ooh! Mom can you take a picture of the dead bug?

What I Love

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 22 Jul 2015 16:08:00 +0000

Rather than focusing on the negative, I decided to go around the house and take pictures of the things I love about it.

The kids' art wall

Tabasco Cat

A scarf from Zara that has become our bedspread

Lotus Furbella

A place to show my loves.

We built this. It amazes me to this day that we actually did it. I love to sit, watch the kids play and chat with the neighbors.

Unfortunately no pictures of the kids. Apparently when mom has a camera, it's time to hide. But I'll get you my pretties.

Out of the Box

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Tue, 21 Jul 2015 18:54:00 +0000

The other day I received a phone call from my husband. He told me that a friend of his from college and his family may be stopping by our house tonight on their way home from vacation.

It was like the scene in an old TV show where the husband lets the wife know he's bringing his boss or important client home in a few minutes and wackiness ensues. Except there was less wackiness and more panic.

Our house is not really fit for visitors, especially ones I don't know. It's messy, cluttered and the kitchen is half painted.

So I spent the afternoon cleaning. Well not really cleaning, just picking up. Getting rid of the stuff that didn't belong where it was. The living room was easy, it is the most used but also the most cleaned. The kitchen was hopeless, just do the dishes and move on. There isn't much to say about a room in the midst of a renewal.

The dining room was harder. Oh the dining room. I guess I can't really call it a dining room anymore because I can't remember the last time it was used for dining. Two years ago maybe? The table has been pushed against the windows and houses the kids' computer, various art supplies, a few legos and random broken toys. Because it's the main (only) passage way from the living room to the rest of the house it makes more sense not to have the dining table taking up all of the room.

The sideboard that houses our unused china occupies the other wall. It has served as a dumping ground for all of the papers and things I may need to use again but don't really want to deal with at the present moment. It also houses bins, files and folders to corral all of the papers and things I may need to use again but don't really want to deal with and now can't find because I put them somewhere. I hate it. Every so often I go through all of the junk and get it down to a manageable size. But it always manages to grow again.

There was no time to do that. I needed to pick up, put away and move on. So I did just that, I moved the stuff to another room, a place where it is more suited to be - the office, to be gone through at a later date.

But what then? The surfaces were clear but so what. It still looked sad and uninviting. So I decided to "stage" the area. I ran around pulling things from different places and arranged them in a nice, inviting way, a flower here, photos there, books laid out like so.

The result was amazing. It was still my house but it was better, almost like someone else lived there. It made me happy to see it. To know that I could if I really tried have a house like the ones on the blogs and TV shows I love. That maybe, just maybe these little changes would make me look at myself and our house differently and it could truly be a place that I love. I'd like to think I can get there.

House Anxiety

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 01 Jul 2015 16:55:00 +0000

I love reading decorating and design blogs. I pour over the words. I pin all the pictures. And then I dream, "wouldn't it be lovely to live in a house like that ...", "if only my house ..."

After staring at my screen dreams, I look up and see reality. Things are on the floor. Papers and junk cover the surfaces. It causes anxiety. I need to clean. Right now. I need to fix all of this. Right now. But there is so much to do, where do I start. I could start here in the living room. But if I pick up a toy and return it to it's rightful room, I then get distracted by the mess there. I must clean that. Right now. And when it's time to return something to it's rightful place from that room, the cycle starts all over again.

So I'm left with a messy house with a few things put away in their rightful places. I've thought about options, I've researched, I've read books and they all do the exact same thing. They cause more anxiety.

So I stop. I look. I think.

The couch, with pillows and blankets askew, may look messy but just a few minute it held my children playing a game together. That, in and of itself, is something of a minor miracle. So I can look at it and smile. The couch served it's function as a gathering place, warm and inviting, holding and providing comfort for those I love. It makes my heart sing just a little bit. I can accept that mess, no need to start there. The anxiety lessens just a bit and I can focus my energy on things that need to be done.

House v. Home

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 17 Jun 2015 21:45:00 +0000

We have lived in our house for almost 16 years. My relationship with the house has gone from love, Love, LOVE to annoyance, to sometimes hate, landing mostly on indifference.

Annoyance, indifference and hate are not emotions you want to associate with your house.

I love the heck out of the people and animals that live in the house. But there are so many things about the house that I don't like, things that are wrong, things I want to change but don't have the time to do, things I want to fix but can't. So I ignore or grumble and grouse when I walk into certain rooms.

I would read design blogs and see the beautiful rooms and I would get sad. Pinterest could make me depressed or angry. I wanted my house to look like that and it didn't. It could but it didn't.

But I didn't do anything and nothing changed.

Then I read the book The Nesting Place It Doesn't Have to be Perfect to be Beautiful and my perspective started to change. My home was far from perfect but it was filled with love and joy, maybe it could be beautiful too.

As I sat on my sofa one day, I started looking, really looking at my house. I found that there were things that I really and truly enjoyed about my home. The giant red sofa that can fit our whole family plus two cats on movie nights. The table in the entry hall that perfectly describes our family - the vase from China, the candle holder from Ethiopia, the globe, the pictures of our early days with our children. Seeing these things fills me with joy

I realized that maybe I was the thing that needed to change for me to love my house again. If I look at it through a lens of hope and possibility, I can see love. The things I can't fix will still be there but so will the good things. And maybe this stupid old house will feel more like home.

Seeking Grace

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 15 Apr 2015 21:13:00 +0000

Lately I've been caught up in my head, running on Renee power.
I need to do this ...
I have to do that ...
I want ...
I ...
I ...

It gets frustrating to do this. I get angry. I am anxious, depressed and generally no fun to be around. Normal kid behavior results in yelling. Every comment is a criticism. It's exhausting.

Today started out like this. Another day of running all over town trying to find shoes that would fit my daughter. 3s are too small. 4s too big. Most stores don't carry 3 1/2s. Gah! But the mall yielded results, I found a few options to let her try on. (Of course I could have brought her along to eliminate some of the stress. But having someone complain about how they don't want to be there and don't care causes more frustration and stress.)

Relieved that I wouldn't have to go anywhere else, I wandered into the bookstore. I picked up some design magazines and a few inspirational books I had been meaning to check out. I've had this desire to start creating again so I figured I might find a few ideas. As I sat in my chair reading articles. looking at pictures and perusing passages, something hit me. The reason I have been so frustrated and in my head was because I haven't been looking for Grace.

I believe that God is always present in our lives. He is showing us example after example of his presence but we (ok I) don't really look for it. When I can glimpse those moments and signs my day turns around. I need to, I have to becomes I get to. I becomes You and We. Struggle becomes ease. Fear becomes faith and trust.

To find that all I have to do is look. It's so amazingly simple but it can be so hard to do.

After this realization, I vowed to look for signs of Grace. I decided to take pictures of them so I would have a reminder that I found it, I saw God for just a moment. It's something I could do each day, a gift to myself and to those around me.

Resolved, I immediately set out to find it. I got up, went downstairs and was half way out of the store before I realized that I had already found Grace today. It was sitting in the pile of books and magazines I left on the bookstore table. My gift of Grace was the moment I realized I could look for it. So I turned around, went back upstairs and found my pile of Grace just as I had left it.

Beach Day

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Mon, 13 Apr 2015 03:08:00 +0000

Holidaze

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 17 Dec 2014 22:06:00 +0000

At house we celebrate both Chanukah and Christmas. I love this time of year and decorating our house to reflect both traditions. Here is a little peak at what we've done this year.

Get Away

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Tue, 27 May 2014 19:42:00 +0000

We look forward to it all year. The countdown starts at the beginning of May with numbers written in a child's hand on our chalkboard.

20, 15, 10.

When we reach single digits I can see the kids vibrating with excitement. We are going on vacation! Hooray!

Every year I wonder how it can be as good as it has been in the past? Will this be the year that something will go wrong, the year we vow never to go back? But it doesn't happen. Rain or shine, cold or hot, childish arguments, fights and tantrums, none of it matters. Our family is good here. We recognize the special quality of the weekend, the place.

When we leave, I research condos and cabins. Maybe we could buy here, spend summers and more. It's a dream I have, knowing that I could come here whenever I wanted. It won't be the same. I won't catch lightning in a bottle. But I continue to put pennies in a jar all the same.

Hard

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Mon, 19 May 2014 15:13:00 +0000

I post a lot about running on Facebook. I share details of almost every run. I am that girl.

I do it partially to hold myself accountable in my training. I have a schedule that I need to stick to. I need the inspiration that likes and comments provide.

The other reason I do it is because I never thought I would be here.

When I was in college, I faced a health crisis that took a long time to identify and resolve. During that time, fatalism, drama and self-absorption combined in such a way that I could not see beyond the pain I felt in the moment. When I thought about the future it was in abstract terms. I wanted jobs, marriage, family, a future but I couldn't really see myself with any of those things. I was sick. I was in pain. I figured I would die and that would be it. The end. No future.

But I didn't die. My health crisis was diagnosed and resolved. Jobs came (many, many, many jobs). I got married. We traveled a long path to family. I began to see a future with me in it.

However, my old way of thinking still persisted. Doubts, "I'm not strong", "I'm not good enough", "I can't do this", became the soundtrack in my head. So I didn't do anything. Well that is not true. I did lots of things halfheartedly. I couldn't stick with anything because I wouldn't do it right. Try this. Quit this. Try that. Quit that. Think about trying that other thing. Don't try that other thing. What about ...? No, never mind.

Few years ago I had a wake up call. I had to change my way of living. I couldn't do it anymore. It was exhausting. I was mentally, emotionally and spiritually dead. I might as well have been physically dead. So I stopped, surrendered and changed. Slowly, sometimes almost imperceptibly, I became a new, better version of myself.

As I got stronger, I saw that I could do things. I could do "easy" things. I got up, I made my bed, I fed, clothed and took care of my kids. I did life. I wondered about the hard things. Could I do them too?

Running is a hard thing.

It seems easy enough, moving at a pace faster than walking. But it's not easy. I have to push my body past it's comfort zone, take more steps, go farther, move quicker. The mental challenge is equally tough. I have to convince myself that my mind is lying. The familiar thoughts of "I can't", "It hurts", "No more" play like a broken record. Those are fears, lies. They are not truth. So every time I am out there I have to tell my mind to shut up. "No! I can do this." "I am strong."

The running posts I share are not boasts. They are my way of reminding myself that I am here. I am doing. I am living.

Moments

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Fri, 16 May 2014 17:37:00 +0000

My favorite moment from the week.

Reminders

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Tue, 13 May 2014 22:27:00 +0000

I needed the reminder as I slogged through my run today.

I needed the reminder as I struggled to stay awake and alert at home. If I do not get off the couch right now, I will be late picking up my kids. If I do not get off the couch right now I may never get off the couch again.

I needed the reminder that I don't have to do this. I get to do this. I get to live this life. It is a privilege and a gift.

It's a gift that I have two strong legs. I get to lace up my running shoes and I get to pound the pavement. There are days, like today, when the steps hurt, a twinge here and a pull there.

But there are also days, like Sunday, when I blaze forward faster than I have ever gone. I may not be the fastest and I sure as heck won't win anything but that time is fast, super fast, for me. Personal record, personal best.

I also get to share my passions and joys with my family. I always thought running was solitary, just me and the road. But it's not. Frink is there to feed the kids when my morning runs go too long. Bunny and Lion are there with signs cheering me on as I start and finish a race. And Lion is there running faster than I ever thought possible, leaving his momma in the dust with her heart swelling with pride.

Those are the days that make days like today worthwhile. I know that the slow days will be replaced with faster ones. The dull days replaced with ones that are much, much brighter.

Scared

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Mon, 24 Feb 2014 16:02:00 +0000

I left the house this morning with my computer saying I am going to write today. I always have the intention to write but I get distracted with social media. Next thing I know an hour has passed without me writing anything other than a Facebook status. But not today, today I will write.

I had intentions of writing about running. Running is my happy place. It brings me peace and joy. It clears my mind and makes me feel strong. But that is not what I am going to write about today.

As always after I got my coffee I opened Facebook right away. A few minutes won’t hurt, just a few. I clicked a few links, learned some things and laughed a bit. I saw Momastery’s series Sacred/Scared and clicked the link. I read and started to cry real, ugly tears in the middle of a coffee shop.

The women who shared their stories were women I admire - beautiful, strong and smart. I had followed them for years. I assumed they were better than me. They had done things. They were somebody. They were perfect. But they weren’t better than me. They weren’t perfect. They were scared. They had insecurities and fears. And they were strong enough to share them in this beautiful series to let us know that we are not alone.

So today I am going to share one of my biggest insecurities.

I am afraid that I will never have friends and I will always be alone.

This is the same fear I’ve had since I was 4 years old. I cried about it at 6, at 16, at 36 and even yesterday.

It’s true.

It’s true because I am alone all the time. I sit alone at a coffee shop. I see people meeting for coffee. I see them hugging and laughing while I am alone. I sit at home with my family on the weekend. I see pictures of gatherings on Facebook. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t invited. My phone doesn’t ring. I hear people making plans. “I’ll see you there.” Then they see me, say “Hi” and they walk away. I don’t have someone who knows me, who wants me, who cares.

It’s true that I don’t have friends because I am always alone.

It’s false.

It’s false because I have friends I run with, friends I kayak with in the summer. I get together with girlfriends from Law School for a vacation every year. I see women on regular basis who are glad to see me. They are always there with a smile and a hug. I have a contact list in my phone full of women I can call at any moment. I can invite them for coffee. I can laugh and cry with them. I know that it is false because I have friends.

It’s true and it’s false. I have the potential to have friends, to make connections. But I can’t make it a reality. I don’t call. I don’t know what to say. I think people are too busy. They don’t want to hear from me. I don’t know how to make the connection, to say I want to get to know you. Shy and anxiety ridden, I keep it on a surface level but inside I’m crying out. Notice me! Like me! Choose me!

But if I don’t make the effort to change, nothing will change. So every morning I offer up a prayer; please let me open up, to take a risk, to let someone in. And today just may be that day.

Frozen

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Tue, 07 Jan 2014 15:56:00 +0000

I've lived here my entire life. I know it gets cold in the winter. I know it gets really cold sometimes and really, really cold a few times.

But when I see - floating before a number, something deep inside seizes up. The fear response kicks in. Cold is bad. Cold is scary. Really, really cold is deadly. So I make plans. I stock up. I hunker down. And I stay the eff inside.

Except when I don't.

Frink called on Tuesday "There are Packer tickets available. Do you want to go to the game?" I did a spit take. What? Packer tickets? There are never, ever Packer tickets available. Ever. My green and gold loving heart lept. "Heck yeah I want to go! Buy them!"

Then I saw the weather report. Freezing cold. Polar vortex. Oh. My. God. I'm going to the game. Outside. I'm going to sit outside for 3 hours. I am going to die.

I proceeded to freak out for the next few days. If you saw my Facebook feed, you know what I'm talking about. The fear kicked in. It took root in my brain and would not let go. I could not get over the fact that it would be that cold. I would freeze, get frost bite, die of hypothermia or a heart attack.

I tested out my gameday outfit 3 days before the game. I went to the store and bought more. More clothes, more layers, something, anything to protect me. Frink saw me freaking out. He didn't make fun of me. He simply said "Let me know if you don't want to go. I need to find someone else to go with me."

I had an out. But I never took it. I was terrified but I was going.

So I freaked out. I added layers and more layers. I updated my will (because of course I'm going to die). But I never backed out.

I settled down during the two hour drive. I was calm during the walk to the stadium. I was approaching happy as we stood in line. I was excited by the time we got to our seats just as the ball kicked off. I screamed. I cheered my heart out. I was sad at the end.

But I was never, ever cold.

And What Do You Do?

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 25 Sep 2013 15:02:00 +0000

Meet someone new, answer the question. Fill out a form or a profile, answer the question. It’s a way of defining or categorizing a person. Lawyer, doctor, ditch digger, I don’t care who you are; I just want to put you in a box.

In the past few weeks I have had to answer this question repeatedly and it has caused me great pause. There are no easy answers.

I have kids, so I am a mom. I run, so I am a runner. I make stuff, so I am a maker. These things are passions and joys of mine. They make up who I am but they are not the answer to the question.

Last week I was at my law school reunion. It was fun, a weekend with friends to relive the glory days, to laugh. It was also nerve wracking, a weekend filled with lawyers who didn’t know me. I was asked the question over and over again. I struggled with my answer.

My friends would answer the question with their job title. Dean, coordinator, general counsel; people understood those answers. My friends are also mothers. They may run or make stuff or do other interesting things that make them who they are. But they can answer the question. They do something quantifiable. They fit into acceptable categories. They do big things.

And what do you do? I’m currently at home with my kids.

Oh.

What a noble job.

That’s hard work.

And now we move on. Let’s talk about what your friend does. That is way more interesting than laundry, packing lunches and kids’ activities.

I’m dismissed from the conversation. It hurts.

The simple answer to the question is I am a stay at home mom. The reality of the situation is a bit more complicated.

I chose to leave the workforce. It wasn’t right for me at the time. I spent all this time and emotional energy to become a mother. I needed to do it with all of my mind, body and soul. I couldn’t split my focus, that wasn’t working for anyone. I left and didn’t look back.

As the kids got older, I was able to explore things that interested me. I didn’t have to do something just because I held the appropriate licenses. I wrote. I made jewelry. I made other things. If I didn’t enjoy something, I didn’t have to do it anymore. I had freedom, I had choices.

I found I loved writing. I thought I was pretty good at it so I sought to do more of it. I found a volunteer position that allowed me to write. It grew into something more and I grew along with it.

And what do you do?

I am a writer. I am a maker of things. I run like a gentle breeze. I am lucky to be able to share my talents with organizations I believe in. I have the luxury of being home for my children.

That answer works for me. I don't care if it works for you.

Searching

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Mon, 15 Jul 2013 11:00:00 +0000

The room was empty. Darkness and cobwebs covered the corners. It was not a place you wanted to linger.

After a quick scan of the room, she moved on. It had to be here somewhere, but where?

Room after room, she searched unsuccessfully.

Perhaps it was lost to time much like this house had been. At one time, there were people here. The house bore witness to their joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies.

The people were long gone. The house fell into disrepair, a lone sentinel to a life forgotten.

Standing in the empty living room, tracing patterns in the dust, she wondered if any of it was real. The stories she had heard, the dreams she harbored about this place seemed to fall flat.

The empty house had no secrets to tell, no answers to give. She felt childish for holding out hope.

At the door, she turned back. One last glance, one last flicker of hope made her linger there. She half expected someone to come running down the stairs waiving a book, a photograph. Something. Anything.

But there was nothing.

She closed the door, walked down the porch stairs and go into her rental car. She drove away empty handed, empty hearted.

High Tea

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Mon, 08 Jul 2013 11:00:00 +0000

She took special care in getting dressed today. After studying her options in her closet, she chose a pale pink cap sleeved dress with a full skirt. Her hot pink sweater had beautiful paillettes that shimmied and danced when she moved.

Because the weather was warm, she eschewed stockings. Instead she wore silver strappy sandals with the slightest bit of heel. She was glad her mother had given into her relentless begging and painted her toes bright pink last night.

She carried her sparkly silver headband over to the mirror. Studying her reflection, she smoothed back her hair and placed the headband just right. A bit of pink lip gloss completed the look. She twirled and smiled at the girl in the mirror. It was perfect.

She placed her lip gloss in her purse in case a touch up was needed later. She added the five dollar bill her mother had given her and her handkerchief. She always carried a handkerchief because that is what a lady does and she desperately wanted to be a lady.

Satisfied with her preparations and brimming over with excitement, she ran out of her room and down the stairs. Halfway down, she checked herself. Ladies do not run willy-nilly, they make an entrance. She walked down the stairs with as much grace as she could muster.

She found her mother in the kitchen. “Is it time? Can I go now?”

Her mother was chopping vegetables for the soup. She placed the knife on the counter and turned towards her daughter with a smile. “Yes it’s time.” Mother reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “you look lovely. Do you have the money I gave you?”

She nodded. “Wonderful. Well off you go. Enjoy yourself and don’t forget your manners.”

After kissing her mother goodbye, she raced out the door and headed for her bike. She placed her purse in the basket and headed off. Down one block, across the park, the excitement growing the closer she came to her destination.

Finally she arrived. She carefully locked her bike and grabbed her purse. She skipped through the automatic doors strait to chairs next to the elevator. As she waited, Mr. and Mrs. Prescott entered. “Oh my, Earl, will you look at this pretty little lady.”

“Yes dear, she is a peach.”

She smoothed her dress and smiled. “Thank you. Today is a special occasion.”

“Is it now dear? Do tell.”

“Opal and I are going to high tea!”

“High tea? That is special.”

“Oh yes! The queen has high tea. It will be lovely.”

Just then the elevator arrived, bringing Opal in to the lobby. She gasped when she saw Opal. Her silver hair was curled just so. She wore a pale green dress, with a matching embroidered sweater. Silver heels and a silver clutch completed her look. Opal looked so beautiful, just as if she had stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

Mr. Prescott winked, “such lovely ladies on such a lovely day. I have half a mind to join you.”

“Oh Earl,” Mrs. Prescott giggled, swatting at him with her pocket book. “You ladies enjoy your tea. Say hello to the queen for me.”

Chasing Waterfalls

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Sundays are family days in our house. We always do something, maybe we'll hit a museum or a park. But the rule is that we do it together.

I have visions that these are going to be days my kids will remember when they are older, perfect days forever etched in their memories. More often they are days I would like to forget. Someone cries, someone throws a tantrum, they both fight. Then I worry is the forced togetherness too much, should there be time for individuality instead.

But it's not too much. The kids can and should be able to hold it together for a few hours of family time. It shouldn't be a battle. So we have talks about choosing happiness, choosing joy rather than choosing to be in a bad mood. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't but we soldier on.

There are times, maybe one in ten, where it is all worth it. The fights over what to do, the tantrums in the museum are forgotten on a sunny and warm day in the park.

We chose to follow a path along a small lake. We rambled on looking at trees, rocks and plants. We stopped to stare in wonder at holes in trees and in the ground. Who lives there? We explored the lake's shore. Fifteen, twenty minutes spent watching a frog in the water, laughing as his whole body puffed up to let loose a might croak.

We found a waterfall. We sat on rocks at the base letting the water spray us. We reached out to touch the cool, clear water. We looked for tracks of animals who might have come early in the morning to drink, to splash, to play.

We walked on through native prairie. We climbed trees. We discovered a beautiful field of flowers, a riot of purple and white. We laughed at the flower's name. Phlox. "Momma it's a field of phlox. A fabulous, field of phlox. I wonder if we'll see a fox in the phlox."

It's days like this, one in ten kind of days, that I etch into my memory. These are the days that keep me going every Sunday. These are the days that make Family Day worthwhile.

Run On and On

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Fri, 07 Jun 2013 12:00:00 +0000

I started running. This is nothing new. I've run before. I've participated in races. I hated every second of it.

So why would I start again? There are a lot of reasons. I'm doing Weight Watchers (again) and I actually wanted to lose weight. Activity is a great way to do that and running is an activity.

I had friends who were on similar journies. I followed their progress on Facebook, every morning at the gym, every morning doing something. I felt their passion. I saw their results. I wanted that, oh how I wanted that.

I was inspired. I had a goal. So I laced up my shoes, walked outside and I ran. I ran 2 miles and I felt great so I did it again and again and again. I finally found what I had heard so many runners talking about, endorphins, a runner's high.

The feeling carried me through my day. I went to bed excited to get up early and do it again. There have been mornings full of sunshine where I have felt the power of something greater than myself. There have been mornings full of clouds where I knew running would clear away the clouds inside of me.

There is a time in every run where I want to quit. I can feel it coming. My body will ache, yelling do you not remember you are 43, you should be in bed. But I know that just a block or two more and that feeling will leave. It will be replaced with a feeling of calm and of strength. I yell back at my body, I am doing this because I am 43, because I am getting stronger.

I am doing this because I love it. I love every second of it.

Contagious

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Thu, 06 Jun 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Activity begets activity. It's evident in my running. Once I start I can't stop. I run one day and the next thing I know I am waking up at 6 am four days in a row to pound the pavement. I love it. I need it.

I'm finding it now in other areas as well. Rather than sitting and watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy during Lion's nap time, yesterday found me on my hands and knees digging through our game and puzzle bins. Games and puzzles that had not seen the light of day in months were taken downstairs. A part of me wanted to take them directly to Goodwill but baby steps. Once I know they have all the pieces and no one asks where they are, they will be gone. I know that now.

After I hung the canvases on the wall, I knew it needed more. So Lion and I got the paints out and went to work.

It was fun.

It was comforting.

It was familiar.

The rhythm we had was so much like the one I used to have with Bunny when she was his age. The questions about what will happen if you mix one color with another, the desire to paint one after the other, all so similar. He's even painting his own version of Hamstacks (albiet without the fascinating backstory of French scientists who live at the circus).

And now I'm blogging again. I haven't blogged with any real regularity in months, maybe even a year. But here I am three days in a row in a place I haven't been in so long. I don't know why but it just feels right. It feels like something I need to do. My first blogging home But Why Mommy doesn't feel like fits anymore. I'm still a mom but it's not all I am. This is freer, there are no expectations here.

I once had dreams of being a style blogger, a craft blogger, something. Now I don't. Maybe it's age, maybe it's maturity, maybe it's apathy. I'm writing for me. I'm writing about the things I want. There are no apologies for being gone for so long. I obviously needed the break. There are no promises of more. I may be here in a week, a month, a year or I may not. But I am here now and I think I'd like to stay.

Half Finished

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 14:00:00 +0000

I am the queen of half finished projects.

I get a brilliant idea in my head. I rush out to the craft store. I start. And then I don't finish.

My room is full of baskets containing unfinished crochet projects and yarn that didn't quite make it into a project. The craft room of doom contains piles of beads, empty canvases and a dormant sewing machine. Even if I finish a project there is no guarantee that anything will be done with it. It may lay forgotten on a table or a shelf for months.

Last year we repainted our green living room a lovely latte color. It is brighter and lighter but it lacks the punch that green had. So one day when the kids were painting, I decided to join in. I grabbed three canvases, some mod podge, textured paper and a bunch of paint. I glued, papered and mixed the paints on the canvases. It was fun and I was pleased with the results.

I had every intention of hanging the canvases on the living room wall near the TV.

I meant to do it, I really did. But I didn't.

The canvases were added to the piles in the craft room of doom. Every time I saw them I meant to hang them, I really did. But I didn't. I did nothing with them for months.

And then one day in a fit of inspiration, I hung them on the wall. The organization may not be the greatest but they are on the wall. I finished something!

The Rummage and What Is Left

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Tue, 04 Jun 2013 19:18:00 +0000

I struggle with stuff. Not doing of stuff but the having of stuff. I like stuff. Having stuff around makes me feel better. I have the things I might need ... someday.

I also hate stuff. I hate that we have too much stuff. I hate that we have junky stuff. I hate that our stuff is all over. Having stuff around makes me feel anxious. I have things that I will never need ... ever.

So we had a rummage sale this weekend. We sold some stuff and we hauled the rest to Goodwill. The stuff was out of our house. I breathed a sigh of relief. Stuff was gone, we had space.

But then I looked around and noticed there was still stuff everywhere. Bins full of kids toys and books were gone but bins full of kids toys and books remained. Paperwork overflowed. There was not enough space for what we had. That sigh of relief turned into a gasp of panic.

A beginning was made but so much work still needs to be done.

Picking up

noreply@blogger.com (Renee) — Tue, 01 Jan 2013 20:20:00 +0000

This photo sums up my life. It doesn't get any simpler than this, a guide to organized living lying forgotten under a table.

I have good ideas, big ideas, good intentions. I get excited. I plan. I make lists. I buy supplies. I think "I'm gonna do it". I intend to do it. And then I don't.

Why?

Life gets in the way. I'm distracted by my kids. I have to do this or that. There is not enough time, not enough space. I don't have the right supplies, the right plan. Oooh something shiny.

My good intention, my big idea, lies forgotten like the magazine, collecting dust under a table.

Why?

I am unorganized. I am so very unorganized. I have things, too many things. These things do not have homes. When new things come in, old things do not leave. The new things are piled on top of the old, balanced precariously. Piles have piles have more piles. Things are shoved behind closed doors.

There is room in my home. It is the office. It was designed to be my creative space, space to write, to paint, to make jewelry. I should feel pride in that space but I do not.

Oh, that room. I shut its door, I hope you don't see. If you don't notice, its contents may disappear. But, I know it is there. It haunts me. It paralyzes me. I cannot fix it.

Why?

Procrastination. No. Procrastination is just a five syllable word for sloth. I am lazy. There is no magic cure so I do nothing. Doing something requires action, effort.

Things stay as is. Ideas collect dust. Creativity withers.

Or maybe, just maybe, I could pick that magazine up off the floor