On my mind today:

 I wish I had more for you...

But the truth is, this elongated winter that we are experiencing is truly taking a toll on my motivation, my cheery words and my ability to get things done in a timely manner.  Add to that the fact that I spent the past 6 weeks working temporarily in my hometown (well, 5 weeks really, there was a week break in there for a spring break trip to Kansas City) and this "spring that wasn't" has been exhausting.

So, to catch you (and me) up, here is where it's at - list style (my favorite):

• Abby had a school dance, wherein she asked a boy to go with her.  It was big news in this house.
• My mom bought her a dress and she wore heels (which she said were very uncomfortable, but that didn't stop her from wearing them).
• I think it's safe to say she had a really good time.
• I worked half a week for 5 weeks, 4 hours from home.
• Finn and I bunked in with my parents - which was awesome.  
• We left Uriah and Abby behind - which was not so awesome.
• Abby had a list each week before I left of chores to accomplish, Uriah's work schedule, dinner menu, etc.  She did an awesome job of staying on top of what she had to get done.
• She was so excited for me to leave - I think she had glamorous ideas of what it was going to mean for her (making dinner, taking care of the house, being a bit independent - the girl reads a lot and I think she imagined something much bigger than it turned out to be).
• It didn't take long for her to start wishing for me to be back home to stay.  I guess it's nice to know I'm needed and useful, even if it is just to make dinner and empty the dishwasher nightly.
• Finn went to daycare - and loved it (most days).  Some days he required a little extra nudge up the driveway.
• I had anxiety attacks for a week (or maybe more) about how he would do listening to someone else and would he miss me and would he play nice and share and would he be okay in a house with a dog (he did not like dogs - they made him uncomfortable, now he's pretty much a fan).  I should have known he'd be fine.
• The first day he could hardly wait to leave me.  The second day took some convincing.  The third day he cried.  And then he got used to the schedule.  A little clingy some mornings, couldn't get away from me fast enough others.  
• Grandma and Grandpa took turns picking him up in the afternoon.
• I am so grateful to have had them to help out with pick-ups and I know that they really loved the special one-on-one time they had with Finn before I got home.
• I also love living at home - my sheets smelled like my childhood.  I could totally be that girl who lives at home forever.

• Our trip to Kansas City fell at about the halfway point of my temporary job.
• It was a nice break and we'd been looking forward to it all winter.
• It snowed while we were in Kansas City and it did not feel like spring break at all.  I did not wear my flip-flops once.
• We learned that this is a trip that cannot be done in one shot (10 hours is too long for any of us to be in the car).  We stayed overnight half-way both going down and coming back up.  We will always do that.
• I made the small humans goody bags for the trip - little treats/things to do to break up the time spent in the car.  It was a decent first attempt; our next trip will have some changes.  Uriah was seriously sad I didn't make him one.
• The kids got some extra cousin-play time with all of their cousins.  
• I got some extra snuggle time with the baby.  So did Uriah...he held that baby more than I did!  
• The grandparents got to spoil the kids.
• Uriah and I got to have a morning to sneak back to our old neighborhood.
• Due to the snow, my plans to hit up the Kansas City Zoo were waylaid (maybe a trip this summer is in order, although I'm quite sure it would be just me and the two small humans).
• We went to Cabela's on our way through southern Minnesota instead, because it's like the zoo, except all of the animals are dead and stuffed and never, ever move.  Finn loved it.
• I finished out my working stint last week and was sad to leave it, just as I really seemed to be getting into my groove and balancing work and life.
• I am happy to not have the 4 hour commute twice a week, though.  My car is happy about that, too.
• I've been waiting for spring and in the meantime eschewing all forms of spring cleaning (well, I did do one closet yesterday and put away most of the winter stuff.  And then it snowed 3 inches last night.  Can't a girl get a break?!).
• I am anxious to get back into a really good walking routine.  I will even walk through puddles if I have to (and I can assure you, with the plethora of snow we have, melting will take some time and I will have to walk through puddles).
• Luckily Mother's Day usually means a new pair of shoes for me.  After some soggy, soggy walks, I will need them in a month or so.
• The weather forecast is for 60s next week...given the spring we've had, though, I will have to see it to believe it!

 I wish I had more for you...

But the truth is, this elongated winter that we are experiencing is truly taking a toll on my motivation, my cheery words and my ability to get things done in a timely manner.  Add to that the fact that I spent the past 6 weeks working temporarily in my hometown (well, 5 weeks really, there was a week break in there for a spring break trip to Kansas City) and this "spring that wasn't" has been exhausting.

So, to catch you (and me) up, here is where it's at - list style (my favorite):

• Abby had a school dance, wherein she asked a boy to go with her.  It was big news in this house.
• My mom bought her a dress and she wore heels (which she said were very uncomfortable, but that didn't stop her from wearing them).
• I think it's safe to say she had a really good time.
• I worked half a week for 5 weeks, 4 hours from home.
• Finn and I bunked in with my parents - which was awesome.  
• We left Uriah and Abby behind - which was not so awesome.
• Abby had a list each week before I left of chores to accomplish, Uriah's work schedule, dinner menu, etc.  She did an awesome job of staying on top of what she had to get done.
• She was so excited for me to leave - I think she had glamorous ideas of what it was going to mean for her (making dinner, taking care of the house, being a bit independent - the girl reads a lot and I think she imagined something much bigger than it turned out to be).
• It didn't take long for her to start wishing for me to be back home to stay.  I guess it's nice to know I'm needed and useful, even if it is just to make dinner and empty the dishwasher nightly.
• Finn went to daycare - and loved it (most days).  Some days he required a little extra nudge up the driveway.
• I had anxiety attacks for a week (or maybe more) about how he would do listening to someone else and would he miss me and would he play nice and share and would he be okay in a house with a dog (he did not like dogs - they made him uncomfortable, now he's pretty much a fan).  I should have known he'd be fine.
• The first day he could hardly wait to leave me.  The second day took some convincing.  The third day he cried.  And then he got used to the schedule.  A little clingy some mornings, couldn't get away from me fast enough others.  
• Grandma and Grandpa took turns picking him up in the afternoon.
• I am so grateful to have had them to help out with pick-ups and I know that they really loved the special one-on-one time they had with Finn before I got home.
• I also love living at home - my sheets smelled like my childhood.  I could totally be that girl who lives at home forever.

• Our trip to Kansas City fell at about the halfway point of my temporary job.
• It was a nice break and we'd been looking forward to it all winter.
• It snowed while we were in Kansas City and it did not feel like spring break at all.  I did not wear my flip-flops once.
• We learned that this is a trip that cannot be done in one shot (10 hours is too long for any of us to be in the car).  We stayed overnight half-way both going down and coming back up.  We will always do that.
• I made the small humans goody bags for the trip - little treats/things to do to break up the time spent in the car.  It was a decent first attempt; our next trip will have some changes.  Uriah was seriously sad I didn't make him one.
• The kids got some extra cousin-play time with all of their cousins.  
• I got some extra snuggle time with the baby.  So did Uriah...he held that baby more than I did!  
• The grandparents got to spoil the kids.
• Uriah and I got to have a morning to sneak back to our old neighborhood.
• Due to the snow, my plans to hit up the Kansas City Zoo were waylaid (maybe a trip this summer is in order, although I'm quite sure it would be just me and the two small humans).
• We went to Cabela's on our way through southern Minnesota instead, because it's like the zoo, except all of the animals are dead and stuffed and never, ever move.  Finn loved it.
• I finished out my working stint last week and was sad to leave it, just as I really seemed to be getting into my groove and balancing work and life.
• I am happy to not have the 4 hour commute twice a week, though.  My car is happy about that, too.
• I've been waiting for spring and in the meantime eschewing all forms of spring cleaning (well, I did do one closet yesterday and put away most of the winter stuff.  And then it snowed 3 inches last night.  Can't a girl get a break?!).
• I am anxious to get back into a really good walking routine.  I will even walk through puddles if I have to (and I can assure you, with the plethora of snow we have, melting will take some time and I will have to walk through puddles).
• Luckily Mother's Day usually means a new pair of shoes for me.  After some soggy, soggy walks, I will need them in a month or so.
• The weather forecast is for 60s next week...given the spring we've had, though, I will have to see it to believe it!

The Robin

The snow swirls in hefty gusts,  

a cold bully in the middle of April.  

The old house rattles with the force of it.

Sharp, icy flakes tap out a taunting rhythm.

The robin sits huddled in the tree,

wishing - endlessly hoping - for spring.

I watch her tuck her head beneath her wing

and I wrap my arms tighter across my middle.

My wishes - my own hopes - echoing hers.

The snow swirls in hefty gusts,  

a cold bully in the middle of April.  

The old house rattles with the force of it.

Sharp, icy flakes tap out a taunting rhythm.

The robin sits huddled in the tree,

wishing - endlessly hoping - for spring.

I watch her tuck her head beneath her wing

and I wrap my arms tighter across my middle.

My wishes - my own hopes - echoing hers.

Virtual Motivation (guest post)

I'm guest-posting this week over at 100 Miles in 3 Months about virtual motivation...and visual motivation.  Check it out here!

I'm guest-posting this week over at 100 Miles in 3 Months about virtual motivation...and visual motivation.  Check it out here!

Keep calm.

People.  Easter is this weekend.

Are you kidding me?! I am ill-prepared this year.  My kids have nothing for their baskets.  In fact, I don't think I even have baskets (I may have tossed them when we moved).  We have dyed not a single egg.  They will probably be wearing rain boots to church because it is so melty outside.  I know this year my lack of preparedness has everything to do with the temporary job I took a few weeks ago and the fact that we just spent a week in Kansas City for spring break, but I need to get on this Easter train, and fast or someone will think the Easter Bunny hates him...

Here's my list for the next few days:

• Dye eggs.  We did this last year and I am never, ever straying again.  Ever.  Although this year we're going with traditional hard boiled eggs instead of hollowing out the shells and hiding them with surprises (because this year there are still one zillion inches of melty snow outside).
• Baskets.  Minimalist this year.  Books, chap stick, flip-flops rainboots.  No chocolate bunnies.  And no peeps (I hate those things) but maybe some Peeps Sugar Cookies.
• Buy some tulips.  Because nothing says spring like a vase of cheery tulips.

And that, my friends, is going to have to be plenty for this year.  Uriah will, of course, be working on Easter, and Finn and I will be making the trip to my parents on Sunday for a late Easter dinner and to start our work week again (did I mention my temporary job is 4 hours away?  Might that explain some of my fuzzy-headedness...and my inability to find time to blog regularly?!).

Happy weekend!  

People.  Easter is this weekend.

Are you kidding me?! I am ill-prepared this year.  My kids have nothing for their baskets.  In fact, I don't think I even have baskets (I may have tossed them when we moved).  We have dyed not a single egg.  They will probably be wearing rain boots to church because it is so melty outside.  I know this year my lack of preparedness has everything to do with the temporary job I took a few weeks ago and the fact that we just spent a week in Kansas City for spring break, but I need to get on this Easter train, and fast or someone will think the Easter Bunny hates him...

Here's my list for the next few days:

• Dye eggs.  We did this last year and I am never, ever straying again.  Ever.  Although this year we're going with traditional hard boiled eggs instead of hollowing out the shells and hiding them with surprises (because this year there are still one zillion inches of melty snow outside).
• Baskets.  Minimalist this year.  Books, chap stick, flip-flops rainboots.  No chocolate bunnies.  And no peeps (I hate those things) but maybe some Peeps Sugar Cookies.
• Buy some tulips.  Because nothing says spring like a vase of cheery tulips.

And that, my friends, is going to have to be plenty for this year.  Uriah will, of course, be working on Easter, and Finn and I will be making the trip to my parents on Sunday for a late Easter dinner and to start our work week again (did I mention my temporary job is 4 hours away?  Might that explain some of my fuzzy-headedness...and my inability to find time to blog regularly?!).

Happy weekend!  

Home is wherever I'm with you.

We zig-zagged through the city.  Down I-70, circumventing downtown, and we slipped into our old neighborhood.  We drove through the blocks that defined us early on and my eyes darted this way and that, taking in the little memories that each road offered up.

How many times did we drive out of the city on Friday afternoon, childless, only to return on Friday night with a back seat full of exuberant Abby?  Our ears ringing, our little apartment exploding with Polly's and ponies and Barbies.  How many weekends were spent criss-crossing the state for a drop-off or a pick-up.  How many miles we covered, hashing out the details of family court, of our future, confirming and assuring that we were making the right choice.  The only choice.  And how many of those long Missouri miles did we drive in silence, holding hands and wishing.

We neared the road to Abby's school; how nervous she was that first day of fourth grade...how nervous we all were as we jumped feet-first into uniforms and after-school care and PTA.  And all those times that she forgot her backpack in our apartment.  And the time I made her go the entire day without it because I wasn't about to turn around down our one-way street again for her to retrieve it.  Her anger was tangible, but the lesson was learned.  And that school sat quietly across a parking lot from the church where we promised to be with each other forever.  Forever is a long time, but that day they were promises easily given.  Promises we'd give again, although maybe now they wouldn't be as easy, knowing what we do.

Every other Friday evening we'd drop Abby off for Girl Scouts at the Baptist Church a neighborhood away and hope that in the span of two hours she'd come away an empowered girl, while we slipped into a neighborhood watering hole to wait.

If I close my eyes, I can walk down the hall of our apartment.  The huge bedroom that we foolishly thought we could squeeze a baby and all his accouterments into.  Our tiny bathroom, half the size of the outdoor patio that drew us in the first place, with the square smaller-than-a-tub-but-larger-than-a-shower stall.  Our tiny kitchen and the carpeted dining room and Megan coming over a couple of times a week to eat with us, because for a brief and glorious time, we were neighbors.  And Abby starting our tradition of beginning a meal with each of us saying one thing we're thankful for.  We still do that.  And the time we took our dining table apart so that we could put it on our patio and eat al fresco on a humid Missouri evening, with the sounds of Plaza traffic and cicadas serenading us as we ate and our containers full of flowers and herbs and plants nearly blocking anyone on the street from seeing us.

I remember where I was laying on the floor in the front room when Uriah came home with family court news, and then  throwing the paperwork across the living room and wishing there was more space because that small apartment was not big enough to hold my anger.  I remember sitting on our couch on a spring afternoon, after spending the day washing away the winter from our windows; I gave Uriah two dates for a wedding - or the option to back out.  We started planning in the warm sunshine how to make official what we'd known for years: we were meant to be together.  And I remember standing in front of Abby's closet as he proposed to me for real, with a ring that didn't come from a candy machine.  And I demanded he get down on one knee and do it proper.  And I was so happy.

As we drove through Kansas City proper, with every road we turned down and each glimpse of the sky line, a memory shot up and I found myself nostalgic and a little sad.  We won't ever have that life again - city life with one kid who only came every other weekend.  The carefree ability to have cheese and crackers and wine for dinner and then walk down to the Plaza and take our time browsing though Pottery Barn and Barnes & Noble without having to maneuver a stroller or find the nearest bathroom; those days are long gone.  But I like where our life is now.  I like walking, instead, to the library and stopping at the park to take our time climbing the ladders and sliding and swinging.  I like that our skyline is the shore of Lake Superior.

There will always be a piece of my heart that belongs to Kansas City.  It's where our story started; where we got married and had a baby and planted the seeds that would become our life, even if that life has been uprooted and replanted a time or two.  So much of our early life is squished into the corners and streets and buildings, but it is a memory town now.

I will be grateful for all the roads that twisted and turned to get us to this spot.

We zig-zagged through the city.  Down I-70, circumventing downtown, and we slipped into our old neighborhood.  We drove through the blocks that defined us early on and my eyes darted this way and that, taking in the little memories that each road offered up.

How many times did we drive out of the city on Friday afternoon, childless, only to return on Friday night with a back seat full of exuberant Abby?  Our ears ringing, our little apartment exploding with Polly's and ponies and Barbies.  How many weekends were spent criss-crossing the state for a drop-off or a pick-up.  How many miles we covered, hashing out the details of family court, of our future, confirming and assuring that we were making the right choice.  The only choice.  And how many of those long Missouri miles did we drive in silence, holding hands and wishing.

We neared the road to Abby's school; how nervous she was that first day of fourth grade...how nervous we all were as we jumped feet-first into uniforms and after-school care and PTA.  And all those times that she forgot her backpack in our apartment.  And the time I made her go the entire day without it because I wasn't about to turn around down our one-way street again for her to retrieve it.  Her anger was tangible, but the lesson was learned.  And that school sat quietly across a parking lot from the church where we promised to be with each other forever.  Forever is a long time, but that day they were promises easily given.  Promises we'd give again, although maybe now they wouldn't be as easy, knowing what we do.

Every other Friday evening we'd drop Abby off for Girl Scouts at the Baptist Church a neighborhood away and hope that in the span of two hours she'd come away an empowered girl, while we slipped into a neighborhood watering hole to wait.

If I close my eyes, I can walk down the hall of our apartment.  The huge bedroom that we foolishly thought we could squeeze a baby and all his accouterments into.  Our tiny bathroom, half the size of the outdoor patio that drew us in the first place, with the square smaller-than-a-tub-but-larger-than-a-shower stall.  Our tiny kitchen and the carpeted dining room and Megan coming over a couple of times a week to eat with us, because for a brief and glorious time, we were neighbors.  And Abby starting our tradition of beginning a meal with each of us saying one thing we're thankful for.  We still do that.  And the time we took our dining table apart so that we could put it on our patio and eat al fresco on a humid Missouri evening, with the sounds of Plaza traffic and cicadas serenading us as we ate and our containers full of flowers and herbs and plants nearly blocking anyone on the street from seeing us.

I remember where I was laying on the floor in the front room when Uriah came home with family court news, and then  throwing the paperwork across the living room and wishing there was more space because that small apartment was not big enough to hold my anger.  I remember sitting on our couch on a spring afternoon, after spending the day washing away the winter from our windows; I gave Uriah two dates for a wedding - or the option to back out.  We started planning in the warm sunshine how to make official what we'd known for years: we were meant to be together.  And I remember standing in front of Abby's closet as he proposed to me for real, with a ring that didn't come from a candy machine.  And I demanded he get down on one knee and do it proper.  And I was so happy.

As we drove through Kansas City proper, with every road we turned down and each glimpse of the sky line, a memory shot up and I found myself nostalgic and a little sad.  We won't ever have that life again - city life with one kid who only came every other weekend.  The carefree ability to have cheese and crackers and wine for dinner and then walk down to the Plaza and take our time browsing though Pottery Barn and Barnes & Noble without having to maneuver a stroller or find the nearest bathroom; those days are long gone.  But I like where our life is now.  I like walking, instead, to the library and stopping at the park to take our time climbing the ladders and sliding and swinging.  I like that our skyline is the shore of Lake Superior.

There will always be a piece of my heart that belongs to Kansas City.  It's where our story started; where we got married and had a baby and planted the seeds that would become our life, even if that life has been uprooted and replanted a time or two.  So much of our early life is squished into the corners and streets and buildings, but it is a memory town now.

I will be grateful for all the roads that twisted and turned to get us to this spot.