I'm getting closer and closer to being a Flower Child. At least in my head that's where I'm headed.
In reality — because let's face it, I rarely live in the real world even though it's nice to visit — I'm following in my mom footsteps. Where am I headed with this? Preservation.
No, not preserving mankind or anything like that, but, like, actual preserves. Jams. Jellies. Home canned make-my-mouth-water salsa and stewed tomatoes. Growing up we did stewed tomatoes every year for as long as I can remember. We worked all summer in the garden growing a variety of tomato species — roma, beefsteak, whatever — along with bell peppers and onions so we'd have enough for stewed tomatoes and fresh eating.
Showing posts with label sustainability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sustainability. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The winds of change are blowing in a meltdown
Sometime in the wee hours of todayness, I turned 31.
I've been legally allowed to purchase and drink alcohol for a decade, and have known my husband just as long.
Damn, I feel kind of old.
It doesn't help much that my uterus feels lonely and the baby fever is spiking. The kids tearing the hell out of the house this morning, Charlie falling and bruising her face and Josie refusing to put real clothes on until nearly 1 p.m. isn't even swaying the want of another squish.
No worries, though. Despite wanting another, I think I need to wait a little longer before we travel that road again. Like, when I'm 31 and a half we can talk about it.
Hopefully I'm out of my funk by then.
The last week I've been in shut down mode — I haven't touched my list, I keep seeing things that need to be done and not doing them, I've lost my temper more times than I can count and I just want to curl up in a ball and watch "Sleepless in Seattle" on repeat.
I've been legally allowed to purchase and drink alcohol for a decade, and have known my husband just as long.
Damn, I feel kind of old.
It doesn't help much that my uterus feels lonely and the baby fever is spiking. The kids tearing the hell out of the house this morning, Charlie falling and bruising her face and Josie refusing to put real clothes on until nearly 1 p.m. isn't even swaying the want of another squish.
No worries, though. Despite wanting another, I think I need to wait a little longer before we travel that road again. Like, when I'm 31 and a half we can talk about it.
Hopefully I'm out of my funk by then.
The last week I've been in shut down mode — I haven't touched my list, I keep seeing things that need to be done and not doing them, I've lost my temper more times than I can count and I just want to curl up in a ball and watch "Sleepless in Seattle" on repeat.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Looking for love?
"love your life"
I don't know if that was the entire quote or not, but they are the words I saw scrawled across the shoulders of a woman at the gym earlier this week. They struck a chord. They hit me deep.
I have enjoyed my life for the most part. Many times, though, I have found myself resenting moving away from my family and friends, or hating that we don't have a six-digit income. I've gotten angry because I can't keep up with the dog hair or the toys that overrun the first level of our home. And while those things seem like negatives, I have mostly enjoyed my life.
Enjoyed. Not loved.
I have frequently failed to understand that loving my life doesn't mean I am supposed to enjoy every aspect of it, but rather as a whole love it for all of the experiences, the joys as well as the trials and tribulations, that have come my way.
As far as I'm concerned — and I'm merely one person and one opinion — loving something means you are passionate about it, and I am definitely passionate about my life. I'm finally starting to understand that as I've had a chance to reflect on the things I truly am "passionate" about. The things I live for and love. Naturally, my top two are my babies and my husband. Then coffee.
Well ... some days coffee is the very top of the list. OK. A lot of days. Man, I love coffee!
I don't know if that was the entire quote or not, but they are the words I saw scrawled across the shoulders of a woman at the gym earlier this week. They struck a chord. They hit me deep.
I have enjoyed my life for the most part. Many times, though, I have found myself resenting moving away from my family and friends, or hating that we don't have a six-digit income. I've gotten angry because I can't keep up with the dog hair or the toys that overrun the first level of our home. And while those things seem like negatives, I have mostly enjoyed my life.
Enjoyed. Not loved.
I have frequently failed to understand that loving my life doesn't mean I am supposed to enjoy every aspect of it, but rather as a whole love it for all of the experiences, the joys as well as the trials and tribulations, that have come my way.
As far as I'm concerned — and I'm merely one person and one opinion — loving something means you are passionate about it, and I am definitely passionate about my life. I'm finally starting to understand that as I've had a chance to reflect on the things I truly am "passionate" about. The things I live for and love. Naturally, my top two are my babies and my husband. Then coffee.
Well ... some days coffee is the very top of the list. OK. A lot of days. Man, I love coffee!
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Dear June, a little inspiration please
June Cleaver, I am not.
But, damn it, I try real hard.
Since making the decision to stay home and focus on raising our babies, things have been less than perfect in my mind, though. I seem to apologize to Boy Wonder on an almost daily basis. Envision this scenario:
He walks through the front door and is immediately met with, "I didn't get a chance to pick up the living room. Dinner is cold. I kicked the dog and drank all the beer. Today SUCKS!" (OK, I didn't actually drink the beer, but some days it definitely crosses my mind ... a lot.) And then I stomp off because he says, "It's OK. You think I'm worried about it and I'm not," instead of commiserating with me or getting upset.
My husband is freaking amazing and ridiculously laid back a majority of the time. He gives me the time I need to be pissed off at my lack of organization, letting me rant and rave about all the things on my "to do" list that haven't gotten done and then when the kids are in bed we pick up the house together, he sets up the coffee maker and I get a few hours of restless sleep.
But, damn it, I try real hard.
Since making the decision to stay home and focus on raising our babies, things have been less than perfect in my mind, though. I seem to apologize to Boy Wonder on an almost daily basis. Envision this scenario:
He walks through the front door and is immediately met with, "I didn't get a chance to pick up the living room. Dinner is cold. I kicked the dog and drank all the beer. Today SUCKS!" (OK, I didn't actually drink the beer, but some days it definitely crosses my mind ... a lot.) And then I stomp off because he says, "It's OK. You think I'm worried about it and I'm not," instead of commiserating with me or getting upset.
My husband is freaking amazing and ridiculously laid back a majority of the time. He gives me the time I need to be pissed off at my lack of organization, letting me rant and rave about all the things on my "to do" list that haven't gotten done and then when the kids are in bed we pick up the house together, he sets up the coffee maker and I get a few hours of restless sleep.
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