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Busy

Heeeeeeyyyyy there, bitterness issues. This is me, acknowledging you. This is me, admitting that you are something I need to work on.

There must be something in the air . . . people seem to be feeling overwhelmed. I read some blog posts this week in which the bloggers were doing their best to handle all of the things on their proverbial plates. Some of them seemed logical and understandable (keeping healthy, extra jobs), and others (I’m not going to mention anything specific) almost made my head explode. The thing that most of these bloggers have in common? They don’t have children.

HOLD ON WAIT A MINUTE. I swear I’m not going to hop on my baby food-covered high horse and yammer on about how people without kids just don’t get it. I swear. I promise. I’m not.

At first, I thought, “BUSY!? You think you’re BUSY!? Try not being able to actually hear yourself think from about 7 am to 9 pm. Try raising two human beings while trying to run a small business, avoid turning into a grumpy wife-blob, and just by the skin of your knuckles barely keeping your house from being an epic disaster. Try—”

(This is the point in which someone hopefully slaps me and screams, “Get a hold of yourself, woman!”)

How about, Self, you just calm the frick down?

I hate it when I have to pep-talk myself, but sometimes it has to happen. I love having kids. I chose this. I chose to stay home with them. Other people choose other things. Comparing my choices to other people’s choices breeds nothing but false discontent in the choices that I’m actually very content with. I said the word “choices” about 500 times there, but I think that’s appropriate.

Why do I jump on the defensive the second someone talks about being busy? I know for a fact that I’m not the busiest person in the world, just like I know that some people aren’t as busy as me. What I have such a hard time getting through my head is that it just doesn’t matter.

You are not going to get a trophy that says “Congratulations, you are officially the busiest person ever.” In fact, it’s the people who aren’t so mind-blowingly busy that will probably get the award . . . which comes in the form of more sleep, completed projects, and an overall sense of well-being.

BUT, and here’s the kicker, who am I to say that these people who don’t seem busy aren’t actually busy? And who cares? Clearly, I do. Which I hate.

After thinking about it a lot and talking to Paul a bit, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am just Jealous with a capital J.

I’m like, totally jelly, guys.

I’m jealous of free time, and so I flip out if I feel like other people are wasting it. If I had more free time, I would write, write, write. I would spend more time on my business. I would cook elaborate meals with Paul. I would call my old friends more, or even stop to see them if I drive through their towns.

I would, I would, I would.

…but I don’t right now, and I also have NO IDEA how people are actually spending their free time, regardless of how it seems.

Moral of the story? Fewer “woulds” and “ifs.” More “ams” and “wills.” I’ve got goals, and none of them have anything to do with anyone else’s.

Anyone else have this problem? Anyone NOT have this problem, and have some tips to dole out? I’m ready to listen.

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Turn Left at Memory Lane and Head Straight to the Show

This is the first in a series of posts that will help promote some of the awesome shows being put on at the Omaha Performing Arts Center. Although I will be receiving tickets to each corresponding show in return, all of the words and thoughts are straight from my brain, and only from my brain. Most importantly, however, I solemnly swear not to write a manufactured-feeling promotional piece. 

When I was in elementary school (probably around 5th grade), my dad joined the BMGmusic club. I’m not sure why, but this was one of the most influential things he ever did for me, whether he realizes it or not.

This would have been in the mid-90’s, and while some may disagree, I think that this time was a musical golden age. So much of my world was shaped by music at that time. I used to sit and watch a station called “MOR Music” instead of cartoons, just so I could see the“Constant Craving” video by K.D. Lang again.

Do you guys remember those album commercials? Where they would highlight two different albums that were being released? The one for New Miserable Experience by the Gin Blossoms and August and Everything After by the Counting Crows is one that will forever stick in my mind. I can close my eyes and see a bright yellow Counting Crows album with faint writing scribbled on it, and all of the Gin Blossoms in the windshield of a car on a maroon-colored album cover.

I remember begging my dad for TLC’s album, Crazysexycool, and he adamantly refused. Said I could buy it myself if that was the music I was interested in.

He bought me pretty much anything else, though. I remember how excited he was to try this new band called “Hootie and the Blowfish,” simply because of the name. I remember when he saw the Barenaked Ladies on some kind of public tv station and simply had to buy their albums.

I also remember Dad listening to the Blues. Robert Cray and Taj Mahal in particular.

It was perfect background music for me when I was in high school. I loved it, but didn’t realize it. I didn’t really pay attention to the words, but I felt the sounds . . . because I think, with Blues, you definitely feel it. Now that I’m older and have listened to the lyrics more, I realize that I can’t actually relate with a good portion of those words (depending on which Blues you’re listening to), but the feelings are universal.

Surfaces were always littered with CD’s. Do you remember that? How easily a surface could be littered with CD’s? How you’d hear the clickshuffleclack of the plastic as you tried to find that one CD you were looking for?

A lot of people reminisce about vinyl. I reminisce about compact discs.

Anyway, there are a few staple albums that would always be out. A Steely Dan boxed set. The Who’s Quadrophenia, and what felt like half a bajillion Taj Mahal CD’s.

Dad would sit at his corner desk, drinking coffee, grumbling about bills, scheduling clients, and tapping his foot to those Taj Mahal albums. I would go about my business . . . which usually included brooding about boys and memorizing lines for the school play . . . all the while being mindful of the earthy strains coming from the kitchen. Some of my favorite memories involve music and my dad.

This is why, when Kim from the Omaha Performing Arts Center asked me to look at their upcoming schedule, Taj Mahal and his band jumped off the page. Getting to hear the tunes I grew up hearing, live and in-person, would be pretty spectacular. I’ve only been to a couple of Blues concerts, and they were some of the best shows I’ve ever seen. Adding a visual to such a living, breathing form of music makes for a pretty memorable evening. If you’re interested in seeing the Taj Mahal Trio, as well as some other great Blues artists, they’ll be playing at the Holland Performing Arts Center at 1200 Douglas Street on Friday, October 25th at 8 p.m. If you would like to purchase tickets, go ahead and click here.

photo by V.H. Hammer

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Toss Me a Shovel

Dudes.

Rut City. Burnoutsville, USA. Bluuuuuurrrrgggsberg.Population, me.

I got home from a bloggers meetup two Sundays ago, realized that it was, in fact,Sunday, and I just kind of shut down. The thought of Monday being the next day just wiped me out. I felt like an aging blogger who was out of touch and a mediocre mother/wife, and all I wanted was to run away to the mountains where I could drink warm beverages in perfectly-fitting flannel while someone else took care of all the actual log-cabin upkeep. In my head it looked a lot like an Eddie Bauer catalog. I seriously looked spectacular in those imaginary long underwear.

I wouldn’t say I’ve completely left the rut . . . I’ve got a cold and I don’t think that’s helping, but I’ve at least gotten most of myself out of it. I think I’ve still got, like, a foot dangling in there right now, but it’s definitely progress.

I even called and asked my Mommy to come help me . . . and she agreed. So that’s totally awesome.

On Saturday, I went to something called Barcamp, which is basically a big get-together of people who are passionate about things. People give talks on things that are important to them, and I ended up learning a lot. I went with my friend Erin from Human Illustrations(Seriously guys, buy things from her, because she’s the coolest.) and it was such a great day. It was a much-needed reminder that we’re all interesting, and that everyone’s got something to contribute to the world. It was incredibly motivating and inspiring, and then I got home and realized that I just didn’t have the time to do anything I felt motivated to do.

Womp, womp.

Now, I realize that that’s not actually true. I do have time, but it involves waking up at 5 a.m. every day. This is something I can do when Lucy feels like cooperating, but the random 3 to 5 a.m. wakeups that she likes to pull make that damn-near impossible.

I know that some of it is me getting organized, and the other part is me accepting what I’ve got going on right now. I hate it when those annoying clichés that people throw at you ring true, but I know the “It goes so fast! You’ll be wishing your kids are little again before you know it!” statement is one that I won’t be able to escape.

So, my plan is to take advantage of my mom being here and get my house clean . . . tackle a couple of those projects that have been getting in the way, and then go from there. I just haven’t been able to get caught up on housework lately, and I think getting back up to speed on that is going to do wonders for my morale. Getting bogged down in mundane tasks without being able to make any headway is a surefire way to feel burnt out.

Anybody else fall into a rut lately? Do you have any suggestions for getting all the way out? Do you need a ladder?

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Goose

There’s a little lady in our house who got a lot of attention on the blog about 9 months ago, and hasn’t really gotten her own blog post since.

She’s so cute you can’t even hardly take it. She weighs almost as much as some of my friends’ 2-year-old children, and she’s already crawling up a storm. She has started biting me on the shoulder and, let me tell you, that is one of the most horrible things ever. You know how they say “The ones you love always hurt you the most?” I’m pretty sure that quote was specifically regarding being bitten by your offspring.

Lucy is doing everything fast. I remember, with Charlie, life was pretty relaxed. We just played around on the carpet and watched Bones, and he was content to be a little worm on the floor for a good 10 or 11 months. Lucy’s been crawling since about 8 months, and way beyond pulling herself up. I caught her letting go of the table for a couple seconds and balancing on her feet the other morning. I am so not ready for that.

Miss Lucille is feisty. Like, feisty. In public, she gives off a very convincing, very chill vibe. When there’s plenty to distract her, she’ll just sit in the sling and look around, barely making a peep. At home, however, she has no problem making her feelings known. If she wants something, she will crawl to it. If you take it from her, you will pay. Probably by being bitten. Or at least by getting your eardrums screamed out. Also, she has learned how to morph herself into a steel beam already. You know, when you’re trying to put a small child into a carseat, and somehow they find a way to stiffen their entire body, making strapping them in nearly impossible? She’s nearing expert levels at this skill.

She’s also got the sweetest little grin, and a hilarious giggle. It’s the best when she first wakes up in the morning, all warm and fuzzy from sleeping. Her face is bright and her smile is almost as big as her cute, bald head.

Feisty and irresistible . . . this world better watch out.