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my mid-summer meltdown

July 28, 2010 in essays+reflections, family+career, farms + food, living our dreams!, the contrast | 24 comments

Where to begin?

I want so much to share the amazingness that is right now, to capture it for myself and my children to look back on years from now but the truth is that it is not all wonderful and amazing. And I want to honor that part of right now too.

Lily, my animal-loving, future veterinarian, is learning to milk cows, to check the animals for signs of stress and to help Farmer Megan walk them to and from their pasture.

This summer is the pure joy of truly living my dreams juxtaposed with extreme exhaustion, collapsing in a pool of tears at the end of a long day, wondering what the hell I am doing and why.

Once a week I meet with Farmer Ashley at our vegetable CSA farm to map out the newsletter for the following week and plan community events – like our first contra dance, which will take place at the end of August. Lily took this picture while we worked.

This spring I sat with my calendar open, looked out at the summer and mentally planned our days – Mondays: meetings in the morning, afternoons at the market; Tuesdays and Wednesdays working from home; Thursdays off from work relaxing with kids; Fridays working at the farms (yes! farms plural – one in the morning and the other in the afternoon); Saturdays organizing and teaching yoga and attending the farmers’ market; and Sundays relaxing and catching up.

I sprinkled in a little summer camp, touched base with all our mothers’ helpers and made plans for the kids to have weekly sleepovers at my parents’. It all felt so doable. So neat and smooth. And so much fun.

Once a week the kids and I drive Farmer Pat’s truck from the farm to the market – a major highlight of the kids’ week!

And sometimes that’s how it feels. Sometimes I feel like superwoman.

Meetings in the morning. Mid-day working at the farm. Washing eggs. Hauling boxes. Driving the farm truck. Unloading the coolers. Setting up for the market. Chatting with our customers and the other vendors.

Lily has taken responsibility for egg sales. She’s starting to remember our customers and which size eggs they like to purchase and is learning to count change.

But sometimes it is anything but fun.

And when I think back to my nice little neat plan I made this spring, I realize that I didn’t factor in the summer heat (100+ degrees at times this month) or torrential rain or the physical exhaustion we would all experience.

I didn’t think about what we would be eating on these long work days and who would be doing laundry (and when???) and how I would keep track of where the heck I stashed the sunscreen.

I forgot that four-year-olds often regress with potty learning, especially when away from home for large periods of time, and that dealing with potty accidents while attempting to wait on customers is not fun at all.

Did you know that Farmers’ Markets are open rain or shine?

This past week I hit a wall.

House guests, traveling co-workers, fast approaching deadlines, last-minute sitter cancellations, all-day weekend events, extreme heat. It was all just too much.

I’ve been here before. John and I call it “the perfect storm.” When a dozen little things come together in just the right way to make everything feel completely and totally overwhelming.

At the farm we call it “the pig pile.”

Whatever you want to call it, these are the moments that can make or break you. And for me they often do both.

No matter what the temperature outside, in our walk-in freezer it is always -20 degrees and I must “suit up” before going in to fill orders. Photo by Quinn.

I remember once my friend and fellow yoga teacher telling me about the end of her marriage and how it led her to yoga. “I had a complete breakdown. And then I had a breakthrough,” she said.

That’s how these perfect storms feel to me.

I break down. I cry. I yell. I swear. I feel sorry for myself. I wonder how the hell I got here. And then at some point, I break through. I name everything that isn’t working. I reach for the best feeling thought I can muster. I make a new plan. I start moving forward again.

And that’s about where I am now. July broke me.  It forced me to get real with myself about who I am and who I am not. To ask myself how much is too much? And what is sustainable – for me and for our family? And to re-examine what it is that I really want. 

It also brought me more deeply into my yoga practice and helped me recommit to attending (a minimum of ) one yoga class a week. And led me to pull in more childcare. And reconvene weekly potluck dinners with friends.

July asked me to say goodbye. And to say I’m sorry (many times). To breathe deep. And dig deep. And keep moving forward.  And take chances. And trust.

This kids and I enjoyed a special late-night moment earlier this week feeding the pigs by the light of the farm truck. As we drove down the farm lane the full moon came up over the trees.

Photos taken with my cell phone.

One particularly challenging day this month, I opened my e-mail to find this. (Do you get wonderful things in your in-box like Daily Quotes, the Daily Groove or Notes from the Universe? And do they come to you at just the right time like this one did for me?)

Overwhelment is about you not being up to speed with what you told the Universe that you want. The Universe is yielding to you. You’re just not ready to receive it right now.   – Abraham

I am ready to step back from overwhelment and move into a place of receiving and flowing with all that I have been asking for and all that has already manifest.

And I have July and my mid-summer meltdown to thank for that. 

___________________________

I’m going to step away from this space for a bit while I continue to get myself caught up to speed. I’ll be back in early August to celebrate the two-year anniversary of exhale. return to center. (And I’m going to need your help to do it!) Wishing you a lovely stretch of days.

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celebrating 10 years

July 9, 2010 in essays+reflections, holidays + celebrations, living our dreams! | 28 comments

Ten years ago this week, John and I exchanged wedding vows in a small white chapel with peeling paint and no electricity.

We traveled to and from our ceremony by trolley and I still remember the absolute bliss of eating take-out pizza in the bouncy red trolley with wooden bench seats on our way to the reception, after four years of love and friendship, now officially husband and wife.

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July 8, 2000 ~ Photo by The Halls of Photgraphy

Yesterday we went back to the little white chapel with our children and the intention to stand on the steps and renew our wedding vows.

To our great delight we arrived as a wedding rehearsal was just ending and we were able to go inside and once again stand on the altar together.

This time with one of our children choreographing and photo-documenting the ceremony while the other clambered over wooden benches and ran circles around us.

July 8, 2010 ~ Photo by Lily

As we stood there together we laughed remembering the hours we spent carefully crafting our vows, intentionally selecting each and every word, debating at length about my desire to call each other lovers — Is it really necessary to call me your lover in front of your grandparents, Erin? — and finally agreeing to disagree (the first of many such compromises) and to each speak the truth in our hearts.

July 8, 2000 ~ Photo by The Halls of Photography

I find myself also reminiscing about the beautiful honeymoon trip we took to Nova Scotia, the rustic cabin by the ocean that was our home for one week, and the shared dream we basked in to return to the same spot, perhaps on our tenth wedding anniversary, along with the children who were but a dream themselves.

The kids decorated our mini-wedding cake with flowers from the garden.

As my heart is flooded with sweet memories, my mind also drifts to the challenging moments, the dark days that at times stretched into weeks and months, and the decision earlier this year that the tenth anniversary family vacation we once envisioned is simply not in the best interest of our family.

Yesterday we celebrated this special day together.

And later this month John and I will celebrate alone as we enjoy a second honeymoon – just the two of us for one week, with nothing but time and open road in front of us.

It feels the perfect way to honor the last 10 years, celebrate all that is right now, and step joyfully into the next chapter as we ask ourselves…

…Where do we want to go from here? 

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 Happy weekend friends..

 

finding my mama groove

June 30, 2010 in essays+reflections, nurturing creativity, parenting | 16 comments

When you take a vacation with me there are things that will be missing.

Hairbrushes. Deodorant for Mama. (Sorry kids.) A map of the subway system that my husband kindly printed out for us. Band Aids.

All were forgotten.

There are also many things that you will not get to do. Children’s museums and aquariums packed wall-to-wall with people.

Sorry. Not Mama’s thing – and definitely not while flying solo in the city.

Double-decker buses and amphibious vehicle tours. I’d love to — really I would – but at $30+ a person, it’s just not going to happen.

But what I am realizing more and more as I walk this path of mindful parenting is that simply being present – with all my quirks and foibles and limitations – is one of the best gifts I can give my children.

So yeah. I forgot about Band Aids. And when my son fell and skinned his knee racing into the train station at the start of our trip, I really questioned myself and the time I spent carefully packing my vintage suitcase with reporter-style notebooks, pens, pencils, and crayons - without even once thinking about the possibility of needing a Band Aid.

But you know what I found out?

Most public places (including train stations) have first aid kits. And perfect strangers can be very generous and compassionate when faced with a sobbing four year old with a scraped knee and a slightly frazzled mother in need of assistance.

And once Band Aids are in place and you realize that your train is running 40 minutes late, boy is it wonderful to crack open a suitcase filled with art supplies!

Our notebooks and crayons went with us everywhere in the city.

Sometimes I prompted the kids by encouraging them to capture the essence of a place through the colors or the shapes that they saw. Other times, I simply took out my own notebook and began sketching, which often led them to do the same.

One of my sketches from Boston Common.

I was trying to remember my high school art classes and how to capture the perspective of the benches without getting too hung up on those kinds of technical details. (Note to self: Quick sketches are good for helping you to relax and focus on process, not product. Keep doing them!)

Quinn shows off his drawing inspired by the metal drainage grates in the Tadpole Playground in Boston Common and Lily works on one of her sketches.

On our second morning, I attempted to make sense of the city map I bought at a visitor’s center…

…but quickly decided to scrap the map because honestly we had everything we needed in and around the Common and the Public Garden! 

Sometimes I wonder what the adventure-seeking, big-dreaming, 20-year old version of me would think about this life that I am living.

Yet as I confidently guided my children through the city – wearing my pig-tales and Chuck Taylors – she was right there with me. Loving every moment.

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*** This post – one of the longest I have written in months – is brought to you in part by the always-inspiring Rachel Turiel at 6512-and Growing, who inspires me with her words, cheers me on with her comments, and nudges me every so gently, always at just the right time, to keep moving forward as a writer.

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sharing the journey

April 7, 2010 in essays+reflections, parenting | 28 comments

The roots of Lily’s tree, which we planted along with her placenta, shortly after her birth. This week the kids and I are tucking the roots, which have been scratched bare by our chickens, back into the soil. While we work, we talk about how this tree (as well as Quinn’s) has grown and changed as we have grown and changed.

Before John and I had children, we rarely fought. We weathered an incredibly fierce storm (one that I have alluded to a few times but not yet shared publicly) the year before we married and for the most part everything after that tunnel of darkness felt like sunshine and rainbows.

We have similar values. We spend money in much the same way. We have many overlapping interests – from music to movies – and we generally support (or at least tolerate) each other’s outside interests (his - football and politics; mine - yoga, farming and whatever new age-y books / classes /workshops strike my fancy).

There just wasn’t a whole lot to fight about – other than the occasional roommate-type squabbles about toilet seats or dirty dishes.

Fast forward a couple of years. I’m home full time with a toddler and a baby. John’s working two jobs trying to keep a roof over our heads. I’m exhausted all the time. He’s exhausted all the time. Everything in our house is breaking in rapid succession and there is no money in the budget for repairs. (Hell there’s not even a budget at this point. Just paycheck-to-paycheck prayers that somehow the checks we’re writing are not going to bounce.) I’m nursing around the clock. Nobody is sleeping through the night.

And you know what?

We quickly found things – many things – to fight about.

And the more we fought, the more stressful life got and the more we pulled away from each other and focused on “surviving” our days without any help from the other. And the more we pulled away from each other the more the little roommate-type squabbles, hissed under our breath so that little ones would not hear, became just about the only words we exchanged. 

I’m not going to detail some of the darkest moments that we experienced during this time – the kind of moments when bags get packed and a couch at your parents’ house feels like a better option than the life you are living.

Because somewhere in the midst of all the pain and anger we found each other again. Somehow we were able to step back and look at the path we were on and realize that we didn’t want to go where it leads. And that slowly, and ever so tenderly, if we began taking baby steps back towards each other and the love we once shared, we might be able to find our way through the muck.

And for the last year-and-a-half or so that’s just what we’ve been doing. Talking to each other. Loving each other. Checking in with each other.  Working together as a team. Making decisions together. Doing small things to brighten each other’s days.

And finally – once again – seeing and bringing out the best in each other.

This past weekend was absolutely nutty. On Saturday, while John and our friend changed the water tank in the basement (only to discover that unfortunately that was not where the air in our pipes is coming from), and attempted to repair the washing machine and dryer, I was at the Laundromat with the kids doing eight loads of laundry.

We did not make it home ‘til after 9 p.m. and once the kids were finally asleep in their beds and the chicks were all settled into their new pen (wait…have I even told you that we have 12 little balls of fluff living in our living room?) John and I looked at each other for the first time in days.

He smiled and my whole body instantly softened. 

For the next couple of hours we sipped wine, worked on rhymes for an Easter morning treasure hunt, and caught up on everything.

The second half of our Florida trip. The five hours I spent at a walk-in clinic getting drugs for the plane ride home. The tree-cutting adventure he went on last weekend. The death of a family friend. The floods. My parents’ basement. His mother’s basement. The backhoe we may need to rent to search for the leak in the water line. My new (quickly-expanding) job at our friend’s farm and the cows I will be milking very soon. The much-anticipated parents-only road trip we will be taking this summer. On and on the conversation (and the wine) flowed.

What a trip this whole marriage / parenting / homeowner / being a grown-up gig is. So glad I am once again sharing the journey hand-in-hand with my best friend.

exhale audio :: the mortgage payment

February 5, 2010 in essays+reflections, exhale audio, parenting | 7 comments

Thank you so very much for your warm embrace of my newfound love of all things audio! I am grateful for the supportive comments and e-mails I’ve received and smile every time I read that you are folding laundry and unloading your dishwashers while enjoying exhale. audio.

I wrote this piece in February, 2005 and it was published the following month in RI Family Magazine. (The audio is about 4 1/2 minutes long.)

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the mortgage payment :: audio | text

 

 

Happy weekend friends.

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the greatest gift

January 15, 2010 in essays+reflections, exhale audio, family+career | 24 comments

I wrote this piece in the summer of 2008 and have been wanting to share it with you in audio format since I read it last year during the Chicken Soup for the Soul: Power Moms book tour.

I have read bits and pieces of my work at writing workshops and during my yoga classes, but last May, at the library I grew up visiting as a child, was the first time I read I read one of my finished pieces from start to finish in front of an audience.

It was a powerful experience. 

After I read, a mother I didn’t know came up to me with tears in her eyes and thanked me for speaking what she felt in her heart. She said I was very brave and she was very grateful.

A few minutes later another mother, this one older, perhaps even a grandmother, hugged me and said she remembers feeling all the things I described and that going back to work was the best decision she ever made for her family.

I share this with you today, as a gift to a dear friend, with whom I shared a powerful tear-filled phone call earlier this week. And for my beautiful Lilia Hope, who recently learned - with visible relief and excitement - that she can be a veterinarian and a mama when she grows up.

the greatest gift :: audio | text

a simple christmas

December 28, 2009 in essays+reflections, exhale audio, holidays + celebrations | 7 comments

I hope you all had a lovely holiday.

We’re taking things slowly this week, enjoying some extra family time with Papa on vacation (and some very special couple time as we look forward to our first overnight trip without children since we became parents over five years ago).

I’ll be back to say hello later this week and look forward to returning to a more regular posting schedule next week.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my second audio post. Still far from perfect — you’ll hear me struggle with Ps and Cs and stumble over more than a few words — but I’m having lots of fun revisiting these old essays and sharing them with you in this form and, as I often remind my children and my yoga students - practice makes progress.

I hope you enjoy…

*** *** *** ***

This piece was published in the Southern Rhode Island Newspapers in December, 2007. The photo is of my grandfather (Grandpapa to my children) holding the mixed-media collage I created as a gift for my mother.

 the blessings of a simple christmas ::  audio | text

 

confession # 9 :: the laundry basket lie

December 10, 2009 in at home, essays+reflections | 23 comments

I will be back tomorrow to announce the winner of the special double sponsor giveaway (still time to enter if you haven’t already), but in the meantime, I have a little confession to share…

*** *** *** ***

I lied to you all.

 

Back in February I posted about how I love to clean up using a laundry basket.

 

I wrote:

 

When clutter overwhelms, I grab an empty laundry basket and fill it up with whatever random things are overtaking our space. Then later, once the calm has returned, I slowly sort through the basket and put things away, recycle or throw things out. Right now I have a basket stashed out of sight between our TV and the wall, and I have no idea what it currently contains. At some point, when I am watching TV, I will begin to sort through it. But for now, I am very grateful that all horizontal surfaces in our living room are clutter-free!

 

Ummm…yeah. This is NOT what I do. This is what I have read in a number of cleaning and organizing books that I am supposed to do.

 

What I really do is this:

 

Get overwhelmed by the state of clutter in our house. Run around like a crazy person picking everything up (often cursing anyone and anything that crosses my path while I’m doing it). Attempt to sort through the pile I’ve collected. Realize that I don’t know where collected items go. Tell myself I should throw them away. Cringe at the thought of throwing “perfectly good stuff” away. Put the box aside to go through it later.

 

Feel really good about how clean our space looks. Promise myself that I’m not going to let it get so cluttered again.

 

Get sick of looking at the box of miscellaneous clutter, which I never find time to sort through. Move it somewhere out of sight – the back room, the basement, the tiny space between our TV and the wall.

 

Rinse and repeat.

 

 

This photo is from October. See that little basket next to the TV cabinet. Yup. That’s the one I put there in FEBRUARY!!!

 

I’m happy to say that as of this week it is no longer there. And waiting six months to go through it sure made things go quickly. Expired coupons – recycle. Paperwork from daycare – kids don’t go there anymore, recycle. Shoes that Lily doesn’t wear but I really wished she would – not her size anymore, pass on to a friend.

 

Once this basket was empty, I began to notice other ”clutter time capsules” most of which reside in our basement. I was down there the other day sorting (again) and trying to figure out how a basement that was nearly entirely purged this summer is once again starting to look and feel cluttered.

 

What I’ve learned is this: I’m really good at clearing space and making things “look nice” but not so good at efficiently and effectively dealing with the miscellaneous stuff that I collect.

 

I’m working on it though. Noticing the clutter building, gently redirecting myself to the recycle bin when I attempt to save things just in case, turning things away at the door before they become clutter I have to deal with, creating new homes for things I do want to save. 

 

And coming clean, both to you and myself, about my little white laundry basket lie.  

it is good to sit

December 2, 2009 in essays+reflections, family+career, life as a writer | 21 comments

Thank you all so very much for your words of support. I have been reading (and re-reading) each and every comment and e-mail and I am so grateful for your words.

Lily and I have had many wonderful heart-to-heart conversations and I am clear on what she feels okay with me sharing here.

She is fine with me sharing photos and stories and even her books and art…but not her tough stuff. The stuff that makes her feel different. The stuff that she, and we as a family, are trying to understand.

We visited our favorite tree farm this past weekend. After Papa cut the tree we counted rings to see how old our tree was.

I will of course honor her wishes.

And yet at the same time I believe one of the greatest gifts we can give each other, most especially as mothers, is to open our hearts and share our stories.

It has always been my goal in my teaching and writing to be honest and authentic and to honor the incredible depth and breadth of emotions life evokes within us. And so I feel a strong need to acknowledge that we and our children and our partners and our parents have tough stuff that we are all trying to make sense of.

Because when we only share the joyful snapshots with each other, it’s easy to feel like you are the only one hurting or struggling. And that is such a lonely feeling.

But thanks to my brave girl’s words, some time to reflect and the wonderful insights you all shared, it is clear to me that a publicly viewable blog (and in our case one that is read by many people in our children’s immediate circle from teachers to neighbors to our pediatrician, and at the same time is directly linked to my professional work) is simply not the right place to talk about the details of the tough stuff.

To make room for our tree we moved Veterinarian Farm from the playroom to the computer room.

For nearly three years now I have been saying that I’m ”writing a book” and this is true. In fact I have solid concepts, marketing plans, notes and outlines for a number of books.

But that’s it.

From time to time people ask me how my book is coming and I smile and nod and say that it is “coming along”. The truth is that I stare at a blank computer screen for a few minutes every day and then quickly find other more pressing projects — daily blogging being one of the biggest.

I have also been calling myself a freelance writer since I left my office job when Lily was born. And while this is certainly true, I am not writing to my full potential. I had two pieces rejected by magazines earlier this year and I let those rejections really set me back.

We moved the kitchen table back into the “dinette” that has been the playroom and we discovered that we really like it there.

On Saturday night John and I had “Thanksgiving – Take Two” in our new dining room while my parents graciously babysat our kids at their house. Two days earlier the words John and I expressed to each other were far from the spirit of holiday.  

While our children played outside, one of us said something in the wrong tone that unleashed weeks of pent up anger and frustration. We went our separate ways for a good part of the day and eventually called a Thanksgiving Truce, driving to my parents’ house in near silence and avoiding each other for the entire visit.

We discovered that we really like having open space in our living room for yoga and dancing and snuggling by the fire and napping in the sun.

We need to make some changes in our family.

It’s time for me to shift my focus. It’s time for me to push through my fears and submit articles for publication so I can relieve my husband of some of the heavy financial burden he has been carrying alone for five-and-a-half years.

It’s time for us to get our house in order so we don’t come unglued by missing shoes and misplaced tools. It’s time for me to start writing — really writing — the many books I have been holding in my heart.

 I paused to sit and smile alongside my clutter and Christmas lights before we headed out the door for school yesterday. I think I will do this more often. It feels good!

Things will need to change here a little. I might be posting a little less frequently. Sometimes I will need to share more photos than words. Other times it will be words without photos. But I will still be here taking deep breaths and tender first steps on this next leg of the journey.

Thank you you so much for being here with me.

thank you spiderman

October 27, 2009 in announcements, essays+reflections, parenting | 7 comments

I’m over at kidoinfo.com today talking about Spiderman and the Snow Princess and the important lesson they shared with me this week.

Come on by and say hello. I’ll see you back here tomorrow…

~erin

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