Friday, August 25, 2017

August Update/Ramble

If you saw me right now, you would see that I'm wearing the same blue yoga pants and long-sleeved red shirt that I've been wearing for 3 days. I know that wearing other outfits means more laundry and, frankly, that's more than I want to do right now. If you looked around my house, you would see that it's a little messy but probably cleaner than it's been all summer. There are little piles here and there that need to be moved to a different room but the floors are swept, and the toilets are clean. So there's that. My lawn is mowed and covered in grass clippings because it was too long for my bagging attachment, lest I have to empty the bag every six feet. I read somewhere that the clippings are actually good for the lawn, so really my laziness it's just a gift to my grass. My counters are riddled with tomatoes. Some big and some small. The small ones are from my garden, which has produced just as poorly this year as it did the last. The large heirloom tomatoes are from a friend, whose green thumb matches the color of my envy. Every morning, I eat a piece of toast with fresh tomato on it. Fresh tomatoes and summer are somehow synonymous in my eyes. That and black bean corn salsa, which I shall be dining on this evening.

Girls camp is over. I've had a few of weeks to recover. When Girls Camp ends, I'm always left with an empty feeling. I love the process of working, shopping, crafting, and praying that goes into planning an outdoor excursion with a group of young women, and I truly have the BEST young women in the world. Together, we climbed mountains while peals of laughter rang out over the vast sky. Eyes were opened, physically and spiritually, to the wonders of God's creations. Friendships were strengthened. Then, after a morning of cleaning and goodbyes, we were thrust back into the valley of reality. And my reality was a messy house, stinky children, and a buttload of laundry.


Annie went back to school on Monday, and I'm excited to have some semblance of a routine in my life again. The hot summer zapped all of my energy, and it was not uncommon to find me laying on the couch sweating and complaining. I wish I did a better job of tapping into my pioneer ancestry and enduring the heat whilst counting my many blessings. Alas, I shall have to try again next summer. Although, I'm hoping I can talk Paul into investing in air conditioning by then.  My body longs for autumn. It craves brisk air and jacket weather. But my stomach dreads the squash soups. I have met very few savory pumpkin dishes I enjoyed, yet everyone seems to want to serve them come October. Memo to me: avoid social gatherings in October.

On August 16th, my baby brother entered the MTC to prepare for a mission in Japan. In the last year, we've formed a great friendship that, previously, our ten-year age gap prevented. I miss him texting me at ten o'clock at night asking me to edit his papers. I miss our philosophical conversations and playing Monopoly.  I think of everyone in the family, his absence at home has impacted me the least because I have not lived with him for over eight years, and because I'm a writer at heart, I genuinely enjoy our email correspondence. But he always gave the best hugs, and I could really use one of those right now.  It's been a long and lonely week.

After a lovely break from college, I have recently applied for a master's program in teaching and am anxiously awaiting an acceptance letter (hopefully). If all goes well, I will be starting my master's program on October 1st. Last Sunday, I confessed to Paul that I was beyond nervous for graduate studies. I have made a lofty goal of completing a year and a half worth of classes in 11 months, and I don't actually know if I am smart enough to accomplish such a task. Some days I feel like I am not very bright at all but a fantastic pretender, and it's only a matter of time before I am exposed. Paul said he knew the feeling but assured me that I was smart and said I'd probably finish all of my classes in 10 months. His faith in me is annoying. In the best possible way.

I can't wait for September to begin. August has always been my least favorite month, and I'm ready to embrace pumpkin spice everything. Farewell, Summer!

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Summer madness

Back in May, I turned to Paul and said, "This is going to be the craziest summer I've ever had."  And I meant that too.  Yes, sometimes I'm prone to hyperbolic speeches, but this time, I literally (not in the ironic way teens use this word) meant that my ritual of boring summers was about to come to an abrupt end.

First, the Hatchett's were having a big reunion.  Dozens of relatives were flying and driving in from across the country, and I was part of the planning committee.  Additionally, I was hosting one of my out-of-town cousins and her little family.  Each day was chalked full of activities and adventures, and while it was a dream come true to use my guest room and a pleasure to socialize with relatives, it was exhausting for both families.  Human bodies are apparently not geared for so much excitement.  I had to skip out on a couple of adventures just so I could carve out time to clean and keep my son on his sleeping schedule to reduce night terrors.  During that week, I also celebrated my 28th birthday, which was less traumatic than turning 27, so no complaints.



After my guests flew home, we celebrated Father's Day, Sam's birthday, and I had two weeks to prep for a cross-country drive back to the land of my forefathers: Southern Illinois.  (#Exotic)  Three years ago, this trip was riddled with vomiting, fevers, a seizure, ambulance ride, emergency room visit, hand-foot-and-mouth disease, rashes, explosive diarrhea in the car, night terrors, sleeplessness, rain, and ended much like it started, with more vomiting.  You can imagine my reservations when my grandmother invited us to a reunion with the Walker family this summer.  See, I was sorta hoping that in the last three years I would have struck oil in my yard or rescued a millionaire's cat from a tree and received a large reward that would pay for plane tickets for my future ventures to the midwest.  Alas. Driving was still our only budget-friendly form of transportation, so I spent two weeks planning, shopping, cleaning, and preparing mentally to hurl myself across the country in a metal prison with screaming inmates.

Surprisingly, the trip went off without a hitch.  There was no vomiting, fevers, seizures, ambulance rides, emergency room visits, hand-foot-and-mouth disease, rashes, explosive diarrhea in the car, night terrors, or sleeplessness.  Instead, there were lightning bugs, ukulele sing-alongs, hot country breakfasts, long naps, ice cream cones, bouncy houses, splash pools, fireworks, Kansas City BBQ, St. Louis Science Center, porch swings, long talks with my grandma, trips down memory lane, family history, and rain when we had nowhere to be but indoors.

We drove home last weekend, and now I am in full camp-director mode because Girls Camp is in just two weeks.  Bring.  It.  On.

Monday, May 15, 2017

The Case of the Stolen Bracelet

It was Friday evening, about seven o'clock, when I spotted the bracelet.  I recognized the magenta beads strung together by elastic, for I had seen it that morning at the Dollar Tree.  The problem was, we were not at the Dollar Tree.  We were at Home Depot, and the bracelet was not on a display, but my daughter's wrist.  It appeared as though I had a thief in my midst.  I waited until we reached the parking lot to confront the little criminal.  The best way to coax a confession is to act as casually as possible.

I leaned over the shopping cart. "So, where'd you get that bracelet?" I asked casually.  Annie looked down at her wrist with hesitation so slight, only the most experienced crime-fighting mother could detect it.  When she did not answer, I pressed a little further. "Is that the bracelet you showed me at the Dollar Tree?"  Annie's little lip began to tremble.  "The one I asked you to put back," I reminded.  She hung her head as tears welled in her eyes. "Did you steal it?" I whispered.  Annie tore the bracelet from her wrist and tried to shove it in my hands as if it were made of poison ivy instead of plastic.

"Take it!" She cried.  "I don't want it anymore!"  I insisted she wore it during the drive across the street to the Dollar Tree and told her she needed to give it a cashier and confess what she had done.  Annie held her arm away from her as she wailed and sobbed.  I asked her if she stole it on purpose or if she forgot it was on her wrist.  She insisted she forgot, and as I analyzed the evidence (i.e. her long sleeves which prevented her from feeling the beads sliding up and down her arm), I determined she was telling the truth. So, when we pulled up to the store, I turned around and handed her a dollar.  "How about we go pay for that bracelet."

She was afraid to walk into the store, convinced the approaching sirens were the police coming to take her to jail.  We waited 'til the ambulance passed so she could feel secure enough to go inside without having a meltdown.  Bravely, she stepped up to the register and handed the cashier the bracelet and the dollar.  I watched the fear and anxiety in her eyes melt away as the bracelet was handed back, this time, paid for and authentically hers.  She slipped it onto her wrist and held it close to her heart.

Back in the car, we talked about how yucky it feels to do the wrong thing and how much better we feel when we repent and make things right.  Annie nodded vigorously while admiring her magenta reminder.  There are so many times in a day when I feel like an inadequate mother. Sometimes I yell when I shouldn't, put my kids in front of the TV too often, feed them treats while the healthy bananas turn brown, and live in my head instead of in the moment.  But as Annie smiled at that bracelet, I did too, because I think I may have just done something right.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

April Favorites

When I look back on April, it seems like a dream that left me in a haze of denial.  Surely, it can't be May already.  But it is, so here are a few of my standout favorites from the month of April.

April Favorites

My yard
Last spring and summer, my yard was my favorite place to be.  Sometimes it was hard to balance time between school and yard work, but I always tried to dedicate a little time every day to be outside.  Whether I was weeding, watering, or pushing my kids on the swings, it brought me so much joy to cultivate the earth and create a recreational environment for my family.  This month, the weather warmed up enough that I felt comfortable mowing, weeding, and prepping my garden beds.  It was hard work.  I may have pulled a muscle in my back, but it has been so rewarding to slip on my worn-out garden gloves and sink my hands into some soil.

Command Center
In March, I created a Command Center in my hallway.  As my children get older, and especially now that Annie is in school, it's become more important to stay abreast of each other's activities.  So, we now have a family calendar and chore charts to help the kids keep up with their chores without too many reminders.

On the chore charts, we have magnets for each task, and when the children complete something, they can move a magnet to the "Done" area.  This helps them visualize their duties and engages their piddle-pot instincts which are attracted to touching everything.  Now my mornings are not a battle of begging my children to make their beds, brush their teeth, get dressed, etc.  I just ask them to check their magnets.
Thanks to this system, our April mornings ran more smoothly.

Escape to the Country
Photo Retrieved from https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/images/ic/480x270/p04qmb0x.jpg
Because was a little bluesy and anxious this month, I often found winding down for the night rather difficult.  This show, however, changed that.  It was the perfect mixture of the scenic English countryside, charming accents, cozy cottages, and a splash of history.  After tucking my children in their beds and kissing their little cheeks goodnight, escaping to the country soothed my soul.  If you need some soothing, you can find this show on Netflix.

Cancun
I will write an entire post about this experience in the next few days, but this was definitely the highlight of April.  It was my first time leaving the country, seeing the Atlantic ocean, snorkeling, and having a vacation where I literally could just lay on the beach and do nothing.  It was also my first getaway with Paul since our honeymoon (which was eight years ago).  After graduating, this is exactly what Paul and I needed.  I'm ready to go back.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Sad

Sometimes I feel there is this expectation for me to be the chipper comic relief, and I don't know how to reconcile that image with the reality that I'm not always happy.  When I had postpartum depression, it was slightly easier to be more open about how I felt.  First, I was too apathetic and exhausted to keep up the cheery facade, and second, because I had something to blame for my mood. I never said, "I'm depressed."  I would say, "I'm struggling with postpartum depression," like it was a separate being responsible for all of my woes, and I was the hormonal martyr.  For the past couple of months, I've had some familiar recurring negative thoughts and emotions I've have tried not to own up to, but here I am, typing away on my laptop, searching for something uplifting write about but unable to shake these unmistakable feelings.

I am sad.

There.  I said it.  I am sad, and I think it all began when I graduated.

Have you ever dreamed about something for so long that when you actually got to live that dream, you found it disappointing?  You know what I mean.  It’s like that weird fish fast-food restaurant in your home town you craved for years until you revisited the establishment as an adult and realized there is better food in the frozen section of Walmart.  Or that movie that all of your friends saw and wouldn’t shut up about it, but when you finally Redboxed it a year later, you find the picture rather lackluster.  Or, heaven forbid, it’s like that dress you’ve been drooling over on Pinterest, and when you finally venture out to a far-away outlet mall to try it on, it makes your shoulders look like a linebacker and your head appear shrunken. (#thestruggleisreal) Well, that was the level of disappointment I experienced after finishing my bachelor’s degree. Times ten.

Every spring, flowers burst from the ground and birds fill the trees, sounding their trumpets to announce winter is over.  Baby animals huddle beneath their mothers as the remnants of snow melt away.  The grass grows greener as popcorn pops on the apricot trees, and every spring, Facebook erupts with graduation pictures.  My feed looks like a Josten's catalog.  For years, I have concealed envy with copious amounts of "congratulations" as I watched friends and family obtain the one thing I thought I never would: a degree.  Heck, Paul even got two.  Occasionally, I would even watch celebrity graduation speeches circulating across the interwebs, and I just knew that being handed a degree would be a completely transformative experience.  Suddenly, my veins would pulse with wisdom.  People would stop and listen when I spoke.  My children would forever respect me.  It would be magical.

That didn't happen.

I graduated by clicking submit on my final assignment.  There was no pomp.  No circumstance.  No pulsing wisdom.  There was just silence, emptiness and an unreal feeling about the whole thing.  At the time, I did not understand why, but as the weeks dragged on, the reality of my situation became clear.  I missed school.  It's not that I missed the late night writing sessions or the mountains of reading.  I missed the daily human interaction and intellectually stimulating conversations that took place on the discussion boards.  I missed talking about world issues and how we would solve them.  I missed positive feedback from my teachers and peers as well as the constructive feedback which helped me grow.  It almost seems childish to admit, but after graduating, I felt lonely.

I'm not one to just stew in my feelings, so I am trying to stay active.  I have been appointed to the PTA council, buried myself in Girls Camp preparations, and have immersed myself in personal writing projects, but there are still days (like today) when the loneliness seeps up through the cracks in my schedule, and I just feel sad.  Is it okay if I feel that way?  Will you think less of me?


Saturday, April 8, 2017

Waiting

During my first pregnancy, many well-intended folks ventured that my delivery would be similar to my mother’s delivery with me, so when my midwife mentioned Annie’s due date was December 12th, I immediately attempted some mental math.  You see, I was born twenty days late.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I was TWENTY days late.  That’s one day short of three weeks and one week shy of a month!  It’s a wonder my mother loves me at all with what I put her through!  Anyway, as a first-time mom, I wanted my daughter’s birth to be perfect, and to me, perfect meant on time so I could take copious amounts of infant pictures underneath the Christmas tree.  However, if my daughter had the audacity to float around in her prenatal prison for an extra three weeks, she not only would not be born in time for Christmas, but she would be born in an entirely new year.  For tax reasons, Paul was equally concerned about that.  This fear ignited a fiery anxiety in me that only grew the closer I got to December 12th.  When the actual day arrived and my infant seemed content in her watery world, I cried, and I don’t mean shed a couple gentle tears.  I mean I spent the entire day stealing away to quiet spaces so I could wear my pity-party party hat without drawing too much attention to myself. Something deep down in my womb gut was positive that by not entering the world by her due date, my daughter was destined for a January birthday.

I can look back on December 12th with grand amusement now because just one hour after the day concluded, I went into labor and had my daughter in my arms before supper.  However, at the moment, the prospect of waiting for an indeterminate amount of days was more traumatic than the birth itself.  This just goes to show how much I hate waiting.  Man oh man, do I hate waiting.  I’d like to think I possess quite a few virtues.  Humility, integrity, morality, nobility, decency, masculinity, and probably any other virtues ending in ‘y.'  Patience, however, does not end in ‘y,' which is probably why I find this trait so elusive.

Recently, I have been plagued with much waiting. At the end of February, Paul learned that he had been nominated to join the executive team on a retreat in April to Cancun, Mexico.  It was an entirely unexpected but completely welcomed break from the rigors of life.  Unfortunately, because we had no plans on leaving the country anytime soon, we needed to quickly procure passports as to not miss the trip.  The kind passport lady said it could take up to six weeks for our passports to arrive by mail. She also had to take our birth certificates and told us to keep an eye out for those too.  Likewise, since I had just graduated, I was waiting for my diploma, and during this time, Paul renewed his driver’s license.  With so many sensitive documents floating around the postal sphere and a recent mail theft plaguing our sense of security, the wait seemed painfully long.  Each day I checked the mail only to find grocery store fliers and credit card come-ons escalated my anxiety to the point that had to hold back tears as I dumped my junk mail into the recycling bin.  It seems so silly now that everything has arrived safe and sound, but my impatient self doesn't care.  It’s like waiting transforms me into a caged animal.  You would think after twenty-seven years on this great green earth, I would have finally earned my patience badge for my virtue sash, but alas.  I think the older I’ve gotten, the harder waiting has become.  After all, every day is a day closer to death and yet another day that I’m not in Cancun.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

March Favorites

March was a month where the universe conspired against me.  I had all of the best intentions to clean, organize, hem curtains, be perfect, that kind of stuff.  Instead, I spent most of the month sitting on the couch.  Still, I managed to stumble across some favorites I thought I would share.

March Favorites
Meal of the Month
We ate (and regurgitated) some pretty excellent meals this month, but this lovely combo is our new favorite. Applesauce, electrolyte-replenishing drink, and oyster crackers. This mixture of bland and smooth is easy on the palate and the stomach.  It also comes up nicely if that pertains to you.  It did to us.  Both of my children and I got hit with the pukies in March, so having these ingredients on hand was a must.

Humidifier
Our old humidifier sounded like a jet engine, and since humidifiers are mainly used at bedtime, you can imagine the roaring sound of turbines and crushed birds was not conducive to restful sleep. When Sam came down with the croup at the beginning of March, I purchased this ultrasonic/ultra-quiet humidifier from Walgreens.  It works perfectly, so perfectly it warps doors so they won't close and dampens every surface of my children's tiny rooms.  Still, this whisper-soft machine came in handy again when Annie contracted pneumonia later in the month.  A worthy investment, I'd say.

Diffuser
My mother-in-law gave us this diffuser for Christmas, and it ran almost every night this month. Whether it was diffusing a breathing formula for coughs and sniffles or a stomach formula for yucky tummies, it was an indispensable part of our healing process.

Party Pails

My kids are pukers.  They puke when they have the flu, run a temperature, take ibuprofen, get congested, don't eat enough, eat too much, cry too hard, or ride in the car.  Neither like the idea of sticking their faces in the toilet, so these old ice cream buckets have saved my life too many times to count, especially this month.  My kids have one under their beds at all times, and we have an extra in the bathroom. Highly recommend.

New Bedspread
When we moved into this house, the decorative touches the previous owners added to the master bedroom highlighted how incredibly pathetic our furniture and blankets appeared.  Over the last year, we [finally] bought a real bedframe, some clearance art for the walls, curtains, and this month, a new bedspread.

Where this room used to look dark and bleak, it now feels comfortable and cheery.  I have taken sooo many pictures of this new quilt (kind of like I did with the bookshelves) because, after almost eight years of marriage, I finally have a bedroom that reflects me. AND IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY.

New Fridge
After over a year of struggling with our decrepit fridge, our tax return allowed us to replace it. The old fridge dripped buckets of water down the back that, if not collected in tupperware, would fill the produce drawers or pool in the bottom until it leaked through the door seal and created a puddle on the floor.  Anything sitting in the back of the fridge would freeze solid, but the ice maker in the freezer didn't work at all. The deli drawer wouldn't open half of the time because it was frozen shut, and that was the last straw because no one gets between me and my cheese.  Rediculous.  The new fridge is a vast improvement.  It has a working ice maker, no leaks, and we are loving having filtered water on the door. 10/10 love this fridge.

Well, March. It's been real. It's been fun.  Ain't been real fun though.  Bring on April.  I have a good feeling about April. :)