I Want My Daddy

I want my daddy.  Those words were uttered recently in our home.  You’d expect they’d have been said by one of my preschool age daughters or even my 10 year old son.  But you would be wrong.  Those words were said by me – the 36 year old mom.

Some days I do fine and some days I just really miss my daddy.  Yesterday wasn’t an anniversary, wasn’t his birthday, wasn’t anything special.  Just a day where this big girl still misses her daddy. 

Sometimes the sadness just overwhelms me again and again and I relive his final moments.  When I think that I’ve finally gotten past the majority of the grief, another wave crashes over me like a tsunami.

I think last night it was thinking about my girls – they never had a chance to meet my dad.  He never got to call them “mean little kid” in his teasing manner.  Never scooped them up in his big arms.  Never gave them hugs and got to watch them toddle towards him with their awkward steps.  And I think that makes me the most sad of all.  That my girls never had the pleasure of meeting this wonderful man.

I probably shouldn’t admit it – but there are moments when I still get mad at God for not healing my dad.  Those moments are getting rarer, but they still happen.  And when it does the anger and the rage is back in full force like it was back in 2004.  I mean, my dad was one of the good guys.  A rare and dying breed of men who worked hard and were satisfied with a job well done.  A man who took pride in their family and understood the value of people over things.  He was the type of man that would welcome anyone into his home.  No matter which one of his kids or grandkids brought someone over he was there with a hearty hello and an offer of something to eat or drink.  He was a man who was big and tough – but inside was an old softie.  He was the man who would rather have sit back and observed rather than jump into a conversation. 

I know God understands my anger and He is right there to comfort me and pick me up again and again when the sadness takes over.  I know God is big enough to handle my rage and soothe me when I just feel like screaming.

So today I am still missing my daddy.  And until I can meet him again, I can only remember the man he was and teach my son to be a man just like him.  I will share his stories with my children so they feel they knew him too.

My Guilty Pleasure

I have a guilty pleasure – okay I have several guilty pleasures, but some are not appropriate to write about. 

The one I am talking about today is my TV viewing guilty pleasure.  I must admit – I am a HUGE fan of The Waltons.  I absolutely LOVE that show.  I scramble to put the girls down for a nap every afternoon by 1:00 because that is when it comes in INSP.  I snuggle down with any laundry that needs folded or if the house is in order, I take one hour for myself and get comfy on the couch with my current cross stitch project and a cold drink.  I settle down for one hour with Grandma, Grandpa, John, Olivia, John Boy, Jason, Mary Ellen, Erin, Ben, Jason, and Elizabeth and the array of guest stars that have me scrambling to the computer to google them because I know their faces – just can’t think of their names.

I think there are a few reasons I absolutely love this show.  First, we used to watch this show all the time when I was growing up.  Of course we only had three channels and most of them were fuzzy so I was never quite sure what was going on when we watched TV.  I think watching it now evokes warm memories of my childhood.  My oldest brother, Guy, bought an old style truck that you’d see on the show.  We used to call him John-Boy and because I was red-headed and the youngest I was called Elizabeth.  We were two Walton’s short though – only had 5 children instead of 7.

Second, I realize that even though the show started off in the Depression and moved through World War II, they had a family you could envy.  Finer things in life?  Only if you consider fresh country air, a family working together, and a strong faith in God the finer things in life.  The show tackled tough ideas – yesterday’s episode was about a small black boy, Josh, who came to live in their barn and he fell in love with John Walton for his kind nature.  He desperately wanted to live with them, but Mr. Walton had to tell him that the family would have been basically shut out if they had taken him in – – despite how much they loved Josh.  Prior episodes included when John Boy saw the Hindenburg disaster, Grandma’s stroke, and many more social issues.

Third, and most importantly, I think I love the show for it’s simplicity.  They lived a simple life.  They weren’t caught up in keeping up with the neighbors.  They weren’t racing to Best Buy to get the biggest and best TV they could find.  They weren’t one upping each other.  They sat around the radio together at night – they ate their meals together.  They thrived on community.  It makes me long for a simpler time when people made time for each other, when you would talk to a person face to face instead of typing letters into a phone, when women were ladies and weren’t ashamed of being a helpmeet to their husbands.  Where being a mother was the highest calling a woman could have.  Where being a husband and father meant leading and guiding your family through whatever life brought your way.

Maybe this is why I am so connected to our little 1930s farmhouse.  For me, perhaps it represents that little piece of simplicity and family the Waltons enjoyed.  It brings a sense of peace and contentment that can only be described as heavenly. 

So, call me old-fashioned and simple – I’ll just sit here and enjoy my peace and contentment.  Ahhhh……..

The World’s Worst Mother Award

 My Acceptance Speech:

I would like to thank My Children for the honor of bestowing the title of  The World’s Worst Mother on me.  Learning that I had won this award last night came as a bit of a surprise.  Once I learned the requirements needed to win this award, I realize that I had done each and every single one of them.

To win the title of World’s Worst Mother, you must do the following on a regular basis:

• Do not let your children eat ONLY sugary treats
• Do not let them stay up all hours of the night
• Make them go to bed early if they misbehave
• Correct them if they speak out of turn
• Discipline them if their behavior warrants
• Educate them if they make the wrong choices
• Feed them well balanced meals
• Clothe them in warm and weather appropriate clothing
• Monitor their television time, video games, and phone calls
• Insist on knowing where they are all hours of the day
• Help them with their schoolwork
• Teach them right from wrong

and my personal favorite:

• Tell them NO

So if you are a mother and would like to be in the running to win this award next year, you must fulfill all the above requirements.  But I must warn you that I will fight hard to keep the title of The World’s Worst Mother. 

Thank you to my children for the three perfect opportunities to practice my skills on, to my husband for standing by me, and to God for providing me with the Guide Book I need to make my parenting choices.

Carnivore, Herbivore, and Carbivore

I made an observation today at lunchtime regarding my children.  They each had almost the same thing.  A sandwich, some snack chips, and one had a pickle as well. 

After we said the blessing, each of the children picked up a food item off their plate.  With some humor, I noticed that each one picked a different food.  Child #1 picked up the cheeseburger.  Child #2 picked up the pickle, and Child #3 dug into the snack chips.  Watching them eat made me mentally go over the meals we have eaten together and a pattern emerged.  Adam always goes for the meat first.  He is definitely my carnivore.  Riah  chooses to eat her veggies first – she would be my herbivore.  And then you have my Mara.  My sweet, nutritionally deprived Mara.  She always goes for the carb/starch item first.  She would be my carbivore.  I know, I know…there is no such thing as a carbivore but I think a new category had to be made to fit her eating styles.

What would happen if I only put vegetables on my carnivore’s plate?  Would he freak out and run screaming from the room?  What if I had only put meat on my little herbivore’s plate?  Would she clutch her throat and melt to the floor?  And what if on my little carbivore’s plate I put – – well anything but crackers?  Nuclear meltdown at it’s finest?  Most definitely.

When does a routine become a rut?  Does it mean you are boring when you do the same things over and over again?  Does being content and comfortable equal monotonous and wearisome?  It seems as if there might be a fine line between what’s routine and comfortable to dull and colorless.

What makes a person enjoy the same routines over and over again?  Is it the comfort of the expected?  Or is it just because we don’t like change?  Why is change so hard to embrace for some, but easy for others?  I’m not a person who is big on change.  I like things simple, I like things uncomplicated, and I love it when things remain the same.  At the same time, I have a small urge inside of me that longs for something different at times.  Not big changes, just little ones like… “Do I want to shake it up and order chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla?” or “Do I want to color my hair or leave it natural?  

You know something?  I’m happy with my routines.  I’m content with the same routine.  I absolutely THRIVE with monotony.  And maybe my children are too.  Maybe they enjoy eating the foods in the order they do because it gives them comfort, gives them structure, gives them an order to their lives.  So let them be little carnivores, herbivores, and carbivores.  I love them no matter what!

Happy Birthday, Riah!

How can it be?  Time really does fly like the speed of light.  Five years ago today a beautiful little girl was born……and I didn’t even know it.  Five years ago today God had a plan in motion that would change my world…..and I wasn’t even expecting it. 

Riah Leanne Kramer.  Our beautiful and precious daughter.  She is our very special gift from God and I thank Him every single day for the blessing He has provided us.

March 27, 2006.  (I know – two days later – but you’ll understand)  We had just come back from a vacation to Florida with Adam.  I was 3 months pregnant and feeling pretty good – other than being tired.  Adam was almost 6 years old and growing up quickly.  I was home getting vacation stuff put away and getting back into a normal routine.  Little did I know that the ringing of the phone was going to change our lives.

While Adam was in morning kindergarten, the phone rang.  It was the county children’s services foster care director.  “Mrs. Kramer?  This is Mrs. M from FCCS.  I’m sorry to bother you; I know you’re on hold with our agency, but we have a 2 day old infant girl who needs a home.  Her mother abandoned her at the hospital and she was born cocaine positive.  Can your family take her?”

Silence from me.  My heart starts speeding up.  I know exactly what we’re supposed to do.  I tell her I will call my husband and call her right back.  I phone Aaron at work and tell him about the call.  Of course he thinks I am nuts since I’m 3 months pregnant.  I think it’s a great way to get practice with a newborn again! 

I call back FCCS and tell them that we will take her.  They arrange for someone to bring her to our home that afternoon/evening.  I spend the rest of the morning in a panic getting everything ready for a newborn girl.  By the time Aaron gets home from work, I’m in full mom mode and nesting.

The worker arrives about 5:00 that Monday evening.  I’m supposed to be at MOPS in about 1 hour.  We sign the paperwork, pick up this infant out of the car seat and look like we know what we’re doing.  The worker leaves and we’re left with a teeny, tiny 2 day old newborn girl.

Of course the first thing I want to do is look at the toes.  Her precious little feet.  I absolutely LOVE baby toes.  They are the most adorable thing in the entire world.  I unwrap her from her receiving blanket and much to my surprise (and dismay) she is clothed in something absolutely unacceptable.  The hospital didn’t have any clothing for her and of course her mom didn’t provide any either.  They had her in one of those long sleeved t-shirts that snap on the side and then on her legs was another of those t-shirts with her legs in the arm holes.  At that moment, I fell in love with this gift from God.

Newborn or not…..I had MOPS to get too!!  I had a diaper bag all packed and ready to go.  The stroller was in the van and off we went to her very first MOPS meeting!!  I remember her sleeping almost the entire time.  She was held and loved and passed around to the ladies that wanted to hold her. 

Fast forward to July 2007 and the newborn girl is now a 15 month old toddler who loves to laugh and smile and just makes everyone around her do the same.  We’re sitting in the judges chamber at the courthouse and we are finalizing our adoption of this gift from God. 

Fast forward to March 2011 and the toddler is now a tall and beautiful preschool girl.  She is smart, she is funny, she is still loving and wants to please everyone. 

Every single day I sit back and wonder what on earth I did to deserve such a joyful child like Riah.  And every single day I stop and thank my God for providing me with such a girl.  I absolutely cannot imagine what our lives would be without her.  It would be dull, it would be boring, and it would feel like something was lacking. 

Thank you to her birthmother for choosing life for this girl.  Thank you to her birthmother for choosing to walk away and let her have a chance at a normal life.  Thank you to her birthmother for this gift.

Kickin’ It Old School

While at the little farmhouse this past Saturday, Aaron and I were in the kitchen.  He had bought a self-cleaning electric oven from a co-worker who assured us it was in great shape and clean.  Um.  Not so much.  When I looked at the stove I noticed a couple of things right away.  First off, clean wasn’t even a word I would use for it.  The burners and drip pans were filthy.  Secondly, and maybe most important, I noticed that where the latch for the self-cleaning mode on the oven was located, was a scorched part.  Like maybe it had caught on fire at one time?!?!  Call me overly cautious, but if my stove is going to catch fire it better be because I’m cooking on it, not because I’m trying to use the self-cleaning mode.

I must admit, this whole house thing has caught me off guard when it comes to my husband.  He has adapted rather well to the idea of living more simply (as long as living simply includes the 55″ big screen tv) and is even making jokes about it.  He told me while messing with the stove that the stove requires 50 amps of our 100 amp house.  Hmmm….does that mean while I’m cooking we’re going to have to use candles for lighting?  Or perhaps I’m going to have to go down to the Darby Creek with my washboard and some lye soap instead of using my front load LG washing machine?  I’m just happy he can joke around about it.   But maybe the joking is just a cover up for sheer insanity?!? 

Anyway, I digress.  We started talking about appliances.  And when I say WE started talking about appliances, I mean I’m trying to talk my super great husband (just in case he peeks while I’m typing) into letting me purchase a new, or at least one built in this century, stove.  While I’m painting some trim on the table (aka bathroom door on sawhorses) in the kitchen, he just happens to mention that he doesn’t believe that the dishwasher works at all.  I mean, after all he can see the drain hose, but not the hose to feed into the dishwasher.  SCREECH.  Work comes to a grinding halt.  Paint hangs precariously from the tip of my paint brush, not even daring to fall.  The wind stills.  The birds stop in mid-flight.  Meanwhile, I am certain I misunderstood his comment.  I asked him to repeat himself.  Happily oblivious to the tension that has suddenly filled the room, he says he doesn’t think the dishwasher works.  What do you mean the dishwasher doesn’t work?!?!?  Are you stinking kidding me?  He goes further to suggest that we just remove it and put in another cabinet for storage.  Pardon me?  What are we going to do with the dishes?  He then (and by this point I’m certain the daggers shooting from my eyes might have clued him into my mood, but he continues with the words that apparently he had no power to stop) suggested that perhaps I could hand wash them? 

Hand wash them?  Is he insane?  Like I want to spend my time in front of the sink, elbows deep in Dawn dishwashing liquid at least three times a day.  Good grief.  I realize that the house got a whole lot smaller, so cleaning will be simpler, but has he not noticed the size of the yard?  Has he not been listening when I told him that I wanted a large garden this year?  Men.  I noticed it wasn’t suggested that HE do the dishes.

I fumed and I plotted some devious revenge like washing his underwear with a red shirt so he would show up to the gym in pink drawers.  Then God started working on me.  The next day, after church, the dishwasher at our current home was full and running.  He had gone over the farmhouse to work on some plumbing and the girls were napping.  I sat in a quiet house and looked at the four or five things that didn’t make it into the dishwasher.  How bad could it be?  I plugged the sink, adjusted the faucet to the correct temperature and squirted in some soap.  I lowered the dishes into the sink and with a sigh, picked up the dishcloth and started scrubbing.  Took me two minutes to wash those dishes.  Really?  All that fuss for two minutes of work? 

So I started thinking some more.  I realized that I enjoyed cooking.  I love to cook and I especially love to bake, so an oven with a correct temperature (aka one that doesn’t catch on fire) would be more beneficial to me than a dishwasher.  I can feel God softening my heart (and my hands) towards not having a dishwasher at the farmhouse.  After all, millions of people have survived handwashing dishes for centuries.  I even did it myself a time or two when I was younger.  My sisters used to have to do it all the time (nanny nanny boo boo, I was SO the favorite) and they would talk about how much fun it was to chat together in there all by themselves. 

So yes, I have decided that a dishwasher won’t be in the farmhouse and we’ll be doing things a little more old school.  Of course, the fact that I have two daughters to wash and dry them doesn’t hurt either.

Are They Twins?

Never in a million years would I have ever have dreamed that anyone would be asking me that question; but you would not believe how many times I am asked if my girls are twins.  Yesterday at kindergarten screening I was asked that again so it brought back some memories. 

Flashback – Early November 2006.  I was walking through a local church craft show pushing a double stroller.  Riah was in the front seat of the stroller and she was just a little over 7 months old.  Mara was in the back seat in her infant carrier and she was just about 6 weeks old.  Anyone who has ever seen a child at some point in their life, can obviously tell that the 7 month old child is going to be WAY bigger than a 6 week old child.  I had to stop every few feet at the craft show because every one (mostly elderly ladies) would stop and gush and then ask the inevitable question – Are they twins?  Really?  I mean the size difference ALONE should tell you that they are most assuredly not the same age.  But they look different too – Riah has dark hair (back then she just had a big bald head and Mara has this wispy red hair that just went every which way) and beautiful skin tone while Mara has red hair and her mommy’s fair skin tone.  Riah is growing up to be tall, and Mara is just short like her mommy.

At first I just smiled and answered with a polite no.  Then the questions would start.  How old are they?  How on earth did you have two children exactly 6 months apart?  I would explain to them that one was adopted and one was biological.

By the 12th stop with the same question ~ are they twins? ~ my patience was getting tested.  Finally the last one – a woman I know is an OB/GYN nurse asked me.  I snapped a bit and said “YES.  They are definitely twins.  The big one in the front was a little piglet and took all the little one’s nutrients so she was born much smaller.”  She looked at me curiously for a moment and said, “Oh, that makes sense.”  REALLY?????  THAT ACTUALLY MADE SENSE TO YOU – an OB/GYN NURSE???  [mental note to self – do not deliver any more babies where this woman works]

Years have passed and the same question gets asked the 6 months out of the year they are the same age – are they twins?  I actually look forward to March because I know that from March 26th to September 24th, I don’t have to do any explaining about why my girls, who look nothing alike, are the same exact age. 

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind talking about my girls, but explaining our unique situation tends to wear on a person’s spirit after a while.  I was trying to figure out why it was starting to bother me so much and I think I finally have an answer.  One of our girls is adopted.  Even though she has been with us since she was 2 days old, I did not have the privilege to carry her under my heart.  Someone else has the honor of being her birthmother.  I suppose part of me is afraid that one day she will throw out the inevitable words “You are not my REAL mom.”  That thought frightens me.  I try not to share with too many people that she is adopted – not because I’m trying to hide it, but because I don’t ever want her to feel different than our other two children that happen to be biological.

Yes, we do talk about her birth mom.  She calls her birth mom “Brandi – her tummy mommy” and occasionally she’ll even say she misses her – even though she’s never met her. 

So no, they are not twins.  They just happen to be my two daughters that I love more than I ever thought possible.  And if you ask me if they are twins,  I promise I will answer with a kind and respectful response – – because God is teaching me that people might genuinely be interested in our story and maybe, just maybe it might encourage others to consider adopting through our foster care system.

   

  This is Mara.

      This is Riah.

    The girls hamming it up for the camera.

Automatic Senses

Most nights I can sleep like a rock.  On those nights, as soon as my head hits the pillow I am out like the light.  But there are those rare nights where sleep just doesn’t come easy.  I can’t seem to get my brain turned off.  Then my thoughts start to wander all over the place and I end up in a completely bizarre place.

For example, last night as I was struggling to fall asleep I remembered one of Adam’s favorite questions he likes to ask – if you had to choose whether to be blind or deaf which one would you be?  Not exactly politically correct, but kids usually aren’t.  So my mind started wandering around that question.  Of course in a real world, nobody ever wants to lose one of their senses.  I began to think of the pros and cons of each sense. 

Smell – the obvious pro would be you would never have to smell anything absolutely foul again.  Like rotovirus.  Any parent who has ever had a child get that nasty little bug is shuddering right now in their seats.  That is one smell you just NEVER get out of your system.  When a doctor can walk into an exam room and just sniff the air around your child and pinpoint the virus – you just know it’s something potent. 

But I am so rooted in smells.  Smells are a huge part of our memory banks.  One whiff of flowers can take you back to the first bouquet you ever received from a true love.  A hint of chocolate chips can remind you of those easy days after school when your mom would have a warm plate of cookies fresh from the oven sitting there with a cold glass of milk.  The smell of warm yeasty pretzels reminds you of the high school football games you loved to attend with your friends.  I’m not sure I want to get rid of my sense of smell.

Then we have sight.  That’s a HUGE one.  Without sight you are completely defenseless.  Not being able to see your children as they grow, not being able to once again enjoy the beauty of a sunset is a huge con.

The pro would be never having to see the ugly in the world again.  Sure you’ll hear about it and maybe even experience it, but your eyes would remain untouched.

Taste.  This one was a little bit easier for me.  The obvious con would be that you would never taste delicious food again.  A way awesome pro would be that all the food you would eat would taste the same, so you could eat veggies all the time, drop the 20 pounds you need to lose and all will be good.  Maybe taste is the one I will choose.  But there are still two more to go.

Touch.  Not sure I live without touch.  I would miss the sweetness of holding my children’s hands.  I would miss the romance of holding my dear husband.  I would miss petting the soft fur of our little Princess the Kitten.  On the other hand, I could finally handwash those darn Pampered Chef baking stones.  Just writing the words gave me the chills.  I CANNOT STAND to touch those things.  Or anything made of bisque porcelain.  Those things just feel creepy.

And finally, sound.  How nice it would be to never again hear the 300th round of “MOM!  SISSY TOOK MY TOYS!!!!” or “MOM!  THE TOILET IS CLOGGED UP AGAIN.”  or “MOM!  I PUKED!”  Ahh…to a mom sometimes the sound of silence is a much longed for treat.  But…..without sound I wouldn’t hear the birds chirping in the morning.  I couldn’t listen to the crickets singing their nighttime lullaby while I enjoy one of those glorious sunsets the Lord has created.  I would never again hear the sweet, soft voice of my children as they say “You are the best mama in the world and I love you.”  I would never hear the voice of my husband when he says he loves me and would marry me again. 

By the time I worked through all the scenarios I realized how awesome God was to create such a complex creature like the human.  How positively amazing every inch of our bodies.  We were created with a plan, some forethought, and a lot of love.  How could something so complex, so intricate have been created from millions of years of evolution?  I just don’t believe it can. 

Finally, after all that, I could thank the Lord for every single one of the senses he gave me and fell asleep.

Sometimes I Just Need a Smack Upside the Head

Here I am this afternoon working on my MOPS newsletter for my wonderful group (just in case any of them read this).  I found an amazing article by Mary E. DeMuth on 10 ways to make your home a haven.  www.marydemuth.com

So I’m sitting here reading the article trying to see if it’s something the MOPS moms would enjoy, and I’m pretty engrossed in my reading.  I’m really feeling like God is saying, “My Child, you really need to work on making your home a haven for your family.” 

I’ve just read the first two ways and I’m on the third when Adam calls me over to his computer desk across the room.  He’s done with school and he’s just winding down with a computer game.  I tell him, “Mommy is really busy working on the MOPS newsletter.  Do you really need me right now?”  He asks me again in a bit more dejected tone, “Mom – can you come see this?”  I sigh with great impatience because here I am reading an article that could really have some impact on some moms. 

Then it was like God just reached down and smacked me upside my stubborn red head with a gigantic 2×4 and woke me up out of my selfish stupor.  I re-read the bold type on Mary DeMuth’s third point and was totally convicted.  It reads, “By being there.  Give your children the rare gift of your focused attention.”

Good grief!  I was actually sitting there reading that point when my son asked for me to look at something he was doing and I WAS GOING TO IGNORE IT.  What on earth is wrong with me??

This reminds me of the time, oh it must have been when Adam was in kindergarten.  I remember this day like it was just yesterday.  I was wiping down the kitchen counters, getting ready to load the dishwasher and handwash some dishes.  I had several things that needed to get done that day and I was preoccupied.  My sweet little boy walks over to me and puts some ripped up papers on the counter.  I could feel my red headed temper just starting to bubble.  Did he NOT see that I had just cleaned the counters?  Did he not realize how busy I was?  I told him that he needed to move that mess to the garbage.  He looked at me with a smile and said, “I made this for you, mommy.”  Grunting, I looked at the ripped up little papers and said, “Yeah, I see you made a mess for me.”  Looking down at his dejected little face I wish I could take back my harsh words; but I’m a mom and we aren’t supposed to be wrong and apologize for our mistakes.  (no judgment here – he was my first one and I was just learning the whole parenting thing)  He turned and walked away.  I started to pick up his mess to throw away when I realized there was writing on it.  Each piece had writing on it.  I started putting the pieces back together and realized that he had made me a little jigsaw puzzle with a very misshapen heart and the words “I love you mommy” on it.  My heart just broke into tiny little pieces like his puzzle.  I had not only crushed my child’s creativity and his excitement in presenting a gift for me, but I had also missed the opportunity to focus on him and what he had to say.

Like all things in life, there is no rewind button so we can fix what we screw up.  Only God can help us learn from those screw ups.  I taped that puzzle together so I can always have it as a reminder that sometimes I just need to focus. 

I’m not perfect so I will mess up time after time, but I will keep trying.  I don’t ever want my children to doubt my love for them.

Watch Me Fly

I have joined a cult.  Well, maybe not a cult technically, but rather a group of like-minded individuals with one goal in mind….to get rid of the CHAOS in their lives.  Some may know immediately what I’m talking about and others may be sitting there with a confused look on their face as they try to figure out why I capitalized CHAOS. 

My name is Susan and I am a FlyBaby.  That’s right.  I am Finally Learning to Love Myself.  I am taking care of my home and tired of the CHAOS (aka Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome).  I have been Flying for about a month now.  I joined the movement in February where the theme for the month was decluttering for 15 minutes.  That seemed to fit rather nicely, being that we’re getting the house ready to put up for sale.  So the family and I decluttered like there was no tomorrow – pretty sure the kids were getting concerned that if they stood still long enough, they too might get packed up in shipped off to the Volunteers of America.

This week is my first foray into the Zone Cleaning – which happens to be the Main Bathroom and the Home Office.  What a coincidence!  I just spent the weekend cleaning out the home office and it looks darn good!  So much so, in fact, that I actually FELT more productive while I was working in there on Sunday evening.  Who knew that cleanliness could feel so….inspiring?

This morning I woke up early.  I’m pretty sure it was God giving me a swift kick in the behind.  I actually felt motivated, so I washed my face and then sat down to read my Bible.  After Aaron came back up to get ready for work I made the bed, dusted the dresser and then proceeded to take off the end table tablecloths to wash.  (I know it’s not master bedroom cleaning week, but they were pretty dusty and I felt like it … so there!)

Then I came downstairs, loaded the dishwasher, put a load of laundry in, got the kids up and then proceeded to work on the our main bathroom downstairs.  Friends, I tore that sucker apart.  I took everything out of the sink cabinet and WASHED IT DOWN!  I don’t know what got into me – – oh wait – – it was a FlyBite!! 

I don’t know why it took me so long to get started, but God knows.  I think it was because if I had started earlier, I wouldn’t have been in a position to be so willing to declutter and therefore it would have just been too daunting of a task. 

The routines have been such a blessing!  Since I work a few evenings part time from home, I go to bed later than everyone else on those nights.  Routines have helped me prepare for those nights.  On working nights I set my pajamas and my washcloth and everything I will need after work to take my shower  in the bathroom.  I do this so I don’t have to wake up Aaron digging through drawers in the bedroom.  (See, I’m such a nice wife!! LOL) 

I absolutely cannot wait to see what FlyLady has in store for me tomorrow!!  

You, too, can become a FlyBaby like me.  Simply go to www.flylady.net and see what the fuss is all about.  Trust me – having this freeing feeling is just amazing!