Blub. Blub. Blub. or I Used to Be a Dreamer

I used to be a dreamer. My childhood was filled to overflowing with ideas and lists. About the future, mostly. A few things were random or unrealistic (such as the pages and pages of notes I wrote about what I’d pack if I could only have one suitcase in addition to the clothes on my back and I was about to be dropped off to live on an uninhabited island, described in detail). Quite a few things were crazy plans for summer adventures, such as my “Sunshine Singers” concert (happened, with matching outfits and a costume change) or hosting my own Olympics (didn’t happen, but you should have seen my killer balance beam routine on the picnic bench). But most dreams were ideas for my life ahead.

I loved checking the mail, running down the gravel driveway in bare feet as soon as I caught a glimpse of the mailman. The mailbox was symbolic of mystery and possibility. The day the Sears catalog appeared was Christmas. I’d pour over it, cover to cover. When the new one arrived each year, I’d start the process of cutting up the old one. A toaster here. A maternity dress there. A coffee table. A wrench set. All the things my life would need. The paper baby toys found their way pasted into a notebook. Pages for each room of the house, each of my children (by name), my wardrobe, holiday decorations.

Later, I began a home design notebook in earnest. When all the other seventh grade girls had subscriptions to Seventeen and YM, I paid for my own subscriptions to HOME and Architectural Digest. By the early years of my marriage, the notebook had been purged, edited, updated, expanded, and improved. House plans drawn. Rooms designed in painstaking detail. Gardens, no, a veritable estate imagined in all its splendor. And, oh, the quiet days and glorious events that home would witness.

And, my, what a perfect mother I would be to my eight children. They had fantastic names, and even more fantastic hobbies and interests—each one quite unique. Who would need television, when adventures were calling? Just think of the road trips and museums. Backpacking across Europe. Visiting nursing homes. Serving in the soup kitchen. Performing in a family band called Blue Skies. (Our first song was going to be called “Open Road,” and the promotional poster featured a white ‘66 Mustang, a picturesque country road, blue skies, white cotton-ball clouds, an upright base, and the most stylish, fun-loving family you’ve ever seen.)

You are starting to be concerned about my mental state, I can sense it.

Early marriage, my plans and dreams included an interior design business. Then I started Poet’s Garden with my sisters and mom. Mostly for the fun of it, I drew detailed plans for a Poet’s Garden “complex.” A baby store. A coffee and tea shop. The garden shop. The interior design shop. (I even had plans for a restaurant, the B-24 Café with WWII memorabilia and menu items named after vintage aircraft.) My kids would have their own room for homeschooling, of course. A few highlights did occur during the Poet’s Garden years, including being featured in Victoria magazine—a lifetime dream. But my sister Shannon and my mom did the lion’s share of the work, particularly once I had Levi and completely once I had Luke.

About the time I started having kids, my planning took on a slightly different hue, with a “closer to home” tinge. I kept a notebook full of birthday party themes and ideas, complete with a schedule. Homeschooling ideas. Trips with kids ideas. “If I survive toddlerhood with the boys, we’ll do all these things when they are older” ideas. Healthy eating and exercising sprees. Organized home management and meal planning.

We moved into our “forever” home, and the home design notebook shuffled off to a top shelf where it forlornly gathers dust. But the property held possibility. Wouldn’t it be fun to create a walking/bike trail around the perimeter? And a veggie garden here? A magical children’s garden there? A bunkhouse over yonder?

Okay, so yard work isn’t our forte. Levi’s 1st-4th birthday parties, Luke’s 1st-2nd, and Leif’s 1st were pretty amazing. Since then? I’m doing well to plan a day ahead and bake a cake. Trips? These days, our sanity and financial reserves can’t handle a night away from home. Activities? Swim team, barely. Archery, prognosis—not good, and they’ve been to one class.

But blogging? And homeschooling? And imaginative, stylized photo sessions? I’ve got this. Oops, there goes photography.

We’ll talk about blogging and homeschooling in a minute, but here’s one point I was leading up to:

Dreaming was a tremendous source of joy for me. I didn’t really think I’d do many of those things, but they were possibilities. And I was full of passion for the creating and imagining process.

But I’ve full-on lost it. Every idea, every plan, every dream is a dreaded to-do list fraught with self-loathing. Reality has set in, and I understand that these things are not within the realm of possibility. Not even the simplest of plans. They all cost something, and I have no reserves.

I used to be able to convince myself that this time it will be different. I’ll be self-disciplined. I’ll follow through. I’ll find the time and energy. My kids will be different. I’ll be different. I just need to find a workable plan. Better inspiration.

I’ll get up earlier in the mornings. I’ll stick to the routine. I’ll fix better meals. I’ll exercise. I’ll get more accomplished during the day…

But it never happens.

So, I’m living life in the moment as it comes without expectations.

For the past few months, my family has been on and off (more on than off) sick. I feel like I’ve had a cold for 10 weeks straight, but this week I’ve felt awful, Lola is quite sick, and Leif is sick (after being on antibiotics last week). I always feel as if I’m about three days behind on the basics (laundry, basic house upkeep, current homeschool assignments, meals, paperwork) and about 20 big projects (each needing two childless weeks to accomplish) away from sanity. The extras (birthday parties, vacations, photo sessions, blogging ideas) seem completely out of grasp. Weeks like this? Ugh.

Parenting Lola is a 24-7 job. Homeschooling Levi is a 24-7 job. Luke, Leif, and basic housekeeping/meals take up another one or two full-time positions. (Just in case you’re wondering, Russ has about 3 full-time jobs, as well.)

Something’s gotta give. So the power button is pushed on the tv and ipad waaaay too often. Lola makes 3 days’ worth of mess in 15 unattended minutes. Pizza is dinner, over and over. Leif slips through the cracks. Russ and I have no time together. I look around the house and cringe at the piles and dishes and dirt. Every *fix* is time and energy that I don’t have, or another spoon-full of guilt (have the kids help? it’s harder to train them than to do it myself. that meal plan? it’ll last a week. morning quiet time? wouldn’t it be awesome if I could get myself out of bed.). Really, how hard can this be? I should be perfectly capable of pulling it together.

Blub. Blub. Blub. That’s the sound of me, in over my head.

A few months ago, I was smitten with a burst of inspiration. I had a theme for the coming year. Something that incorporated and integrated all the little elements of my practical day, my creative/dreamer side, my “reasonable” personal improvement goals, a couple big Heidi-stretching adventures, homeschooling, my passion for books and ideas, my faith, my family and friends, my health, and my blog. I have pages and pages of notes.

I don’t know how to make it happen. Not one bite at a time. Not nothin’.

One day at a time. That’s all I’ve got.

So I’m going to go snuggle with my kids, call it an early night. And do the best I can tomorrow. Next week will have to worry about itself.

P.S. I started this as a not-so-falling-apart sort-of post (believe it or not, it was going to be funny and inspiring), but in the interest of honesty, I’ll leave it as it stands. Maybe we’ll all be feeling better next week and I’ll recant.

P.P.S. On a positive note, after spending 11 of the past almost 12 years changing diapers, sometimes on more than one child, I am done. For.eh.vah. (Less positive, it looks like we’re done with naps, as well. #(%$#)

P.P.P.S. Homeschooling, while never easy or perfect, is not on the “gotta give” list.