Dirty Laundry

Here it is, the one place I can take a minute to air my dirty laundry for the world to see. Literally. (Try to hold in that groan.) Yes, a word about laundry.

Sigh.

It is never ending. Do you understand that this means it will never end? Truly. Just when you think you have caught up - guess what, you are wearing clothes that are dirty and will need to be thrown into the empty hamper that you have - just minutes before - officially declared as a completed task.

Unless I decide to join a nudist colony (unlikely) or quit shopping forever (even more unlikely), there will always be more and more and more laundry for as long as I live. I wear clothes. I get clothes dirty. I need to clean the clothes. Fold. Put away. And then wear again, only to start over the cycle that...you guessed it...will never end.

So, then, why is it such a loathsome task? Why do I have such a hard time keeping up with it if I know that I, in fact, create the cycle myself...prolong it, procrastinate it, even pursue it? In fact, one of the most enjoyable parts of life (for a woman anyway, and correct me if I'm super wrong here) is shopping for clothes! Do we understand that getting new clothes only ensures increasing the amount of laundry that is to be done in our future?

I've tried to put myself on a schedule. Do the girls clothes on Monday, do our laundry on Thursdays. It helps. It ensures that the mountain of laundry doesn't reach Mount Everest status quite as quickly as it could otherwise. But, let's be honest...the schedule only goes so far. One crazy-Matilda-bath-time later, and theres 4 more towels that I didn't account for, along with the sheets that Daphne just spit-up on, and oh yeah- the cat just puked on the kitchen rug again...and voila! Another round of laundry off the schedule.

Or, I've finally finished sorting all the laundry and getting the cart ready and it's all ready to load...when I realize we are out of quarters and it will have to wait. That's right - did I mention we still use quarters for our laundry? Yep. We are apartment dwellers, so we have yet to experience the joy of in-home-washing-and-drying that I've heard is all the rage in modern appliance technology. Ugh. I mean, it's really not so bad. I still remember the days (not that long ago) when we had to load the car up with our laundry and take it to an actual laundromat - where you just sit and chill and try to make eye contact with that weirdo in the corner over there who has been slowly eating Doritos from the vending machine that looks like it's been around since the fifties. Yikes. Yes, we've come a long way since then, baby.

But still, to load up the cart, strap the baby on in the snuggly and hold Matilda's hand as we walk by the pool (I'm sure it is only a matter of time before all of us accidentally stumble into that pool with our laundry...oh, Lord help us) and make our way to our community laundry room...well, it is simply a lot of effort. Sometimes I will wait until Josh gets home from work to do the laundry simply because I can't even mentally handle the effort it takes to haul my girls and all our clothes (and detergent!) down to the laundry center back and forth (26 minutes to wash, 64 minutes to dry) and back and forth again. Sometimes I will bat my eyes at him, hand him some lovely baked good fresh from the oven and get him to do the laundry for me (heehee). But, even then...it still haunts me. He will lovingly/begrudgingly wash and dry the clothes (which is an immense relief to my schedule) but then there they are...sitting in the basket...needing to be folded and neatly put away.

That is just the worst. The thing is - it's not hard work. It's not difficult or exhausting or painful in any way. But it is not fun. It certainly doesn't help when a certain little 2 year old wants to "help" - only to unfold/destroy a perfectly stacked pile of clean shirts in the blink of an eye. (Hurricane Matilda can take down an entire tower of clean clothes in mere seconds - remarkable.) So, yes, that can be frustrating. And it is always annoying to not find matches to socks - no matter whose they are. (I don't know how I'm going to die someday - but I'm pretty sure it will involve baby socks as they seem to be the bane of my existence.) But, that basket of clothes, I swear, just stares at me, taunts me, rolls its eyes at me behind my back...until it is finally folded and put away neatly. It's like the Tell Tale Heart of housekeeping.

Yes, laundry is a necessary evil of domestic maintenance. So here I am, venting about it once and for all so I can get it out there - puke out all my complaints...and get over it. It must happen. I must do the laundry. You...must do the laundry (well, your laundry). It's there, waiting for us. Dirty socks. Ketchup stained bibs. Applesauce smeared onesies. Crayon marked leggings. Pitted out work shirts. Floured aprons. Sweaty undershirts.

Well, it all really just stinks.

But...we can do it! We must soldier on, detergent in hand, quarters in our pockets. We must wash, dry, fold, and put away the clothes....one freaking little mismatched baby sock at a time.

(This is where I high-five you). So, enough complaining. Here we go. And the next time you want to just burn your laundry basket and buy disposable clothing...well, don't. Air your dirty laundry for a day - get it out of your system, and then just go do it! Quickly. Before those jeans can stand up and walk away on their own. (Did that basket of clothes just smirk at me?)

How Great Thou Art

This Thankful Friday, I'm grateful for, in a word, ART. It's been a busier than usual week for me as a SAHM. Three mornings have started with get-out-the-door-and-be-somewhere-on-time sort of manic craziness. It was one of those weeks where it seems like you just don't have the time to stop and smell the roses, let alone stop and gaze into one and enjoy the beauty of "why God made it that particular shade of flamingo pink" or "how does the dew drop stay on the petal so delicately for so long?" So, it's funny that this is my art appreciation week. But, maybe that's exactly why I don't want to take it for granted.

God is so creative. The Divine Creator, in fact. And it's not just that He made the sky blue and the grass green (or red or tan or whatever if you happen to be color blind). First of all, the fact that He made them at all is the most creative of miracles even imaginable - let alone what color they are! God was so creative that His voice commanded it...speaking tangible objects into existence. But, God also made us, in His likeness, creative!

Now, before you get insecure or feel left out because your "not a creative person"...just hold your horses. Maybe you sing off key, maybe you did burn that last piece of bread in the toaster, maybe you can't tell what adverbs modify, or you always lose at Scattergories. Big deal. That's the coolest thing about art - pretty much anything requires it, and you don't have to be good at it to enjoy it. In fact, just place the words "The Art of..." in front of whatever your next action is, and all of a sudden, Wham! Kazaam! You are feeling more creative in a flash. (The Art of Drinking Coffee, anyone?)

So, how do I know you are a creative person? Because, well, you were created! (Let's just pause for one second to briefly reflect on how ridiculously magnificent God exactly is at being creative - I mean, weaving us together in our mother's womb? Each one of us unique? Every cell perfectly placed for a purpose? Continues to blow my mind.) And since God made you in His likeness, you are are able to create also! It is one of the most awesome qualities us lowly humans can possess.

Sure, we're not speaking galaxies into existence, maybe. But - just last weekend, I took flour, yeast and a little salt...and voila! French Bread. (Okay, so there were many hours of mixing, rising, and kneading implied in that "voila" but still...it was wonderfully edible bread...and not the powdery paste it initially started as!)

What's even cooler about being a creative human is that the love of art starts almost immediately. Baby Daphne is already drawn to colorful objects. She's not even six months old and she is developing opinions about flavors she prefers (bananas-yes, apples-no). She laughs when you make faces and follows pretty lights with her eyes. And then...just a couple more years down the line, Matilda is a all-out creative explorer. She's like the Ponce de Leon of the crayon box. The Magellan of the play doh. The Sacagawea of sidewalk chalk. You get it. Kids just have that incredible "why-wouldn't-I-try-this" wonder about them. I love it.

Yesterday, at the new toddler community class we went to (a better one, different teacher, and hopefully we will be able to kiss up our way off the waiting list and soon be actually registered for the class!) she got the chance to PAINT for the first time, really. Easel, paper, brush and paint - even a smock to make it official. It made me want to buy her a little beret she looked so cute. And, like an old pro, she acted like she'd been taking lessons from Picasso for years.

She loved it! And, honestly, I sort of love the picture. Sure, I'm her mother and I will keep it forever...but it reminds me that there isn't necessarily rhyme or reason to beauty. It reminds me that playful, cheerful, colorful expression is a blessing that can be as soothing as a sunset, as emotive as a good cry, as treasured as gold.

We use all our senses every day. We get up in the morning and absorb whatever the day has to offer. And we're more concerned with what's happening the next day to stop and savor what's right in front of us. Don't stop and smell the roses. Just stop and smell what's right under your nose! (If you're changing a diaper, maybe wait a few more minutes.)

When's the last time you played with play doh? Not just humored your kid and rolled it around in your hand to pass the time - but actually tried to have fun with it? When's the last time you colored a picture just for the heck of it? Made hopscotch with sidewalk chalk? Blew bubbles in your milk? Ate a crayon? Okay - maybe don't eat a crayon.

But, take a second and think back to your childhood - did you feel more creative then? Did you like art more? Probably. And maybe because you felt more of a sense of being "good" at it....or, was it that you just felt more sense?

God is limitless in His creativity. His beauty (and beautifying) knows no bounds. God, thanks for giving me just a smidgen of the love You have for art and creativity - how it is all around us and can remind us of how great and awesome and good you are. Thanks for being so creative in Your design of us and the world around us. Thanks for making us creative. Thanks for making us different. Thanks for making us beautiful. Oh yeah, and thanks for making us.

Now, time for me to practice the Art of Diapering. (It helps to say TaDa! really loudly when I'm done just to officially make it feel like art.)

Joyful Parenting

(Since writing the post below, I'd like to add that we did find a WONDERFUL teacher at another time/day teaching the same class who has been sweet and helpful and very patient!  We LOVE Ms. Dodson and the order, compassion, and education she has provided for Matilda!  All that to say, it is worth the time to find the right fit for your kid!  Hooray!) - added, 10/25/12

So, yesterday I took Matilda (with baby Daphne in tow) to a toddler class called "Joyful Parenting". The title alone kind of cracks me up. Sort of conjures up the image of happy women in jumpers knitting toddler sweaters with one hand and kneading homemade bread with the other while their precious child practices perfecting their cursive on a writing tablet at their feet. Okay, maybe not, but it did give me an image of some staged happy family circa 1970 or whenever the first time they taught this class. Needless to say, I wasn't sure we were a fit for the class from the get-go.

It is a free class you can register for through the local School of Continuing Education, so technically it's a class I'm signed up for - like, to learn early childhood education and development skills - but really it is like pre-pre-pre-K with parents being totally included. I wan't sure what to expect. I'd heard that this particular teacher (Miss Sonya) could be a bit bossy, so I figured, well, maybe should could find her match in Matilda.

There are about 25 kids in the class, all around the age of 2, give or take 6 months. So, yeah - loud and crazy doesn't quite begin to describe the opening 10 minutes of "free play" allowed at the beginning of class. Whoa. There are different "stations" to play at - the truck station, the doll station, the pretend kitchen station, the train track station, the painting station (yes, real live paint set out to "explore their senses"...and my laundry) and little tables and chairs all set up as if the Munchkin Lollipop Guild were about to hold a convention there. Cute.

Matilda walked in, eyes wide, and let LOOSE. I mean, this girl was like a pinball, darting back and forth between the stations before any other kids were overcoming their shyness just to take a step through the doorway.

CARS! No, what's that? PAINT! PAINT! oh, messy. What's that? DOLLS! Chair? Doll. Kitchen? FOOD! Oh, plastic food. Cars? CARS! Train tracks. PAINT? DOLLS! Mom? Where's mom? PAINT! MESSY!

That's all I can imagine was racing through her mind. She was like a starving chihuahua set free in a butcher shop. I hung back, signing us in and hovering over Daphne in the stroller as Matilda darted to and fro discovering the limitations of the toys. I could see right away that the teacher was a bit nervous about her.

Miss Sonya is a larger woman, with dyed black hair and is a little older than I expected, though I'm certain her choice of occupation has aged her considerably more than time itself ever could. I can tell that at one point this was a compassionate woman with a love for children and learning; but, as I continue to watch her (rolling her eyes, taking long sighs of exhaustion) I'm less convinced of her passion for the "Joy" of parenthood and pretty sure her nerves of steel have worn thinner and thinner through the years of "Matilda's" that she must have encountered.

As Miss Sonya eyes Matilda (oblivious to her) I tense up, wondering how I can suck up to the teacher on Matilda's behalf, and try to greet her and make a good introduction. This woman is intimidating, I'll admit. Her size and stature make me curious how she hasn't frightened more children under her direction, and then I think "well, maybe she has- maybe that's her survival mechanism! Those scornful eyes floating between curtains of thin black hair - eeek!" But, then she smiles, dodges a chair being knocked over while skipping over a little toy car she nearly tripped on and I take a sigh - okay, this lady must know what she's doing. Let's do this.

Twenty minutes in, and in the middle of "circle time", we are the first to get a time out. This is the moment I start to roll my eyes and take deep sighs of frustration, as Miss Sonya glares at me and dictates "You need to take her into the hall." Good grief. Perhaps I'm just more used to Matilda than others. Perhaps I don't have the knack for running a tight ship like Miss Sonya. Or perhaps I just didn't burn my toast that morning and she did. But, of course, I am annoyed at the fact that my child is getting reprimanded for acting her age. Seriously. You hand out instruments, turn on music, and then ask Matilda to SIT DOWN??? Really? Yeah, lady, this is not going to happen.

Not only would Matilda not sit down, but she would not sit still! And who could blame her? She knows a beat when she hears one - girl wanted to dance! Plus, she was hoarding the instruments. But, she wasn't stealing them! She wasn't taking them away from any of the other kids. She was simply retrieving the abandoned instruments neglected by (I'll say it-) boring children and picking them up to test them out as the song continued. None of the other parents even cared a bit. But, Miss Sonya would not have that. Oh no. Sigh. So...out into the hall we went, to "calm down" and "come back when we could behave". Yes, I suppose this time out was as much for me as it was for Matilda. Ah well.

Outdoor time was fun. Trikes and basketball and stealing trucks from the twin boys who couldn't keep up with her (tough luck, Anthony - just kidding, of course I stopped and made her share the truck).

Outdoor time was followed by clean up and snack time - which led to more reprimanding. Again, Matilda wouldn't sit still, wanted to PLAY PLAY PLAY! At one point, Miss Sonya took Matilda by the arm and led her back to her chair while telling me firmly "Don't ask her. Tell her. You tell her to sit and eat her snack." By this time, Matilda was compliant and sitting, so I forced myself to swallow the words that were itching my tongue - "I'll tell you, Miss Sonya, this girl ate almost 2 bananas and a piece of French Toast for breakfast - she doesn't care about a snack! She wants to play with the little play kitchen - and was doing so quietly, I might add, and not disrupting anything! UNHAND my child you behemoth!" Okay, I tend to get a little dramatic inside my head. Nevertheless, Matilda finally sat (for two seconds) and Miss Sonya got distracted by some little girl who threw up at table four (lovely) long enough that we could skate through the next ten minutes unscathed by her glaring eyes.

Finally, another circle time to end the morning. We got in trouble one more time for sitting at the table when we should have been sitting on the floor, but Miss Sonya said "this week and this week only" she would allow it. Well, thanks. I decided to nickname the last circle time session "Vowels and Bowels" since we sang songs about AEIOU followed directly by a nice round of Potty Power. Nothing makes you feel more in touch with your toddler than shouting "Potty Power" at the top of your lungs, let me tell you.

And, finally, the time was over. Miss Sonya handed out little stickers to the youngsters and we waved good-bye. As we left, everyone was telling Matilda good-bye. While I had only grabbed the names of maybe 3 or 4 other kids, nearly everybody seemed to know my little socialite's moniker. You could even hear the other parents barking out warnings as we went - "Look out for Matilda!", "Close the door, here comes Matilda!", "Don't let Matilda out!", etc. We all got a kick out of it, honestly.

Sigh. Ah, my Matilda. My little sparkplug. My whipper snapper. My snarky lil gumdrop. My spunky monkey. She does bring me pride and joy. Though, I still think they should rename the class: Exhaustion 101.

Thankful Fridays

My second (and only other "official") resolution for 2012, is to implement Thankful Fridays here on the blog. We've all heard "TGIF" and do, indeed, Thank God It's Friday...the end of the work week (well, for those working outside the home anyway) and high five at the tick tock down to five o'clock to start the weekend - that's right, even us stay-at-home-moms cherish our Friday nights - it means the hubby is home for the next 48 hours, which stands to reason it offers potential for actually accomplishing something! Yippee!

But, I want to not only Thank God that it's the end of the week - I want the end of the week to remind me to be thankful for something. Yes, of course we are all grateful for little things each and every day. I would be nothing if I wasn't thankful to God for all the blessings He has bestowed (that's right, bestowed) unto me and my family. But, I want to be more intentional about it. I want to stop and really take notice of something in particular each week. And I want to put it out there - for you all to see and potentially stop and contemplate something you might be thankful for as well. It might be a person, maybe a place or thing, or even an abstract feeling or attitude. Heck, it could be a new frozen yogurt flavor for all I know...let no grateful stone go unturned. I think gratitude is at the core of humility, and humility must come before authenticity. So here it is - the start of me being publicly grateful for who knows what.

This week, I'm grateful for little victories. It's not surprising, perhaps, being the first full week of the new year. We are each nervously sitting through each hour of the day with our own little resolutions, trying to build up minutes into hours into days that formulate a new habit that creates us a little bit closer to who we would like to be...or so we hope. So, yes, sometimes getting through an entire day without digging a spoon into the peanut butter jar (not today) would be considered a little victory - hooray! But, for me, in particular, little victories came in the form of potty training. Dry undies. Successful bribing. Clean carpet. Unused diapers.

That's right, I said it and I'm not ashamed. Potty training. Each ONE of us, like it or not, had to actually learn how to use the toilet - and let me tell you, we should each be thanking our mother's a little bit more for it!

I know I mentioned a few months ago that Matilda was interested in potty training. Well, we had a go at it and then it was just melt-down-city from there. So, instead of turning into World War III (no pun intended - one or two making the obvious jokes) I decided to just leave it up to her, so to speak. I just kept it positive. I would ask her very often if she had to go, and when she wanted to, we would do it - otherwise, we wouldn't. Well, I am super duper proud to say that she has been VERY interested in it this week, and today we had our first fully successful day of potty training! I can't believe it! Granted, we're still a little shaky on the whole "tell mommy ahead of time" thing - I'm still having to initiate the journey to the potty and ask her about a zillion times a day if she has to go....but, hey, again - I'm not thankful for total success yet...no,no, I'm thankful for little victories- like today!

Parenting Matilda is so minute to minute. The girl is busy and moody and has more energy than a chihuahua hopped up on Red Bull. So, to grasp focus long enough to actually sit ANYWHERE (let alone a potty!) and do what you are supposed to do is a huge milestone for this girl!

Now, who knows if it is the cute My Little Pony undies, the bag of leftover Christmas treats I'm bribing her with, or the actual developmental progress of becoming a "big girl" that's motivating her...but, I'll take it!

Thank you, Lord, for giving me moments of success and peace today that help me know there is a light at the end of this tunnel! Thank you for each dry half-hour that passes. Thank you that I didn't have to get on my hands and knees and scrub the carpet today. Thank you that You made us capable to learn these crazy tasks and remember them and only get better at them. Thank you for placing just enough little victories throughout my day as a parent so that I know I am going to survive and find joy again - even in the middle of my naked toddler screaming what could only be incoherent obscenities at me in her own language.

Potty training today was very representative of the bigger picture of parenting. It is unpredictable. It is messy. It is embarrassing at times. It can challenge your patience (and hearing) beyond measure. At some point you won't know what to do and you will give in to some sort of method you would have sworn you would never do prior to having children (i.e. I will never give my kid chocolate four times in one day for using the potty!) But, in between all those times are just enough unimaginably precious moments that make it so entirely worth the next half-hour you can't help but want to stick around for more. A hug. A kiss. An "I love you mom-mom". And a dry pair of My Little Pony underoos. Well, hallelujah. Little victories go a long way.