In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours. -Mark Twain

Photo courtesy of Blaine Dickerson (one of my favorite people)

Mark Twain described this spring perfectly!  It has been a crazy one.  It is nearly June and we have barely broken the 60s yet, minus a few random days.  We have had some rain, some snow, some hail, and definitely some wind.  Our trampolines, yes, I think I have mentioned before, we have two, nearly blew away on more than one occasion.  Beckham and I were running around crazy in the wind that day weighing everything down with sandbags that we just happened to have in the garage.  We even had to tape our garbage cans shut.  All these storms have caused some grief, especially for my five year old Rylan.  He has a new fear of storms, poor little duder.  Any time the rain starts or he sees the wind in the trees he gets an agitated fear in his voice and asks, "is that a storm mama?"  I know this fear and it reminded me of an excerpt from one of my unfinished books.

The wind whipped her hair around her face, catching in her eyes, muffling all sound.  A storm was coming, and she could feel something else as well, but every time she tried to turn and see, her vision was blurred by her dark locks.  Wind had always made her nervous.  The feeling of anxiety in her chest reminded her of how the horses and dogs would act funny when a storm was blowing in, they felt it before it was there; running around, agitated, kicking at unseen terrors, barking and neighing, this must be what they felt.  Even when safe indoors, sheltered from the wind, she felt unease.  The rattling of the windows, the sound of objects flying outside the door, as if some unseen power lived in the wind trying to break every obstacle in its wake.  She longed to be outdoors when the wind howled, to see the force behind the power, face the fear, but then longed for shelter when she was outside in the gusts that took her breath away.  Life seemed to follow this pattern for Isabelle, when she was in one place, she longed for another.  She never truly felt at ease.  Tonight was no different, but the weight on her chest, the ringing in her ears, the tingling in her spine told her it was something more, something worse. 

She quickened her pace, trying not to show her fear.  Showing fear only showed weakness.  In life she tried to mimic the Isabelle of her dreams, the one who chased her fears, attacking head on with a knife in hand, but she couldn’t imagine the Isabelle of her dreams feeling like her heart was about to explode.  She felt weaker in real life than she did as she fought her fears and demons each night.  Tonight she longed to feel like she did when she was asleep, to be able to stop in her tracks, turn around and see what was making her feel so intensely.  Instead she ran, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the wind pushing at her back.  She almost felt like she could fly, leaping through the air, as she did in her mind when she was asleep. 

I know this fear because I have been "blessed" with the ability to sense or dream when something is coming.  It is an awful power to possess.  I suppose it is a blessing in that I can be prepared when I discover what the awful feeling is, or know when to ask questions, but it definitely causes some serious stress.  

It is also amazing to me how life can feel like a storm in one moment and then, just as when the sun peaks through the clouds, you can feel clarity and peace.  I suppose the past few years have been my spring.  I feel a little crazy sometimes in that I can experience 136 different emotion in a single day.  However, I am thankful I can still find the sunshine peaking through the storm clouds.  There is still joy to be had in spite of all of the stresses this life has to offer.  Sometimes we just have to turn up the volume on our funny movie (like my son Rylan does during a storm) so that we can't hear the raging around us.   Sometimes we have to search for the rainbows through the dark clouds.  Sometimes we need some unicorns and sprinkles in there as well.  Sorry, getting a little too warm and fuzzy :)   But, truly, there is always some hope mixed in there, even when it feels like you can't take anymore.  For me its watching my kids finally playing happily together, my baby's dimply smile and tiny feet, my husband's laughter and random touches as he walks by, and even my two  year old pooping in the potty.   It's the little things.  It's the people in our lives. 

Happy Mothers Day!

I must say that as per my norm I have fallen into a funk especially when it comes to finding the joy in all the messiness.  I always have such high hopes and aspirations to redirect my negative, overwhelmed, why me attitude and then I fail again.  I don't deal with failure well as no successful person should, but perhaps I take it a little too hard and want to give up completely.  I am not dealing with life well and I need to reroute, regather, refocus, re-something so that I can  do more than merely survive this life.  Like they say you can't keep doing the same things and expect different results.  So I suppose I need to find the time and energy to make the changes necessary to get a new result.

I must say I have one win in my books... I have successfully overcome the horrific cycle of laundry.  Not that I don't still get behind from time to time, but I have merely come to accept that I will wash, dry, fold and put away multiple loads of laundry every single day (except Sunday, I refuse to do laundry on Sunday) for an unforeseeable amount of time and as long as I take it one load at a time and complete that entire load start to finish then I can handle it.  Now I just need to implement my new found acceptance of my infinite course of laundry to all other areas of my life then perhaps I will find a system that doesn't leave me overwhelmed and in tears at the undoing and chaos that inevitably ensues from time to time.

I have never loved structure.  I am a creative person, but I have a hard time focusing on one task.  I want to be able to do all of it at the same time and end up with an amazing faster result.  Instead, I end up with partially finished, abandoned projects and well disappointment.  I recently read that creative minds get bored with projects because their mind is constantly thinking of new creations and the excitement of those new creations makes it hard for them to finish things currently in progress.  That is me.  I have a hard time finishing.   Thus the laundry battle.  I'm really good at getting it into the washer, and then I get sidetracked and have to repeat the cycle.  So, if I can tackle laundry, which I don't know anyone who likes laundry, then I can probably tackle my other nuisances of life as well.

In my head I have come up with a system, now I just need to write it down and implement it before I get too bored or distracted creating something else.

See I am already bored of this post! haha :)

My second goal is to continue writing, as I have made this goal before, but here I am again trying.  My first step was to declare it here.  My second step will be to follow a mother's advice from a blog, of course, and to start a tradition of writing each of my children a letter on Mother's Day.  My kids get a lot from me.  A lot of direction, a lot of yelling, a lot of disappointment, a lot of support, a little fun, and always love, but I like the idea that each year they will get a letter from me telling them why I do the things I do, what I am thankful for about them and why I love them.  I hope they will like them and keep them to remember that despite all my flaws and short comings that I did always love them and want the best for them.

Yesterday, my Rylan asked me if I always loved him.  It broke my heart a little (not enough to keep me from losing my temper several times the rest of the day sadly) that he had to wonder.  I assured him that no matter what forever and ever even when I was mad and yelling that I loved him.  I am happy he asked and clarified because later that day when I was furious, he said to me, "Mom, I know you still love me even though you are mad, you still love me always."  That is what actually softened my rage because I do.  I love my kids.  I love my husband.  I love my family.  I am imperfect, but my love for them is not.

This is me, one more time, trying.