Staying Inside

It's the first day home since the mandatory "stay home from school" declaration. I can feel the eyeballs of my entire family looking at me, wanting me to direct them and tell them where to go and what to do. This is less than ideal. I want to serve my family and I'm confused about how to help them. They all look a little lost. They're not sure what to do with their arms. And they kind of keep looking in the fridge as if some old lunch meat might provide some wisdom. 

This morning my first born had a hankering for some soup for breakfast and, I'm sorry to say, I shut her down. My first response was less than stellar. But then I stepped back and I said, "Look, I'm happy you want to eat healthy. I really am. So proud. But it took me a half hour to make that soup and it is claimed for dinner. So can you please eat eggs or sausage or cereal instead?" She consented, which was fantastic. 

Bored people like food. 

I went to work today, only after writing a detailed list of healthy habits for my family to check off. It involved chores and reading books and *not* screen time. They were thrilled and sang my praises as I went to work. Sarcasm font.

I went into work today. I work in a small office with healthy people and my office is enclosed. Also I use mind powers to open doors so as to not handle doorknobs and get germs. I jest, but I saw your comment coming, Mrs. Sanitizer Lady. I went into the office so I could concentrate. And, if I'm being more honest, I went because I wanted a vacation from my home life. Good old cabin fever.

When I came home Eve and I made resin based keychains in which we embedded beads and colored ice cream sprinkles. As I opened the craft porn page to show Eve how to make these delightful objects I told her plainly, "Look, they always make this stuff look easy online. We will make mistakes. It won't be easy." And she chimed in, "Mistakes mean we're learning something." And I was like, "Yes, yes, whatever, let's make these things."

The directions said that the first layer of resin would take 20 minutes to dry. It took almost an hour. 

And while I'm on the topic of waiting a long time for things, Eve made banana bread and was aghast that after an hour it was STILL gummy in the middle. Ah, banana bread... that oversized fake cake that never quite bakes, I love you so. 

There was a lot of waiting today.

My first born took a cue from the gloomy, rainy/snowy day we were having and took a nap that was supposed to last an hour, but, to her regret, lasted four. Holey schmokes I hope she sleeps tonight. 

Someone in work today literally said to me, "What DAY is it?" And we laughed because she wasn't at all joking. Or maybe because we were both pretending to laugh while buying time to count on our fingers what day of the week it actually was. Turns out it was Monday.

We have some other factors to make us feel deattached from the calendar. We have contractors coming in our house every week. And contractors as we all know come when they very well want to come. Our painters were supposed to come on Monday but, on a whim, they texted and said they'd like to come two days early. And because I'm a mother and consider the coming of a contractor to be like that of a woman in labor (When will it happen? Is this for real?), I know enough to drop everything and say yes to said contractor. 

We didn't have church this week like everyone else on the planet. Usually Sundays I expend all my extrovert-ism in about 2 hours and then hole up inside my house for the remainder of the day, feeling full spiritually and wanting very little to do with humankind. (Hey, don't hate me. Even Jesus went on a boat to get away from it all.) 

My second born has come to realize that she won't have unlimited screen time all day and it has unsettled her. She has determined that we won't survive the next weeks and from the faraway look in her eyes I think she really means it. She thinks it's too much family time and I'm like, yep.

If anything we are going to need to give each other a heap of grace in the next few weeks. Be more patient. Speak kindly. Not eat all the leftovers. There are times when all of us have been a little snippy with each other. I know all the retired people are like, "Oh goodness me, I remember those hard days. What special family time." This could be the dull day talking, but I feel like saying something memorable and also horrible which would be really mean, but very, very satisfying. 

The homeschool moms are feeling pretty proud of themselves in this moment and who can blame them? I mean, their whole lives are an exercise in bending the lines of home and education and they are WINNING, I tell you. Winning. But if I may: I know that "Landscaping" unit is really only a ploy to rake the leaves or plant spring flowers. I have been there, people. I was homeschooled enough years to tell you that no college ever wanted to know if I knew how to make Pemmican Balls. BUT I DID. I also made hardtack in homeschool which is an inexpensive, impenetrable substance that makes the word "stale" seem as soft as a marshmallow. Clearly I have feelings about this. If this delightful virus continues ad infinitum, we may have to dust off the recipe book for it. I assure you, it's impossible to eat hardtack unless you drench it in water the way that raccoons do.

On a gentler note, this morning I saw blue in the sky and I literally thanked God out loud for it. And while I was at it, I thanked him for the car I was driving and for the husband I love and for the people I call family. I have warmth and love and health. It's one thing to be cooped inside; it's a whole 'nother beast to be stuck inside without adequate love or provisions and I acknowledge that. 

It helps to vent feelings once in a while, not let them all pile up like a steaming volcano, ready to redden the surface of the earth. And then, once we push out the hot feelings, we find the softer side of life, ready to accept new life and growth. I'm old enough to know that I can hold things in tension. I can be both frustrated by the conditions surrounding us and I can say, "It's going to be okay. All my needs are met."

Now excuse me. I need to Google how to make Pemmican Balls.

Kaleidoscope

I walk into my home office.

Doesn't that sound lovely? Home + Office.

I see images of home offices in magazines. They don't look like mine. My home office is the dumping ground of my home. It's the "catch all." If something doesn't have a home, it stays in my office, like pergatory, until it finds its place. It's a snapshot of my life, my brain.

Once every three months I clean my office thoroughly. My five-year old has left her shoes on my counter; I take them off my counter. I rip the pages out of my notebook which have nothing to do with my life anymore and I start fresh. Clean out files. Allow my desktop to have a top which is not covered with stuff. And stuff= thoughts. I need my thoughts to be free when I sit down to create.

Currently in my office: 
A bag of old receipts.

A box of things belonging in my kitchen but sitting in my office because my kitchen is being renovated.

Dust which reproduced heaps more dust.

Two purses because I can't decide. Both with tags still on them.

The dog and her crate.

Dog toys. And non-dog toys which my dog made into toys. Read: torn tissues.

All the grocery bags which were in the trunk of my car which I had to take out to make room for girls' weekend stuff.

Things to be returned to store. Write this 10 times.

And then these beautiful things as well:
Vintage books which are teaching me how to illustrate.

My calendar design proof.

My business cards.

A children's bible which I enjoy more than the grown up bibles.

Bulletin boards which I carefully culled to reflect designers I admire.

Wooden dutch shoes spray painted mint green.

_____________________________________________

When my father in law comes to visit, he likes to do some work in the yard. After every time he uses our shovel, he carefully oils it and puts it back in the garage. He respects the work it has done and wants it to work for a long time.

I think that's the same concept with my office. It works hard and it needs to be "oiled" once in a while.

I spent the morning paralyzed by my office's mayhem, but after an hour or so of cleaning it up from its busy season, I realized that I love it all: The life that happens here. The ideas which flow, the drawer full of past designs which will never see the light of day. The beautiful things which came from pruning shapes and colors. It's all here. The good, bad and ugly. I love my office because it works for me. It lets me have voice.

My office is a kaleidoscope of half-thoughts and inspiration and regrets and brave steps. It's a place of creative solace where I don't have to clean up every night, I can just let it sit, let it be.

And life, too, is a kaleidoscope of sharp angles and mismatched colors all twirling in unison, repeating a vivid pattern of energy and choices and love waiting for us to edit and select and then pronounce out loud. In words and music and prints.

I'll clean up my office a little, but I'll never be featured in the magazines. I'll take care of it but that's because I appreciate the work it does. Not for show. My kaleidoscoped office has too much life happening.