silverware, mindfulness and not so much..

I wanted to be deep today, and meaningful. I was going to write something mindful, too. Deep, meaningful, mindful, all present together... 

But I can't, because right now my husband is cackling, screaming and gleefully singing tribal victory war chants. Apparently both his 'home team' and his 'fantasy league' team are doing quite well. Mostly, the tribal bellowing is annoying me.

Except that's not really the reason i'm not being deep. It's just a reason to be annoyed and an excuse to not be mindful "I can't be present, the present is very loud and bellow-y."

 I'm not being meaningful or deep,  or even mindful, because I'm currently wondering about the fairies. I believe in fairies, but not the fairies that live in meadows and flowers and trees, they may exist, but those aren't the ones I'm talking about.  I don't know where the fairies I'm talking about live. I imagine they live in a tree designed by Crate and Barrel, or a butterdish-shaped land of silver and mis-matched china. I imagine the slight fairies dancing around all the spoons and tupperware bowls they have stolen from my home.

Just the spoons, today, though. I gave up on tupperware a while back.

I don't know where they are. The spoons, they've all disappeared. I never find them, either. I secretly suspected for the longest time my children took off with them, but I've been through their rooms, no spoons, or tupperware. No idea where they are. It must be the fairies. Like with socks, only instead of the sock-eating monster that lives in the vent, it's fairies. I don't question the sock-problem anymore, I'm fairly satisfied it's the monster in the vent.

Except I really need a spoon.

But this spoon issue, and the related tupperware bowl/container issue, has stopped my progress on the dishes, because it was while I was doing the dishes I realized all the spoons seem to be disappearing again, and that made me wonder about fairies that stole silverware, and reminded me I also have tupperware container fairies, and then I had to stop doing the dishes so I could consider what this all means and ask anyone, anyone at all... are the tupperware fairies a different type of fairy than the silverware fairies?

Home alone... quick, write!

I'm not really home alone.
I'm home because my boy isn't feeling well, but since he's not feeling well, he's in his room doing what boys who don't feel well do, playing quietly in his imagination.

I'm home, so I'm going to take the time today to sneak some writing in. Here's the hard part though, all I really want to do, every day, is write. I would rather be here, at my desk with my non-ergonomic keyboard, in the quiet of my home, and write. Write my books. Write essays. Write articles. It's really the world that suits me. I've done it before, when I was in Washington, juggling a degree, raising preschoolers and writing my first book, so I know I can be home and get the work done.

And it's totally in my three-year-plan to achieve this type of life.
It's just, every now and again, when I get a glimpse and taste of the life  I want, oh man, I really just want it now... but patience, I know. Doing this while earning an income is important. I need that steady paycheck right now... oh but I shall dreeeaammm....

And after I dream a bit, I'll write! I'm in two writers workshop courses, both of which so far, are going really well. The next one I take, depending no the course of this one, will be on fictional writing vs. nonfiction writing. The workshops are good because they are doing two very important things for me: 1) Helping me hone my skills and 2) Reminding me to stay on the path I'm on.

I am a writer. Before anything else and after everything else, that is who and what I am. 

Sometimes, life is frazzling

It’s been a rough crazy week. By other people’s standards, it was probably mellow, but as an introverted sort of person, there are certain things I need in order to not feel frazzled or out of sorts on an average week, and that is a boring, predictable routine. 

I need time to do the after/school evening routine of homework, cooking and cleaning up, time to run, time to write, time to recharge. Of the those, the last is most vital. So vital that if I don’t have that down-time, I will take it at the expense of all the others. 

I will not cook, clean, manage the homework for the kids, run or write. 

This week, I had a town hall meeting I needed to attend and my daughter’s talent show, and no time between leaving work and attending the meetings/talent shows, which resulted in two late-nights in a row, which for me, is a bit much. 

This happens sometimes, as in sometimes enough it's almost often, and instead of be-moaning it, which is my normal course, “Oh, I got nothing done because I couldn’t be home to actually do any of it, I’m so behind, work is so crazy, the kids are so needy, we don’t have any food and I’m too tired to do the things I want to do waaah’ I soothed myself by visiting some mindful websites because honestly when I'm frazzled I'm not practicing being mindful, and mindful for me = happy. The return to a place of mindfulness was a reminder that hey, it's okay to totally be out of sorts. Having accepted feeling totally wacked and out of sorts, I decided I didn't need to stay in that feeling. I took a few breaths, and decided to reflect on what led to this feeling.

I don’t like spending too much time reflecting, my mind is too busy to look back, but here I have a consistent problem that I view as being an impediment to my growth not only as a writer, but as a person trying to practice mindfulness, and a person trying to live fully the life I have.  

What I realized is that occasionally my life is thrown off balance, usually on a week-to-week basis, and that I have no counter-measures to it. I see it, I react to it, but I don’t have a plan that allows me to account for weeks where the normal routine falls out of whack, and the things that sustain me fall to the wayside, where the things that aren't nourishing take priority.

First, I love normal routines. I think life is smoother when weeknights aren’t filled with events and activities. As an introvert, staying in more than going out is a more comfortable lifestyle for me. Oh, I love going out, if I can stay in the next few days… 

So, yes, one weeknight, sure, maybe two occasionally, but with kids, that’s it. A week of too many events, especially back-to-back, and especially so time consuming, drain me.

After reflecting, I realize I can plan for most of these whacked-out, too-busy weeks. When I KNOW I have a week of too many events and too much to do, what is my plan… right, I didn't have one. I came up with one, though. There's no reason that I can't wake up extra early to run on a meeting night, check, put that in the plan. Spending my lunch time writing instead of waiting til I get home when I know I won't be home before 9 and I turn into a pumpkin at 10, check. Having frozen meals in the dinner and paper plates on hand for when I’m not home or running out the door just as dinner’s getting served, check. Stay up an hour later just to have some recharge time. Check.

Those three little changes to a disrupted routine will give me everything I need: time to manage afternoon/evening routines, time to run, time to write, time to recharge. There's so much truth in the saying that the only time we have is the moment we actually have. It should be spent truly in that moment. There's no logic or sense in putting off the things that nourish us the most in favor of external priorities.

And that is the lecture I gave myself, and is why today, on this beautiful, rainy Friday, I am not frazzled, out of whack, or bemoaning anything.

It's 3 a.m.... Let's BLOG!

Funny story about Turbo and random purple rashes on his hands and feet that don't hurt or itch, but kinda turn into weird teeny white blisters that don't hurt, that he picks at giving his hands that picked-skin look I find so queasy-inducing.

 He said "MOM, what is HAPPENING to me?" 

and I said "I don't know..." 

and introduced him to WebMD...kidding... 

I have been checking him daily, sometimes twice, but they seem to be going down. Just... dark purple rashes...file under 'weird kid things that magically go away after freaking mom out.'

I hate waking up in the middle of the night. I know I'm not the only one that does. I have e-mails and Facebook posts to prove it.

Tonight I woke up because before I left work I read an article on how the ultra-wealthy are a) not Americans and b) going to American schools and c) ruling our economy and d) that's why the middle class is going away and e) we're all doomed because before we can do anything about it, giant Pulsar Waves of Doom will wipe out all technology, and omigosh I'm never going to have money, I'll be educated and broke and living in poverty and have to retire in squalor because my brilliant sons won't have the money to go to a good college and take care of me in my old age, because they will be forced to be modern revolutionaries in the post-pulsar America driving old hum-vees, SUVs and Jeep-vees, wearing the same jeans and duster coats for  weeks on end. 

They'll probably smoke, too, because with the demise of technology, all the warnings about how bad smoking is for you will have disappeared, and they won't listen to me because I'm just an old naggy anxious ninny at that point railing on about old fish-wives tales about smoking being bad and once, before the Pulsar Waves of Doom, America had rivers and lakes....

Also, my assignments for my writing workshop were due TONIGHT and I didn't get them turned in because, hey, I didn't have time to read any of it, and while I did email the teacher my ideas, with questions ,I didn't do the submissions because I haven't had time (thank you, school town hall meeting, daughter's talent show and etc etc) I should have just done them over the weekend. So even though it's not a graded class, I'm stressed because I missed a deadline and aaaahhh.

Then I thought, OMIGOSH how do I think I could even make money at this?

Then I went into 'OMIGOSH' I haven't even written more on my novel, even though I have this great scene I need to do where main character gets into a fender bender, and never mind the guilt I'm having because even though I want to write more 'serious' stuff, the things that come to mind are scenes for that fun book, and we all know fun is not serious, and evil, and and... ahhhh.

I hate insomnia.

Do I even answer this crazy email sent at 2:12 a.m. from this work person with a crazy response at 2:46 a.m. that says, hey, like you, I'm neurotic and anxious? Maybe I can just say, do you know what time it is? Go back to bed!

Tuesday Calm

Some not good mornings can still be calm mornings, I've learned, by completely and totally lowering all expectations.

This morning, I woke up late, which means EVERYONE woke up late, and all my work pants except the ankle pants, were dirty. (Because I didn't do laundry, not because I woke up late.) This is the first thing I noticed. The second thing I noticed is I had fuzzy ankles. I'm trying to wear jeans less in the office (it's truly a difficult thing to accomplish, because jeans are so... jeans). So I used my husband's razor really quickly to do a quick clean-up of the ankle area. Don't tell him. But I'm not wearing jeans today. Victory! After, of course, I ran downstairs and threw some toast in the oven because my sons need to eat before school (yeah yeah I know, and I did buy a toaster, it's sitting in the box looking shiny and new) and they all got fed, except me. I'm starving. BUT I HAD COFFEE.

Everyone got dressed. Then Turbo couldn't find his shoes. We looked everywhere, and still, only had the one. So he borrowed my five-finger Vibram toe shoes that fit him. He loves those shoes as much as I do. The other students don't know how to quite react, but it's Colorado, so they all have at least SEEN those shoes on others, just not in school. TOE SHOES ARE COOL!

My other son, Bear, slipped out the door with jogging pants, even though I told him he couldn't wear sweat to school. But hey, his long, flowy, in-his-face, over-his-eye hair was brushed, as were his teeth, with minimal prodding. I let the sweatpants slide, because the alternative was being late and chances are good no one at school will notice they break the school's dress code. Turbo's teeth were brushed, too. I'M WINNING!

So this morning, I woke up late and did a bunch of quick re-evaluation of our normal routines, re-prioritized how I would like my morning to go, lowered my expectations of EVERYTHING, and got everyone fed, dressed and out the door on time, without frantically throwing shoes and snacks at my sons screaming 'to the TRUCK GET IN THE TRUCK' as they flee out the door ducking and screaming 'I DON"T HAVE SHOES ON' and 'MY BACKPACK' and 'AAAAAAHHHHHHHH' like sometimes happens when we all wake up 45 minutes late.

So even though today started 45 minutes late, we still all arrived calm, cool, mostly-fed, not fuzzy-legged, not shoeless, not bad-breath-ed, and not like we all just emerged from the bloody battle that we call 'the morning routine.'

Sweet. 

Running and writing and not mopping

My kitchen floor is a disaster. My house an ever-changing mess. So I went for a long walk today, because, unfortunately for my kitchen floor, tomorrow I am going to do a six-mile run. I'll just sweep it up real fast and pretend it's an old floor with character.

Running pants with high-tech fabric, cost more than my work pants. Sneakers..
plain looking but pricier than my go-out shoes - runner priorities.

I really need to get that six mile run in, though. 

I am not the fastest runner., though I am leaning closer to ten-minute miles than 11-minute miles. I do not run the farthest, though I have run 20+ miles and am inching back up to the ten-mile mark. I am not an overly-ambitious runner with several strategies to improve my PR, though I do some fartleks and hills to improve what skill and form I have.  

I am not a jogger, though I am still not sure what the difference is beyond joggers jog for fitness or fun, don't read running magazines, and have clean kitchen floors, while runners run because they "have to," read a lot of running magazines, and don't have clean kitchen floors. 

I am a consistent runner. It's the consistency of it that allows me to inch closer to ten minute miles, to longer distances, to managing my breathing, to maintain calm. I even plan to run the full winter season this year! I've got an uber pair of extra-warm, extra-pricey running pants in a shopping cart, waiting for the first cold spell. Probably another difference - runners spend more on high-tech running pants and jackets than they do on any other clothing they own.  I've got a jacket. I've got a hat. I can run in the cold. My family accepts my runs as something that I do, that five to six times a week, I'm out the door on a run, or a walk or bike ride on an off-day.

How I run, I find, is how I live my life. A few years ago, I defined my priorities, decided what mattered. If I only did three things, it would be to run, to write, and to raise my family healthily. You'll notice cleaning isn't on the list. Neither is 'maintain a neat and orderly home.' Just as I am a runner, I am a writer. Like running, I am not overly ambitious, but  I do work to improve my skills, to go further, explore more, test my own limits.  

I'm a consistent writer. I write for the same reason I run. I have to write. When I write, the house can, and often does, go to hell. It's okay. The alternative is to not write, and if I mop once every.... lets be honest.... three months or six.... well, at least my sons sweep.  

I run, and I write. Running feeds my body. Writing feeds my soul. Both allow me the energy to raise my family. Neither allow me the time to mop. Or clean much. At least I cook...ish.

Mom runs. Mom writes. Mom doesn't mop. Do we even own a mop?

Usually it's a whisper

Sometimes, once in a great while, the universe shouts at you. This isn't ideal, because the universe is vast and big, so when it shouts, things break and people get hurt. It's best to not have to make the universe shout.

Usually, the universe just whispers. It whispers inside you. Sometimes, others pick up on the whisper, and echo it back to you, but usually it's because the universe is whispering to others that whatever it's telling you to do is a good idea, and the universe thinks you're fairly obtuse so enlists the help of others.

It's easy to miss the whispers, which is a shame, because the whispers are your guide, your clue, your map through life. There's so much noise outside of us, around us, through others, even others who mean well, telling us what our path is, how to get there, when to get there, when we have an opportunity and when we miss an opportunity, what we should do and should not do, what to strive for, what to do to get there, and they're all wrong, well-intentioned, but wrong. If we all embark on our true journeys, and work to our true paths, then walking the roads all others have walked will only get us to the popular destination everyone else arrives at, not the roads we were meant to travel, not the destination we wish to arrive at.

It's only the faint echo, the slow stirrings, the whispers deep in a place in you that goes deeper than your physical being ever can, that whisper, that voice, is truth. It's not a gut-feeling, not at all. Gut feelings are not infallible. No, the whispering voice, it's a gut-knowing, and it truly is infallible. Gut feelings make you instantly react to something. A gut knowing makes you turn down something that seems so right, in favor of something so uncertain, with no doubt or second thoughts.

If you hear it, if you heed it, only if. The universe doesn't speak in complete sentences. It translates to us as vague stirrings and knowings that become clearer to us as we hone in and begin to listen, to understand its language.

The universe has been whispering to me for some time, and I knew it was saying something, and I did try to listen, but I had things to take care of.  One of the boys is having a hard time at school and needs a lot of help, I can't find a good sweater to buy and my office is getting chilly now that the weather is turning, I didn't do laundry, I haven't lost ten pounds, the children want to be fed and I'm managing a tight budget that is manageable  with effort and by the way, my house is a mess... but I knew it was whispering at me, and I tuned in a bit, and my friend picked up on this whispering, and echoed it, and I made a small choice.

And then, just as I did so, it came, the knowing, that gut-knowing, that this small choice was one small choice that can only lead to other choices, it's a choice that set me on a different course. It was the right choice.

Sometimes, we don't know when we make a choice the impact it will have later.  Sometimes, when me make a choice, the universe sighs in relief and contentment. It no longer has to try to reach you.

Think about your dreams, and the small choices that take you there, and listen for the whisperings, the voice that will get you there. 

***What choice? Honestly, it's too insignificant of one to even share, it's just... a seed planted really.***

After Thursday...

Our 'Mighty St. Vrain' has always been a loose term for our river, as it meanders through town peacefully, and our Left Hand Creek has always been a little trickle for the most part, getting to proper creek status only after a lot of snow or rain in the mountains. Then, we got 2/3rds of a year's rain in one night. Hello Mighty St. Vrain. Hello, Proper Left Hand Creek-River.

We live in drought land. So when a phone call came at 4 a.m. saying all schools in our district were closed, because of.... rain... I though they were being overly cautious. Really? Some rain?

You can understand the initial disbelief between friends to see that really, schools canceled, in September, for rain?  Compounded by the knock on the door at 6:45 a.m. Leave? For rain? We live by a small river and a creek. Really? I was probably one of many faces who replied with a look of 'are you in the right neighborhood? and sane?' that morning. 

The boys, they jumped into evacuation mode. My Bear, my sweet sweet Bear, grabbed the most important thing in his nine-year old life - his fish blankie.... everything else can go down the river. But not that blankie. Still, I only took it half-seriously. Little creek. Little river. 

Compound the visit at 6:45 a.m. by a mid-morning walk  over to the creek with a friend to see that yes, indeedy, our creek has become quite the river. *Yes, we went a whole block away, to a friend's house, who wasn't evacuated yet... baby steps... baby steps...* We could see that the creek has flooded into the road, and that the road opposite, the OTHER side of the creek, was now a river itself, flowing fast and high. At this point Thursday morning, before noon, we knew it was both real and unprecedented. We spent the rest of the day low-key and cool as cucumbers for the kids - stifling any uncertainty and anxiety we might have had to ensure the children knew hey, yeah, this is different, this is serious, but we're all fine. It's exhausting, when you really want to go "WHOA this is SERIOUS."

We didn't know the full extent of its impact on our city. We knew, by this time, our favorite mountain town, Lyons, had already begun flooding, people evacuating out of their homes in the middle of the night and trying to stay up on high ground or sheltering in the school. Roads already washing out or washed out. Thursday night, Boulder residents took the brunt of it, hearing the sirens go off non-stop while the Boulder creek took over main roads.

We followed it all through social media, we followed our own city's flooding through the same means, the feeds from the city, the county and from the local newspaper keeping us up to date, people hashtag-ing the flood by location: #Longmontflood, #Lyonsflood, #StVrainflood, #Boulderflood, everywhere around us. You were either in a flood or in a drought here. It's a testament to the modern age that while we were experiencing one of the biggest weather events in our area in more than 500 years, my husband went to work, and it was all business as usual.  Right, 500-year flood event - yes, that's how common this is - and towns and cities all around us buzzed about normally. Now, while the city had a plan for this 500-year flood event (which I think involved them evacuating everyone on the 500 year flood plain), no resident spent their days thinking that the tiny Left Hand Creek and the St. Vrain River would be quite the force it became. 

I feel like the entire state should have stopped Thursday, with us. There should have been a day of state-wide bewilderment and awe. "Work has been canceled, because in the Front Range, a 500-year flood event is happening, and our Front Range communities are in a diasaster area. Be in awe of Nature, and spend the day in contemplation of nature's raw power and its impact on man's creations..."

....but of course that isn't how life works.  

These pictures in the album are of just the Lefthand Creek. The St. Vrain did a mighty amount of rearranging of our earth on its own, but these photos are right in my neighborhood:






The damage to our infrastructure is devastating. The estimates have more than 17,000 homes damaged, 1500 lost, but the real telling damage is to our roads and highways. Bridges here in town are gone, completely wiped out, leaving us a city of detours. We've lost some highways, and around 30 bridges. There is no access to some of the mountain towns, no visits for quite some time to our favorite Lyons, or Estes, gateway for us to Rocky Mountain National Park, and beautiful day-escape. In many areas, it's like nothing happened. But in some areas, where it's like nothing happened, go down one more street, and suddenly, you see it - what flood waters leave behind when they recede.

I had always imagined flooding to be quick, but as long as it rained, the flooding came. Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday saw a reprieve but then more of the rains on Sunday prompted new fears, and more flooding. I'm pretty sure we need the rest of September to be dry. 

Next up, winter.

I ran in the rain

I ran in the rain and wished it was a little bit cooler.

I ran, and the rain fell. It's still falling. Tons of water suddenly descending on us after days of sunshine.  The water rushed by faster than normal, with the creek beds rising high. I was lucky the bridge under the road wasn't filled with water yet, it will be tomorrow. I ran until the sun finally set around me, and I realized that between my fogged up glasses, the darkness, and the passing headlights of cars, the only thing I could see was the ground directly in front of me.

Eleven minute ten second miles, faster than my runs in 90+ heat, slower than the ones from last year's cooler times.  I ran in the cool rain with fogged up glasses in the darkening sky.  The rain tells me fall is coming. Tonight it reminded me how important it is to run as much as I can before winter comes. I can handle chilly fall morning runs, I am not equipped for a full-blown winter run, though I have sworn that I'd try this year.

Tonight, running in the rain, I accomplished something easily that I haven't been able to do on other runs. I was able to let go. One run in the rain started out like most, with a thousand thoughts on my mind, imagined conversations I should have, to-do lists, things I haven't done, ought to do, worry about what I haven't done, what about the appointments I made, the things I have to do in the next few weeks, but the rain poured down through my glasses fogging them up so I had to pay closer attention to the ground. Then, it got darker, so I had to focus even closer, and soon, I wasn't thinking about anything but running. I didn't have any music on so I took cues from the sounds around me. No one was out, except the other people that were - some kids playing in the creek while it was still light. A man walking his dog in the dark. And I stayed in the moment, in the rain, just running.

Things I noticed on my walk this morning when I wasn't paying attention

This whole thing about living in the moment doesn’t preclude any future, or suggest that plans shouldn’t be made for the future, only that the moment you exist in is currently the only moment, and unless you’re currently writing up a five-year plan for your life, then you shouldn’t be mentally living the next five years of your life. 

You should be paying attention to the moment you have, because really, it is the only thing that currently exists. The only things that existed in my walk this morning were the many things I wasn’t paying attention to because I easily get pulled out of moments by my very busy, buzz-about bossy mind which, as far as I can tell, is not the aspect of my mind which has gotten me anywhere far in life, and is the least reliable part of my mind.

Today I noticed that I wasn’t paying attention to the speed of our walk, because when I came home, my calves were a little sorer than normal, strange considering I normally run that walk. 

I noticed my not noticing that we passed by two dog-owners walking their dogs early in the morning, and my friend made a point to say hi, while I smiled awkwardly and moved on. I rarely go with a 'hi' and prefer the subtle nod of the head and half-smile with strangers. 

I noticed the water of the creek ran low and slow and the ground is still mostly brown. I noticed while not noticing that my friend was moved by the sunrise behind us in the East, while I was moved by the soft pink hue of the mountains in the west.

I did notice the pink hues, though, and that image has stayed in my mind all day, the mountains looking like a mirage or an illusion as the sun seemed to rise and set simultaneously.

The mountains out here are my silent partners. They help me stay in the moment, help me put things in perspective, and provide a guide, something to move toward, when I’m not quite sure where I’m going. A lot of times, I’ll choose a run or a bike ride toward the west specifically so I’ll be able to see the mountains, to use them as a personal base.  I put a lot on those mountains, but I’m pretty sure they’re completely indifferent to me.

 I’m pulled to them because they are immovable; their surface may always be changing, seasons come and go, fires ravage their forests, new forests grow, roads are built, people and animals traipse about, but still, they are at their core, immovable. So when the pink hue of the mountains meeting the sky caught my eye, I looked and remembered that no matter what silliness I have going on, whatever I’m thinking, planning, doing, contemplating or whining about, is of little consequence in the lifetime of these mountains, of little consequence to my own lifetime even, but my entire life is nothing in the timeline of a mountain, what of it all, they would ask, if they could speak. What of these small things you talk of? Suddenly, in a glance to the west, t  the circumstances are not so insurmountable, the urgency not so much of a rush. The mountains remind me that there is time in life to live life, if life is lived truly. I noticed all of this while not paying attention to the things I was noticing.

Flashback - Perpetual Days Off

This is one of those rare days when I feel like I did oh those six years ago when I was a stay at home mom with little pudgy toddler boys, a lot of coffee, and vague ideas about my life, along with panic attacks about my checking account, my lack of daily adult conversation and a constant desire to be left alone just long enough for a freakin' cup of coffee kids. One. Cup. Of. Coffee.... that I don't have to drink hiding in the bathroom.

Today, the boys, who are now snarky sarcastic boys in between big boys and tweeners, are home with me, while Husbear goes to work.

Just like the old days! Only the boys are mostly ignoring me because they are nine and mom is boring.

I must have had post-traumatic-SAHM'dom because last night, as I was staying up later because I don't have to work today, Husbear made some comments like 'oh it must be nice to not have to work in the morning...'  to which I pointed out that I actually took a day off work, that it wasn't, you know, a permanent state, because that would be unemployment, and that would kinda suck. I like my income. To which he said 'Yeah but you get a bajillion days off, and summer' to which I said, 'dude, whatever, it's not vacation if your entire summer is managing kids and not hanging out at a lakehouse somewhere.' And he was secretly judgy thinking, 'but you put them in summer camp' and in my mind I yelled back 'not every day, and you said you'd paint our bedroom and didn't and I had to much not-fun stuff to do'  and then we had an entirely separate argument inside my head, and I totally won that one. 

The other conversation kinda ended because he had to go to sleep and I was really focused on the imaginary conversation in my head.

A little bit of this and that

Fall prep:

Of course, it's time to start ushering Fall in, way earlier than its actual arrival!This is the time I start pretending it's cold, cloudy and dark even though it's sunny and in the high 80s, low 90s for at least another month, and it's never actually 'not sunny' in Colorado - 300 days of sunshine a year - but trying to force my favorite season in is just something I can't stop doing. This afternoon, during some serious lounge time, I planned out my fall purchases, scoped out some boots and picked out my winter running pants, because of course I'm going to run in the winter.

There's been a bit of this and that going on besides fall not actually being here yet:

Moments to Years to Memories - reason enough to capture today

On the two-week-final-mad-dash spree before school starts, I'm taking this time to reflect on how, OMIGOSH WTF I'VE BEEN HERE SIX YEARS - the only time I"ve lived somewhere longer was when I was a child and spent 12 years in one place - and on how much my children have grown, how much life has changed, but kinda runs on the same theme - days in, days out. 

Moments in days quickly turn into passing years, into memories - some forgotten some remembered, many cherished. 

Kiwi!

My new meditation mat came in. So excited, in only the way a few people who are trying out new things can be excited. 

Next on my list? A singing bowl. I have a thousand and one uses for it already! One of my sons’ teachers uses it for transitions, and to get everyone’s attention. I’m going to do the same. But, my meditation mat, adored and appreciated by myself and Sir Cogsley, Husbear’s ridiculous cat. I’ll add a picture later, sans cat. I use Bear’s meditation bean bag chair, which he uses to play video games, so I have some work to do with him.

I read that if one person in a family is mindful, then the rest of the family benefits, because that person serves as a reminder to be mindful. See, I’m doing this for my family. Last night I told Turbo, who was very angry and slamming toys down,  that when he was angry, he was anger, and did he want to be anger? 

He left confused. But not angry!

Back patio views

For Mother's Day, my husband bought me (meaning I looked it up, picked it out, purchased it and then thanked him for my Mother's Day present after it arrived) a zoom lens for my camera. Not an uber zoom lens, this one is 55 - 200, just enough for me to capture those images that are just beyond reach of my standard lens. 

Things like, my squirrel friend here.

I see you, Squirrel, in your tree, playing high up in the branches.

I also caught this bird catching the early worm:

Mmmm. Yummy gummy worm.

These are two things I regularly see during my morning coffee on my back porch. I hope to capture the squirrel play time, the Hawk fly-overs and the occasional stray fox visit, as well.

I also hope to escape every weekend into the hills and trails with my camera.

If last summer was the summer of running and learning to explore, this summer is a continuation of that, with more writing, more photos and more trails.

Summer, the time when dreams seem to flourish, and winter is last night's rest, faded into memory by mid-day.

How a Butterfly can change a day... and Mud Lake

We did Mud Lake today. One of the places Bear's wanted to go for a while now. It's up just past Nederland at an altitude of about 8,300, for people who care about the altitude.

Before we go with the story about Mud Lake, lets explain how a butterfly can change an entire day.

It's out of order, I know, but after Mud Lake, we stopped by Boulder Creek.

This creek.

Hello, Creek.

We sat on a rock by the creek, watching the water roll on and on.

We stopped on the way down from Nederland to look at the creek.
Because, why wouldn't we? Creeks are awesome.

Then, the most amazing thing happened!

A butterfly!

A butterfly landed on the toe of Bear's shoe!

Bear and I admired the beautiful, white and blue butterfly. For a moment, anyhow. A beautiful, butterfly moment. I took a picture.

On the rock, by the creek, with Butterfly on his shoe.

Then, Bear decided it was time for Butterfly to fly along...

So he sorta flung his toe up, to help explain to the Butterfly that it was time to move along.

He flung his toe a little high, though, you see. The Butterfly did fly off.

Along with the shoe.

Sometimes, you lose a shoe, or two. (Just the one this time)

....so this is where I explain that Bear's shoe wasn't secured on his foot....and just prior to this, he had said something to the effect of what if my shoe fell into the water...ha ha ha, he laughed.. well let me tell you, it's all funny until... a butterfly lands on the toe of your shoe...

So of course Bash was upset, and I had to promise I'd buy him the exact same shoes in the exact same color. Then we talked about all the amazing adventures his shoe must be having, what with getting to flow with the water... will a Beaver grab his shoe? Will it swim with fish? Will it hang out at the bottom with rocks? Who knows! But it's having an adventure, one it wouldn't have had if it weren't for one Butterfly.

If you look under the roiling, (is that a word?) rolling water, I ...think...
that may be his shoe, getting swallowed up and carried away...

But that was after Mud Lake. 

See, today, before we stopped at Boulder Creek, and with a mutual goal of getting past my wonky fear of winding mountain roads, I drove the whole dang family (Husbear and Drama Girl too!) up to Nederland, to Mud Lake, taking a long detour on the road circling the lake (we could see it!), because wouldn't you know it, it's hard to find Mud Lake because you have to take the road to Caribou Ranch open space which is closed until the end of June, so the sign says 'closed' so who would think, oh, take the road that says 'closed?' It's a bit unclear, that's all I'm saying here. 

Also, who actually lives year-round in Nederland? I'm now curious, because it's essentially a town in the middle of winding mountain roads without a grocery store, filled with winding long and steep driveways. Who lives in winding long road land? Where do they work? What do they do? It's a cute, teeny tiny town without any real access to a Brewing Market or Starbucks, or a grocery store. Plus, all the winding roads.

Oh, but right. Mud Lake.

Bear was hoping the lake was made of mud. It wasn't, but it was gorgeous, and he exclaimed, as he often does, that it was the Best Trail Yet. 

It was a lot cooler up there than down in the foothills. The lake was freezing, but clear and gorgeous. In one of the photos you can see the lake reflecting the shore! 

Here's the photos - the scenic views come out lighter than they actually were. Mostly, we were in shade.



It was one of the more interesting hikes, I'll agree with Bear, and I plan to take the boys back up. We will of course, stop by a creek on the way down, and of course, we will have our shoes solidly on our feet. Have  I mentioned yet, how much I love living in Colorado?

Button Rock, Lyons

We explored again! it's been a long time since our visit to the frozen Ann U. White!

We headed up to the Button Rock Dam and Reservoir, taking Sleepy Lion Trail. Perfect day for it, and though the parking lot was filled, we hardly saw a soul on the trail.

\

Smoothies and greens

Greens are good! No one ever eats enough greens.

That's why we should all drink them!

Husbear breakfast:

Spinach, chard, peaches and coconut milk

Turbo and Bear's breakfast:

Spinach, chard, peaches, blueberries and coconut milk.

My breakfast:

Coffee. 
2 sugars and coconut milk.

Drama Girl:

Java chip frappucinno. What can I say? She's 16 and makes bad, but flavorful,  choices.

The boys and I went on a cool hike. Pictures soon. Highlights: water, rushing water, a gosling and ice cream.

Of cameras and journals and trails...

This is my summer.

It's blurry, I know. The lens has a smudge. It makes me sad.
I call him 'old faithful.'

Yes, it's a camera.

And a journal. See the bike? 

It's going to be a repeat of last summer, only with a few different trails further out - yes, this summer, I'm going to conquer my fear of  driving my big red Dodge down skinny, long, winding mountain roads. 

Feel free to pass me.

I've been googling some writing workshops over the summer, but decided instead to find a digital camera class, so I can expand my knowledge of good amateur photo-taking. I couldn't really find any writer workshops that appealed to me, and really, what I want to do is write after I go on the trails, to see if hanging out in nature has an impact on what I write. I'd like to capture some of what nature leaves. It's like that dream I had, where the frozen river left such a powerful impact on me,  I couldn't just leave it there.

My dream is to own a house close to the mountains, by a creek surrounded by trees, and a house surrounded by flowers and vegetables. I may not be able to get the house just yet, but I can have the mountains, the creeks, the trees and the trails!

My goal, this summer?

To get up and out of the house by 6 a.m. some mornings so I can actually be around when the wildlife is up!

Just breathe

It started with a crazy lady saying crazy things last year, and my reacting to it in a less-than-calm manner. Well, i was calm. But I sent one of those text/e-mail messages people always say you shouldn't send (not to the crazy lady! I still maintained composure there). The response was, 'breathe.'

I took it rather literally.

I mean, I'm always breathing. We're always breathing. It's the fundamental indication that we're actually alive and not confused victims of the apocalypse who only think we're alive when really we're zombies who can't figure out why we like our burgers rare and why arms sometimes look tasty.

Do a check, now, make sure you're actually breathing, just to be sure.

So I took a breath, and read some blogs and books on mindfulness and such, and started trying to pay attention to the things I was actually doing at any given time. Try it. It's quite hard. Are you looking out a window? No. Of course not. You're reading my blog. But are you REALLY reading my blog? Are you drinking coffee? Has your head turned five times to track the cat, the kid, the dog, the boss, the memory that you just missed your deadline, the bill you haven't paid, the money you wished you still had but don't because of the bill you paid? Dinner? Snack? Don't you wish you had some chips? You can't eat the chips, you're trying to be healthier, also you gave up diet coke and chips make you want diet coke, or Dr. Pepper. Pick your poison.

See? You totally weren't reading my blog at all.

I play this game now. I'm not good at it, but I find it relaxing.

I have a busy mind. My mind is busy. It's an important mind, with lots of places to go, people to worry about, things to plan. It's a strategic thinker, constantly playing through  'what if this than that' scenarios up to, including and sometimes surpassing, apocalypse scenarios. I know, I know, I"m not alone in that. Who hasn't figured out their survival game plan once cats assert their rightful place as the world's masters and force us all to build pyramids again? We all know it's coming. I see it in my Bounder's big green plotting eyes.

I don't really want to hang out with my mind. It's too busy, too much of an A-type personality. It's probably got an ulcer and a slight alcohol problem. I imagine it's one of those overbearing women (I hope it's not a man, ewww creepy) with a heavy bossom, crazy gold jewelry and long manicured nails tapping impatiently as she barks orders at everyone around her, who, of course, she sees as personal minions, or assistants. It is one of those self-important minds that think it's all that and isn't afraid to tell me.  Blah blah blah, it drones on and on.

So I am learning how to let go of it, the same way one lets go of crazy, annoying friends. (Note to friends, I'm not the crazy, annoying friend you want to get rid of, trust me... I'm  totally going to be less crazy and annoying. cough.)

I just don't play with it anymore. Oh, we still hang, my mind and me. It's hard to get away from it fully, lets face it. There's a lot about my mind I kinda still love, oh the daydreams we've spun, the tales we've told, the grandiose fantasies of a life in a tropical paradise with turquoise waters and palm trees. It's a lovely mind, but dang it, it's not the boss of me!

And that is why, every morning and every night, for 10 to 15 minutes, I've got this little 'mindful' app on my iPhone with cool little bells that play at different intervals. And I just... breathe. I pay attention to the actual art of breathing, letting my busy mind natter on endlessly in the background blah blah blah inhale exhale... ignore the blah blah see it, let it pass.

I've been doing this for about two weeks. In two weeks, I've been a bit calmer, a lot less distracted and my mind is juuust now, finally, after two weeks, beginning to calm down slightly. It's because it knows I'm paying attention to it, so it tends to do what I would  rather have it be doing.

Natter natter natter on and on, but... not so much anymore. It's quieter, calmer, peacefuler...

All I do is...

Breathe.

Onward Paradiddle!

Music soothes savage beasts.

That's the logic I'm using in insisting that my sons take an instrument, ANY instrument...

Drama Girl had taken Cello unhappily for three years, so we've got experience!

Turbo has wanted to play 'acoustic guitar, not the electric' since he was 4. He had an acoustic guitar when he was 4, and he loved it. 

But then, one day, Bear came along, and smashed it, like a rock-n-roll star. 

Because that's what Bear is going to be when he grows up. It's why he's growing his hair long. 

Turbo hasn't forgotten this, apparently, because when we were discussing the choices of instruments, Turbo explained to us, anyone who spoke to him in the guitar shop, and his new guitar instructor that he DID have a guitar that he loved, until his brother destroyed it, but this blue one is sooo much awesomer.

He's  now practicing on his blue acoustic guitar every day, while hanging out with his dad, without much fuss, because he genuinely wanted to play the guitar from the beginning, and is interested in getting better.

I'm sure he's going to stick with it and be good. I know he is. It's because he sits like I imagine folksy acoustic guitar players sit, all lanky legs crossed with quizzical expressions of curiosity and gentleness aimed at their audience as they prepare to sing out the truth of love, dogs, mothers and life in general. That's what I see when I see him attempting to fret without looking or strum without mixing up the strings.

Bear.

Bear, Bear Bear.

Oh Dear. Bear.

He chose drums.

This is not a surprise, the idea of just taking two sticks and beating the crap out of some surface and making a lot of noise is very appealing. He is hoping for one of those drums with skin, like a djembe.



However, (can you believe I just started a sentence with however? I think that's horrid, I'm personally an anti-however-sentence-starting person) however, drums are one of the hardest instruments to start on. I got that from my band director brother who explained it's all repetition at first and not very exciting. It takes longer to get to a point where you can play an actual song or tune than most other instruments. 

There are also the exercises in holding the drumsticks right. 

And paradiddles, oh paradiddles.

Yes, yes I know the drumsticks aren't being held right. Just focus
on the tiny circle of despair and the lines that lead you there.
Also, note, this is not a djembe drum.

His homework consisted of 12 minutes of slow repetitions of holding the drumsticks right and making the 'drumming motion' from point 0 to point 1 or point 1 to point 0, I don't know, it's written in his book... and all he had to do was make sure the tips of the drumstick met in the middle of a circle. A circle... of doom, despair, and the collected tears of every child forced to do a repetitive exercise that held no instantaneous reward...

R, L, R, L or was it R, L, R, R, L, R, L, L or was it R, L, L, R, L, R, R, oh well, regardless, it was repetitive. Oh the tears, the woe of being forced to pay attention to posture (try to get any child under 14 to sit up straight for more than 30 seconds... it's not possible, they slump into themselves, like they have no muscular structure or spine at all) so I did what any reasonable mom would do.

I Tiger Mom'd.

"Son," I said. "You can cry through your paradiddle, but paradiddle you will."

"NOooo it's toooo haaaarrddd"

"I know, Bear, sit up straight."

"There are flames in the oven! I can't work when our oven is on fire!"

"No, Bear, that was last night. Paradiddle. Or I'll reset the timer and you'll have to start again." 

(To clarify:  It wasn't even a real fire, though technically, I suppose flames = fire, but this was inside a shut oven, and ovens are meant for fire, or high heat, close enough. Baking soda, okay, baking soda took care of it, and I didn't make him finish his work that night, because I can see how flames would be distracting.)

"It's too hard."

Timer Set: GO: Paradiddle. Tears. Paradiddle. Tears and Paradiddle. Paraddidle. Good Form! Posture! Ahhrgh now we have to start over! Paradiddle. Point 0! Point 0 wait Point 1! Pause Timer, Tiger Mom needs a drink. Timer, Go... You can doooo this.... look at your awesome paradiddling....

Thirty minutes later, we had a solid 12 minutes of practice (maybe 8, but it was solid man!) and Bear, though he collapsed in my bed from the sheer exhaustion, and suffered from a tired left wrist, did not spend time in despair, but merely explained to his brother how much HARDER drums were than guitar. I concurred.

Paradiddle on, peeps, paradiddle on.

Truth sometimes ends conversations

Big long discussion... and somewhere in it:

Me:

"It was weird, I was watching this weird, quirky British movie and in the ending..."

Boss:

"There is nothing weird about you watching a weird, quirky British movie. You were probably in it."

Conversation:

Over.

Laundry intelligence, aka Not much of a post

I had an entire post written about my typical night. Re-reading it utterly exhausted me, so I deleted it. Then I wrote a post about how one could successfully balance a life with a family of five, and then realized I had nothing.

Turns out I lack the organizational and executive functioning skills required. We're just living in utter chaos here.

The sentient intelligence known loosely as 'The Laundry' agrees. 

The Laundry is speaking to me now, mainly because it knows its won, and sees no point in pretending I have a chance. The Laundry tells me the cats also agree. Apparently, they've made great friends, The Laundry intelligence and the cats. All agree, though, that the growing horde of 'project materials' by one of the nine-year-old boys needs to go: it's an odd assortment of cardboard boxes and plastic empty bottles. He's going to 'be green' and 're-use.' I told him that's how hoarding starts.

Voice of The Laundry

The Friday Post

I came up with this great idea, that I'd update the blog daily. DAILY. But we know that is not true. By we, I mean, me, my alter-ego who lives in my head complaining to me that I don't live up to my potential as a writer, my faithful reader (Hi Auntie!) and my sister, who won't actually read this, but, would totally agree.

Today I'm home because Bear is having an issue with this Colorado weather and for the first time in a year and a half needed his emergency inhaler - not due to an all-out attack, he gets sneaky ones that build up slowly - but because breathing just wasn't really going all that well yesterday afternoon. Essentially, this:

Today is May 3, and the snow from the May 1st snow has just about melted. I mean, April is the second snowiest month in Colorado, and this isn't uncommon, but April in Colorado just feels confusing. Confusing weather is a trigger for Bear's asthma. So we're home today just chilling while Colorado toys with ending this spring winter.

Husbear suggested I need to stay home with him, because if we sent him to school, he'd last half a day before I had to take him home, and then there'd be judging on why I brought him in the first place, since I work at said school. Also, we want him to get better.

Here's a useful photo of my desk, because blogs should have photos:

I got a really useful memo that noted I only had 8 hours of vacation time left (thank you, children, aka vacation thieves) and also, could I post some things on the web. Of course, I'm being charged vacation time for being home, so why I am also expected to update things on the web while being charged vacation time is a bit foggy to me. It's one of those illogical expectations that only make people grumpy when you point it out, so you don't, because grumpy people make grumpy co-workers. Just take those extra-long lunches every now and again and call it even. Or you could do this:

"Why yes, I'd love to put these postings up, will Monday do, as I am currently being charged time for not working, and would hate to waste my charged vacation on working."

Then delete it and re-read the point about grumpy co-workers.

It's the problem with human resources today. They haven't adapted their policies to handle the modern world. We're so connected that a day off isn't really fully a day off - people can find you and expect things from you. You're not safe from expectations unless you protect yourself with an out-of-office message. "Dear Peoples, I am out today, and will not be responding to e-mails, or fulfilling any expectations given today. I will respond to e-mails, and fulfill all last-minute expectations on Monday. Thank you."

I'm totally going to do that the next time I take a day off. Except, next year, seeing as I only have one day left and I need to save it.

Also, I texted my sister three weeks (days) ago and she hasn't responded. You'd think a scientist would be more tech-savvy and plugged in. I think she's ignoring me. Someone should call her and tell her to call me. 


Also, also, I tried explaining to Husbear that my e-mails didn't automagically go to his junk folder. Automagically isn't a real thing. It's not even a real word. Clearly, he's evil.

Also, also, also, he didn't sympathize at all with my only having one day of vacation left because he is evil.