clean house secrets revealed

The toy clutter is out of control. Like vines on brick, the Polly's and the dollies and the little matchbox cars are taking over my world one room at a time. And it has stressed me out to no end.

Until now. I have found the secret to a clean house. Wanna know what it is?



Someone please tell me why I haven't let this be okay before? It is genius, I tell you. And it is, quite simply, the best I can do. Gone are the days of putting toys where they belong. Just throw them in the middle and vacuum around them. I don't know how long uptight Emily is going to allow this to continue, but for now I am going to enjoy my new-found freedom. Merry Christmas to me.

being here

Life in my fourth grade classroom began the same way everyday: Mr. Lahr called the roll. I spent the first half of the alphabet listening to my fellow students say here as their names were called. I was focused and alert, because if I didn't say here or present or at least grunt and raise my hand, I would be counted absent. Even if I was there.

You had to pay attention and respond, or it would be as if you weren't there at all.

Not much has changed since the fourth grade. It takes work to be here during December. I mean really here. I can get so focused on the then that I forget the now.

I charge my camera batteries in anticipation of the joy of Christmas morning, but I miss out on the wrestling match happening in front of the tree on December 22.

I spend time pouring over fun cookie recipes to make with my kids but end up frustrated when all they want to do is fight over who gets to lick the bowl.

Perhaps I should make cookies by myself.

Or.

Perhaps I could shift the goal from make cookies with the kids to make individual batter covered bowls.

It is all about changing our expectations. Because if I'm saving up all my worship and expectancy and joy for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, it's very likely that I will experience disappointment, conflict, frustration or all three.

So I have an idea. I want to purpose to notice the joy in the everyday. After all, isn't that what my blog is all about? But December doesn't feel like the everyday! you say. December can feel more like the crazy. That's why I'm inviting you to join me on my quest to notice and revel in the daily.

Next Monday, I'm going offer an opportunity for us to share our journey of noticing with each other. It could be as simple as a photo, a glimpse of a treasure you discover while taking a walk or a moment captured during your kids playtime.
A Poppy with his grandson.

A girl all dressed up with no place to go.

A boy caught in the act.

It doesn't have to be a photo. It could be a story, a memory, or a thought you have that helps you to reflect and notice and celebrate even in the midst of busy and planning and crazy.

It doesn't have to be about Christmas. I know some of you may not celebrate Christmas or perhaps you aren't one of those people who turn crazy in December because you have perspective and inner peace and sense. Share that with us.

The only rule is that you notice. And then tell us about it by linking to your post on the Mr. Linky I'll have set up. You can link to a post you have already done in this theme, but I would encourage you to continue to notice this week, even if you don't document it.

You have a week to think on it. And to let me know if you have any brilliant ideas on what to call this little project of ours. Now let the celebration begin. Happy December 1.

don't forget the silly

Thanksgiving is only three days away. As I prepare to gather with family and friends, I can feel myself beginning to sweat the small stuff. I am making lists in my head that include things like paint front door and purge house of all clutter and world peace. In the midst of the planning, I am reminded not to take myself too seriously.
I have a habit of doing that, being too serious in my head about things that aren't all that important. I'm going to take my cue from my niece and enjoy each moment as it comes. I wish the same for you.

i smell a rat

Speaking of making space, I am trying to de-clutter because I can't find my iPod and we have too much stuff and I think Simple Mom is cool.

The following items are standing in my way.

• One special edition pop-out map of Atlanta. It fits in my pocket! Granted I haven't been to Atlanta in over 3 years and I don't have plans to go. But when I do go, how cool would it be to have a special edition pop-out map?!

• teeny tiny earrings that I'll never wear but my MIL told me not to sell at a yard sale because she bought them for me and well, they're real. Don't ask me what kind of real because I don't know. But it basically means I can't donate them, sell them or throw them away.
  

• two small, momma/child figurines brought straight from the home of The Man's very healthy and delightful 95-year-old grandmother who has been getting rid of things for the past 10 years because she believes she will surely die soon but she "just keeps breathing!" (her words not mine). (hence the quotes).
  

And. As if those things weren't enough. Look what FedEx brought to my door last week.
Four boxes filled with everything from our totaled car. It was towed from the scene of the accident to a lot out of town so they had to ship all of our things to us. I was all put out because we hadn't gotten our things out earlier and it was so inconvenient to have to wait for our things and when is it all gonna get here anyway? I need my things!
Here they are. Here are my things. My very important, can't-live-without-you - things. Can I begin to explain to you how discouraging it is to get a box of trash in the mail? How about FOUR BOXES OF TRASH? Seriously, did I drive around with all this trash in my car all the time? Am I a person? Because I'm seriously beginning to wonder if I have whiskers and a really long tail.

Nothing says "de-clutter" like having FedEx back their ginormous truck into your driveway and deliver four boxes of your very important trash. At least it was easy to throw all that away. But what to do with the pop-out map of Atlanta?

make room for space

The restaurant was only half full but the table was crowded: five adults and four children gathered around two squares pulled together with plates and food and napkins piled high.

The Man and his brother had gone to get the drinks and found us all settled in our seats upon their return. Only two chairs were left, right next to one another, crowded between our four-year-old on one end and me on the other, our not-so-small son heavy on my lap, stealing a pre-dinner nap.

The brothers hesitated, glancing at one another as if to see which one was going to eat at another restaurant, as no one could possibly expect these two over six-feet-tall men to squeeze into this tiny space, much less eat there with all the elbow action and room a man needs to consume food properly.

They needed space. Technically speaking, the space was there. They could have sat next to each other. They could have made it work. But there would have been no room for a dropped fork under the table or simultaneous bites, not to mention conversation.

There would have been no room to breathe.

I need room to breathe, too. I need space in my days and weeks and months to think and mull and ponder. Even as I have cut back on appointments and outings and commitments, I still find myself awake past my bedtime to simply soak in the quiet. My soul needs space. And it doesn't come easy. It doesn't come without a price and it doesn't come on its own.

I have to make it come. Because life is messy and fluid and maddeningly unpredictable.

That is why I have to plan for space. Because when the fork drops, I want the opportunity to take my time, stoop down in my seat, take all the room I need and pick it up proper without harming the people around me or bumping my head on the bottom of the table.

marching ants and moldy clothes

My computer has ants.

I opened my laptop and 15 ants scurried to safety under the jkl; and the asdf. My first instinct was to brush them off, but they were too fast for me. My second instinct was to type on the keys really hard and kill them in their hiding places.

I now realize that only means I'll have 15 dead ants in my computer forever. I'm just waiting for the ants to eat all my files and chew my photos to shreds. Tomorrow I'll wake up and they'll be making a colorful anthill next to my dead laptop. In matte finish.

My car had ants once. That was not a good day.

In other news, I am beginning to discover the uselessness of my procrastination. For example, I abhor putting the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer. It is a foul chore. I always have to pull really hard to loosen the jeans from their wet, heavy grip and then I end up banging up my knuckles in the process.

I hate this chore so much, I often put it off too long and have to re-wash the clothes to get the moldy smell off. It puts me in a bad mood, those wet clothes. They make my laundry room smell and my knuckles bleed. But it has to be done. So I decided to time myself to see how long this horrible, awful, back-breaking task actually takes.

28 seconds.

That's right, I spend hours (sometimes even days) putting off this most despised chore. All to avoid 28 seconds of work. Granted, the work is grueling. But it could be worse: I could not have a washer at all. Or a dryer. Or clothes.

What dreaded task are you putting off? I dare you to time yourself. What have you got to lose? Even if it ends up taking longer than you think, at least it's done.

she's looking for a name

All your ideas from my last post have me wishing I had a wet bar in every room of my house. Thanks for all your input and creative advice. I'll update you when I decide which great idea I'm going to choose. For now, I have a lot on my mind, but not much to say. Nothing is wrong but things are not quite right, either.

I haven't named my house yet. I thought it would come quickly once we moved in. But just like those boxes in the garage, she is slow to open herself up to us. It is taking more time to know her than I thought it would. And it has me grumpy.

We have ground bees in our yard. I know they have to go. The problem is, I just finished reading The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. I know all about the bees. And I feel so guilty for killing them.

I saw Mama Mia! in the theater and it was awesome. I had to grip my seat to keep from skipping down the dimly lit aisle with my hands waving in the air, singing "See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen!"

These thoughts may seem disconnected to you. And in many ways, they are. But in my head, they all run together like a tri-colored ball of play-doh: Grumpy. Guilty. Glee.

My dad always tells me I need to lighten up. That sounds nice...to be light. I know he is right, that it is possible to live life lightly. These days, though, the layers of my existence are coming to the surface through little things like bees and songs in movies.

I'm sorry if this doesn't makes sense. I'm sorry to be clouding up your sunny Monday with crazy chats that don't connect. I'll try to have more of a point next post. In the meantime, if you feel as though you've seen enough house photos on my blog to get a feel for the name of my house, let me know. This silent treatment she's been giving me is getting old.

calling all freak-makers!

Want to find Emily from Chatting at the Sky? Try typing in these oh-so-obvious phrases in google:

the nester babies
magic bean wishes
went pee in the pool
nosey friends wanting to see remodeling before completion
(What is this? I have never felt this way about my friends. Honest.)

Ready for the best one?

how to make a freak (Chatting at the sky was on page one. Result four. Oh my.)

Now that I've actually typed them all here together, I'm sure the searches will get even more interesting.

baby steps

When we were first married 7 years ago, I was a decorating idiot. I remember nearly having a nervous breakdown because in one room of our house we had 15 foot ceilings. The walls were all white and I knew I wanted color but the idea of choosing one brought me to my knees. I'm not exaggerating. Like, literally crying on my knees, an emotional new-bride basket case. The man wasn't sure what he had gotten himself into, I'm certain of that.

I've gained confidence in what I like over the years: a lot less crying and a lot more trying...and buying. At least when it comes to the basics.

I've been encouraged and motivated the past few weeks to do some more things in our house, namely adding fabric and layers of texture to help it feel more cozy. I've been waiting for stems to go 1/2 price at Hobby Lobby. This week, they did. So I bought these.

I have no idea what to do with them.

I've also been waiting for a good chance to drive south to a discounted fabric store. Today the chance came, so I bought these.
I have no idea what to do with them, either. Are you seeing a pattern here? Other than the obvious checks and toile?

I have the basics down. I can pick out a couch, no problem. I can pick out a table without help. I know a must-have tassel when I see one. I have confident taste in paint colors, back splash tiles and light fixtures. It's the the little extra things that give me problems. Like how to arrange those stems that I love. And how to mistreat a window without being laughed out of town.

Seriously, I mistreated a window in our half bath. Yeah, there is no way in Tinsel Town I would show you the result. It was an abomination to all things Nester. Forget the normal Window Treatment people, I would have been arrested by the Mistreaters as well. It was a crooked hot mess.

Do you have trouble with the extras? The layering? The textures and patterns? I think my biggest obstacle is a lack of confidence in that area. I need to give myself permission to try something, hate it, and then try something else. I would do well to remember The Nesters' mantra: it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful.

Still, what to do with all those stems?

*sigh*

I have 12 drafts sitting in my post list.

12.

I have a lot on my mind but nothing to say. And so I have started 12 posts but am unable to finish a one. Which is strange because I don't normally have this problem. I also don't normally post on a Friday night.

But coming your way soon are before and after photos of our office/laundry room and my take on housecleaning and a google search that has had me rolling.

Oh. And a Barbie that looks like Conan O'Brien. But I think it's just me.

the monster has left the building

How to get rid of Monster Mommy in 6 easy steps:

First, recruit backup. A Nana is perfect for the job.

Next, give them a Popsicle anyway, even if they didn't eat their lunch.

Then, take one of these to wash off the Monster smell. Do not skip this step.

Don't forget to have one of these. Or, if Monster Mommy is really mean, have two.

Also, be sure to notice the peonies blooming in your front yard. Monster Mommy can't prevail in their presence.

Finally, remember...you are loved anyway.

Repeat if necessary.

Good Mom strikes again

Today Caillou's mommy was having a bad day. First, her car broke. Then, she lost her keys. There she is frowning. Which I guess for Caillou is pretty extreme if less than realistic. Where is the smoke coming from her ears? Where are the slanty eyebrows? Where is the clenched jaw, the one-word answers, the broken phone that she threw across the room because she just.couldn't.take.it?

Apparently even on a bad day, Caillou's mommy still talks in a sing-song voice and is really nice to her kids. Great, Good Mom even comes in animation. Oh to be a cartoon.

my efforts to stop the world

I'm standing in line at the grocery store. I'm looking at gum. Winterfresh or spearmint. Which? One? A worker cheerfully walks up to me, placing her hand on my cart.

"Ma'am, would you like to go to the self check-out? There's no wait."

I look at her. I say nothing. Then, the tears make their way to my eye corners. "No thanks," I hear myself say, "I've had enough change lately."

And that is when I realized that the running has finally caught up with me. I've been waiting for rest to descend upon me. And it isn't happening.

I became aware of my deep need to experience rest for my soul about a year after the twins were born. Overnight, it seemed, life became a cloudy mess and my efforts to defog it were both desperate and feeble. I began reading a book called Choosing Rest by Sally Breedlove. I've talked about that book here before. In it, she mentions that "in resting we pull away from doing although all is not done." How many times do I say to myself as soon as I finish ____, then I'll find rest?

I tend to view rest as a reward for finishing the work. Or worse, I accept a counterfeit version of rest described in her book: "When all our accomplishing crashes into the wall of utter fatigue, we finally take a break and call that rest."

And that is where I found myself today, in line at the grocery store. The concept of choosing rest even though the list remains unchecked and the clothes remain unfolded is a foreign one. Rest. Not a nap or a movie or dinner with friends, though I need those times, too. I'm talking about soul rest. Alone rest. Face time with the One who calls me to come...because His burden is light. And I'm not just talking about 30 minutes in the morning. I sense my soul longing for hours and hours...maybe even days ...of quiet. Time to think, to remember freedom, to hear the silence, to receive perspective. Is this the introvert in me coming out? Or is this just what we all are created to need?

And so I sit at an impasse in the dark too late at night, writing about rest but uncertain about experiencing it. I know it is possible. Even if the weekend of solitude isn't...I know it is possible to experience rest even in the midst of chaos. To "allow the present to be imperfect", another difficult quote for me to swallow. The trick for me is remembering that I have a choice. That rest will not show up as soon as I finish my list.

Maybe I should start putting rest on my list.

my fairy blogmother

Y'all! I have a fairy blogmother! Granted, I must have taken a crazy pill this month. Because in the midst of buying a house, selling a house, semi-remodeling the former and grieving the latter, I thought it would be a great idea to have my blog re-designed.

Well bring on the crazy cuz right now, I just want to chat away with a hot cup of coffee and a big piece of chocolate cake. That is what this new design is doing to me. Making me happy! And fatter, apparently. But it is going to bring such loveliness to my day and to yours as well, I hope.

It all started a few months ago when my sister gave away a tassel during the great bloggy giveaway and the winner was Mommy from The Womble Times. I clicked on her blog and loved her design and then I realized that she, herself was the designer!
She has her own company called Peek-a-boo Greetings and she is doing all this work to raise money for the travel expenses involved in the adoption of her daughter.

I wish I knew more about that...unfortunately so far, most of what I know about her has nothing to do with her and everything to do with me: she is really patient (with me), she likes to use numbers to keep things organized (when she sends me e-mails), and she stays up really late (to work on my blog design). She is funny and creative and...and...Oh I'm just bursting! We were working into the wee hours of the morning (and by "we" I mean she was working and I was watching Friends and hitting refresh on my email inbox to see what she had to tell me next). And then she said I could go to bed and wake up to a new blog design which is exactly what I did and now...I have a fairy blogmother! How cute is she? I feel 4. And I love it!

I am so thankful for her talent and hard work. I hope you enjoy the fruits of her labor. I know I will.

my daily bread

Ever find yourself wishing you could eat a really big lunch and then not have to make dinner? Better yet, let's make our huge breakfast be the only meal we have to eat all day. I do that sometimes, when it's just me. I've yet to convince the rest of the fam what a good plan it is.

Don't get me wrong. I really do like to eat. And I like to cook, too. I just don't like to HAVE to eat. Or cook. It would be so much better if, on those days when we are tired and unmotivated, we could just eat once and have it last.

But we can't. That's just not how it works.

Sometimes I think the same way about time with the Lord. I wish on an exhausting, no-good day, I could pull out a 2 hour bible study I had back in '98. Like a quiet-time filing cabinet that was stocked before I had kids. But that is me trying to be all checklist-y, as if time with the Lord were equivalent to cutting the tomato and roasting the chicken (as if I ever roast a chicken).

In my head, I used to be really great. That is, before I had kids. Even better before I got married. I was patient, sweet, organized and practically perfect in every way. I remember being so depressed those first few months of marriage. Who is this crazy, emotional, needy woman and what did she do with patient, sweet, amazing me? And I was sure my new husband was thinking the same thing. Until I realized there was really never such a thing as patient, sweet me and I had certainly never been amazing. At least not in the way I thought. It's just now that I was married, there was someone always there to reflect the reality of my lack.

And to graciously remind me of my need for a Savior without saying a word. No more hiding. No more faking it.

And so, after a few more years of life under my belt, time with the Lord is looking different now than it used to. I think it is messy, desperate, sweet, frustrating. And sometimes it is dry, quiet, non-existent. But it is more real than it used to be. He is more real than He use to be. And that can't be pulled out of a filing cabinet.

*sigh* Now I gotta go make dinner.

my disorder

Something is seriously wrong with me.

I'm pretty sure I've said those words here before, but this time it's really and seriously true.

How is it that a 30 year old college graduate, wife and mother of three does not know how to clean her house? What is the DEAL? The girls have been with my parents for a few days, so during the day, it's just been me and the baby. I wanted to take advantage of the time without all the kids here to clean up a bit...you know, without distractions. But guess what? Turns out I AM the distraction.

Yesterday I go to the girls room and I'm cleaning: emptying the toy basket onto the floor and sorting out purses from wigs, Barbie shoes from baby doll clothes...you know, cleaning. I start to notice groups of things that go together. Like these baby dolls.
Look at them. None of them have clothes (except the littlest one upon which I took pity. Is it normal that my girls only UNdress the dolls?) As I continued to clean, I saw another grouping take shape.
I felt like I was doing something, making progress. Grouping like things with like things. Until I realized maybe this isn't really cleaning. Did I change a sheet? No I did not. Did I windex anything? No I did not. Did I vacuum? Of course I did not vacuum.

I sorted. I organized. I rearranged. This is not cleaning, people. It is a component of cleaning, I know. But this is a problem, a compulsion to have all things that match be put together, a disorder of ordering. Instead of changing sheets, I took photos of naked baby dolls in a pile. Worse, after I took the photo, I stuffed all the dolls in a cabinet in disarray to get them out of the way. At least they were all in one place. What is wrong with me? That is what kids do when mom says "clean your room". That is not what mom does when cleaning kids room.

I have another problem. I have heard of people who clean one. room. at. a time. How is this to be done?
I start here and almost get the bed almost made. But then I remember Oh yeah. I need to finish adding towels to this.
Then, I walk right by this.
...and turn my head the other way. On my way back to my room to finish the bed, I see this:
So guess what I did? You're lookin' at it.

Everything I've read about housekeeping talks about routines. What is that word? I think it is important, but I'm not sure how to have one. I did FlyLady for a while. She talks about baby steps and starting with keeping your sink clean and shiny. That worked for a while. Until it didn't anymore (as you can clearly see).

So there you have it. I like to sort. I like to organize. And I really like to have clean clothes and clean dishes but I'm not so crazy about actually cleaning them. I would love to hear from anyone who has a routine and actually follows it. Because truth is, I really do sort of enjoy keeping house...I just want it to work for me and not against me. Any ideas?

chatting at the sky

In her song Tuesday, Sarah Masen sings about the tired ending of a too-long day. The lyrics aren't explicit, but I think they describe a girl who had lived a regular day in a regular life without making space for her soul to breathe. It seems like sometimes when we most need a source outside of ourselves we are least likely to seek one.

I find myself in a similar place on my very own Tuesday. I am foggy and droopy and I need a shower. The days are running together lately. I am still clinching my jaw. I feel behind. I have a vague sense that I have been looking for me. In the foreground is the task, the day, the laundry, the meal, the living. But in the background, there is still just a girl. And it is in this place of need where I remember that it is not left to me alone to finish the task, to have the right answer, to be amazing and perfect while saving the world. But it is up to me to be the girl that He has made...and to trust Him to be Himself in and around me.

At the end of the day, the girl in the song stops and takes notice of the beauty in life that surrounded her...and she doesn't only notice, she enters in. She stops to chat at the sky. And in doing so, she sees her Creator.

So while this blog is a place for me to chat about parenting and coffee and photo-taking and bargains, I hope for it to also be a place to remember. A place to just be and invite others to be alongside of me. A place that encourages me to write and reflect and find meaning in the mundane. And maybe, by chatting in this place, I will find treasures of His presence weaved into the days I am blessed to reflect upon.

time is moving everything faster...

It takes four years to get through high school. Four years for college. (Theoretically). Imagine the years between your freshman and senior year...forever. At least, that's how it seemed to me.

Four years sure aren't what they used to be.

I have been weepy. I think this is when it started. The girls and I had some friends over yesterday. My dear friend, Melissa and her 2 kids. Here they are with River.
Melissa and I were pregnant at the same time and our due dates were only one day apart. Needless to say, these three have spent a lot of time together over the past four years. I took this photo on a whim...they were playing silly on the floor. As soon as I took it, I remembered. I rushed downstairs and pulled this out.
There they are at what couldn't be more than a few months old. And it hit me anew how consistently the days move on despite my efforts to hold on. So here I am feeling impossibly sentimental. If I am weepy as they turn four, can you imagine when they go to kindergarten? Begin to drive? Go off to college? Get....married?

I long to hold on, to keep their old clothes, to document with photos, to be sure I am able to remember. But even now, only 4 years later, the day of their birth is a foggy blue...sharpened into focus only slightly by looking at photos of the day or re-reading journals written in those wee hours between feedings and heavy, new-mom sleep.

I want to enjoy, to celebrate, to look ahead with hopeful anticipation of the women the Lord has made them to be by watching the little girls they are today. And I do. And I am proud. But there is a cloud. It is small and not overwhelming...but it is there. And I have a sense that with each birthday, it will get a little bigger. I so don't want to be the hovering, over-protective mother. But I can't deny the pull that does indeed exist...between holding on and letting go.

So with that semi-depressing thought, Happy Birthday girls. May you live life to the hilt with adventure and delight...and may your counseling bill not be too high when you inevitably realize all the issues you have because of your crazy mother.

html idiot

It had to be done. For many reasons, it had to be done. The first of which being I felt like I was being screamed at every time I clicked on my blog because the template I was using has ALL CAPS in the title and well, I just don't know anything about anything to know how to change that. Except to change the whole template.

So there you have it.

Besides, it's a new day...a new year. Let's just be new.

Now back to the code...Anyone know how to change the drab gray background? Why didn't I major in graphic design? What good is any other profession anymore?

fly to my rescue and crash through the wall

I had a new friend come over this morning. She's the best kind of new friend. She brought me a really large coffee. From Starbucks. And cinnamon rolls. She is a mom as well, but her kids are in middle school. She asked me a question and I found myself excited to answer her because it was a real question that required real, cohesive thought. And I began to share from my heart about things I have learned and am still learning...and what I was saying was profound and smart and vulnerable...but for some reason she was not nodding thoughtfully. Rather, she was smiling, almost laughing. Why, you ask?

Turns out she was distracted by my pacing from one needy child to the next. As I was talking, evidently I also pried open one mouth, pulled one baby from the dining room table (4 times), settled 3 arguments, dressed 2 polly pockets and took 147 steps while pacing the floor and I didn't even realize it until she opened her mouth and said these beautiful words:

"There's a reason why the laundry doesn't get done."

And it was nice for someone who's been there to recognize that which I already know...that I can work hard all day and still get nothing done. The only proof that I worked at all is my sore back, tired feet and, of course, piles of laundry...if that even makes any sense.

So here I am at 8:30 pm and it feels like midnight. Blinking takes effort. I'm tightly clinching my jaw as I type and I. can't. stop. This life is exhausting. And I'm not even sick or pregnant or depressed or dying of starvation or homeless. But I still need a hero. Good thing I've got one.

I've thrown myself headlong into Your arms -
I'm celebrating Your rescue.
Psalm 13:5 The Message

How life-giving it is to know I have someplace else to throw myself headlong into other than my bed. Besides, it isn't made and the sheets are dirty.

title quote from Chris Rice's I Need a Hero