Next Chapter

I know that I have been lagging in my blogging obligations lately but don’t judge, I’ve been a bit busy.   If you are one of my three (or so) faithful followers and you’ve been panicked by my absence from the cyber universe, please take the hospitals off of speed dial and stop scouring the streets, I am fine.  I simply moved half-way across the country.

I am not going to lie to you folks, it is cold out here on the Minnesota prairie.  Freaking cold!  Like, breath-in-and-the-snot-in-your-nose-turns-to-ice-pellets kind of cold.  But who’s complaining?  We chose this and I’m loving it!  Frankly, I’ll take the bitter cold temps over blazing hot sun any day.  Then again, it’s only been a month of this kind of weather and I’ve only experienced approximately 2 days where the wind chill hit about -30.  Check back after a few winters of these kinds of shenanigans and I may be singing a different tune.

For anyone wanting a little glimpse of what has been going on over the past two months, here you have it.  

Basically, when I wrap it all up in a nutshell, I cried…a lot.  I cried for myriad reasons but the two most prevalent were out of sadness and from exhaustion.  After I originally wrote this post and poured my heart out about the inner tinkerings of my mind and the kindling for each emotion, I realized…no one really wants to read about my teary episodes!  Simply put, I was sad about moving away from friends and family and about leaving the home that held so many important memories for our family.  I was tired from all of the packing while also dealing with trying to keep my three year-old fed (I admit that a lot of pizza and take-out was involved), clothed (nothing matched and there were many days when PJ’s were worn from one morning to the next), and out of the way of potential death traps that had become the towers of boxes in our living room.  I was exhausted from doing all of this on my own* (my husband had already departed for Minnesota in early November to start his new job, but don’t give him grief, he packed and prepped as much as he could before he left).  I was horrified at the fact that I was finding more than the usual two gray hairs upon my head (the count is now up to seven).   I was plain old pissed at the fact that the consultant for the moving company that we  hired had told me that we had “a lot of stuff,” therefore (and very logically) making it my mission to prove him wrong by getting our total haul in under weight of his estimation. (Mission accomplished, by the way!  We recently got word that we came in over 400lbs under their estimated weight.  Take that, Gary!  Mr. Judgy Gary with your clip board and calculator!  Who’s the skinny bitch now?  Yeah, me. That’s right, ME!)

When our house finally sold, I was elated.  When I found out that the couple who bought our home was not the elderly couple I had envisioned, a pair so old and feeble that they would have no energy or desire to alter any of our renovations, I quickly turned to demonizing them and casting them as characters that I had to hate rather than accept as people that I might actually get along with, or worse, people that the my friends in my neighborhood might actually get along with and befriend.  The buyers quickly became known and Biff and Buffy and I envisioned them as the “Two A**Holes” couple from Saturday Night Live.

It turns out that they actually aren’t so bad.  We’ve had some contact through our realtors and it seems that they truly are appreciative of the home’s age and character.  In one note to us, they wrote that we had “wonderful taste” so I am willing to revoke their “Biff and Buffy” status.  A note to my friends “in the neighborhood” back East: I still don’t want to hear about if you all become Besties with this couple and start hanging out every Friday and Saturday to host fabulous wine and cheese parties highlighted by rousing games of Bananagrams.  I’m still in a delicate frame of mind.

So, my family and I forge on and continue to adapt here in the Great Midwest.  The most shocking aspect of this move is how NICE the people are.  I’m used to a keep-to-yourself, don’t-hold-up-the-line, fast-paced culture. Here, it’s different.  I find myself apologizing profusely in the grocery store when my daughter runs ahead of me and bumps into another patron in the canned fruit aisle.  Said patron simply stops and smiles and offers us a mint from her purse.  In the check-out line, I frantically search my seemingly bottomless purse for my member’s card, mortified that there are three families behind me waiting their turn.  Instead of staring me down, the gentleman behind me strikes up a conversation about a detox diet that he saw on “Good Morning America” that morning.  And, apparently, no one is suspicious of anyone else.  This fact was just proven by a bathroom break.  While writing this post at a Panera Bread, I decided to pause and gently leaned toward the trio of women sitting next to me and asked if they would mind keeping an eye on my stuff while I went to the restroom.  All three of them stared at me blankly, as if my request were absurd.  I guess it may have been to them, but in the past, a bathroom break required the gathering and packing of all my possessions (coat, purse, computer bag, coffee cup—ya know, in case a shady character had intentions of lacing it with something in my absence), hauling it to the bathroom, and then unpacking it all over again upon exiting.  I used to do this multiple times in one coffee-shop work-session.  Now, I feel as if I could leave my phone, my car keys, and a blank check in plain sight without consequence.  In fact, I did just leave all of those things out-and-about without consequence.

Don’t be surprised if my next post is about the filing of a police report detailing a stolen phone, keys, and checkbook.

*Disclaimer: Let it be known henceforth and hereafter that being “on my own” makes reference only to the temporary separation of my husband and myself set forth by the circumstances of having 1,171 miles inserted between our physical locations on this planet.  In no way is it meant to reflect the status of our relationship nor to insinuate that he didn’t do everything in his power to prepare for the move before he left and offer support while he was away.  Let it also my known (a double-disclaimer, if you will), that I did have help in this endeavor.  My parents, in-laws and multiple friends helped in countless ways to get us from point A to point B and we are forever grateful to them.

Live By The List

In the midst of our moving madness, I came to the realization of just how much I live my life according to what is written in list format. I have lists for everything:

• grocery lists
• to-do lists
• don’t forget lists
• household lists
• work lists
• call back lists
• email lists
• gift lists
• weekly menu lists

I even have a list of the things to mention in this blog post about lists.

Admittedly many of these lists overlap in content, but to me, their redundancy is just extra assurance that I won’t forget about them. I get so crazy with my lists that I will often take the time to re-write and organize them.

I know that list-making is normal, David Letterman has been making it a staple of his show for years, but I kind of think that I may be addicted to them. Really. Sometimes, just because I am so task-oriented and glean much pleasure from ticking something off of a list (progress), I will put the most mundane of tasks on my lists.

• make coffee in the morning (well that was going to happen whether I put it on a list of not)
• take a shower (again, something that is going to happen regardless of it being penned on a piece of paper)

Looking at my abundant lists got me thinking about the similarities and idiosyncrasies of lists and list-makers.

List-Making Methods

My hubby and I vary in our list making methods. Whereas I like to compile many things onto one sheet of paper, my husband is more of an isolating fellow. He will have a separate piece of paper for each item on a list. And when I say “piece of paper” what I really mean is a napkin, a piece of cardboard ripped from the side of a box, a scrap piece of mail, a gum wrapper. Essentially our home becomes the housing for the many components of his lists and it is a scavenger hunt trying to find all the pieces. It is not uncommon for me to find a note written on a piece of toilet paper and tied around the bathroom sink faucet. Classy!

Carry-Overs

We all have them, those things that HAVE to get done but you reallllly don’t want to do them. The phone call to the insurance company, the trip to the dry cleaners, the cleaning of the junk drawer; so they get carried over from one list to another. Eventually these things will get done, but they are the things we’d rather think about at another date and time. In the meantime, at least for me, their existence on my list weighs on me and I would be better off to just attack these items first and get them over with!

Checks vs. Strikes

I am a stiker-outer. I like to cross items off my list but others like to place a tidy check mark or X next to the item. In my opinion, the sloppier my list looks by the time the last item is omitted, the tidier my mind is.

The Mental Lists

Making mental lists is probably a common practice, but I recently realized that I have been compiling an ongoing list of things that annoy me. When I stop to think about them, the list is a mish-mesh of random things that have irritated me in one way or another. So I decided to end this post with some of these mental notes. See if you agree. (My apologies for the rant that item #4 turned into…the more I wrote, the more annoyed I got!)

1) This Folgers Coffee Commercial. I’m sorry, but there is something about the brother-sister relationship that is just too…friendly. Every time I see it, I fidget in my seat with discomfort and annoyance.

Click on the image to see the commercial.

2) The packaging that sample-sized shampoos and conditioners come in. I think that dentists of the world have an “in” with the companies who manufacture these because when it comes right down to it, the only way of opening them once you are in the shower, unless you have planned ahead of time (which I usually don’t), is with your teeth. Ouch!

3) The Charmin Bears. While I appreciate what Charmin is trying to do by taking a squirmy subject such as proper toilet paper usage and turning it into something cutesy, I can really do without the discussion of it altogether. People know what toilet paper is for. We don’t need visuals such as these:

4) Self Check-Out Lines at the Grocery Store. I fall for the trap way too often. The lines with employed, living, breathing human beings is ridiculously long and there is practically no one using the self check-out lines, so I cave. New rule: don’t cave, there is a reason why those lines are short. It never fails that the damn machine doesn’t recognize that I have scanned an item and placed it in a bag, it continuously tells me that I need to rescan an item (then charges me twice), and it is incessantly telling me that my scanning technique is an epic fail and beckons the sole human cashier delegated as “Moderator of the Self Check-out Idiots” my way. Let it be said that the human moderator never comes. I look at her perched at her centrally located machine, peering out over the crowd of self-checkers, and she, too, knows that this system is crap! She is like the parent of the little boy who cried wolf. These machines are so incredibly flawed and have caused her so many unnecessary trips to a patron’s side that she now just hits a button to cancel out my machine’s unwarranted error. By the end of my scanning adventure I have sighed out loud no less than 63 times, thrown my arms in the air in angst at least 25 times, and have spewed many obscenities at the computerized voice in the machine: “What the hell do you want me to do? I scanned the damn Nutella. It’s there! In the damn bag.” By the time the computer is asking if I have coupons, I am answering her out loud, not caring what kind of crazy person I look like to others. Simply put, I. LOATHE. THESE. MACHINES! And, forget about having a successful self check-out if your kid is in tow. If your wee one even breathes upon the weight detecting areas, it causes all kinds of alarms to go off. Error! Error! Cancel order. Start over. Insert Bonus Savings Card here.

While I am on the issue of complaining, I must also ask, why do these machines look so archaic? When I look at them I am always reminded of images of the first computers. And, really, what are they thinking with the little 12-by-12 square they provide for placing un-scanned items upon? Who can fit everything there?

The End!

The House Diet

I am putting my house on a diet!  Why?  Well, as my husband puts it, “Why should we pay to move crap?”  We’ve been meeting with moving companies for estimates and as they vie for our business, we cringe at the dollar amounts being flashed before us.

Moving estimates are based (for the most part) on how much your stuff weighs.  What we have learned in the process is that our stuff weighs a lot!  Actually, we have been told that we are about average weight for a house this size, but it is my goal to slim down and purge all of the unnecessary items that we have carted with us over the course of two other moves; things that we still never unpacked after the last move!

Actually, if you think about it, the whole business of hiring a moving company, while convenient, is also a very invasive one.

Says the moving company: We first inventory your house and estimate a weight of its contents.  We pack the items that you want us to and them load them onto our truck.  Once the truck is loaded we drive onto a scale to get the actual weight.  A moving crew then drives your shipment to your new house and when they arrive, they unpack for you. 

My interpretation: First we will come into your home and look in every nook and cranny at all of your stuff.  We will carry a clipboard around with us to make us appear extra authoritative and we will ask you a lot of personal questions such as, “What is in those drawers?” and “What do you keep in your closet?”  We will then, if you are willing to pay for it, take each and every item that you own (panties and other unmentionables included) and wrap them up in a super deluxe box with a ton of padding.  Then, we will put all of your stuff on a truck and weigh it to figure out EXACTLY what your life’s content weighs.    We will then have a group of guys drive half way across the country with your stuff and they will even stay overnight with it if necessary.  When we arrive at the destination point, we will once again manhandle all of your items as we unpack them and place them about your new house. Upon completion of these tasks, we will ask you to hand over to us a huge sum of money.

And so, I suddenly find myself looking at everything in our house,  guesstimating what the scale would say about it, and deciding if it is worth moving it.  Speaking of scales, I considered donating ours simply because it is extra weight.  I have definitely developed a much more discerning eye when it comes to deciding what to keep, sell, donate or discard.  Here are the new rules:

1)  If we can’t consume it, it doesn’t come into the house.

2) Purge as much as possible. That which is no longer of use to us will NOT be making the trip.

I can say that it feels good to make these possession edits and I haven’t been over thinking whether or not to keep something.   I just hope that when we arrive in Minnesota my husband doesn’t ask me where certain tools or articles of his clothing are because more than likely, they have found a new home.

Remembering a Place Called “Home”: Do’s and Dont’s of a Family Photo Shoot

A little tale from which you might glean sound advice but is really more a recount of my family’s head-butting preparatory measures of welcoming someone into our house to capture our final moments in this  place we call “home.”

As our move date to Minnesota gets closer, I have become more steadfast in my attempts to capture moments spent in our home.  Therefore, I thought that it would be a great–scratch that– PHENOMENAL idea to hire a photographer to come to the house for some candid family shots.  After all, the hubster and I (along with many family members) have worked tirelessly on our 1907 house since Day 1.   We have spent too much money, gotten too little sleep, and have had too many backaches not to properly capture the essence of what this house has become and to have tangible evidence of our efforts and memories .   This entire event was beautifully choreographed in my head, yet I knew that bringing it to fruition would be another matter entirely.  Here is what I learned in the process of just trying to get.one.good.shot!

DO use bribes. Convince your otherwise-resistant-to-ever-being-photographed hubby that this is a good idea.  You want to capture happy faces on film?  Then have Dairy Queen on standy-by and shave your legs, girls, you’ve got some work to do.  I texted a friend of mine about the inevitable grumpiness that I would be enduring with this photo shoot.   She replied that I should “… Bribe them.  Ice Cream?”  Bribe, huh?  Yes, ice cream would work for the little one, but it would take a lot more than scrumptious dairy products to convince my husband that he should allow someone to point a camera at him. A second text came through from my friend, “Ice cream for the kiddo.  You-Know-What  for the other.”

And a happy family we were.

DO hire a professional photographer.  And not just any photographer.  Hire someone who shares your vision.  In my case, I desired a candid aesthetic.  I was lucky here.  I happen to know someone whose work I admire and who was quite open to some of the quirky suggestions that I had—Truchon Photography, headed by Ashli Truchon.  For some reason, I really wanted to hold a bright red bird cage while sitting on the floor in my attic.  Ashli didn’t flinch.  Before I knew it she was placing the red cage in my hands and climbing on top of a rickety old side table so that she could get the perfect shot.  When we decided that we weren’t getting the desired affect, she quickly set up another great shot which included the bird cage, a mirror on an old buck horn dresser, and me sitting atop that same rickety old side table that Ashli had just perched herself upon.  Voila!  She made it happen.

DON’T, even for a second, assume that your choice of attire for your spouse will be anything close to what he agrees to wear. 

I buy him this,

thinking that he will look like this (but with a complete face)

And for some inexplicable reason,  he thinks he will look like this.

  A few swear words and over-articulated hand gestures later, and we both agree on this.

DON’T allow your child to handle, go near, look at, or think about sharp objects for at least one week before the big shoot.  Otherwise, it is inevitable that she will get scratched.  While that scratch will be completely harmless, it will be on a part of the body that you cannot easily hide….her face!  P.S.  This advice applies to little finger nails as well as I am pretty sure that this is where her scratch came from.

DO think outside the box.  You don’t always have to look into the camera and “pose.”  Act natural, use props, play, and get creative.   The resulting photos will look more like moments have been captured rather than composed.

    

Here are more of my favorite shots that Ashli masterfully captured.

      

Happy Family Memories, everyone!

Click here for more information about Truchon Photography.

Those of you with little ones should know that Ashli works great with kids.  Our spawn was quite hyper that day, yet Ashli remained calm and just snapped away.  Thanks to her tenacity and patience, these shots portray a true representation of our little girl’s personality.

Folks on the East Coast had better book her quickly, though.  She is soon off to Pheonix, Arizona for a new job!

Drawing for Inspiration

BOOK: Drawing Lab for Mixed-Media Artists: 52 Creative Exercises to Make Drawing Fun (Lab Series) by Carla Sonheim

I keep running across the book Drawing Lab for Mixed-Media Artists: 52 Creative Exercises to Make Drawing Fun (Lab Series) by Carla Sonheim and I am just itching to try it out.  Basically, Sonheim guides the reader through 52 projects, or “labs” as she calls them,  and offers techniques for creating playful and spontaneous drawings.  I love to draw and paint, but often feel confined by thinking I have to control every line of the pencil or stroke of the brush. I think these activities will be a great way to re-energize my creativity, hone my skills, and glean some new ones.

I picked the book up at my local library last week and got started.  At first I had to scramble for art supplies as I have already put most of them in storage in anticipation of our move.  But what I thought was a glitch turned out to be a blessing as I just have to work with what I’ve got instead of over-thinking it with myriad choices.  I still have an accessible box of watercolors and gouache paints.  I really don’t know where my sketchbooks are packed away so I went to the bookstore and got one on sale.  While I was at it, I allowed my 3 year-old to pick out a mini-sketchbook for herself.  It is now her new favorite accessory.  And so, with only my watercolors, some sharpie markers,  my sketchbook, and my kiddo, I have been taking some time to create.

I started with the book’s first assignment of drawing a cat…actually about 30 cats…and have also been inspired to draw some other creatures.  I have been creating birds and owls for years, but with the suggestions and techniques of Sonheim, I was able to break free of the fear that everything needs to be oober-controlled.  In fact, one of her suggestions is to draw with your weaker hand to loosen up the drawings.  Since last week, I have created with only my left hand!  It is quite liberating and I am yielding results that I have always desired in my work but had been trying to force.

I wasn’t sure if I would be able to fit these “labs” into my schedule, but I have found that it is just the opposite. The first assignment actually instructs the artist to draw “while sitting or lying in bed.”  So, I take some time at night, right before bed, and draw.  Or, in between cooking dinner or cleaning up the dishes, I run over to where my sketchbook sits open, draw a few characters, clear my mind, and then get back to the task at hand.  I have had so much fun with and extending the first lesson, that I am not yet ready to move onto the second.

What I really love is that I have been doing a lot of this drawing while spending time with my daughter.  (Mommy-hood side note confession: I don’t play well.  It’s not that I don’t like to play, but when it comes to playing with my three-year old, it can be brutal on one’s mental stamina.  Her attention span is either very short and we go from activity to activity or it is repetitive, and we are stuck on the same thing for such.a.long.time!!!!  Tea party for two, anyone?  Pull up a chair.  You’ll be here for, oh, about three hours or so!  When we play, I am often daydreaming about the other things that I should be doing or could be doing or want to be doing.  Sounds terrible but I know that I am not the only Mommy out there feeling this way!)  BUT, she has really taken to her little sketchbook we have just been spending great time drawing together.  She gets very involved in what she has been doing and I get lost in my own creations.  We stop every once in a while and check out the other one’s work and make comments, and then we get back to it.

Here is what I produced from that first “lab.”  I am also working on a project that combines what I have learned from this assignment with some of the drawings that I have been doing over the past few years.  Stay tuned for those.  As I move along, I will post my work.  I also have some plans for my daughter’s work, but that will come in time as well.

Cat sketches, watercolor and sharpie.

Owl sketches (and a stray cat), watercolor and sharpie.

Pig sketches, watercolor and sharpie.

It would be interesting to hear from others who might have  taken one of Carla Sonheim’s  online classes or used one of her books.  Please leave a comment below if you have any thoughts on the subject.

You can follow Carla’s blog here.

All images (c) Sneezing in Windy Places, 2012, unless otherwise noted.

Just do it! And if you don’t know what “it”is, just do something!

It’s the journey that’s important.

While talking to a friend the other night at dinner, the topic of this blog arose.  She hadn’t had a chance to read anything that I had written yet and she asked, “What are you writing about?”  I stumbled for an answer and spewed out something like, “Motherhood…our move to Minnesota.”

But, in all honesty, the answer is, “I don’t know.”  I can’t precisely label this as a blog about one thing or another.  My mind doesn’t segregate things into neat little compartments and it is difficult when, in life, people ask me to place myself, my work, or even my preferences into categories.  It is like having someone ask me what kind of music I like.  I like an eclectic mix of melodies and admit to listening to everything from The Lumineers to Kenny Wayne Shepherd to Katy Perry.  It just depends on the day and my mood.  I hate picking favorites.  I don’t have favorites.  It’s too exclusionary of all the other possibilities.

Later, in a conversation with that same friend, who, by the way, I hold nothing against for having asked me, “What are you writing about?” (she got me thinking, after all) was talking about a book that she is writing.  This will be her fourth!  She spoke about how, when she writes, the project shifts and turns and takes unexpected paths.   “Basically,” she said, “you need to just write to figure out what you are going to write about.”  Those words really resonated with me.

I thought even more about them after speaking with another friend a few nights ago.  I spoke to her about my reflections and aspirations: reflections on the closing of a chapter of my life here in Pennsylvania and aspirations of what I hope to accomplish once we get to Minnesota.  I am the type of person who has trouble resting or relaxing.  If my hands are ever idle, my mind is not and vice versa.  I must always be doing something, creating something, thinking about something, planning something.  Therefore, it can start to feel like there is always a pursuit.  I chase ideas, hopes, and dreams always knowing that even if I accomplish my goals, I will most likely never feel a sense of contentment.  Gears constantly grind in my head and it can feel suffocating when you know that you can’t bring every little morsel to fruition.  It’s as if you must do something, everything, all at once, but the overwhelming feeling of having so much to do, makes you do nothing at all.  This friend, very wisely, told me that perhaps it is not about accomplishing every single goal or succeeding with every creative thought that I have or even having an end product to show for my work.  Maybe it is simply about the journey along the way.

It is somewhat like a person on a diet trying to lose weight.  The end goals are slimming down and improving health, but simply sitting around and fantasizing about having a smaller waist line will get her nowhere.  And, just because this person runs her ass off on a treadmill on Day 1 of the diet does not mean that she will automatically fit in those skinny jeans on Day 2.  It takes time.  With time comes growth.  Along the way, the dieter might discover that she really loves running and it becomes an enjoyable part of her routine.  Something that never seemed like a possibility becomes a daily reality.  For an inspiring example of this, check out what my friend, Jen, has been writing about for the past few years.

These  friends have helped me to realize that sometimes it is okay to not be able to recognize or define exactly where it is that we are going in life.  So many people, understandably, live life knowing exactly what each day will bring…or so they think.  It is comforting, it is safe, it is the daily grind.  I have found that I just can’t do that.  Sure, I want security in knowing that my family will have a roof over our heads and good health and happiness with family and friends, but, ultimately, we are not in control of anything.  When we lose control, we feel helpless.  I am guilty of feeling that pressure to be in control of my life.  When I don’t feel that, I scramble to regain it.  But it is those times of facing the “unknown” and the “unexpected” when we grow the most and do things that we may have never done otherwise.

There is a tendency to halt ignition on a project because of fear of failure—Things aren’t quite perfect yet.  What if I can’t do it?  What if no one else appreciates what I do?  If I allow it, I can forever be that artist paralyzed by the blank canvas or the writer stifled by the empty page, but sometimes you just have to throw yourself out there and do it, and if you haven’t yet figured out what that “it” is yet, you have to at least do something.  You’ll figure out something along the way.  I know I’m hoping that I will.

Let the Wind Blow You

This is my stellar representation of the wind blowing our family from Pennsylvania to Minnesota. Clearly the object in the upper right is a blue-eyed cloud with puffed cheeks blowing blue air on my home state’s abbreviation.

First things first, lets clear the air and admit to the fact that I am a sucky blogger.  I started this thing in April…wait, my Fact Checkers jut corrected me…February, I started this thing in February and I have made (gulp) ONLY TWO POSTS. How pathetic!  I apologize to no one but myself because, well, let’s be honest, there is no “one ” else out there who is reading this.  How can I have a following with only two posts?  If there is anyone out there who “follows” my blog by reading those first two and only posts over and over and over again, thank you!  You should probably get some professional help, but thank you.

Resolution:  I will post something at least once a week.  Yeah, yeah. I know that’s not a lot in the wonderful world of bloggers, but I have to be realistic with myself.  Posts once a day just will not happen.  I know and accept that, so I am starting with something that is a little bit more doable for me.  And “once a week” does NOT make me want to crawl under the covers like “once a day” does.  Oh, Fact Checker! Can you tell my Personal Assistant to make note of this resolution in my posh daily calendar planner thingy?  Oh, yes, and have her bring me a cup of tea and a scone.  Thank you, kindly.   

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about the title that I chose for this blog waaaaay back in February. Sneezing in Windy Places.  Weird? Yes, but I’m cool with that. Honestly, as mentioned in my “About” section (besides my two previous posts, I did also manage to eek out an ABOUT page), the title showcases my desire to share all of the musings that puddle in my thinker.  The title just came to me.  But, I find it funny, ironic perhaps, that I chose this title and then a few months later, my husband began following a self-proclaimed life plan of “letting the wind blow us where it may.”  Anyone else seeing the connection here?…wind blowing…windy places….Uncanny right?  Did you all just fall off of your chairs and slap yourselves in the head thinking about how kismet all of this is?

Let me explain.  My husband has a very stressful job and is burnt out.  That topic could be a blog in and of itself, but let’s just say that our house can be riddled with stress and anxiety.  He has been looking for a new job for well over a year now and this past May a perfect job opening came to his attention.  He had seen the job posting and dismissed it because it is located in Minnesota.  We, however, live in Pennsylvania.  (That’s a long way, folks.)  He never told me about said job posting until one day, a co-worker of his happened to find that same job posting and sent it along to my hubby, stating, “You would be perfect for this job.  It sounds like it was written for you.”  At that point, my husband, who was always intrigued by the job but hesitant about a move to Minnesota,  told me about it and asked for my feelings on the subject.  Seeing how stretched he is in his current job, I encouraged him to apply.   And by “encourage” I mean that I said something like, “You are an idiot if you don’t apply for this.  I don’t want to hear another damn complaint from you about your current job if you don’t apply for this one!”  So he did…even though it was in Minnesota.

Honestly, I could feel it in my bones that he was going to get the job.  I am not trying to boast about my hubby’s stellar career attributes, but when it came to this particular job description it really was as if someone had taken his resume and made job requirements out of all of his bullet points.  After a few rounds of interviews, the job was offered to him and we had a big decision to make…do we stay or do we go?  He looked at me and said, “Well, I think we should just let the wind blow us.  See what happens.”

Really?  Don’t get me wrong, I was excited about a fresh start in Minnesota.  There are worse places we could go like…anywhere hot, and this truly is a great career move for him, but I couldn’t believe that these words were coming from my otherwise very practical, always calculated and obsessively logical spouse.

He uses this phrase, or variations of it,  a lot these days.  Me: “Do you want chicken or pork for dinner?”  Him: “Whatever you think.  Just let the wind blow you.”  Me: “Should we think about getting a new dining room set?”  Him: “If that’s where the wind is blowing.”  Bag boy at the grocery store: “Paper or plastic?”  Him: “If the wind is blowing your toward paper, then paper it is.”  (Okay, so that last comment was obviously made up.  I don’t want to paint my husband as a flighty individual who wanders around aimlessly looking for rainbows and unicorns, but you get the point.)

So here we are in October.  We will be packing up and moving to Minnesota soon and our lives are all kinds of crazy as we cinch up loose ends here and work on opening new doors out there.  Why I would think about getting back on the blogging scene now is beyond me, but I often lay in bed at night thinking about the title, Sneezing in Windy Places, and I would look at my husband and think about his declarations to let the wind blow us and it has hit me like a ton of bricks. Perhaps this is THE PERFECT TIME to start writing.   The wind is obviously blowing us to Minnesota.  The breeze is taking us along and has our family in a state of emotional transition.  My thoughts are more rampant than ever with anxieties, new ideas, hopes, fears, and inspirations. (By the way, my inner voice now articulates these thoughts in the voice of  the mother from the 90’s cartoon Bobby’s World.”  Don’t see the connection?  Google it and you’ll understand what I am talking about.) So perhaps now is a good time to “sneeze into the wind” and let my thoughts sail along the current of the world wide web.  Even if it matters to not another soul, it sure does feel good to hash some of this stuff out on the keyboard.  Thanks to further encouragement from a dear friend (you know who you are), I decided to sit down and write today.  And I can honestly say, it feels good.  A portion of my brain feels a little bit clearer now.  Now I just need to find a tissue.

What Happens on Wednesdays? I’ll Tell You on Thursday.

This book, as soon as it left the shelf of the public library and landed in the hands of my two-year-old daughter, instantly became her newest favorite title.  She has had many favorite books, each coming and going in phases, but I have to admit that I too love this book.  I love it enough to suggest rereads.  I love it enough to linger on the pages to take in the quaint and familiar illustrations of Lauren Castillo.  I love it enough to reach my “renewal” limit at the library.

The story follows a little girl through her typical Wednesday routine.  She recounts, with great detail, not only the happenings of the present, but also of the past.  But the recounts are mundane.  Trivial, really.  Past the…where we once saw an umbrella caught in a tree.  Past the bakery where we got that chocolate croissant. Perhaps that is why my daughter loves it so much.  She IS the little girl.  Most kids could put themselves in her place.  Kids cling to details.  They love to sniff out the things that all of us adults are missing as we go about with our eyes on the prize.  Focused, blinders on, staring straight ahead. We miss the small stuff.  They get it!  And they like to tell us about it.

I can’t even begin to count the number of times I have rushed my daughter off for a day of errand running, huffed and puffed all the way there and all the way back, roll my eyes numerous times, bitch and moan because traffic isn’t moving quick enough…and then get home and sit down with her for lunch and she will tell me about all of the wonderous/beautiful/fascinating things that I missed along the way.  “Mommy, that big yellow school bus was going fast.”  “Did the squirrel run onto Miss Vanessa’s porch?”

What a kick in the ass!  These are the moments when I just look at her in complete amazement.  Thank God for this little creature in my life.  Thank God for her ability to make me just stop and breathe and be sometimes.  I know that I don’t pick up on her ques all the time, but I catch them enough to know that I am moving way too fast.  At least my mind is.  My mind is a whirlwind.  My daughter’s body moves in the same manner. But her mind?  Her mind is able to stop when something is deemed important enough to clutch her attention.  The squirrel running across the porch.  The bubbles glistening on the bar of soap.  The random blue shirt lying inexplicably on the side of the road.  The windshield wipers rhythmically wiping.
From now on I need to pay more attention.  I want to be able to sit down on Thursday and tell someone what happened on Wednesday because as of right now, all I see is a blur behind me.

Mommy Hair

Do you remember the commercial for Suave shampoo?  The one where the woman balances her young son on her shoulders as he tousles her hair about?  Her disheveled hair acts an obvious metaphor for the scattered state-of-mind that is “motherhood.”

(Please note that I searched extensively–and somewhat obsessively–for this commercial.  I couldn’t even find a still frame of it.  If anyone knows of a place to find it, please let me know.) 

This is another version of the ad.  It is not the one that I remember, but it makes the same point.

Click image to watch commercial.

I first saw this commercial prior to being a mommy.  I remember the amusement I felt from watching the rambunctious little creature sit atop the mother’s shoulders and obliterate any resemblance of her sanity.  “Not me,” I thought.  “Cute commercial.  Makes me laugh, but not applicable.”

In fact, I was even bold enough to say to myself, “That will NEVER be me.  THAT child must be a demon to be acting in such a way.  THAT mother needs to shape up.  I will teach MY child manners and respect.  The mere fact that MY future child will spring forth from MY loins will mean that (s)he will automatically inherit MY respectful and well-behaving traits.  ”  (For the record, I have since learned that all of these pre-conceived notions and judgments of other people’s kids is a bunch of bull.  Kids are kids and they act as such.  Some worse than others, yes, but at one point all of us parents will find ourselves quietly sobbing in the bread aisle because the creature that you gave life to just tossed a carton of eggs into the back of the cart and so far you’ve only found ten of the twelve.   To all of those not-yet or soon-to-be parents out there, watch what you say about the behavior of others’ offspring because, believe me, those flippant words will come back to bite you in the ass one fine day.  And you WILL cry.)

Getting back to my first impressions of the commercial…back then, the minutes that ticked away each morning as I would blow-dry, brush, and flat iron my long locks into a sleek and straight submission were trivial.  There really wasn’t much thought given to the precious time that was mine.  All mine! (Insert maniacal laugh here).  I was in control.  I was in the driver’s seat.  And, literally, all I had to do was get in the driver’s seat of my car and get myself to work on time.  Totally doable!  Sure, I hated getting up early and having to drive 45 minutes to an hour (depending on how heavy traffic was each morning), but all I had to worry about was myself.

Now this commercial (specifically the scene described in my opening) plays through my head at least 4 times every half hour.  (Hello, flippant words.  Please make them gentle nibbles.  I’d hate to have huge bite marks on my ass.)

I AM that woman.  I AM the mother who uses words or phrases like “antsy,” “wiggly,” “fidgety,” “strong-willed,”  and “active” to describe her child.  How about “attention-disabled?”

Would. You.Please.Sit.Still.For.One.Second.While.I.Put.On.Your.Shoes?!!!!

These days, I am not only in charge of myself  but also of a living, breathing, and very speedy miniature human being who suddenly refuses to wear her shoes in the car, who sticks markers up her nose, and who asks  me the same damn question over and over and over again.   These are the kinds of things lead to delays in schedules.  These are the kinds of things that have me huffing and puffing as I attempt to accomplish a seemingly simple task, like fetching a few groceries or putting on matching socks.

And my hair?  I am also still in charge that.  While I can’t give it all of the love and attention that I used to, I do believe that I should at least look like I’m trying.  If, for no other reason, than to make sure that when my child thrusts her limp body from my arms toward the hard pavement of the parking lot as I attempt to get her into the car,  while screaming “NOOOO” at the top of her lungs (true story), I don’t look like I’m a crazy woman trying to abduct her.   But, these days I have opted for a wavy look.  It chops about 30 minutes off of the primping phase each day.  I also subscribe to the “wash- only-when-visibly-greasy” method.

As for plans and schedules, they need to be flexible.  Strict timelines get thrown out the window.  The only schedule I can adhere to is being 15 minutes late for most everything!  Sorry, playdate friends.  Actually, I am not sorry because I know that you understand.  We are all mommies and we don’t judge…right?…because we’ve all been there?…because we all have a chair in the crazy corner?  Right?

On a serious note, I do know from talking to many friends that I am not alone on this.  And, while our offspring may cause some moments of mental anxiety, they are still really cute…when they are sleeping.  Despite my daughter’s ability to make me wish for a padded room some days, I like to think that these are the traits that will allow her to thrive in life.  I know that she is using my husband and me as her places of comfort as she figures out how to navigate life’s unpredictable path.  And, at the end of every day, no matter how stressful it may have been, I give my miniature human being as many kisses as she will allow and hug her until she tries to break free.  Some nights, as I lay beside her in her bed talking about what we did that day, I even allow her to tousle my hair.

Here are some other Suave commercials that bring a smile to my face.  Enjoy!

Click on image to watch commercial.

Click on image to watch commercial.

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