Messy Blessy

Our house is a mess. I have no excuses, but have to admit that our house is always a mess. Every time I set my mind to clean it, two little helpers come behind me and undo everything as I'm doing it.

If I'm sweeping, Claire gets a broom and "helps" me by sweeping my pile away. Paul sees a pile of food remains and goes to eat it. Wesley, our dog, comes up and sniffs it to make sure there's nothing he would want to eat.

When I pick up toys, either the kids suddenly remember they love that particular toy and need to play with it right now, or they are inspired to get out other toys to play with.

I run the dishwasher and handwash dishes daily, but my sink stays empty for approximately 15 minutes. It's always either snacktime or mealtime around here.

Then the laundry. Even if I do four or five loads in one day, the next morning, I have at least one load to do. I do laundry every day.

Recently, I was thinking about all my chores and how they never get done and how we have so much clutter in our house. Usually thoughts like this lead to depression and frustration, but that day, I took a different route. I became grateful.

I'm grateful for our clutter. Pictures of our beautiful children, stacked everywhere, notes from loved ones, coupons collected from friends and family to help us save money. Our clutter means that we are loved.

Toys all over the house represent the two happy, healthy children that live here. If I worked outside the home, the toys wouldn't be scattered so much, but only because the kids wouldn't have as much time to play with them. I'm grateful they get full use of all their toys, even if it is all at once.

Our house is furnished almost entirely with gifts, from the couch to the dishes, so I decided that now, when I see a pile of dirty dishes, or laundry on the couch, I'm going to be thankful for our friends that gave us the dishes and couch. I'm also going to be thankful for the food that was served on those dishes.

It is frustrating when you feel like you just stepped on the 100th Cheerio of the day. And just now I tripped over Claire's shopping cart, which is loaded with every canned good she can steal from my pantry. But I'm trying to think gratefully. I'm trying to think, as I sweep up Cheerios and pick up toys, that I'm thankful. Many families don't even have junk. They don't even have Cheerios, much less toys cluttering up their house. All this messiness just shows how blessed we are.

Finding it at home

Yesterday Paul and I were up early and snuck out of the house while everyone else was asleep. We went on a walk in search of an estate sale my friend Stacy alerted us to. I walked and sweated, pushing Paul in the stroller. It's even sweltering in the mornings now. I walked and I walked and I walked. I walked the entire street the sale was supposed to be on but couldn't find it. I don't need anything, but you never know what you'll find at an estate sale. I love buying things that make me laugh.

So I was hot and frustrated when we turned back home. Then I realized there was a garage sale on our street, just a few doors down. I walked there and found several funny magnets and flashcards and toys for Claire. Quite a good haul, I thought. And then I was thinking, isn't that the way life is? You do all that searching and working to find whatever it is you're looking for and it's always at home.

This happens to me often. Last fall I was going through a period of depression/transition to stay-at-home-momness and Adam told me I needed a new friend. I got online and joined the moms group at the local Baptist church. I strategically reached out to several people, trying to kindle the kind of friendship I was looking for and came back empty-handed. I went to several moms' group events and introduced myself to everyone in attendance. Nothing.

Then at my church one day I was talking to a casual friend. I knew her family lived near us, but we'd never gotten together. We made a date to do it, and the rest is history. We talk almost every day and often work out.

It's just so funny to me, and I think it's God. I will empower myself to search for whatever I want, whether it's an estate sale or a friend. I'll go out of my way, walk a long distance, introduce myself to strangers, make myself uncomfortable and then when I'm done, I find "it" right here at home.

My parents live far away and our relationship is full of problems, but I've found plenty of adopted moms here at my home church and neighborhood. I wanted Claire to make friends to socialize with and did some research on playgroups, but found the perfect playmates here, already around us. Even in high school, I had lofty ambitions to attend a far-away school, but found the perfect ones here, where I've lived all my life. I also dated several boys, long-distance and local and found the best one here. Adam and I had been friends for several years before either of us had any inkling we might work out as a couple. We both have lived in Tarrant County our entire lives.

I look back on my life thus far and can name countless instances when I was looking for something and found it right back where I came from. Whatever I need is always here at home. I just have to open my eyes to see it.

This Week

We've been very busy the past seven days. Friday afternoon, Adam loaded our truck Clampett-style and we went camping in San Marcos.



We went with a group from our church and we all had a fun, with the exception of Wesley Eugene. He was the only dog in the group, so he got constant attention. He's not fond of children to begin with, so this was a weekend of torture for him. Luckily he didn't snap or bite any of them.

Claire learned to use a port-a-potty. The first time she sat down on it she said, "Hmmm...This is interesting."



We all went tubing down the river, even Claire and Paul. The water was calm enough for even the littlest Boyette to enjoy it. Claire even took a nap while tubing with Adam.



Sunday we headed back home.

Monday morning, I took Claire and Paul to the zoo, for the special "Members Only" activities. Claire got to get up close and personal with a flamingo.



Tuesday morning, I took the kids to see Kung Fu Panda. It was a free showing, so I didn't feel bad taking a baby to a movie theater. We went with our friends, Alli, Emerson, and Declan, and Alli and I later kicked ourselves for that. Emerson and Claire might as well be sisters. They fight all the time and feed off of each other. About 20 minutes into the movie, Claire needed to go potty. As soon as we got back, Emerson needed to go.

About that time, a family arrived late and sat directly behind us. Our noses told us that. If you've ever been to the Fort Worth Zoo, you know it has a very distinctive smell, a mix of animal poop and stagnant water. Sometimes (and this has happened to me) you leave the zoo smelling like it. It's pretty bad.

So immediately when this family sat behind us, Alli and I looked to each other and verified it wasn't our kids smelling like that. I kept sniffing Paul to make sure he didn't have a dirty diaper. I guess that family had smelled like that all day and didn't notice it. (This has also happened to me, but the Adam has been gracious enough to let me know.)

At one point in the movie, the smell got a lot worse. The boy apparently pooped in the seat because soon after the smell worsened, he ran down the steps with a package of wipes in his hand. The rest of the family left soon after, and the smell remained. Apparently he pooped on the chair.

Alli and I had been very stressed out about our kids during the whole movie. Claire wouldn't sit down, Paul tried to crawl around the theater, Alli's kids were restless as well. But when the kid behind us, who had to be seven or eight, pooped in the seat, it made me grateful. It could always be worse. I could be fleeing from a darkened theater where my kid just pooped on the seat.

Tuesday night, Adam and I went on a hot date to see Twelfth Night at TCU. Wednesday we went to the library twice, once for story time and once to see clowns. We also had a pool playdate.

Last night, after all her friends had left, Claire asked me, "Do people have tails between their legs right here?" She made a gesture toward her privates. "No, silly," I said. "Why do you ask?" "Because Gabe and Paul do." Apparently Claire had walked in on her friend Gabe using the restroom, and she sees Paul naked all the time.

Claire is definitely getting to the questioning stage. She also asked me recently if Paul had peanuts. She definitely needs the information, but I'm not ready to give it to her, so I blew her off with "That's just their bottoms. They're boys, so it's a little bit different."

Claire's pretty smart, so I don't know how long my vague explanations of body parts will last. I want to teach her all the correct words, but I don't want her to shout at the library that boys have penises. (Yesterday, she yelled, "That boy is sooo black!" I don't even know where she got that, because I never talk about that.) I'm going to have to wait until she has developed a little discretion. Of course, that might be a mistake, too, because I know I am not her only source of information. Parenting is hard work.

Visiting Mi

Today we went to visit my granddad on my father's side. We call him "Mi." He's been depressed since my grandmother died two years ago, so since I've quit working, we go spend the day with him every other Thursday. Somedays we help, somedays we visit, but today I think we just stressed out.

I should have gotten the kids back in the car and went home at the first sign of trouble. Within five minutes of arriving, Paul had dissected Mi's spittoon, and had used tobacco leaves on the corners of his mouth and in between his fingers. That was just a sign of more to come.

We spent an hour of searching my grandmother's recipes for the perfect meatloaf recipe. My grandfather is 83 and has failing eyesight. About a year ago he started wearing my grandmother's old glasses, but today even those weren't strong enough. He put on magnifying safety goggles to look through cookbooks.

While I was helping him, the kids were going crazy, getting into everything from the trash can to the DVD collection. After it became apparent the meatloaf recipe was like searching for Atlantis, I decided to make lunch. I usually discuss the menu with Mi, but today I decided to surprise him and make okra. We both love okra, and he has a freezer full of it, but rarely makes it because he's the only one there.

I turned on his ventahood but was unaware there was not an outlet for the smoke. The smoke detector went off, I laughed, explained, and went back to cooking. Then the Life Alert smoke detector went off. The house was vibrating with the alarm and a lady started shouting at us through the security panel. "Mr Baker! Mr. Baker! Are you okay? Are you okay?" Mr. Baker replied with a "I can't shut this damn alarm off. I can't hear you because this is too damn loud!" I eventually punched in his code and hung up on the lady.

Then the phone started ringing. The security company wanted to make sure he was okay. At this point I had also dissected the smoke alarm on the wall. My granddad came in to intervene on the cooking and told me to open the screen door. On her last visit, my mom accidentally broke the brackets to hold up the glass on the screen, so I had to open the door all the way. Claire started laughing and screaming that Paul was going to go on a walk in the street. He escaped out the front door at least five times before I was able to assemble the pack 'n' play and barricade him in.

Danger averted from lunch, we sat down and ate. Afterward, it was nap time. Mi has fond memories of kids sleeping in cribs in his house, so I try to always bring the pack 'n' play for Paul. This is the only place we use it, so Paul feels like he's in prison. He screamed for at least 20 minutes before I gave up and got him. I tried to lay him down with Claire and me on a pallet in the living room, but that was a struggle. He calmed down and then Claire announced that her and Curious George needed to go potty. They were gone for about 20 minutes, and then she came back with some mail and said it was hers. Then my granddad appeared and asked if we had a good nap. Nap? What's that?

I had just gotten Paul to sleep and then he saw Mi. He started jumping up and down, flapping his arms. No more nap for him. It was about 3 p.m. at this point, so I wrapped up the recipe conversation, offered to make the perfect meatloaf next time I come, and started cleaning. I guided Claire on picking up her toys and meanwhile, Paul was stringing stuff out. I picked up his mess, and then she had gotten out more books. I went in circles, and at 4 p.m., I finally caught up with both of them.

Claire went potty and then I followed. I always leave the toilet lid up after I'm done because it's so hard for my granddad to bend down. At our house, the lids stay down. Paul knows that and seized his unique opportunity. He crawled to the toilet as fast as he could and started splashing water. I picked him up, washed him off, and didn't set him down again in the house. I managed to get the kids to hug my granddad and get out of there without any more crises.

I was feeling bad because we had turned his normal, quiet house upside down, but when I hugged Mi bye, he told me, "I love you, Doll." I guess everything will be okay.

Eat your vegetables!

Adam did not grow up eating vegetables. His mother has told me several times that he only would eat macaroni and cheese, pizza, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when he was growing up.

I did not grow up watching football. My dad said he didn't like watching grown men play a child's game. He and my mother hated the Dallas Cowboys and like a good daughter, I followed suit.

Early in our relationship, Adam and I realized we had a problem. He hated foods that I loved and couldn't live without and I hated football, which he loved and couldn't live without. We made a deal, and it stands to this day. I watch football and he eats whatever I cook. After eight years of marriage, it's still working well.

There are several parts of my life that I liken to eating vegetables. You might not like it the first time, or the second time, but by the third or fourth time, you actually enjoy it and are getting something out of it.

I eat vegetables with my reading habits. I love to read fiction, but I rotate between a fiction book and a book that edifies my person, either spiritually or intellectually. Switching off between novels for entertainment and books for education has broadened my horizons. I've found I actually enjoy some non-fiction books.

I also eat vegetables with good deeds. Sometimes I don't feel like taking groceries to by elderly friend, but after I do it, I feel better. I'm constantly making myself go the extra mile in the good deed category. Sometimes I want to and sometimes I just make myself, but almost all the time I'm glad I did.

It's not always rewarding. A recent visit to help my grandfather was frustrating and stressful. (Six remote controls and technical difficulties, plus two kids climbing in my lap crying.) But it's the right thing to do.

I think we were put on Earth to make the world a better place; to help and love each other, so even if I don't want to, I do it. Adam is the same way. I remember driving back from a road trip to Las Vegas. We were already late, but Adam, sick and exhausted, pulled over to change a lady's tire. She was amazed a stranger would do that for her.

Maybe we're getting stars on some celestial chart, but that's not why we do it. We do it because eating your vegetables is good for you.