Quite frequently, the things I plan just don’t come to fruition. I am trying to learn again how to deal. My default is to withdraw, as if when I can’t do what I want, how I want to, I might as well not do anything at all.

Withdrawing leaves you in a messy house, feeling stressed out, with no accomplishments to look towards as an excuse.

I need small goals and the motivation to see them through. It sounds silly, but I’d probably do well to have a homemaking accountability partner. But “Did you scrub that toilet today?” conversations are just not that interesting so I probably would not keep up the accountability thing for very long.

It all circles back to my difficulty doing repetitive tasks, like folding and putting away laundry my children will just wear in two days starting the cycle again. Cleaning things that will just be dirty again is so much harder than any “real job” I’ve ever had. It’s wearying, and easy to get bogged down in the futility of it all.

So I sit staring at a mound of clean laundry, thankful for a gracious husband, a friend who shared dinner with us tonight and the new mercies that will come with the morning. Those mercies + the knowledge that our babysitter is coming over tomorrow might just propel me into action.

The trouble is, I am not quite sure what to write. I finished a project that had me busy for weeks. With no deadlines on the horizon, I write for myself alone.

I keep thinking through different ideas in my head, hoping I am so compelled by one I can’t stop myself from writing it. Believing this drive will come, I wait.

As I do, I consider writing longer, better blog posts. In an effort to inspire myself, I decided to find some of my most popular blog posts to feature in my sidebar, perhaps shedding some light on my audience here (which has always surprised me.)

I knew that the advent of facebook and twitter had decreased my comment count significantly, but pulling up my posts ordered by comment count was overwhelmingly depressing. Pages and pages of posts with 20 or more comments five and six years ago, scrolling and clicking back in vain to find something current enough to feature.

The questions descend, like a flood. Why do I keep this blog anymore? Why do I write at all? Why can’t I come up with a marketable idea of what to be when I grow up? I’m a grown-up now, right?

Maybe this neurosis is the best sign that I need to keep on writing. Perhaps in writing I will find the answers that I long for, or more comfort in my questions.

Even in my insecurity, I know that people read this blog, even if they don’t comment, but I’ve never kept it for them, I keep it for me. It is a gift to have eleven years of life captured in blog posts. When I read them, I remember. Not just what I wrote about, but what I felt and what life was like, who I was. I am grateful for the time I have spent blogging and I carry on another day.

Things feel okay at the moment, but tenuously so. As if one or more of us might fall off the wagon and hit another moving-related patch of big feelings. Leaving everything the way it has been was a feeble attempt to control the situation and avoid the chaos.

I took everything off the tree today (with a little help from the girls.) And by end of the weekend, it will all be put away. I do not fear the winter winds. I know that spring will come.

We will chalk our door tomorrow. Epiphany is a season, right? Sometimes compromising is necessary for sanity’s sake.

Being busy makes me feel like we belong here. I have had a few really vivid Memphis moments lately. Watching Kate delightedly devour some ribs. Missing Memphis over the break. Seeing growth in myself and my family. And so we carry on, onward and upward.

keep reading and write everyday
make a cozier, tidier home
have people over often
create lovely things, just because
eat better and exercise
make music

read with the girls
teach them handcrafts
say yes to my family
love michael better
write more letters, keep up with old friends

try new things
dream bigger
keep the faith

it’s not so impossible.

(title stolen from the lovely mollie greene.)

Sometime during high school, I began to realize that this might not work out. Good journalists work long hours, especially if I made it to the national level. I wanted to be a mom. I am not sure I have dreamed big very often since.

I am trying to think through jobs I might want to have in the near or distant future, and it is harder to dream big than I would have previously believed. Adulthood has made me practical. I’ve been a little surprised that I’m selling things in my etsy store (and several custom cards outside of etsy.) But it’s hard for me to dream big about owning my own business. I hate self promotion. It’s not a guaranteed stream of income (and not very much at this point.) But I like the flexibility.

Maybe I need to learn how to dream again. I’m not really sure how to go about doing that, but it’s worth considering.

In their membership transfer interview, our new senior pastor asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up.

Kate said, “a scientist.”

Lexi said, “a rockstar!”

College basketball season starting. Crisp weather. Sweaters. Pumpkin everything. The blissful Starbucks period where Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Peppermint Mochas overlap. Autumn colors. The spirit of gratefulness. Thanksgiving food. Wool socks. Homemade hot chocolate. Advent.

This week I have baked pumpkin muffins and cast on a new scarf for Kate. I will take a walk and breathe in the crisp air in the daylight, while drinking something warm and wonderful. I will finish my Thanksgiving menu and make Lexi a costume for her Thanksgiving feast. I will cheer at a basketball game. I will finish my Jesse Tree ornaments and start writing some thoughts on Advent to share with y’all. And I will make the best I can of the short days.

I see the corner being turned for her at school as well. She really loves her teachers and has a lot of older kids she is attached to as well. It is so neat to see her with the sixth grade girls, who give her piggy back rides and make her feel special and cool.

It’s a little glimmer of hope that Memphis is incrementally feeling more like home. I can’t believe we’ve been here over four months now. It feels simultaneously like I’ve lived here for just a few weeks and I left Birmingham ages ago. We are still strangers in a strange land.

(If you didn’t win the winged feet etsy giveaway here, try over at Half-Pint Handouts, there are a few more days left to enter!)

I still need to get costumes together for the girls, so blogging may continue to be light. But there is a big announcement coming next week… so stay tuned for that.

It was really fun and the wide open spaces were beautiful to behold.

Lexi viewed the educational moments with a great deal of wonder.

She was eager to experience farm life and the first girl to get into the massive tractor.

It was good to see her having fun with new friends as well.

Even though I will probably remain a city slicker for the rest of my days, I think a trip to the country from time to time is good for the soul. We are so grateful to the family who had two classes worth of kindergarteners out and showed us such a great time.

I had told a friend the exact same thing during my Birmingham visit. For me it is not the differences in hymn selection or preaching that make the biggest difference, but that feeling of looking around and realizing how few people I recognize, let alone know.

It is a hard thing to leave behind community, however imperfect. Even at five Lexi knew church as a place where she was known and loved, where she could run and play and be herself. Where her pastor would throw her up in the air moments after she received the benediction.

I hope she holds onto her fond memories, but makes room for new ones.

The trouble is that I have a hard time with finding a balance in these stories. When the kids were small, I sometimes told cute, positive stories about them. I didn’t want to leave a trail of all their worst moments online to embarrass them in the future. But honestly, I felt like that painted an incomplete picture of motherhood and family life, even though I appreciated preserving joyous moments.

Have you ever read a blog and after awhile the perfect husband, the gorgeous, fun children and the mom who cooks and crafts and looks fantastic just make you feel small? Realistically I know everyone has their struggles and demons but when all you see is someone’s best, it can make you feel discontent and unaccomplished.

Lately I have tried to post a little about moving and how we’ve struggled with that. It’s very real, but it’s also somewhat depressing. I’m not fishing for pity, but sometimes it comes off that way. So, I get quieter and I stop telling those stories. Then my blog gets filled with fluff, I get bored, stop blogging and I don’t tell any stories at all.

I feel more compelled than ever to write. I don’t know why, and what will come of it, but I think telling stories here is part of what I need to be doing, for my sanity. So I am going to give it a try (with some fluff mixed in for good measure.) Inevitably, some of them will be sad or a little self indulgent, I hope you won’t mind too much.

Yesterday she woke up early with a smile on her face, and had a great day.

Life is like that. Feelings that come on with great intensity and fade as quickly as they arrive. Small triumphs, which will surely be followed by more bumps in the road.

I wish I had some great wisdom to share, and I really don’t. I spent a long time praying over her as she slept Sunday night, and I hope she feels the comfort of her savior, who cares for her. One thing I do know that we will survive. Jesus and her momma can handle a little pain-induced anger and grief.