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goooodbyeeeee junk

So, there’s this book making the rounds called ‘The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up.’ Maybe you’ve heard of it, maybe not, but the basic premise is if any of the “stuff” you have  in your house doesn’t bring you joy (or serve some actual, daily or at least more than once every few years, functional purpose), it goes. Get rid of it. There is no need.

My friend gave me the book ooooohhhhhh I don’t know. A year or so ago? She read it, followed it, and now has one cutting board and two measuring cups in her whole kitchen. There will not be ten different measuring spoons in her household. Nooooooo way. Not having it. But, she was like, “It is so nice to get rid of all the STUFF.”

And I agreed with her. Because I am over all the STUFF collecting in our house. There is too much. It is overwhelming. I cannot handle it anymore.

About ooooohhhhhh I don’t know…a year ago, I told Tim we should do the same thing and he started hesitate-stuttering all, “But sometimes we use that. We might need this. You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

Yada yada yada and so nothing happened.

You guys.

We literally own a chair that NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO SIT ON because it’s too old and fragile.

It collects dust.

It’s a dust collector and a Tim hat stand and sometimes a clothes pile-up-on-er.

(Some of you may say, well, that chair absolutely serves a purpose! Look at all of those functional operations if performs!)

(But honestly people. We do not need another THING to hold more THINGS when those THINGS should really be put somewhere else…like the closet where the clothes and hats live)

The other…probably month by this point…I stood in the garage all, “I need another tote for this stuff…”

And then as I was standing there, it hit me and I was just like…ooooookay….if we are having to buy more totes to put more THINGS in because there are entirely too many THINGS floating around, there is a serious problem, here. Bordering on ridiculous.

So, suffice it to say I’ve been wanting to get rid of the stuff for quite some time now. I’ve just been waiting on the other half to get on board, and we all know nothing happens until it is their idea.

I mean it went something like this, out of the clear blue sky one Saturday morning:

Tim: I AM SO TIRED OF ALL OF THIS STUFF. IT HAS TO GO.

I used to go crazy over things like that all, “Um hello? I’ve been saying this for how long? And you think this is a new idea like some amazing lightbulb just went off in your head that has never been mentioned before? OMG. Are you serious right now?

But now?

Me: Yes! You’re right! Let’s do this!

Because I’m getting my way, after all….albeit months later…but we’ll just call it a win and move forward. I’ve learned a lot about being married and what you need to do to keep the peace and to also get what you want done. And when that delayed lightbulb goes off, you just roll with it, ladies.

We spent that entire weekend going through the garage and donating or shredding or recycling or putting items into a garage sale pile. After awhile we were both like, “WHY? Why in the world do we even have college notebooks and binders from however many years ago? Are we ever going to reference any of this? Can we even read and understand our own notes? Have we even opened these binders since the day before the final exam of whatever class?”

No, no we have not. We never will.

It brings no joy and serves no purpose other than to make us crazy.

AWAY IT GOES.

Tim was all, “I just want a conveyor belt to put it all on so it disappears and we don’t have to deal with it.”

Unfortunately, dear husband, the “dealing with it” is part of the process.

So, for this entire year, we are going to go through the entire house and attic. Every box and tote and drawer. We are going to ignore our sentimental side that wanted to keep a sticker from high school or a champagne glass from a college dance. We both like to keep sentimental things…but at this point the practical side is taking over and the type A personalities that cannot handle the clutter is behind the wheel because we are both. going. crazy.
Goodbye stuff.

Hellllllooooooooo freedom!

 

 

 

 

 

 

protecting the gag order

The more I revisit my blog, the more I’m all, “I want to write about this! And that! And what just happened!”

And obviously I’m on a self imposed gag order…annnnd I realize that is probably not the best choice of words considering the current state of politics…but yah. And I’m not even going to go there. There was no voting in that direction in this household is all I’m saying. None. Zero. Never.

Anyhow, I may have to start password protecting some posts with life’s current activities because there are so many neat things happening! It took me awhile to get back to the point where I actually think in my brain, “Wow, I really love my life.”

But I’m there again. Finally. Things aren’t perfect and there are still some pretty significant unresolved issues, but on the whole, our house is happy again.

I know I went totally silent a few years ago…and to make an extremely long story short, it’s because things did not go “as planned” surrounding baby bista. They went in a direction no one anticipated, and it totally changed our lives. Put us all on a path we never imagined. A path we had no clue how to navigate.

But, we are on that path now, we have been on it, struggled down it, we have finally figured out how to walk it, and now life is fun and exciting again. I like to share those experiences and I am also realizing that I like to go back and re-read about all the funny (or otherwise) things that happened that I would have forever forgotten about had I not written them down.

So, I don’t know how password protecting works but I’ll figure it out. Technology is leaving me behind these days. There is no time to sit down and figure it out and it no longer comes intuitively to me like it once did. I don’t know what happens to your brain as you get older, but I definitely and wholeheartedly empathize with anyone’s grandma trying to learn “the computer.”

it’s not broken, just unmeasured

I guess I should have started a cooking blog or something.

Well, let me clarify:  one of those ones where all the things that aren’t supposed to happen…happen. I’m not someone you should ever take lessons from when it comes to the kitchen and events that are logically expected to occur there without incident  (exhibit a, b…I’m sure there are more). Things go very unplanned and off course and not measured in my kitchen. 

Granted that’s not always a bad thing.

“How much XYZ spices did you put in here? It’s really good!”

I have no idea?

Annnnnd there goes another amazing recipe unrealized and never to be exactly replicated because I don’t measure. I mean I guess I am pretty okay at cooking things. I can whip up dinner no problem these days.

Really it’s the baking where things go wrong.

Probably because I don’t measure. Damn that baking powder blowing up my cookies to the size of muffin tops or damn the whatever it is that happens when they end up so flat the chocolate chips are like giant mountains over a prairie terrain.

Chemistry. Mocks me every time. 

But measuring….measuring is such. a. pain. It means I have to actually get those little spoons out and find the right one and then two different things need the same amount but now that particular sized spoon is dirty and those spoons really are the worst dish ever to wash..save maybe cookie sheets because I’ll be damned if I somehow don’t turn the pan the wrong way and water either gets all over me or all over the counter.

I’m all about less dishes. Save the water. Avoid a mess. Whatever. Just no measuring. I guesstimate. Eyeball it. That pile I poured looks like abooouuut tablespoon. We’re good. Moving on.

Also about those spoons I don’t even like? I think we have five different sets. It’s probably so I didn’t have to wash a set in the middle of a project. But then that means there are multiple sets to man handle later and so really nobody wins.

And oh the irony….we BOTH still prefer to use the original set.

Anyway, so funny enough, the other day we were making tacos and I had taken out all of the spices and was putting them in the pan with the ground turkey (none of that packaged seasoning stuff here…making your own is so much better!) and I looked at Tim and said, “I don’t measure, just so you know.”

He just kind of nodded his head all Oh-I-know-and-there-is-no-sense-in-explaining-the-reasons-why-we-measure-because-it-falls-on-deaf-ears-I’ve-learned-to-pick-my-battles-and-this-is-one-I’ll-never-win-I’ll-be-over-here-saving-my-sanity-and-preparing-myself-to-choke-it-down-thankyouverymuch.

I continued about my extremely scientific ways, i.e. Eyeballing, and no one really says anything more about it until we sit down to eat. 

And then it happens. 

After Tim takes a bite, he is all, totally unprompted, “These are honestly the best tacos ever. The flavor of the meat is AH-MAZING.

Excellent to hear, dear husband.

She Who Does Not Measure will just be over here, doing what she does, damn all the spoons.

change is…well it really *should* be simple. 

Marriage is a pain in the ass. Honestly. What other arrangement challenges you more than marriage? Mutually. Individually. Mentally. Emotionally. Every way.

I’m not saying this is bad. I’m saying no one really warns you about all of this personal growth you’re going to have to endure…suffer through. Argue about. Bicker. Nag. Complain. Lament.

We fight change so hard. Why?

Is it really so bad to change?

No. No it’s not.

But we drag. it. out. We resist and try to come up with allllllllllll the reasons why they’re wrong and you’re right.

Who really cares though? Why do we care so much? It’s like changing – or evolving – a part of yourself that isn’t really that commendable in the first place…something you wanted to change anyway…it’s like if our significant other calls us out on it, we dig in our heels and decide they are the ones with the problem.

I mean really. Come on. At the end of the day, if you are a kinder, more well rounded person, isn’t that a win for everybody?

I’m super guilty of this. Suuuuuuper guilty. I’m not ashamed or afraid to admit it. Well, admitting it to the person who called me out, aka Tim, that’s probably never going to be easy, but I’m trying to put on my brave pants and just do it. 

In the heat of the moment, I may have plenty of words to defend myself, but deep down it’s really just a facade. Of course when I have a minute to reflect I’ll be all, “Yup. That’s me and that’s definitely not A+ behavior. Really more like C- and I don’t do C-.”

I think being more aware of my resistance and admitting to it, be it right then or three weeks later, is a step in the shiny happy person direction. I’m not perfect and I know that I do plenty that isn’t star quality marriage material. I may not be able to totally wipe the slate but I can at least make concerted efforts to have the other half of the union happy and feeling good about the Status of Us instead of sometimes feeling like it’s us against each other.

All of this reflection came from a major purge over the weekend. We donated so many books…seven boxes of books…and along with all of books were all of our college binders and notes. Among some of my notes I found this “life plan” list I made. On this list included things I wanted in a person I married. 

That freaking list was freaking long. Two pages of college ruled paper long.

It had everything from being romantic to making me laugh to being “brutally honest” and being randomly spontaneous and liking sports and outdoor stuff. It had it all. Where I found the time to think up all of that…I have no idea.

I read the list to Tim to ask him if he thought he fit the various things I wrote down. By the end he was (joking) like,”Welp. I’m at about 50%…sooooo yah. There’s that.”

Then he asked me to answer the same things for myself. If I thought I did any of the things I was desiring of someone else. And you’d think since I wanted those things, then I should also reciprocate, right? It’s only fair.

I looked right at him and said (in a semi-joking way), “I don’t do any of these. I’m not a nice person, remember?”

But the truth of it is that I rarely do any of the things on my own damn list. I do and am some of them, but on the whole…not so much. I’m pretty short tempered and get annoyed easily and as he put it once, “a real peach.” 

And he didn’t mean above sweet one if you catch my drift.

Even though I could list a myriad of reasons why, the truth is exactly what I said to him layer on:

Regardless of how I’m feeling, there’s no excuse for being mean.

And I’m right.

(See what I did there? I can’t even with myself…I’m a mess….and cracking up…)

dusting me off

Wow okay soooooooooooo

Hi. 

I looked back and realized I had not written anything here since I think March 2015.

That’s a really long time. And my life today is absolutely zero like it was back then. Back then it was uncomplicated (compared to now). It was easy. It was pretty happy. Simple. It was a lot of things that it hasn’t been for a long time and that it still isn’t.
But, that’s not the point really. 

Point is, I came across this post I wrote three years ago today. I read it and I realized I haven’t become that shiny happy person at all. If anything I have gone backward due to life being life and throwing multiple, very difficult and painful, giant balls at me and my family in 2015. I won’t even call them curve balls because these balls legit hit me straight on in the gut and face and really just everywhere. 
There was no curving. 

Only hitting.

So, it’s been a long road just to get back to even ground. To dig out of the hole I was buried in. But, I’ve come to realize that *not* writing over the last almost two years hasn’t been helping. I mean, I write about life. I share about my life…and then 2015 happened where I couldn’t write about life at all…for various reasons that unfortunately still hold true to this day. There are so many things that have happened…both good and bad, wonderful and devastating…and I have had to keep them all to myself and a very, very small group of people. 

It’s really no fun. 

At all. 

Some people have mentioned I should start an anonymous blog…but for whatever reason, posting things as a person with no name is 100% not me. I have no interest in that.

One day I will share all the things that have happened…but not today…today my point, since I’m obviously scatterbrained at the moment, is that I need to try to become the shiny happy person I wrote about years ago, even though doing that feels harder now than it was back then. It probably isn’t, it’s really just a mindset and teaching my brain how to be present in the moment…listening to hear versus listening to respond…all that mumbo jumbo that’s actually true. That’s what I need to do…

I have also realized that I really miss writing and need to start again. 

Hence this post.
You’re so very welcome.

I know you’re thrilled.

Even though it’s completely and ridiculously vague.

It’s still a post though. Give a girl some credit.

maybe I’m just weird?

I know. It’s been awhile. Like, I’ll be starting my third trimester in a few days and the last time I was around was to say that baby bista was a boy.

Which, by the way, he’s a boy with no name. Guess we better get on that…not that we haven’t tried. We are just having a really hard time coming up with a name, or even a few names (which is preferable), to choose from when he’s born. I’m hoping something just comes to us soon….like a lightbulb moment…I digress.

My whole point of this post really has nothing to do with baby bista. At least, not yet. 

So, lately, Tim and I have really been trying to pick out battles with Kellan the threenager (why didn’t anyone warn me??? Holy roller coaster of emotions every five minutes). We are trying (and I say trying because we fail a lot. Daily. It’s pretty frustrating to feel like you really suck at parenting at least once every day, usually more)….anyhow, we are trying to let things go unless it is a legitimate safety or respect issue. 

You want to eat standing up? Not use any utensil at all, ever? Make “animals” out of play doh and let them dry out? Wipe the stainless steel refrigerator with wipes to “clean it?” Use five different chapsticks every ten seconds and roll them up so far that half of the stick gets stuck in the top? Put stickers all over the banister to make it “beautiful?,” pack single toys and objects into thirty separate gallon ziplock bags? Race your cars through flour? You want to do alllllllllllll of this along with a myriad of other activities that can make a type A person go insane and also take forever to clean up?

Knock yourself out, kid. Do it. Do all of those things. We aren’t here to stop you.

Do we want to say no?

Yes.

All the time. 

ALL. THE. TIME.

But…we aren’t.

We may be cringing on the inside, but we let him go. Unless it’s respect (like hitting the dogs’ crate to scare them) or safety related (like trying to jump while on the stairs – OMG kid almost gave me a heart attack. Had he fallen, it would have been 15 steps down and backwards).

We are trying to just go with it, and it is HARD. 

[cue me whining] I don’t want to wait five minutes for him to pick a bedtime story and then change his mind after he gets all settled in. 

I was like too bad. 

And Tim was like, is this really that important to battle over?

No, it isn’t….([whining again] but I’m tired!!!!)

I guess that’s where the rub lies. Kellan wants to do, or not do, something that we don’t want to deal with because we can already see the outcome. We know the end game.

But….he doesn’t. And how is he to if of they he is never given the chance? Trial and error. Hypothesize. Experiment. Fail.

And fail and fail and fail.

Or, maybe he’s just expressing his creativity. The 30 gallon bag activity was a beast of a mess to clean up, but Kellan was so into it. What he was doing he was calling an “important job” and who am I to tell him it’s not?

Or trying to be helpful, like with the wipes. Tim has an OCD thing about streaks on stainless, and let me tell you, baby wipes leave more than just a streak. More like a film or impossible to remove streaks. But, Kellan sees that activity as cleaning. He’s trying to bechelpful. Why kill that desire, even if at the time it isn’t 100% correct? Yes, we can give him the appropriate cleaning tools, but that was a spontaneous act and why stop him when he sees what he’s doing as helping mom and dad?

So, I’m not exaggerating about any of this. All real. All happening on a daily basis. I told Tim that we are going to have to have and keep a sense of humor about all of this, plus the sass and attitude we are getting and will continue to get, or this whole parenting experience is going to be miserable.

And no one wants to be miserable.

So, enjoy our messes, and go make your own. Maybe I’m in the minority and I’ll end up with hooligans, but this is how we have decided to approach this. We are letting go of control (and it’s really hard)….and neat and tidiness…and trying to overlay what we want Kellan (and eventually baby bista) to do and/or how to do it versus what he wants to do. Unless it comes to safety or respect. Then we draw a line.

I’m sure lots of parents think we are crazy. And maybe we are, I don’t know. That’s the benefit, really, because no one knows what they’re doing when it comes to being a parent. You’re learning on the job, just like everyone else, and no two kids are the same, so no method isn’t a catch all. 

I figure you have to ebb and flow.

So. Here we are. Real life. Ebbing and flowing.

The bags. The other half were on the coffee table:



The lack of utensils. That’s birthday cake frosting by the way.

The Chapstick….



The five hundred play doh animals that were eventually thrown away:



baby Bista is a……..

Gender Reveal (Kellan)

BOY!!!!!

I have always known, somewhere deep down – maybe call it intuition – that I would only have boys. I even remember having the thought while pulling Kellan in a wagon in our neighborhood in Colorado, probably at least a year ago, if not longer. It went something like, “Do you really want another one? You already know it’ll be a boy.”

It’s like my whole life has set me up to be a mom of boys. I only have brothers. I preferred to play with the boys in my neighborhood growing up (making forts and jumping over bushes and riding skateboards down steep driveways was way more fun than Barbies). I was even envious of my brother being in Boy Scouts. *I* wanted to be in Boy Scouts. Girl Scouts was so boring. I legit would hide during meetings because I didn’t want to see how long it would take for dripping water to fills cup. Bring on the Pinewood Derby (that’s a Boy Scout thing) and camping trips and why can’t I go to the meetings????

As I got older, I felt like I could relate to boys better. I preferred having friends that were boys. I liked stereotypical “boy” activities better. Boys were more interesting and did more interesting things. Boys were not complicated (until I was a teenager, and honestly, I’m pretty sure the overthinking and emotional state we girls are in at that point are what makes that whole thing complicated in the first place).

This is not to say I never had girl friends. I did. I still do. Some of those friends will forever be near and dear to my heart, with years and years of memories.

What I’m saying is, I know boys. I am totally comfortable with boys. Boys are predictable (to me). Boys are well within my comfort zone and I have lots of years of experience with them. I truly enjoy doing the things they like to do. I would be hopelessly lost with a prissy, doll-loving, wants to get mani-pedis, french braid my hair girl. I’d be like….well, to start, I’d need lessons on how to french braid hair.

And how to properly apply makeup.

All that.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m in awe of those girls, mostly because I have never been one and I could never figure out how to be one, though I tried and tried….and tried….and tried.

I think I finally realized somewhere down the age line that that isn’t me, and that’s why I can’t be that person, even though there were times I REALLY WANTED TO BE THAT GIRL.

I’m not. I never will be. And that’s okay.

All this time, all this gravitation toward more “boy” things…has completely prepared me for this journey. I’m more than ready and so very excited that Kellan will have a brother, that we will have another son, that our family will be complete.

I will say that I am sad that Tim will not have a daughter. I mean, yes, it is true we will never know what it is like to raise a girl. We just have to take it as we aren’t supposed to have that experience, that our path has a purpose, and that path and purpose is full of boys. Don’t get me wrong, Tim is super excited about baby Bista. He just knows that this will be the last child to occupy my uterus (though others think we will change our minds…), for a variety of reasons. So, barring adoption (which isn’t something we are considering), there will not be a girl in this house (other than me…hahahahahaha). And that’s just what it is, and honestly, and this goes for every single person and family out there – there need not be any explanation as to why we are happy or sad or anything.

This is our family.

We are all deeply devoted, protective, and completely in love with every single aspect of it. Tim even said to me the other day…and I quote, “We’ve built a life together.”

He is totally right.

We love our family.

We love our life.

It’s as simple as that.

P.S.: And for those wondering what baby Bista’s name will be….stay tuned…until June. Because, for those of you who remember baby sprout (Kellan!), that’s a secret we don’t tell anyone until they are born. I’m pretty sure we drive our family and friends crazy. We don’t even give up initials. Top secret information over here.


this is where you ask those burning questions

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