If you can’t say anything nice… I have been out-of-sorts. I have no desire to complain, particularly not here, but every time I sat down to write, that’s all that would come out, and so instead I said nothing at all. Going quiet for a little while seemed to be the right thing to do, to work through the cranky, unsettled feelings I’ve been feeling. It could be called cabin fever, I suppose, though really I’ve just felt itchy. Everything is on the cusp of exploding around here, and I’ve been twiddling my thumbs, itching to do something but knowing it’s not. quite. time. And that’s just frustrating.

On the first day of spring, I got up and out of the house early to walk with some of the other mamas, a feat I had not accomplished in many months. Three miles down, I had shed some of the irritability that had been plaguing my days, if not the extra pounds that have also been building through the weather-imposed hibernation. That relief was a fleeting sensation as we were quickly beset by more snow and ice plinking against the windows as I scrolled an Instagram feed of other people’s daffodils and cherry blossoms. I am missing the greenery of living in a place where spring really does arrive in March.

A friend posted the first photo in her #100happydays series this morning, and a prompt like this may be just what the doctor ordered, for when I’m reminded to look for the good in all of this stress and uncertainty… There it is, plain as day.

Sometimes it’s as simple as taking a few minutes to browse the photos on my camera card. This past weekend was Maine Maple Sunday, and because of some time constraints, we chose to stay local and visit a new sugarhouse right here in town. It was quite cold, but very bright and our neighbors were so welcoming. My little ones enjoyed a bowl of ice cream with fresh syrup (at 9:30am, no less!) and we connected with yet another family of transplants. My big baby led the way through the woods to the sugar shack, and I watched my not-so-baby baby truck along with her Daddy. Oh, the love for these sweet little ones of mine.

That’s about all that I’ve got today, though thankfully it’s more than nothing at all.

 

I spent over two and a half hours last night in the company of local women, most of whom I’d never met before. At first glance, I didn’t think we had much in common, but as we went around the room, introducing ourselves and giving a bit of our stories, little snippets popped out at me: the loneliness of working at home, even while being so very grateful for the opportunity to do so; the desire to cut ties to an unfulfilling life and forge a new path; wanting and needing to care for ourselves so that we can continue to care for our families; learning that who we are is more than our job title. On and on. It was an affirming experience, and a reminder to me to carve out time for interpersonal connection. In the midst of our crazy days when I am frantically looking for ways to make more hours, it’s this type of interaction that usually gets deemed “non-essential,” and therefore excised in favor of “more important” stuff. Wacky, yes?

I’ve spent the past year trying to figure out who I am now, beyond mama and wife and worker bee. Lately, that endeavor has led to many evening hours spent buried in a book. My “Currently Reading” shelf on Goodreads has six titles, five of which fall into the how-to or personal development category. Some of them are work assignments, but several I’ve been working through of my own accord. I’ve been taking my time with The Happiness Project, reading a lot more slowly than I usually do because I want to absorb the information. In fact, I’m moving so deliberately, I’ve had to renew it three times. It’s good, and difficult, and good because it’s difficult. I’m finding a lot of parallels between the author’s insights into her own behavior and what I’ve been noticing about myself, and it kinda sucks to turn on that light bulb of self-awareness. In a good way, if that makes any sense at all. Reading her systematic approach to increasing her personal happiness has prompted the thought, I’m not the only one, more than once.  One of the bigger takeaways so far (and there have been many) is that things that are fun for other people may not be fun for me, and that’s ok. I need to know what makes me happy and stop wishing that I could enjoy or be something else. I need to just Be Kirsten.

I’ve also been the recipient of much happy mail recently. In a past life, you were almost guaranteed to get a birthday card from me on or before the actual day. I usually remembered anniversaries and often sent notes or trinkets that reminded me of someone special. I was very deliberate about putting important dates in my planner and sending greetings on time. Somehow, that habit has gone by the wayside. Part of the reason is that my life is a lot busier now, physically taking care of other humans and truly managing a household and a family. Yet another part of it is the doubt, that niggling feeling that the recipient will think it’s silly, or that because it’s a drug store card and not Papyrus, I shouldn’t bother. Thinking why should I send something when they surely can buy themselves something nicer than what I can offer. Ridiculous. I am enough. Why should we feel otherwise?

Part of my happy mail came in the form of an advance copy of Never Unfriended by blogger Lisa-Jo Baker. I love the real voice to her writing, and so when I saw the chance to join the launch team for her new book, I applied. Happily, I was chosen and this beautiful little package arrived in my mailbox. It’s all about female friendship, and the crap we put ourselves through as women trying to connect with other women. Another good and difficult read, and once again, there’s been a lot of I’m not the only one! I’ve just finished it, and again, saw familiar thoughts and patterns, particularly the hesitancy to put myself out there for fear of rejection, of being too much. Why do we do that to ourselves? I have to be willing to go first.

Go first, and be real. Be Kirsten.

The rest of the mail was just as wonderful. My Nana sent me a ton of seeds from her garden, enough to share, which allows me to perpetuate the cycle – a double gift. My beautiful sorority sister freely sent me a huge package of something I’d been wanting to try and was willing to pay for, just because. I won a fun giveaway on Instagram, and now wear a beautiful leather diffuser bracelet for my oils – and I’ve connected with a lovely like-minded lady.

If I feel so spoiled and loved by these gestures, why oh why would I think others would not? We are more connected now than ever, with more opportunities to connect, and yet we’re all starving for connection. Despite that relative ease of getting in touch, our real friendships just sit there.

So I sent some happy mail of my own. Photographs are on their way to far-flung friends and family, printed at Target and wrapped in notes on regular old printer paper. I snapped some quick photos at a sweet birthday party, and sent the files to the little friend’s mama because she’d been holding the cake instead of her camera. They weren’t perfect, but I know I’d want them if it was my baby. I kept a play-group date last week, despite all of the crazy we’re living right now, and I’m going to share some of my Nana’s seeds with a newly pregnant mama friend, and include an offer to help plant. I made some imperfectly-sewn baby gifts, and sent them with perfect love to a dear friend that I am so terrible about keeping in touch with.

Go first. Be real. Be Kirsten. Give to others and keep trying. Do something about it. It’s all connected.

 

Lunch at my desk

“I will never stop being your Beanie.”

I’ve just come out of the bathroom and there’s a jammie-clad Beanie standing in my doorway. The clock on the stove is glowing 2:56am, so I scoop her up and we both crawl into bed where she declares her love as I tuck her in. I doze off with her little arm flung across my neck.

The sky is still half-dark when she stirs next to me, and tells me that the sun is awake. Thankfully, she’s content to snuggle back in for a few more minutes so I can wake up slowly, but it’s not long before we hear Swee padding through the kitchen to join us. The girls trade spots, and Beanie toddles off to lose the sodden overnight diaper. She returns with a bag of Cheerios that she found “next to Daddy’s back-back” and so begins a cereal picnic in our bed. It’s 6:20, and I needed to wash the sheets today anyway.

An hour later, we’ve finished breakfast (toaster waffles with local maple syrup, strawberries & raspberries, milk: a mix of healthy and easy) and I’m on my second cup of coffee. The washer is going, and I’m standing at the coop in my pajamas with a still-warm egg in my hand as the chickens bicker over the trimmings from last night’s slow cooker roast beef.

The girls decide that their ponies need “a hair-dress” and settle themselves on the couch. Taking advantage of such a peace treaty, J and I occupy the kitchen table to go over the day. I have appointments at 9am and 10am today, and he’s speaking with the Dean of Nursing at 11. We need water, and he needs to check in with the mechanic about my still-broken car. We have a quick conversation about bills and paychecks, and then suddenly a list of demands arrives from the living room, including a request for a new baby sister. On that note, we kill the pot of coffee and we’re off to the races.

Make a lunch, pack a back pack, find the mittens, floss the raspberry seeds out of little toddler teeth, trade my own pjs for clean yoga pants and fresh socks. It is school spirit week so I dress Swee in “something with words,” and after many kisses and hugs, I head to my desk. Seconds later, the door bursts open and in stomps a Beanie to show me her pigtails, Daddy’s newest skill in the hair department. All of my people head out the front door, then honk the horn as they pull away and I discover that my first call has been pushed back. Daddy and Beans are going hiking while Swee is at school, and I have 45 minutes to catch up on the email that has accumulated overnight.

Today is a work day for me, meaning that J is off, and I will spend the entire business day at my desk with few interruptions. The difference between other jobs I’ve held and this one working remotely is that when I am at work, I am working. I don’t lose hours to meetings about meetings, or in the car going between campuses, or sitting through impromptu status or brainstorming sessions. I don’t catch up with people around the water cooler or make personal phone calls in-between emails. I work, and that is the only reason this setup is manageable. On days that J has to go to his own job, I’m in my office until roughly two o’clock, and then I’ll come back after bedtime if I need to. Sometimes I’m in here during naptime or on the weekends. Is it perfect? No. It’s tiring, and it makes the transition back to being “just” mama a little more difficult because of the full immersion into work-think. And I miss lunch with colleagues and making connections face-to-face, but overall, it’s a really good arrangement that allows our family to pursue our current goals, and that’s the priority.

An unexpected meeting fills my afternoon with good and necessary conversation around goal setting and subsequent projects, and then it’s time to change my hat again. My Swee has popped in to ask if I’m done working, and will I please shut it down – how can I say no to that? I join her in the living room where J is braiding pony manes, and stitch a few rows on my current project. This is the hardest part of the day for me, and it’s worse when J has left for work and I have to hold my nose and jump into the deep end alone. I’ve yet to find a really effective way to close the door on work and reset my mind for the evening.

Beanie comes flying down the hall sporting some serious bed head and no pants. She’s in a splendid mood, which is not the post-nap norm. Typically she spends half an hour playing the yes/no game and screaming inconsolably, so this is a really nice turn of events. J says, “It’s 4:30. Which means it’s time to start dinner,” and I respond,”That’s my line!” before heading to the kitchen. The menu is chicken in a white wine sauce with sun-dried tomatoes, and peas. Not a difficult recipe – just a little more time consuming than I typically would choose, but J is home and I try to make a little more effort on his nights off. Plus, I know both girls will eat this meal, equaling less strife at the dinner table. Cooking with wine means I get to drink a bit, too. J runs out to lock the chickens in for the night, trusty mutt at his side, and then returns to join us at the table. The girls each have their dinner time chores: Beans provides napkins, Swee sets out the silverware. Attire for our little ladies includes pink fairy wings, and we finish our dinner with a kitchen dance party before they strip down and two little white bottoms streak past me to climb into the tub. Daddy handles baths when he’s home, and I’m on cleanup.

I’ve got the dishwasher started, and the pots and pans are almost done when J appears and yells, “It’s seven o’clock!” We both forgot that he has back-to-back classes tonight, so the dishes are abandoned, and I take over jammies and bedtime while he logs into his seminars – Genetics and Statistics. It’s the final week of the term, and it’s become crunch time.

Two stories, many songs and snuggles, and an hour and a half later one is asleep and one is not. J takes a quick break to help me flip our battered old mattress in a vain attempt to make it more comfortable, and I put the clean sheets back on before showering. I manage just one chapter of my book before turning out the light. It’s 10:30. J will work for another two hours or so before falling asleep in his chair. He’ll eventually make it to bed around 2am, not long before we start all over again.