First post on my new blog, solely devoted to What We Do On The Farm. Enjoy!
I am tired. It is late. Not horribly, but late enough that it could be considered stupid that I am not in bed, or working toward that end, being this exhausted. Here I am anyway. Shalom.
We have been moving for a few weeks now– make no mistake that a move a mere ten minutes away has infinite power to be ridiculously inefficient. Many days have involved loading and unloading my Jetta wagon three or four times, always scanning every item in every load for spiders, always with three kids in tow. Our new place is so far beyond fabulous, my sheer dumb luck overwhelms me. But we are still not fully extricated from our previous dwelling and I am indeed very, very tired from it all.
One piece of the moving puzzle for me (that is costing me intensely, energetically speaking, but that I firmly believe is well worth the effort) has been to evaluate items as we go, so that I’m not bringing anything into our new space that does not meet very stringent criteria. With the kids’ possessions, extra stealth has been essential to the task. While I am not tossing anything that is not mine to toss (because quite bluntly that would make me a horrible ass), I am boxing up items for semi-permanent to permanent storage (we have space apart from the house where I can stow said items). This solves what feels like eighty-million problems I have waged an uphill battle against for years to no avail. My children’s rooms are full and fabulously decorated (BIG thank you to my mom for drinking the Pottery Barn Kids Kool-Aid, WOW my kids’ rooms are mackin’!) and everything that didn’t make the cut is off to the shed to be stored. If an item is remembered (such as, unfortunately, the psycho meowing baby doll in cat pajamas) it’s there to be pulled from the bins. If, after six months to two years, an item hasn’t been mentioned once, off to donation land it goes. In the meantime my rewards are at least threefold: I have less clutter in my house, the kids can see what they still have in their rooms, and all objects have a designated home, making cleanup super easy, both for me and for them. I have asked no one to clean anything, and yet both the big kids are keeping their rooms clean… not to mention that they are actually sleeping in their own beds! Who knew?!
Now, seriously, off to BED!! Perhaps now that we’re mostly settled I’ll feel able to write again …
So I know this mom. She’s actually an “irl” friend of mine. Turns out she blogs, and she wrote this really great post recently (no, I’m not going to link to it, because I’m too goddamned embarrassed, which will be put into context shortly). It’s not that it was earth-shattering content. In fact, it was pretty darned fluffy. But it was really a tight piece– well-crafted sentences, humorous use of capitalization, quotations set off by different paragraph style, great and relevant photos, links everywhere. And as it turns out, perhaps by virtue of that quotation, it got noticed and commented upon by the very person quoted! Now I am ridiculously envious. Pathetic. This post wasn’t about any deep revelations about the meaning of life or some shamanic insight into a client’s liver problems (just dandelion, milk thistle is too strong for you). But it was professional.
When do I get to sound like a professional? WHEN?? That is what I’m truly jealous of here: that special combination of know-how, time, and follow-through that produces a professional appearance. Sure, I know more photos and links and a slightly less self-absorbed tone would make a better blog, but I just don’t seem to have the time to really flesh out any of my ideas. I forget most of them, even my most inspired ones, before I get anywhere near a page. What’s worse, this mom I know has three kids like me, almost the same ages, and she homeschools. I do NOT have any more excuses. Apparently I am simply too lazy.
And so it begins… new year, new blog. My 15-month-old baby, asleep in my lap has cut off the circulation in the fingers of my right hand. Good thing I’m left-handed– ha! Take that, righties!
Seriously, though, what the hell am I talking about, anyway? Yes, I am left-handed, and it is a right-hand world, whether you’ve noticed or not. But I am a statistical outlier in many other ways. Societies preserve themselves by marginalizing and isolating outliers, cleaving to the middle of the bell curve. However, to be an outlier is not to be automatically flawed or afflicted in some way. I find myself frequently sorting out the difference between normal outlier and pathological behavior, for myself and for others. Most of what I’ll write about here will center around the way I do things, which tends to be differently than at least ninety percent of everyone around me. I’m neither proud nor ashamed; I simply am. And I’ve found along the way that when I’m honest about who I am, it helps others come closer to doing the same. So that’s what I’m after here: empowerment through sharing ideas and stories. May we all be liberated and free from suffering. Happy 2011!
p.s. I’m also participating in the WordPress post-a-week 2011 challenge. Week 1, check!