Where have I been, you ask? Well, I struggle every year around oh, say January 5th. I enter a tunnel. Try as I might, I cannot seem to scratch my way out of it. I can see the pinpoint of light at the end of it, which is called something like February 22nd, but it's a vigilant fight to keep crawling. Is there anyone that lives in the midwest who does not have this struggle on some level? If so, my hat goes off to you.
In an effort to stay sane and moderately active, I made myself a list in January, of projects and social engagements, and forced my way through it. And you know what? It actually worked! These dark days have gone relatively quickly, and here I am enjoying my new cd immensely and reconnecting with the world again. I gladly admit that I also allow myself time to be down, and stay in bed more than I should, and say no to people and things and to grumpily eat a whole bag of 'sweet heat' popcorn that causes serious, um, let's just chalk it up to a bad decision.
With the help of my sis in law, Ronan's room is now a tribute to his hero, Peter Pan. The walls have been painted 'charted voyage' blue since this photo. My sweet boy asks me to pray each night that he will 'dream about flying', and he fervently believes that pixie dust is real and effective and plans on asking for only that, come next Christmas.
I also painted my bedroom. That day I was feeling pretty confident, despite the fact that I hadn't painted a wall in several years. The thought was "if I'm just really careful, I won't have to tape off". Fast forward to now, when people come to visit and Ronan likes to give them a tour of my room and show them the 12 inch by 4 inch pool of dried periwinkle on the carpet. It felt good, rolling along on the walls, balancing the very full tray in my left hand while standing on my tempur pedic....surveying my work every so often....a sense of accomplishment with each stroke....and then I noticed that the tray had been cascading paint down the side of my bed and onto the carpet. Awesome. After some panic and self hate, I googled ways to try to clean it off carpet, but ended up saying 'screw it' and I went to bed, leaving the tray and brush and roller in plastic Target bags for the many, many days it took me to face my failure. It's all good now though, and I love the headboard I made this weekend. Can't show you a picture though, just in case Skip ever reads this. I want him to be surprised when he comes home.
On a sidenote, staple guns are inspiring and a new, super sharp utility knife is a dream! A dream, I tell you! I want to find things to cut, just because.
I made a big birdcage and have plans to make a modern, all white one for my sister's new house.
For Valentine's I made the kids each a heart pillow from this tutorial. Cedahlia loved hers, and it's newness made the top of the symbolic totem pole of her 237 stuffies. Ronan was teetering on the verge of handing his right back to me. It's Ok. He is his own man, and he likes guns and swords and that is about it.
In the past couple months I have grown to love the Y Pump classes at the YMCA. One day I needed to get some cardio in and was feeling kind of sassy and risky and decided to try a step class for the first time ever. It was, perhaps the most humiliating 45 minutes I have endured as an adult. That wall of mirrors. That awful choreography with spastic arm motions. The instructor happened to be Erin Kiernan, a local news anchor, and she really took me under her wing, sensing my struggle with lack of coordination. She stood by me for far too long, willing my body to fall into line with those ridiculous, complicated 360s around the stupid step. Afterwards, while I waited for the shameful flush to retreat from my face, I thought about the last time I did 'aerobics'. It was 1986, in a church in small town Wisconsin. Our little private school did not have a gym, but it sure did have a dimly lit, windowless sanctuary where our teacher could pump out uplifting Christian anthems while we kicked our way around the pews, cullottes whipping a frenzy around our knee socks.
A trip to Minneapolis to see good friends...a pampering, weekend retreat for chaplain families...a surprise box of music and handsewn birds...treats dropped on my doorstep... a massage as a gift from friends...my brother in law fixing my house from falling asunder.....a marble mortar and pestle from Afghanistan for all the *cough* cooking I do....never worrying about shoveling....seeing my little girl come out of her shell as a 'dancing bear'...Isaiah 43:1-4....knowing Skip will be home on leave next month.....these are some of the many blessed ways I get through the darkest days of winter.
