New Era, New Routine

Michael 1st day kindergarten

Coloring a star is serious business.

Well, it’s official: all my kids are in full-day school.

For the past three weeks, things have been rather up in the air. I’ve been collecting a list of Things I Will Do When I No Longer Have Kids At Home All Day. Most of them are writing-related, but there are also things like going out and sitting in nature, which I haven’t gotten to do much of the last year or two. Maybe even a little shopping, occasionally. But then, for a while, I thought something else was coming down the pike in my world, that would call all that extra time into question. So I didn’t bother spending the time trying to figure out what my new world was going to look like. And then that “something else” didn’t end up coming to fruition, anyway.

So the first day of school pounced upon me without a whole lot of preparation. This is the first time I have ever found myself reeling on the night before school starts, asking myself, “Where did the summer go? It was unbelievably short. I don’t have a game plan yet for tomorrow when I’m by myself with time to work!”

Of course, yesterday I went from school dropoff to rehearsal to dental appointment, and by the time I got home, the morning was 2/3 gone already, so maybe it’s just as well I didn’t try to make a plan yet.

Still, I’m a person who does well with structure, and who gets stressed with lack of it. Our life with four kids is much easier if we know that Person XY does A on B day, and Person XX does it on C days. We’ve had the same pattern for, well, 5 years at least. But this year our families outgrew the carpool, so that changes the shape of the afternoon. And because I have the full day on my own, I’m taking more of the morning prep instead of trying to squeeze half an hour of work in between 5:45 and 6:20. (Or 40 minutes…or 45…) I’ve actually done the dropoff run the first two mornings. I’ve never done the morning dropoff. That’s always, always been Christian’s job. So clearly, things are going to be in flux for a while.

What I know so far is that the time between the boys’ departure and the arrival of the public school bus will be dedicated to reading comprehension with Julianna. This much I can set down in stone now, and make good use of a small block of time for something that gets pushed aside too easily in the afternoons.

Figuring out how to structure the rest of these days for best possible use of time? That’s going to take a while longer to figure out. But yesterday, remembering my friend’s words: Pace yourself, I paused at 2:35 p.m. and said, “I’ve worked all day. I think I’m going to play for half an hour until it’s time to pick up the kids.”

And I did. I played with a Shutterfly album of Colorado.

On to Day 2. Hopefully a pattern will emerge sooner rather than later.

Love Is A Tug of War


Photo by Nancy Phillips, via Flickr

There are days when I look at the words (or the notes) I’ve put put on the page and I’m in awe, where I literally think, “Where did this come from?” And yet it’s just as likely that by the end of the day I’ll thoroughly convinced no publisher will ever accept such drivel, and what was I ever thinking, anyway?

Some days, I know exactly what I’m going to blog about and how to start, and other days I wish I’d never started the darned thing, because it’s one more deadline I don’t need and one more demand upon me.

Some days, the demands of family and love lie lightly upon me—lift me up, even. Fill me with gratitude and a glow of fulfillment. Other days I am excruciatingly aware of every ounce that love requires me to give of myself.

It’s a beautiful thing to love your life and all the things it demands of you. Not one aspect of my life has been pushed on me by circumstances of necessity; my days are a tug of war among many beautiful, beloved factors: husband, children, words, music, faith, friendship, exercise. I am so blessed. And yet that doesn’t change the fact that each of these things is, in fact, a demand which must be weighed and measured, and that one part of life will always have to give way in favor of another.

I thank God for my life, but I also beg every day, with some desperation, for help navigating it in love.

How I Do It All


013“How do you do it all?”

This is the question I get asked most frequently. I have four kids. I play flute, lead a church choir, write music, write for magazines, and write fiction. Christian and I teach and promote natural family planning, and we (sometimes) and I (often) do a fair amount of disability advocacy. So how do I do it all?

The short answer is, I don’t. My house is never clean, for instance, and this year my outdoor landscaping/gardening was abysmal, because I just couldn’t take the time. A better question is: how do I get done as much as I do? That’s a question I can answer:

1. I am married to a really good man who supports my working from home, even though it means the house is continually not in the condition that the house he grew up in was; a man who never even hints that I’m shirking my responsibilities, and who, in fact, when I get a call from the civic orchestra looking for a substitute third-flute players, doesn’t hesitate to tell me to be gone half the afternoon and the entire evening, because he knows how much I miss playing in orchestra. And who has the dishes done and the kids in bed by the time I get home.

2. I don’t really sleep. I get up between 5 and 5:30 virtually every day, in part because I have to take my temperature, but also because that is the only time of the day when I’m sure the phone isn’t going to ring and no kid is going to demand something of me. It is my daily readings & reflections, followed by my freshest, most concentrated writing time. And if I can’t get to sleep, or back to sleep, at night, I often get up and do a brain dump at 11p.m. or 2 a.m.

3. I don’t watch TV. It’s a guilty pleasure to rack up an hour and a half’s worth of laundry folding so I can put something on Netflix and fold and watch.

4. I’m very protective of my writing time. In fact, I’m protective to a fault; that’s something I have recently realized I need to work on.

4. I spend a lot of time planning and writing in my head. In the car, while I’m doing dishes, and so on. I plan a lot so that I spend less time flailing and getting my bearings when I do have time. And I am constantly planning logistics of how to get things done in the most efficient manner possible.

5. Finally, but not least important, because this speaks to the second-most-frequently-asked question I’m asked (or maybe needling is the better word): I get it all done because I don’t have a smart phone. You would not believe the amount of flak I catch over this. People seem utterly unable to believe that I could possibly have a well-thought-out rationale for choosing not to jump off the cliff with everyone else, but in fact, I become more convinced all the time that I don’t want one. Not having a phone with unlimited minutes, text and data means that I can leave the house and be off-limits to phone calls from Omaha Steaks and Direct TV and even the perfectly valid business and personal calls. You don’t have to answer every call, but the ring alone disrupts my concentration and that’s thirty seconds of productive time that I can’t get back. Plus, it’s human nature to think, “Oooh, am I missing something important?” Again: distraction! Not having a phone with internet access means I can take my computer any old place and simply not connect to the wireless, and I don’t have the option of getting distracted by Candy Crush, angry kittens, or whatever viral sensation is coating the social media waves on a given day.

I also can’t be texted. The vast majority of the time, text messages are an exceptionally inefficient mode of communication–talking is much faster than typing–so again, not having a smart phone means I’m immune from that particular time waster. And although everyone says you can turn off your phone when you don’t want to be interrupted, we all know how often that happens. There’s even a slide show going around about “what we look like on our phones.” Connectivity is good, but beyond a certain point it’s just noise. I get things done because without a smart phone, I have less mental and visual noise in my life. I can hear myself think.

So that’s my answer to everyone who has ever asked (or just shaken their head in wonder) how I do it all. There’s another side to this, of course, but I’ll address that separately another day.

Ruminating On The Rat Race


Photo by brandsvig, via Flickr

The weeks fly by so quickly, and every moment under pressure to accomplish as much as humanly possible. More than is humanly possible, to tell the truth. No matter how much I accomplish, it never feels like enough. I’ve always viewed myself as a juggler, but nobody can keep this many balls in the air. Something’s going to give. In my case, it’s housecleaning and, well, down time.

And I thrive on it. I do. As I was doing dishes last night, it occurred to me that even though I loathe all tasks related to cleaning, I was feeling unusual satisfaction, simply because I had made so much writing progress during the day. My writing is my play time, and really, who gets to play first and do the work later?

But the clutter makes me crazy. There’s the clutter of physical space—Michael ripping out and scattering the sheets of a tiny party-favor notepad. Shoes everywhere. Jackets on the floor. Lights left on at every turn. Kids who deliberately step on whatever book or couch cushion they’ve thrown on the floor. (Do all kids come with a built-in “destroy everything on sight” feature?)

But there’s also the clutter of time. I can’t even begin to describe the scheduling gymnastics involved in my life. I don’t detail it because I live in dread of having someone force me to quit whining by proving how much worse theirs is.

But one thought keeps coming into my head, over and over:

We weren’t meant to live like this.

I love my work—love every moment of it, even the parts that cause me anguish and anxiety. And I love having the best of both worlds: part working mom, part SAHM.

But there is a tradeoff to pushing so hard. During the day I try to use every kid-free moment to work, but that means I never take time to sit on the deck with a cup of tea, or flop across the couch and watch a TV show. I won’t even take a nap unless my brain is so muddy that I simply can’t string words together.

Basically, I’m pushing all the time. Pushing to work while the kids are at school, and pushing to clean house and do homework and do all that Mom stuff the rest of the time. My brain is constantly making and remaking plans for maximum time efficiency.

And while I know there are many other people doing the same thing, day in and day out, even if the details are different, I can’t help feeling that this isn’t how things are supposed to be.

This is the point where I’m supposed to offer a solution in five simple steps, but the truth is I don’t have one. And really, there isn’t a simple five-step procedure you can follow to figure out these kinds of things. You have to weigh and measure and try and re-evaluate on a daily basis. Today, I’m just giving myself permission to ramble.

Ramble along with me, people. Tell me I’m not alone. Tell me how you weigh and measure, and what you try that works.

Where I Spent Last Week, And What I Learned From It


I spent last week at a conference for church musicians. I want to blog about it this morning, but so far I have spent ten minutes sitting in front of the computer grasping for what to say. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I can think of lots of things to say, but I can’t find the thread that ties them together. Some experiences have to be unpacked slowly over a long period of time.

WLP Instrumental showcase

It was a wonderful week, spent with wonderful people, making wonderful music and gleaning inspiration and insight. At the end of the week, Msgr. Ray East urged us to think of the encounter with Christ we had had this week, and share it with others.

Well, here goes.

The last few years, I’ve spent most of my time and energy being Mommy and freelance magazine/fiction writer. But there’s always a little part of me that tugs on my sleeve, reminding me that I’m a musician, and begging me to carve out some time for writing music. I spent this week away from my children, focusing on being a liturgical musician and composer. I got to be part of several great musical events, singing and playing flute with really terrific people. I got to spend a week focused on writing music and texts for worship with people whose work I admire tremendously.


I had deep conversations with old friends and made new friends I can talk to as if we’ve always known each other. Being a morning person at a conference that didn’t get started until hours after I’m accustomed to rising, I had time in the mornings to spend a few minutes being still in the presence of God in the adoration room.

And at length, I realized the obvious: that writing sacred music grows out of one’s spiritual life. If your spiritual life consists of clinging to the rock face and just barely hanging on amid the crazies, well, you’re not exactly in a position to bear prodigious amounts of fruit, are you?

For years, I’ve clung to the idea that you do what you can, and a great deal of a mother-of-littles’ prayer time consists of prayer by service. You know: doing dishes and brushing teeth and folding laundry equals my spiritual work.

I still think that’s valid, but my soul is longing for more. I don’t have the solution worked out yet, but I know I’m going to have to make time for contemplation. I’ve been trying for the last several months, but it’s scattered and haphazard. Now it’s time to get real.

You’re all busy people. Feed me. How do you find time for silence and stillness to nurture your relationship with Jesus in the midst of the crazies?

Cars and Vans And Things That Go

Cover of "Cars and Trucks and Things That...

Cover via Amazon

When Alex was a baby, the time I felt most secure in my role as a mother (outside of nursing) was bath time. At bath time, I knew what I was supposed to do. There was a structure to it, and he loved it, so I felt confident that I was seeing to both his physical and his developmental needs.

The rest of the time I was a little nervous. What exactly does one do with a baby all day? What if I didn’t read enough, or play enough? Or read the wrong things or played the wrong things? What if I didn’t give him enough tummy time? At bath time, at least, I knew I was being a good mom.

For some reason I thought of this yesterday as I was chauffeuring. 8:15–preschool dropoff. 9–to Jazzercise. 10–back home for morning nap. 1–preschool pickup. 3:15–kids in the van in anticipation of Julianna’s arrival on the bus. 3:30–Julianna off the bus and into the van. 3:45–to the orthotist to pick up her repaired shoe inserts. 4–pick up Alex at after care. 4:15–piano lesson. 4:45–head home. 6:30–head out with Alex and Julianna to EEE open house. 7:20–head for adaptive swim. 7:40: take Alex home for bed, get the boys ready for bed. 8:15–pick up Julianna and finally head home for the night.

Yesterday was the worst day yet this year, but I’m sure there are many days like it to come. I spent the whole day with an undercurrent of anxiety bubbling in my chest, a sense of hurry hurry hurry. The only time it eased at all was when I was in the car. And although I wouldn’t say I had exactly the same sense of purpose that I used to have at bath time, I couldn’t help noting the parallel. Because when I was driving from point A to point B, I knew I was doing exactly what had to be done.

Taxi time is a necessary evil that everybody tolerates, but nobody really enjoys. With the exception of crossing through the construction zones. That makes every trip worthwhile, even for me. Luckily, our city is in the midst of a huge highway-intersection project, which we have to go through every day. (Ahem. Did I just say “luckily”?)

This is a sign of crossing into a new stage in our family. In the nursing era this sort of schedule would have been enough to cause a nervous breakdown; now that all the kids can walk themselves to the car and “snack” means graham cracker instead of latch time, one set of complications has been cleared away. And just in time, too.

I tend to compare everything about my life to the way it was when I was a child. Realistically this is a poor comparison, because the children in my family were more spread out in age and we all went to the same school, which offered bus service for the first few years. Nonetheless, I can’t help feeling that we spend a lot more time in the car than I did when I was a child. And it’s very tempting to pass judgment on myself for that. To feel like we’re overcommitted and that we’re not giving our family what it deserves.

But the more I think about it, the more I remember one parent or another heading off to MRL or Farm Bureau or road district or prayer group. And the more I think about it, I realize that my sisters and I had piano and gymnastics and cheerleading and basketball and music group at church. When you have four kids, you’re going to have a lot going on. When one of them has a disability that requires her to attend a different school, there’s going to be scheduling headaches. That’s the way it is, simply part of this season of life. No sense griping or feeling inadequate over it.

On The Need For A Recovery Day

Chaos theory! :: Teoría del caos!

Chaos theory! :: Teoría del caos! (Photo credit: Nhoj Leunamme == Jhon Emmanuel)

It started out so well. We’d had two days of solid-packed family fun, with the promise of another coming up on Sunday, and we’d prepped all the kids that Saturday, the day in between, was the put-the-house-back-together day. So while Alex and I mowed the yard, Nicholas helped Christian in the house. When I finished, I grabbed the grocery list, and Nicholas asked to come along.

We breezed through Aldi smoothly. Nicholas loves picking things off the shelves. (Although I did feel an ominous “pop” in my right trap while lifting him to reach something.) He got to push the buttons on the card reader and deal with the deposit quarter on the cart.

stop & shop, west springfield MA

stop & shop, west springfield MA (Photo credit: Rusty Clark)

Then it was on to Gerbes, and not one but two different “car carts” were there for him to choose from. We went over to the floral department to watch the woman fill balloons for a bouquet. Joy of joys!–she offered him one! Complete with an elastic wristband so it didn’t have to be tied to his wrist!

Nicholas was in Heaven. He played ice cream truck while I stopped to talk to the mother of a former student. I saw him take the balloon off his wrist. “Nicholas, honey,” I said, “you’re going to lose that. You need to keep it on your wrist.”

“No, I’m just going to hold it,” he said.

And promptly let it go.

Both I and a lovely elderly gentleman lunged for it, but that helium balloon was bent on escape, and in two seconds, it was nestled at ceiling level right above the sausage case.

And the tornado sirens went off. Oh wait. That was Nicholas.

Both adults excused themselves hastily, and I bent to hug and comfort my four-year-old. But he was having none of it. Blood-curdling screams. Ear- ripping, throat-tearing screams. I sympathized. I got stern. And then I realized it wasn’t going to stop. I had three more items to get, so I took off.

He leaped out of the moving cart and hurled himself on the floor. I twitched toward him, and as if in warning, my shoulder twinged. Okay, so I couldn’t wrestle him out of the store. Now what?

The saving grace turned out to be his terror of being left behind. If I just took off, he would leap up and run screaming after me. But whenever I stopped, he was back on the floor, screaming “I WANT MY BALLOON MOMMY!” Hands down, the worst tantrum I have ever experienced in my whole parenting career. From a 4 1/2-year-old.

We got to the front and he flung himself on the floor in the main aisle. I had to grab him under the arms and drag his preschool bottom across the tile so he’d be out of the line of traffic.

And that was about the time when I thought, “We really need a recovery day.”

When Alex and Julianna were babies, I had a strict policy of scheduling a recovery day after any overstimulating day. When we went to St. Louis or did a lot of errand running, the next day we stayed home and took it very, very easy. Books, low-key outdoor play, and long nap times. No big agenda. Just recovery.

Somewhere along the way we stopped doing that. I remember thinking, “Uh-oh, I have stuff scheduled two days in a row.” And it must have turned out okay, because the farther into parenthood we’ve gone, the more things have gotten scheduled back to back. With four kids that’s kind of the reality. And anyway, these days staying home means they’re at each others’ throats, which isn’t much of a recovery.

But Nicholas going nuclear reminded me of the value of such a day. We (speaking globally now) have this idea that we have to push, push, push. And sometimes we do. But then we get into the habit of looking for things to push toward. And sometimes you (to say nothing of kids, who have less coping experience) just need a chance to breathe, for crying out loud.

Well, Michael and I got that day yesterday. Christian and the other three didn’t; they went to a baseball game and were playing hard for twelve hours. (Unlimited carousel rides at the ballpark, baby.) When they got home last night, Nicholas was crying about his feet hurting. He was completely shot, again. And unfortunately, today can’t be a recovery day. We have well-child checks for the two older kids first thing this morning, and Julianna’s glasses have been awaiting pickup through all the days of our out-of-town adventures. (Didn’t I mention Michael SNAPPED THE EARPIECE IN HALF last week?)

A great illustration that there’s good ideas, and then there’s reality. But I think we will take it easy the rest of the day. They’re going to need it.

It’s Organization Week


weta (Photo credit: Jasmic)

At 3:30 this morning I woke up when Christian got up briefly. No big deal…he interrupted a terrible, vivid dream in which my mother was cooking dinner in my childhood home while I stood in the living room with my children, both adults keenly aware that five miles to the north was a pack of orcs headed our way with intent to murder and destroy. I was contemplating my first battle, knowing I had no training, and both I and my children were likely soon to be dead.

You can imagine I wasn’t too upset about my night’s sleep being interrupted.


My brain immediately went into gear: what am I going to blog about today? Shut up! You can figure that out while you’re driving to Jazzercise. A few minutes later Michael woke up wailing for water. Then my husband’s breathing got under my skin. Then Michael again. The precious remainder of my night was disappearing fast. Monday is my 5a.m. wakeup call to make sure my body’s fully awake in time for 5:45 Jazzercise. I could tell I wasn’t going to sleep anymore in my bed, so I went downstairs and mummified myself on the couch in throw blanket and pillows, as I have learned to do. And Michael shrieked again.  Wake up, Christian. I sent all my brain waves in his direction, but then Michael settled down. Only to fuss again, but with less conviction. And again, but by now I could tell he was going back to sleep. I exhaled my tension and started the rosary that helps my mind settle back into sleep.

And my alarm went off.

Summer is passing fast (some parts of me want to add, but not fast enough), and with the concepts presented in Organized Simplicity rattling around in my brain, I have a purpose for the rest of it. My orcs, the ones I have to battle, are excess toys, books, and junk. So this week I’m blogging fast and furious so I can dedicate my oodles and oodles of spare some time to decluttering and simplifying.  Tomorrow’s topic: thoughts on maintaining weight loss.

Organized Simplicity (and 7QT)


Yesterday morning I hired a sitter so I could go someplace offsite and dig into writing without being interrupted by children bashing each other , wailing over toys being taken, or making epic messes. Example A: Nicholas is beating on the box to Alex’s toy using a stick. This annoys Alex, who decides the best way to stop Nicholas is to beat on the stick using the box. I know. It doesn’t make any sense to me, either. And in the process, he lands a blow on Nicholas’ temple which is still swollen two days later. Example B: I come home from a generally successful writing morning to discover that Julianna has dumped out all the Anomia cards, all the Memory cards, all the Crazy 8 cards, all the Snap cards, and part of the Uno cards. And that was only Julianna’s part of the mess. Example C: When I come upstairs after making her clean it up, I discover that Michael has been playing at the table with the water pitcher, a cereal bowl and two glasses, all of which had liquids left in them.

Christian was gone from Saturday through Tuesday, and during that time I basically did no writing at all. I simply accepted that my life was about being a mom and keeping all of us sane. And it was successful, which was very revealing. During this weekend I also began reading a book: Organized Simplicity. Since chaos and disorderliness seems to be my life, and since these things stress me ridiculously, and since I spent the whole last half of the school year wailing to my husband that we were doing too much and we couldn’t keep this pace up, it seemed like the answer to a prayer.

Of course, I haven’t made it very far into the book, but the initial task is to come up with a family mission statement to direct everything else you do. Her discerning process involves a questionnaire. Here is part of mine:


Collectively we are at our best when we are…organized and not overscheduled, when we don’t have commitments piled on top of messes needing to be cleaned. That’s when we can enjoy each other’s company. We are at our worst when we are…fighting to juggle all the commitments: baths and cleaning and writing and lessons and practices.


If we had a completely free day as a family, how would we spend it?

We would do something outdoors–bike ride, playground, pool, etc.–and have both family breakfast and family dinner. Otherwise we’d probably do about what we do now, just at a more relaxed pace. Go get ice cream. Go see a movie. Something fun.


Name three things we think we could do better as a family.

1–home organization, i.e. cleanliness

2–starting early, so we don’t end up doing things in a rush all at the last minute

3–“unplugged” time as a family


What would we like people to say about our family as a whole in thirty years? I’d like them to say, “What a great family. Look how much they love each other. I want to be like them.”


If we could name one principle from which we want our family to operate, what would it be? Seeking God in each other and in all life’s situations.


What are the top priorities we want our family to value? Stewardship of our material things, of the earth, of our gifts and of our talents.


What is the main purpose of our home? To provide a safe haven and a place of rest and unconditional love for all our family members.

All this adds up to my first attempt at a, well, at least a personal mission statement, since I’m not involving the whole family:

To use our activities, our home, and our possessions in such a way that we can live in tranquility amid busyness, not let love be overwhelmed by the stress of chaos, and be an inviting example of what a Godly family can be.

Check out the book here.

How Do You Power Down Your Brain?


Spiralstorm (Photo credit: Stuck in Customs)

I’ve said before that I’m obsessed with sleep. This is because i don’t get enough of it, though not for lack of trying. I go to bed at 9:30, I take naps during the day when it gets bad…but I don’t sleep well. In these latter days, I can blame it on kids (last night’s count: Nicholas, 4; Michael, 1; total 5), but the truth is I never have slept well. When I was a kid I used to have long discussions with God, my head wedged up against the screen so I could see as much of the sky above the north pond as possible.

I don’t know if it’s a gift of nature or a learned skill, but my brain just won’t shut down. Ever. In many ways this is a benefit to my crazy lifestyle; my mind is always working in the background–not efficiently, of course, while I’m making grocery lists, cooking dinner or waiting for a child to turn a page–but nonetheless, the gears are always spinning. When I have a moment to work, I’m rarely starting from zero.

But the down side is this constant sense of urgency. I seem to have lost the ability to stop thinking. And so I’m not really living in the moment.

It came home to me this weekend when my sister visited. She loves little kids. She’s so good with them, too. Nicholas lights up whenever she arrives. He’d play with her for hours, and she’d oblige–happily. But me? Well, this weekend we were at last pulling clear of the Infinite Intestinal Virus. In other words: there was a LOT of cleaning to do. And I had this conference call for our Down Syndrome group, so I spent the first two hours of the visit closeted in my room, folding laundry and making beds while I listened to the discussion. (In case you’re wondering, my sister did know before she came that I had to do this call, and how long it would take. I’m not that much of a jerk.)

Later, I watched her play with Nicholas, the two of them obviously enjoying each other. And then it was nap time, and I groused about having to take the time to put them to bed. I had kite string to untangle, and I wanted that job instead, because that I could do while chatting with my sister.

It wasn’t until late that night that all the pieces clicked. Michael was lying across the Boppy, playing with me in between nuzzling the breast. You can’t really call it nursing anymore; he just wants to cuddle. He likes the one-on-one time with Mommy, and he doesn’t want me multitasking. Even my neck stretches sometimes raise objections. He wants me to play with his hand, tickle his ribs, and trade silly proto-words with him.

For once, I was doing it. No reading Thomas Merton, no reading Eragon to Alex, no brainstorming or making mental lists. I was simply there.

And it was fun.

This Lent I’ve been Powering Down along with my critique partner and blog friend Amy. It’s been very good for my writing: closing Gmail, closing Facebook, turning off the internet altogether if the temptation grows too strong. My fiction productivity has soared, and I fully expect this week, when I’m on deadlines, that it’ll serve the nonfiction side of things equally well.

The part I haven’t figured out is the personal powering down. The part where I nourish my family and spousal relationships, and my soul. I can’t simply stop doing everything else. I’ve tried cutting back, doing less work-related stuff, passing off volunteer commitments to others in the local organizations, but somehow the monologue inside my head doesn’t seem to diminish. When I’m with my kids I’m always thinking about how much I still have to do. And not just “me” things, either; some of it is about responsibilities to them. Grr! I still haven’t done homework with Julianna! We’ve got to be better about that! She needs our help to excel! Man! I still haven’t helped the kids finish their dream catchers. Oh, crap! I promised I’d listen to Alex play his festival pieces!

But I can’t turn off Michael, either. He’s always clinging to my leg, wailing if I put him down because I need both hands to use the salt grinder or carry plates with food. (Because I know what will happen if I try to carry him AND the food; he’ll simply smack it and the food will be on the floor.)

This is life with four kids close together.  There’s so much to do, I’ve placed my top priority on multitasking to try to get through as much as possible. But what am I giving up, with my brain powering through every day, all day, and every night, all night? I even struggle when I wake up to use the bathroom, to force it not to start up again.

The answer is: I’m giving up Presence. Presence in my own life.

It’s not an acceptable trade. There’s all the platitudes about kids growing up fast and regretting what you didn’t take time for…but there’s also the part where their overarching memory is of a mom who was never really fully present to them. They are so important to me. It’s time to act that way.

So although I don’t yet know how–the busyness isn’t going anywhere–I now at least know what I need to do. I have to learn to Power Down my brain.