The symbol of my life

In my first semester of English class an unnamed number of years ago, we had an assignment to write about "the symbol of my life". My life has changed, and so this piece of paper is my new symbol.

In case you can't tell, this is a photo of a schedule. My very own to-do list. Yes, I'm neurotic that way. I used to make to-do lists during my summer vacations. Anyway, notice where it is. That's right, the floor. It used to be posted to the fridge until my baby tore it down. Is that symbolic or what?

Now, this list has many things on it. There are weekly jobs to do divvied up on different days in addition to the daily tasks. I made my list because I cling to this vain hope that if somehow I were more organized, my house could be organized, too. The theory was that if I had a certain time to do things, I would do them at a specified time instead of running around trying to get fifteen things half-done simultaneously. The only difference it made is that now I know which tasks I'm never going to get done.

The problem with a schedule is that if I get behind on one thing, everything else gets thrown out of whack. Let's assume, for example, that the kids have been crying and whining all day long (we're really going out on a limb here) so that I have either an earache, a headache, or both, by the time day is done. At that moment, a nice cup of hot chocolate and the dishes both call out to me. Well, the dishes do, anyway--in that loud, annoying, deal-with-me-now sort of voice in my head. By then, I've had it with loud voices (you really know you're going nuts when even the voices in your head annoy you). The hot chocolate whispers in a sweet, soothing I'll-take-care-of-you sort of voice. I swipe a dish cloth over a plate a couple of times to pretend I'm going to do housework, and then me, my book, and my cuppa settle down on the couch.

It takes me at least a couple of hours to pull my shoulders down from their perpetually tense position (glued to my earlobes). Once that's done, I might go to bed or even have a conversation with my husband. (How are you? See you in the morning.) So even though my body actually shuts down at about 10, I don't get to bed until around midnight. I would really like to get up before the baby, but his wakey-wakey time inches closer to 6 a.m. every day, and even mamas need to get their sleep.

So then baby wakes up before daybreak, and Mama along with him. And what does he want to do? Sit quietly and watch Mama scrape last night's congealing macaroni from the plates? No, he wants mama juice (i.e. wants to nurse). Then he wants big boy food, and then he wants to explore the pantry, and then pull everything out of the kitchen drawers.

"Oh, yes," I think. "I was going to mop the floor and wash the car today." I can keep really good track of what I intend to do. But then I remember that that's today's list. I haven't done anything from yesterday's list, or from the day before that. Do we let the gathering dust fall off the ceiling fan until we can swim in it? Or do we neglect the charred black mess on the bottom of the oven until we start a kitchen fire? Decisions.

Then baby pulls the list from the fridge, which suggests that it might be more sensible to toss the list, since children don't believe in schedules. I suppose I could just let the list go. I could throw it away. But the garbage is overflowing almost as much as the recycling I didn't get to the curb on time this week. What day was I going to take out the garbage again? Better check my list.

Merry Potter

The boy who lived now lives with us. Meet Merry Potter, just in time for Christmas.

He's missing the dark hair, but you can tell it's him because of the lightning shaped scar on his forehead. We are excited because of all the magical abilities we already detect in this budding magician. For example, he makes messes materialize out of thin air. He makes toys, books, and Christmas tree ornaments levitate and crash on the floor. And, contrary to the five exceptions to Gawp's Transfiguration Laws, he also makes food appear out of nowhere and trail all over the carpet. A prodigy indeed.

Some of you may be wondering how he got this scar. Well, one morning, when Voldeliam was attempting to kill or at least severely maim the young Merry Potter, there was a flash of light from Mama's camera, and Voldeliam brought out his magic wand filled with ink, and the spell rebounded, and yet they both still lived.

Apparently Voldeliam believes the prophecy that "neither can live while the other survives", since he regularly attacks his brother. Merry is, however, learning to defend himself.

writer's block and baby blocks

I'm trying to write a sequel to the book I already finished. I think. I've started it three times, and it's really, really hard for me to move beyond the first page. When I started writing the first novel almost three years ago, I knew exactly where the novel would start, even though I didn't know where it would go. Every book, no matter how its authors defy conventional forms, has a beginning. And if I can't find the beginning, I won't find the middle or the end, either.

Writing is such a slog sometimes. I remember thinking, "If I could just finish the first chapter, then I will know if I can expand it into a full-length novel." Then I thought, "If I could just finish the first hundred pages, then I will really be on my way." Then it was, "Am I ever going to get this thing finished?" It's easy to get overwhelmed by it all. The only way I did was by living the good old cliché about the elephant--one bite at a time.

Now I'm trying to bite again. It's fairly easy to write in small increments of one page a day, or three pages a day, if you don't think about what you're trying to do. But first I have to find the elephant before I can eat it. Elephants are pretty scarce around here.

I already blogged about how it's so hard for me to figure out what to do during this short block of time when baby is sleeping. It's hard to commit myself to any one thing when there are so many things I'm interested in and like doing.

But there's another obstacle, speaking of blocks. It's good old-fashioned procrastination. When there are no words in my fingers, there's always email, blogging, snack time, internet surfing, reading...I don't know why writing causes me to act this way. I suppose it's because it requires thought. And thoughts, like elephants, require a little coaxing to come out into the open.

MacGyver kids

We thought
we'd outwit our children. Silly us! Even though our house already had some of the cabinets childproofed, we added a few more latches to our kitchen since I'm a little tired of finding clean tupperware and linen all over the kitchen floor. It didn't take them two days to break the latch on the corner cabinet. And then Kyle discovered the oven drawer.

Christmas carols for mamas

I've only composed three masterpieces so far. But I might do more (in all my spare time). It was kinda fun. I'll let you figure out the tunes for these original lyrics.

Jango Fett, Jango Fett,
Jango all the way.
We're tired of the Star Wars games,
but we play them all day.


Please rest, ye merry little kids,
Now you can go to sleep.
And when you do, your mom will clean
the pile of toys so deep.
When you wake up, you'll mess them up,
and Mom will start again.
It's a wonder that she's still mostly sane,
mostly sane.
It's a wonder that she's still mostly sane.


I'll be home for Christmas,
It's true--I'm always here.
I'd like to go out, wear nice clothes,
but haven't done that all year.
Christmas Eve will find me
where it just might stink.
Cleaned the fridge, but something grows
underneath the sink.

Star Wars babies

Did I mention we like Star Wars at our house? In case you doubt me, here's the post-bathtime proof. You know your child likes a toy if it comes in the bath with him. You may notice a few non-Star Wars toys in the crowd as well. Yes, our child lined these up to dry all by himself. At least his obsession is a neat one.

Every day, we answer hundreds of questions about Star Wars. For example, Liam will ask us about each character, one by one, and want to know all the movies that character appears in.

It was bad enough when Liam was obsessed with Star Wars alone. Now he is getting his little brother in on it. Yes, we have a Yoda baby in our house. He babbles in his Yoda voice on command.

Nap time...start your engines!

Kyle is asleep, and Liam is old enough now to cooperate with Mama Alone Time. So now that I finally have some time to myself, what should I do?

The options are many. First, there are the things I need to do. Eating is fun. So is going to the bathroom.

Then there's the house. I believe in doing things for myself, but sometimes I'm just too neurotic to tune out the chores calling to me. Besides, a messy house makes it hard to concentrate. I won't list the housework I need to do because that would be a chore all its own.

Some things I like to do because it satisfies my compulsion to cross off things on my mental to-do list. Like budget. I admit it. I like entering the numbers into those cute little cells and watching all the other numbers change.

Add to that the category we'll call "self-development". This generally includes writing, reading about web design, reading my history book, blogging, scrapbooking, etc.

Then there are things that are just plain fun. OK, there's only one thing on that list. It's reading. I love the library. It's a good thing I can check my account for overdue materials online because I always have at least eight things checked out at any given time.

Eat, go to the bathroom, clean, budget, write, blog, read...

So I have about two hours of baby nap time, if I'm lucky. Are you ready to see how many things I can get done in that short stretch of time? One, two...Nap time? That reminds me. All those things seem so hard to do, and there's so many of them, and I'm so tired...

Kaylie unplugged

That's right, look out, you big bad world. Kaylie is back in her big white minivan. She is out on the streets, cruising around with a folded-up stroller, ready to take on the world as fast as her children's toddling feet will let her.

Yes, the car is back in commission. Spark plugs. Good one, kids.

The blog is a little slower to get going again, however, because we don't believe in having just one possession die at once. Our digital camera died at the same time as our car. We just barely got our replacement camera from Canon today, and I haven't sat down yet to play with it. Of course, the camera we paid $400 for four years ago is now worth about a quarter of that amount and obsolete. So Canon sent us an upgrade, which I'm starting to think is worth about as much as buying the same camera new at the store, if it weren't obsolete already. Seriously, Canon really doesn't make the replacement model camera anymore either.

Then I decided that fixing the car and the camera didn't cost us quite enough money right before Christmas. So I bought a gym membership.

I rationalized it away really well. They were offering me this really good deal if I bought the membership at that very moment. And the exercise at home plan wasn't happening. A friend of mine used to exercise with her daughter in the mornings. My children are not so generous.

You see, Mommy exercising means Mommy is not playing Star Wars and peek-a-boo with them. I could, though, if I were a really diligent, caring mama. I could get a hold of that lightsaber and brandish it between my toes while I do jumping jacks. I could see how many kicks it takes before my foot connects with a child's face.

Or I could stuff my children in the big bad minivan and drop them off in the gym's day care, where I won't kick them accidentally and other children will kick them on purpose.