Indecision

Lately I've been "undecided."  About lots of things.

Currently, I have written five new beginnings to five different books.  I can't manage to feel committed about any of the projects.  Each of them has parts I like, and none of them has convinced me that I want to spend the next 2-3 years with them.  Does this mean I haven't hit on what I should work on, or that I am insanely unable to make a decision right now?

I also recently read "The Happiness Project."  (Libbi's suggestion)  While I think the author might be even more OCD than me, and I was a little put off by her blog's assertion that she is a "happiness expert" - I couldn't get past the self-promotion there - she has some valid points about being deliberate when making goals for improvement and increased happiness.  After reading the book I felt compelled to make some goals (or resolutions, as she put it).  But what would I make them about?  There are so many different areas of improvement.  Which ones do I want to attack?

I often have this sort of paralysis when it comes to making sweeping decisions about my life.  Topics for FHE?  Areas of improvement in my relationships with each child?  Character traits I want to change/improve in myself?  What should I include?  What should I leave out?  Who am I to say what is important for the here and now?

This last weekend I pulled a Kathleen and moved all my furniture and closets (their insides) around the house.  Justin is getting a new exercise bike to help with his migraines and I told him if he was bringing a new large item into our finite sized house, he had to give me a complete day of help with projecting (moving, throwing away, rearranging.)  When I finished, I felt settled and accomplished.  Everything was in its place - a place more suited to it, and better arranged than before.

But it made me wonder, am I rearranging my furniture because I can't figure out how I want to rearrange my life? Am I creating for myself a false sense of a fresh start?  Not really, because I feel less claustrophobic and constrained when my house is in order. I feel more ready to take on projects.  But I wish I could as easily set in order my mind and goals as I do my home.  I wish I could have the courage to throw stuff out, find new spots for things, introduce drastic change, try crazy configurations.  If only it were so easy to make decisions about my attempts at the future, as it is to start with a fresh look for my house.

(And yes, all the kids are now in the same room.  Spencer made it out of the closet.)

Personal Space

This is what Meg and Ellie always look like when we eat dinner:

For some reason, Meg's chair is always shoved waaaaaayyyyy over into Ellie's personal space.  While they generally eat next to each other, this happens no matter who Meg eats by.  Not only this but she turns sideways in her chair and puts her feet on the other person's chair.  Sometimes at lunch (when Ellie is at school) Meg sits by me, and I experience this firsthand.  The other day as Meg relentlessly tapped her foot on my chair and I did my best to control my urge to turn to her and tell her to "SCOOT OVER!!!!!" I realized I probably shouldn't be so hard on Ellie when she has her own personal space issues at dinner.  That girl puts up with way more than I give her credit for.  Being a big sister is tough.

Meg's Birthday

Meg turned 5 this year.  She is so excited that this means she can go to school with Ellie this September.  She is also very sure that outfits that did not fit before (5T) now do and that outfits that used to fit (4T) don't at all.  For her birthday we went to McDonalds and had a confetti cake with sprinkles. She usually asks for a confetti cake, and she never eats it.  She doesn't really like cake.

   



















I think this is the only bite of cake she took.  And it obviously wasn't anything she loved too much.

Spencer, on the other hand, really liked the cake:

About two weeks later we had Meg's birthday party with her friends.  This time Justin made cupcakes because Meg prefers "muffins."

Meg is very shy at heart and when we all sang "Happy Birthday" she ducked and cowered.

Friends:

We sure love our Meg.  She is so good at taking care of Spencer, she loves to tend him and follow him around, and play games with him.  She loves to be cuddled, especially by her Daddy.  She is slow to wake up in the mornings, just like her Mommy.  She wears ballet clothes almost every single day with lots of crazy tights that I can't help buying for her.  Grant adores her and does everything she says regardless of whether it's to his benefit or not.  She and Ellie love to pretend and set up long, convoluted stories of princesses, fairies, pirates, or school buses.  Happy Birthday Meg!!!

Purchasing Department

When I got married I received a vacuum from my Grandpa.  This was the gift each of my cousins received from Grandpa, and I always knew I would get a vacuum too.  Man, how I loved that vacuum.  Okay, so I didn't really think about the vacuum at all.  But still.  It was a vacuum, and it was mine.  Because this gift was a copycat gift given to each grandchild, I think it is safe to say that the vacuum cost about $100.

When I had been married for eight years, Justin and I decided we would get a real Christmas tree.  It smelled good, it poked me, we decorated it, it poked me, Christmas ended, and it poked me.  Because I'd never had a live tree before, and because I cannot apparently put two and two together, I decided to use my vacuum to clean up all those lovely pine needles my Christmas tree gifted me.

I bet you're surprised that I broke the vacuum.

It's okay, I figured.  I've had this vacuum eight years and it wasn't sucking that great anyway.  Or was sucking.  Whichever way you want to look at it.  Regardless, I went to buy a new vacuum.

Despite the fact that my mother and Justin both mocked my choice, I decided to buy the cheapest vacuum available: $35.  What I really wanted was a good vacuum, but since I didn't feel like spending a bazillion dollars I decided I would get a vacuum that I only intended to last two to three years.  Then when it died, and we possibly had a real job, I would buy a useful vacuum.

I believe the $35 vacuum lasted about two months.  Wow.  My house is really not that big, and I really don't vacuum that much.

Luckily I had - for the first time in my life - bought the warranty offered with the vacuum ($5) so I returned the vacuum and got my money back.  At this point, I decided I would invest a little more than $35 in my purchase.  I also went to Target instead of WalMart.  (As though their vacuums are any different.  At least it made me feel as though I weren't so cheap.)  This time I spent about $70 on a new vacuum.  I even researched online "cheap vacuums that actually work."  I felt confident that I could get two years out of this thing.  And all seemed good.  The vacuum worked moderately well, and months passed.

But last week, my vacuum died again.  This time there were no offending pine needles, and I had even cleaned the filter regularly.  Sure I did run over a ribbon once and pull off the belt in the process - but I'd actually read the instructions (gasp) and fixed that.  How unfair!  I didn't even kill it with my stupidity.

Now I need a new vacuum.  Tonight we're having company and I had to crawl around the living room floor picking up crumbs, dust balls, and things Spencer has chewed on and spit out again.  Why has it been a week with no new purchase.  (I know Aunt Penny would not be happy.)  Because I have no idea which vacuum to buy.  Sure, I know if I bought a Dyson it would always work.  I even floated the idea of selling back my phone so I could get a decent cleaning machine.  (Justin looked at me like I was insane when I mentioned this.)  But what about those medium-priced vacuums????  Are any of them decent enough to last two years???

And what was so magical about Grandpa's vacuum that it lasted 8 years and was only killed by my idiotic efforts to vacuum up a tree?  They say you don't appreciate a good thing until it's gone.  Man, I wish I had my vacuum back.  'Cause let me tell you, I loved that vacuum.  At least I know I'd love it if I had it now.

Good Quote

"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, 

night and day, to make you everybody else 

means to fight the hardest battle which any human 

being can fight; and never stop fighting."  - e e cummings

I love this quote and I want to my kids to memorize it.  I want to stencil it on the inside of their eyelids.  But not really.  Because that would be gross.

The Littles

Spencer:

Has begun to walk.  Mostly he likes to walk in circles.  Like it amuses him that you thought he was going to visit you, but now he's really going somewhere else.

Has one tooth on the bottom, another coming.  And apparently two teeth on the top.  They are coming in way up high - in the wrong spot - so I only discovered them while cleaning out his nose one day.  (He was screaming - good-naturedly, of course.)

Needs a haircut so that he can stop brushing the hair out of his eyes.  Still, his long hair is so cute that neither Justin nor I can bring ourselves to bring him some relief and actually trim the hair back.

Grant:

Has begun whacking people - just for fun - when he walks past them.  Or drop-tackling any available siblings.  Boys!  Boys are crazy!

Also needs a haircut.  I wish I could decide what kind of boy haircut I wanted him to have.  Who would have thought boy's hair would be so difficult for me.

Went to Primary.  Meg remarked:  "When the bad kids turn off the lights and run to the bathrooms I am good and listen to my teacher."  Whereupon Grant remarked:  "I like to turn off the lights and run to the bathrooms."  Yep.  That's right.

Meg:

Finally had her birthday party.  Every 30 seconds she asked when we were opening presents.  I kept telling her to be polite.  Justin rolled his eyes at me and told me just to let her open the presents.

Has inherited the Andersen "move your house around" gene.  Has decided to move her pillow to the middle of her bed and makes sure to sleep perpendicular to the regular fashion.  This means her feet hang off the side of her bed and her blankets are horribly skiwampous.  But she is glad because her bed is "different than it used to be."

Declared over Christmas to a complete stranger that she doesn't go to preschool but does homeschool with me where "we never actually learn anything at all."

Ellie:

Is horrified her classroom pet died over Christmas break because it was her only chance at a pet.

Is reading about 8 different books at a time, which she leaves all over the house with strange pieces of paper, random toys, ribbons, etc. as bookmarks.  When I move the books or accidentally close them she becomes very irritated.  She especially likes Nancy Drew right now, but when she reads those at night she has to come out and receive reassurances that it is all pretend.

Loves when I let her stay in her pajamas on the weekend instead of making her get dressed and brush her teeth.

Humility vs. Creativity

I used to dance growing up.  Let me make this clear without anyone feeling the need to pat me on my head and tell me I'm all wrong: I was not the best dancer in my class.  I just wasn't.  I am okay with that.  But let me make this also clear: it was very important for me as a dancer to believe that I was the best dancer in my class.

A little more confusion to go with that clarity:

Never at any time was I under the illusion that anyone else - teachers, classmates, small five-year-olds that stood on their tiptoes to watch us dance - never did I believe that any of those individuals thought to themselves that I was the best dancer in my class.  This, you see, was not the point.  After all, I knew I would not be accepted into any New York City ballet program at any time.  And I also knew I would not be cast as the starring role in my studio's upcoming performance.  Reality did not escape me on these points.

But always.  Always. I believed that deep inside me there was a magical core to my dancing that no one else had, and that this set me apart from anyone else on the floor - though more talented or skilled than me they might be.  I believed that - at my best - an outsider might look at me and say:  "Wow.  There is a definitive spark there that no one else has."  Or:  "She brings meaning to this dance in a way only she could."

In effect, there is a reason that this person is doing this - and it would matter if she disappeared and were replaced with another.  Perhaps she is not the best.  But she is necessary.  This moment of beauty would not exist in just this way without her here.  (And, of course, they would be saying that about every other dancer on the floor as well in regard to their own particular spark and meaning.)  And this is what I told myself over and over again, as I plie-ed (and, in the case of Julie's classes, tendu-ed) over and over again.

Okay, I didn't repeat that big long clunky paragraph to myself in the midst of a ballet exercise.  Instead I said:  I am something special.  I can create beautiful things that no one else can.  Because why else does a person push forward with a task if not to be able to say: no one else could have done this like me, and aren't you glad I did it?

In my own experience I have found this to be true of many creative endeavors.  In order to persist in a work a person needs to believe that deep underneath all the guts and errors they produce that they bring something necessary and vital to that field.  That somewhere deep inside them a genius is lurking.  An undiscovered genius whose starry insides could at any moment break out to blind the world with their awesomeness.

Certainly I have found this to be true in parenting.  Come on, everyone has to believe that they were meant to do great things for their children that no one else could quite provide, otherwise we'd all be hitting our heads against the wall for the many things we mess up.  I  have also found it to be true in my writing.  If I am going to write I have to truly believe that my writing is meaningful/beautiful/creative/lovely in a way that no one else's is in exactly that manner.  There must be words for me to speak back when doubt/discouragement/depression slink their way in and begin beating me over the head with a stick.

I must - in a sense - be egotistical and self-assured.  I must be able to say:  I am good at this.  Only I can do this.  I have something special here.  But mostly because I am frightened and unsure, and the only way to keep going is to convince myself that these things are true.

Which brings me to my point: Can creativity exist in a state of humility?
Which brings me to my second point: Creativity MUST be capable of existing in a state of humility.

Because at the end of the road there is always the truth:  The failed audition.  The jumbled feet in an intricate jumping exercise.  The form rejection letter delivered from multiple agents.  There is always that knowledge lurking just underneath that all these grand things you're telling yourself may not be true.

And in that moment of realized humility... when it becomes apparent that flaws exist, and Tolstoy is quite extraordinarily out of reach (not to mention a million other published authors and their achievements)... it becomes important to be able to say:

I am not the best.  No one appreciates my special spark right now.

But I will still keep going.  I will pick myself up.  Dust myself off.  Take a deep breath.
I will try again.

It is in these moments of realized humility that you become the person who keeps on going, or the person who gives up.  Creativity in the face of humility is creativity with strength.  Creativity that has been doused in a bucket up water and insists on continuing to exist as a flame is creativity that will eventually produce.  Dare I say that without humility creativity can never really come in to its full self?

I always knew I wasn't the best dancer in the world, but I also knew - deep inside - that I was.
They were/are both true.

Humble/Proud.
Sure/Unsure.
Brilliant/Ordinary
Me

On Writing.

For some reason, it makes me uncomfortable to talk about my writing with others.  Perhaps this is because it doesn't seem like writing is "official" if it only exists on a home computer.  Perhaps this is because it's important to me, and I can't quite bear the scrutiny of outside evaluation on its somewhat nebulous existence. In explanation, I've compared my writing to quilts.  For a quilt-maker, regardless of skill level, the finished product of your efforts will be appreciated by others.  Quilts are warm.  Quilts are useful.  Unless they're itchy, you can always find a person willing to take a quilt off your hands.  This does not prove true for pages of stories stored away on a hard-drive.  All that creativity, effort, and thought - and if it's not ready for the real world - then it's only ready to be stored away as "practice."  And so, despite the fact that I do write, and that I do write regularly, I don't really talk about it.  I keep it away inside myself.  (Which is - you know - kind of the opposite of the point of writing.)

Recently I read a blog post from a published author that really made a difference in my writing outlook.

Link here: http://kristincashore.blogspot.com/2012/12/pictures-of-book-being-made.html

After reading it, one of the things I realized was that I needed to write about my writing experiences.  Not only will it help me remember them, and crystallize the things I learn along the way, but it might also be meaningful to others.

And most of all, I need to admit out loud that I am a writer.  Especially if I ever want to actually be one.

Phone Photos

Christmas in Vegas

This year we headed to Vegas for Christmas to see Justin's family.  It was a busy week and a half and I was sicker than I've been in years so much of it is a blur, but the kids had a great time seeing all their grandmas and grandpas and their cousins and aunts and uncles.  

Swimming with the fam:  (I didn't get in, surprise surprise.)

Christmas Pageant:

Dove and Cow:  (Grant was starting to get sick here.)

Ellie got to be Mary this year:

Meg got to be an angel:

I'm not sure what they're looking at, but these intent angels look so cute to me.

This basket had a real baby in it.  Cutest little baby ever.

Waiting to check out what Santa brought:

Parents waiting to watch their kids:

Bowling:

Piano Concert:  (Ellie wrote her own song for this one.)

Seeing our friend Kainoa:  (and, of course, his parents.)

Watching a movie at Grandma Duck's: