month of beauty: someone else's eyes

It's strange, to go from a completely full-on week, of writers workshops and drama group, a big trip out to the Blue Mountains and days of Super Busy,

to spending two days in bed.

Yesterday I was up and about, crackly-voiced but mostly upright, until 2pm when it suddenly felt like a truck had come up and parked on my chest.

Since then, I've slept, coughed, slept, read, coughed, slept. And coughed!

Today was such a beautiful day. I slept the night on the couch downstairs, so as not to keep everyone awake from my coughing, and I heard the birds wake outside. The chook started to pa-cark, and the kitten stood over me asking for breakfast. I moved the blinds aside a little bit later, and saw the blue.

Beautiful sky, a day made for hiking, and a hike with friends was exactly what we were supposed to do. But I'd had maybe four hours interrupted sleep, and a hike was exactly what I wasn't going to do. I didn't just feel sick, I felt disappointed, and a bit sorry for myself.

But only for a second, because then I thought, honestly, of Jennifer. And of the quote I used last night in my blog.

On the one hand, there is the bad. On the other hand, carried tenderly in your palm, is the good. If you look, if you are able and are open, the good is always waiting there. Jennifer always looked, was always open, and she always, always found it.

So I took myself upstairs, and I thought: The bad thing is, I have to be in bed all day today. The good thing is, I get to be in bed all day.

I thought, I don't get to hang out with my kids today, but my husband does. I don't get to play with my kids, but I hear their laughter downstairs. And every minute they know I'm awake, the kids will come (like I'm a magnet and they're the little iron shavings) and lie in bed with me, show me things and cuddle, and want to be close.

I don't get to pull my weight today, preparing lunches, doing the laundry and the groceries, but I have a husband who will, and does, willingly.  I don't get to be up and about having adventures, but I do get to sleep and read my book all day. All day, like I'm at a spa or a hotel, where the staff will cater to my every need—bring me water, medicine, food, and lay cool hands on my forehead. And the cats? Well the cats will come and keep me company.

These are my only photos this weekend—my husband took the rest.

He was in charge of capturing the beauty for our little family, as, from bed,
I captured mine.

view from our minivan early on Saturday morning
as my husband sat and practiced by the beach

a Shmoo

A boy's first "Serious About Circus" advanced class on Saturday (he had a BLAST!),
and straight afterwards,

a boy playing with his buddies in the sun.

Then,
a boy racing into Sunday

with a girl,

making bridges

together,

which turned into dams…

that had to be devotedly maintained.

And a girl ran a rock and charcoal shop,

while a Dad relaxed into

Beautiful

month of beauty: so close

Has anyone else noticed this phenomenon?

You have to empty a single room for some project. It could be painting, knocking out a wall, or, say, putting in a new floor. All stuff is moved out, and with the new view of your old room, you look around and go, Huh, maybe it'd be better if it looked like THIS! And we did THIS! And moved THIS and bought THIS and fixed THIS! And suddenly, you're moving things to new places, upstairs, downstairs, inside, out. Suddenly, you're majorly rearranging almost your entire house.

And have you noticed the knock-on effect?

Which is what happens when—as you're cleaning and rearranging and sorting and chucking and finding and stacking and planning (and getting just a bit tired because it's the holidays and isn't that exactly when you should be frolicking, lazing, reading books on the deckchair while minions wave you with palm fronds and other minions bring you pina coladas?)—all the other parts of the house notice what you're doing.

The cupboard under the stairs, for example. With the shoes all musty and tangled up and old bags that hold countless forgotten things and coats you haven't worn since 1902.

And the playroom which was once a garage but 8 years ago you turned it into the playroom…and have since let it become buried in boxes and bikes and shelves filled with The Great Unsorted Overflow.

The cupboard above the oven. The cupboard that, when you open the doors, things literally fall out onto your head.

The study. Which is a funny name for a room where you sort the laundry and have removed the desk and have stacked all the books you plan to give away but haven't yet.

These room and spaces all prick up their ears. And the things inside start to call out.

"Hey, lady. Don't be thinking you can get this done on the sly!" yell the shoes which are under the bags which are all in a muddle under the stairs.

"What about us?" squeak the dead batteries in the old butter container in the cupboard above the oven. "You know you're supposed to dispose of us mindfully!"

Countless ancient Happy Meals toys yell expletives as you pick your way through the maze that is the playroom. "Dude! There are children who could be playing with us right now!" they cry from the old shopping bag you chucked them into, years ago, when you tried to do a tidy up.

They all moan with jealousy as another corner is cleaned, another thing sorted in the Favoured Rooms. And you pass them, all these neglected, sorrowful spaces, filled with guilt and a sense of impossible obligation, with your head turned away, your sunglasses on, your coat collar turned up.

I know. It's a terrible time for all involved!

So maybe one day, maybe after I've done this thing and had a holiday and found some minions to wave palm fronds at me…I'll clean those spaces up too.

A girl can always dream.



Anyway! To recap Today's progress:

One big cupboard emptied, moved, filled again. Yay!
Two big bookshelves emptied, wiped of about 300 years of dust, carried upstairs, filled again. Nice.
One really old big bookshelf emptied, wiped down, lugged downstairs, not quite filled up again. (It was heavy. Got tired).

Thankfully, nothing dropped on toes!

Old tv put away in corner. Dragged out to watch a dvd for Pizza Video Night, then put away in corner again. New system sort of works…?

Books put away, toys put away, books put away, toys put away.
Floor swept. And swept. And swept.

Little fiddly bits put away. Paper recycled. Glitter container discovered upside down. Paint box emptied, glitter thrown away, paint box filled again. Kitten (now cat) rescued off new, high bookshelf. Piles of things becoming smaller. Other piles of things becoming bigger.
Glimpses of clean seen through clouds of clutter.

Hurrah!

I think it has to be almost done because some of the left over mess is so wild it's almost breeding its own mess colony. I figure it has to look its worst just before it looks Done. This is what is keeping me going.

It is almost done. It is almost done. There is no place like a home that is almost done.

I am not going to post a Before picture (just yet). That would be like making a friend stare directly at the sun. If I'm going to ever do something that crazy, I need a LOT more After pictures to make the pain worth it. I am crossing my fingers that After is coming very soon.

In the meantime,

my Beauty for the day is

1. This little corner of Organised.

Ah. I sure do like it.

And
2. these delicious moments with my family at the beach.

Even with the wind picking up and the cold nipping at our noses, it sure was lovely there.

And it's funny…

the beach is so wild, so utterly uncontrollable and filled with chaos
—all that unexpected clutter, rising tides, winds that show up without a moment's notice to hurl sand in your eyes—

and yet, it's the most beautiful place I know.

month of beauty: the shape of joy

We're almost done! One day, hopefully soon, my house will look like a home and not like someone came in, ransacked all the drawers, threw everything other than the jewels and gold bars onto the floor, then added dog hair, paper, cardboard and dust just for fun.

One day soon (maybe even tomorrow?), I'm going to have a newly dedicated learning/computer/reading room and a cosy space for reading on a couch, and things put away on actual shelves. All on top of a new floor, a clear floor, a un-peed on, un-wrecked floor—aka the Floor Of Awesome.

We got some new shelves from that magical/scary place called IKEA yesterday, plus some little desks—the plan is to make computer "nooks" in the old living room and finally have storage space for all our homeschool books and stuff and papers and knick knacks and doodads. Today, with my boy and husband up in Sydney for a music workshop and my girl busy making iPad movies (and helping, and chatting), I've spent the day putting everything together.

I've been totally focussed, hardly stopping to breathe, eat, or pee—going since 7am for about 12 hours. Everything's assembled, with the only hiccups being 1) dropping a whole shelving-unit-in-a-box on my toe (Ouch! Very sore, but not broken) and 2) getting totally muddled with the little screw thingies and trying for about 3 minutes to fit the wrong screw thingy in the right hole. I just couldn't get why it wouldn't fit! I seriously considered crying. Took a deep breath, then looked over at my pile of screw thingies, and figured it out.

After I seriously considered crying actual tears over a mixed-up screw thingy from IKEA, I realised I needed to get outside.

You see, if I spend a whole day inside, I sometimes go a bit funny in the head.

The kids notice it; my husband notices it; I think even the cats feel it. I start feeling all jangled and kind of miserable and, if anyone is close by, sometimes I start making wild declarations about anything from homeschool to life in general, saying mostly how none of it's working out and everything is going to poo.

At least, that's what I used to do. Now, of course, I'm perfect!

Okay, I'm not at all perfect, but at least now when I've been inside too long, or under stress, or feeling low (or all of the above), I don't automatically launch myself wildly into my once-well-swum Whirlpool of Negativity. Having spent the past 6 months moving myself away (with professional help) from the cliff edge that was Severe Clinical Depression, and having learned a lot about myself and how thoughts work in the process, I actually pick up pretty quickly when find I'm "In A Mood." I notice the mood and how hard it's trying to crawl inside, and I do my best to turn it around.

Oh, I know—I've said this before, in so many posts. But you see, I'm so glad to be alive and (mostly) well that I'll probably say it a thousand times more!

How do I turn it around, I hear you asking  (because you haven't heard me say it a thousand and one times yet)?

I take a deep breath, try and find a new path, look for the joy.

And if I can: I get OUTSIDE.

So that's what my girl and I did today. Even though the sun had just about set and it was getting cold, we rugged ourselves up, and went to the beach!

Oh, it was so scrumptious there.

I mean, look, and look, and look:

See how the waves are curving in, as though they're trying to hug themselves? See my girl's bounce? See the ducks? See the light? The glorious light?

Do you smell that, feel that, hear that?

I know, right?

It is, all of it,

the shape of joy.