Just Write: Another Showing

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I’ve been missing from this place. Have you noticed? I have. I had major deadlines at work last week, but finally on Thursday things were quiet. Then the weekend hit and there were outings and ice times and hockey games and a showing. Now it’s Monday night and I’m finally able to sit down with myself and write.

Tomorrow we are having yet another showing. I have no idea how many groups have been through our home, but they keep coming. And while we have a contingent offer, we’re still able to show the house in hopes that a stronger offer comes in. Eventually it will. Eventually we’ll be done and we’ll pack and we’ll haul our stuff across town. Yet, we have no idea where that place will be across town. Or when.

It makes it hard to plan ahead. It makes it hard to find a school. It makes it hard to think of anything that’s more than 30 days out. And if you know me you know I like to plan ahead. Yes, even sometimes beyond those 30 days. It makes everything feel like it’s on hold.

Half our stuff is in storage. Photo albums, toys, cake pans, random bits of our lives that we’re missing but don’t realize aren’t here. Most of those things could probably stay in storage forever and we wouldn’t care, but it’s the little things that I miss. My paints, Daughter’s doll house, those cake pans.

And someday we will unpack it. We’ll enter a house that is empty and bare and we’ll gradually make it our own. My easel and paints and sewing machine and supply of paper will find it’s way back to me. Daughter’s doll house and zip car and pipe cleaners will land in her new playroom. Those cake pans and the immersion blender and all those fancy champagne flutes will be unwrapped and lined up neatly. Somewhere. Someday. Somehow.

Meanwhile we wait. We wait.

Falling into Winter

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Before Daughter was born I loved setting my clocks back in the fall. I loved that suddenly I could wake up to the sun rising, rather than heading off to work in the dark. I loved that I got that one extra hour to do whatever I wanted. Usually I would just sleep later, but there were years where I would get up early to read or write or head to the gym. When Daughter was born I didn’t realize just how much the time change can effect a little one. The first year that we set the clocks back daughter was only 6 months old and barely on a schedule. But years since, in both spring and fall, the time change wrecks our schedule. This year was no different.
Saturday night I went out with my teammates after our first game and I stayed out later than I should have, knowing I had “an extra hour.” I asked Husband to put Daughter to be a little late since we had “an extra hour.” Recently she’s been sleeping in later on the weekends. And when I say later, I mean she’s waking up around 7 or 730. Most mornings we can pull her into our bed and keep her quiet with an iPad. But this morning, this morning that granted me “an extra hour,” she woke up at 5am. FIVE IN THE MORNING! To my internal clock it was 6am. But still, SIX AM? That’s still too early. So this year, I spent “my extra hour” lying in Daughter’s bed telling her it was “still the middle of the night” and “it’s much too early to get up.” And when she told me  she could “see a 7” on the clock I told her that “The clock isn’t right.” and “We need to set it back”.
None of this made sense to her.
It made perfect sense to me.
So when the clock, or my watch, which was already set, read 6:15 I took that opportunity to head back to my own bed with Daughter and I handed her the iPad.
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Beyond Mondo Beyondo: This is in response to a writing prompt from a group of wonderful bloggers I met through Mondo Beyondo. To see what they wrote about “A change in the seasons,” see below”

Quiet & Good

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It’s quiet. Husband is downstairs watching a college football game. Daughter and the Dogs are in Wisconsin with my in-laws. I’m sitting upstairs, at the desk that husband and I now share (!). There are few runners outside on the paths, traffic is light. The wind is slow through the yellow leaves. Our neighbors have turned off their waterfall for the season.

We slept in this morning, probably too late, because I barely made it to the Kick-boxing class I used to attend. But I made it, groggy with sleep and maybe just a bit dehydrated from the late night with dear friends and one too many beers. I went to the class faithfully before daughter was born and now I make it 2 or 3 times a year. It’s good to go back and it’s good to put my body through something besides running, biking or skating.

This past week was good. I finished up the dreaming class I took. It was inspiring and it got me back here, at the keyboard, hitting these keys. It got my mind racing about everything else I want to do! And it got me to realize that dreams can come true, just one step at a time. Nothing’s going to happen unless you take that first step, right?

I also went to a concert all by myself. I have never even gone to a movie by myself, but I really wanted to go and we had a sick kid, so husband generously stayed home while I went downtown. It was awesome. And amazing. And really, it didn’t matter that I went alone because I was surrounded by hundreds of other people who were there for the same thing. To listen to great music.

It was really good. The whole week was really good. Even with a fever and meltdowns and rain and dogs that hog the bed. It was good.

How was your week?

Just Write: On Writing

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collage by daughter, 2013

I’ve recently recommitted myself to writing. To writing here, to writing for my writing group, to writing for me. I don’t think I’m ready to take the NaNoWrMo challenge, but it sure is exciting to think about!

Last night I hit the send button on my first submission. It’s the first time I’ve sent my work out into the world in that way. I’ve sent it to my Mom, to my Writing Buddy, to my Writing Group and I’ve even started to let Husband read some work.

This is different writing than you see here. The essay I sent was hard to write. It was hard to share. But it felt really good to click on that button and see it go. Who knows what will happen now. I’m already working on submission number 2. That will go out next week.

I’ll keep you posted!

This Tuesday “Just Write” Post was inspired by Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary. I’ll be linking up to her as many Tuesdays as I can muster. Another writing commitment. 

Hockey Hockey

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So, I signed the daughter up for Mini-mites hockey last week. Mini-mites is for four-year olds and it’s the youngest level of organized hockey. I looked at a few programs and realized that the one across the river was the closest and fit our schedule the best. I emailed the director and asked if I could sign her up. She politely replied that I needed to get permission from my area’s program because we live across the river. Easy, I thought.

I went online, found the program website, found the presidents name and sent him an email requesting permission to sign my four-year-old up for hockey. He said no.

No? She’s four.

So I tried again. I explained that we’re moving and won’t be in his district next year or ever again and that we wanted to make things a bit more convenient while we’re still here.

Again, I reiterated that she’s four.

I didn’t hear back.

Then I was talking to another daycare father, one that plays hockey and knows the ins and outs of the program and he was amazed that a four-year-old couldn’t get permission to play outside her area for one year. He told me he’d make some calls.

The next day I had my waiver.

Did I mention she’s four?

So now I have this waiver, but it only has one signature. I need to get four more signatures from all levels of the hockey world, just so a four-year-old can play hockey for one year near our house. Don’t get me wrong, we want her to play. She especially wants to play and had a complete meltdown last week when open skating was cancelled.

So, she wants to play, we want her to play, but really, I have to jump through all these hoops just so she (a four-year old) can play at a location convenient to our home. What has happened to the world of kids sports & activities? Has it really become this serious?

Again, did I mention she’s four?

Morning Meltdown

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Daughter woke up today in full melt-down mode. She had a rough night, with nightmares full of spiders and spider webs. Husband pulled her into our bed, where she woke multiple times pleading for us to get the spider webs offher arms, her legs, her head. It was heartbreaking to watch and even more difficult because it was 1, and then 2 and then 3 in the morning. When the alarm went off at 6:30, I zombie-walked to the bathroom, only to be followed by a mini-zombie screaming “Carry Me! Carry Me!”

And then it started. The full-on, “Carry Me, Don’t Touch Me!” morning meltdown. I don’t blame her, either. We’ve all been stressed with packing and storing and cleaning and painting. Trying to sell a house is a roller coaster of emotions. One moment I can’t wait to get out, the next moment I never want to leave. At times I feel like we’ll sell in a heartbeat, other times I’m sure we’re stuck here forever and we’ll have two houses and we’ll never leave either or then we’ll be without a house and we’ll have to live with my Mom. (Which would be fine, Mom, really, but a bit crowded, don’t you think?)
And frankly, I wouldn’t have minded wrapping myself around her on the floor and joining in on the tears and screams and kicking.
But let’s be realistic. I had to get in the shower, find something to wear that’s not in storage, get her somewhat dressed and still clean up this house in case our Realtor or someone else decides to walk through it. Oh, and then get to work.
Eventually she let me pick her up, I held her close, wiped her tears and led her to the bathroom. (Which is where she wanted to be carried in the first place if only I had been able to read her mind.) The world was calmer after that. Husband brought her a snack bar and milk. I got in the shower. We turned on Bubble Guppies. I got her dressed in a swimsuit (field trip day to the wading pool) and secretly wished I could wear my swimsuit all day and hang at the wading pool, too. We got out the door without another tear, another struggle, another heartbreak.
And hear I sit, far from the spiders and nightmares and kicking. Daughter doesn’t have moments like that often, and for that I’m grateful. But every so often she does. And every so often I wish I could. I wish I could just crawl on the floor screaming and crying until someone picked me up, wiped my tears and held me.
Don’t you?