The Balancing Act of Life

I have a happy spirit inside me. It's been there every since I was a kid. I love life. I love family and friends. I also love the possibility of the next adventure up ahead, including all the interesting people I might meet along the way. I am a social soul.

Unfortunately, I hit a low patch the last couple of days. I'm not sure what triggered it or why it has stayed awhile, but I've been wanting to pull the covers over my head and stay there forever. All by myself. I'm teary and tired and temperamental. And, even worse, I feel like if I have to juggle one more ball in the air that is my crazy life, I could start shredding this big tent and give the freak show a run for their money with my hysterical screaming.

I am so tired of running the race. So so so tired.

Whenever I hit this humbling low, I find myself going back to the basics. It helps me unbury my head from the sand inch by inch. Gratitude always tops the list. I think about all the abundant blessings in my life and thank the Lord for every single one. I then write thank you notes to people in my life who are making a difference, whether they know or not. I feel better when I seal a note telling someone the world is a better place with them in it. Or, a simple, beautiful...I love you.

Honest talk with my friends comes next. I love to be the person that lifts people up with my kind words, support, and love. It's harder for me to be the one who needs lifting up. Instead of being happy Heather, I have to admit I'm struggling. I have to say the honest words. It's the only way I can accept the honest help. There is something so healing about letting people see the real you, ugly warts and all.

Lastly, I have to let go of some control. Not easy for a control freak, let me tell you. I want to know every single detail of every single minute so I can plan every single detail. If I don't have my pulse on everything, something might fall through the cracks. As you can imagine, this also causes much worry and anxiety and fretting. The world wouldn't stop spinning if I let go of a few things, would it? It wouldn't be a worse place if I took a time out and let someone else have a go. I must repeat over and over: I do not control the universe, I do control the universe, I do not control the universe.

In the end, I'm just me. I have to remember that being me comes with some amazing, unique, awesome highs and some unsettling, sadder lows. It is the great balancing act of life. We must remember we don't get to stay too long on either side. We find meaning in the moment, if we're lucky, then move on to the next great ride. 

Finding a Sister

I checked a big item off my bucket list this week. A sister's photo shoot. It's huge because, for one, I don't actually have a sister and, two, it involves some quirky, creative photography that is way beyond my skill set. In my mind, milking a goat would have been mastered way before I found a sister. I like it when life has other ideas.

Did I mention I have a wonderful friend with a wonderful name? Dulce. We have lots in common, too. Mother to two boys. Reading. Sharing stories. Laughing at ourselves until our bellies hurt. We even share a love of two sisters, Elsie and Emma, and their creative blogging, which also includes their "famous" sister photo shoots, where they dress up in clothes they've made or vintage finds. As it turns out, I'm not the only one with this item on her bucket list.

My original plan was to find some vintage clothes with Dulce, maybe even a thrift shop gem, and take some selfies of ourselves while giggling hysterically. Dulce took it one step further by enlisting another friend, who is a gifted photographer, to help us create an unforgettable photo adventure. And, friends, it was an adventure.

I've never seen a sunflower field so vibrant. Or ridden a two-seater bicycle. Or sat in the middle of a sun-warmed road and enjoyed the view outward. Or worn such a lovely vintage dress. Or laughed so hard. Or wished so much that a moment could last a little longer.

Here are a few photos from our sister's photo shoot.

Vintage fun in a sunflower field. Copyright Posy Creative.

Pinky swear we'll be friends forever. Copyright Posy Creative.

A bike built for two is risky business. Copyright Posy Creative.

Laughter and love, sister style. Copyright Posy Creative.

It feels good to check something off my bucket list. It feels even better to have invited someone along for the adventure. Life is pretty sweet. Enjoy it, my friends.

Love and Pizza Dough Beards

I used to think my love language was acts of service. However, in the last few months, I've come to realize just how important relationships and quality time are in my life. People tip my happiness scale upward. And while the crazy pace of my packed schedule often sucks the life right out of me, time spent nurturing relationships rarely does. 

This past weekend, my cup was overflowing with quality time. I had date night with the hubby. We had some great discussion over onion rings and IPA. I then got the opportunity to re-connect with someone I mentored many years ago, who is now a college student making her big dreams happen. Over dinner and catching up, I couldn't believe a decade had already passed in our friendship.

I also got to spend lots of quality time with my boys. We wrestled, fought over toys, played games at a picnic, jumped off diving boards, and ended our evening by sharing the best part of our day over pizza. We even managed to work in making a full beard out of pizza dough. It may not be proper table etiquette, but it's what we do when we're having fun.

Boy with pizza dough beard.

So, friends, here is my wish for us all this week...

May your days be filled with laughter and pizza-dough beards. May you feel loved from the person sitting next to you, or across from you, or in front of you. May your cup be full, even slightly overflowing, and may you always remember to fill the cup of others. May you be kind, loving, and present. May you love boldly and be boldly loved back. May your happiness scale, if it must be pointed somewhere, always be pointed up.

Scrub a Dub Dub

I hate to clean. Scratch that. I hate to clean in a house with a husband, two children, and a dog. It feels like you never get ahead. You go into one room and work your scrubbing magic. Return a mere 15 minutes later and it's back to chaos. Grrrr!

It isn't all their fault, I'll admit. My love-hate relationship with cleaning has been years in the making. Childhood even. You see, my mom, she is a crazy cleaner. A scrubber. A put-on-those-ugly-plastic-gloves-and-scrub-the-daylights-out-of-something kind of woman. My mom would scrub when angry, frustrated, or sad. Our house always shined.

I had a few chores, too. My mom would leave the perfectly typed list dangling from the fridge listing three chores for each day. The chores I was assigned always involved organizing (my better love!), picking up, or putting away, but never scrubbing. Deep cleaning was her mission and an escape from life's frustrations.

My escape? Books. I would spend all day reading, lost in the world of someone else's imagination, and then rush through my chores the last few minutes before my mom returned home. It was a neck-breaking race to the finish line. It was never rewarding, but it always got done. Even to this day, I would rather be lost in a story than a sink full of suds. This is, perhaps, why my house never shines.

This week, however, I am tackling a new cleaning strategy. I printed off a cleaning schedule I found with three chores in the morning and then three different chores at night, rotating items seven days a week. If you do those simple chores each day, your house is pretty much cleaned top-to-bottom in one week. Then begin again. Shiny, shiny, shiny.

So far, it's been good. Not amazing, of course, but more manageable, and the productive feeling of keeping a shiny house is coming back to me. I also love my perfectly typed chore list dangling from my fridge. It reminds me of a woman who worked hard and did an amazing job, so I could spend time in faraway places, dreaming my big dreams. 

Here's to paying it forward with a happier heart. I sure hope I can keep up.

Ugly, Heartfelt, Inspiring Seeds

A few years ago at a work conference, I was given a seed of happiness. It's not actually a seed. It's a crazily formed lump of clay with a smashed nose and crooked smile. It stares at me every time I sit down to write. In a real writing slump, which is often, I roll it between my palms as I ponder. 

The story behind these seeds is a simple one. Kindness. Mark, a sculptor in St. Louis, decided to make something meaningful out of life's leftovers. He took his left-over pieces of clay and formed them into small smiley faces, then painted them like a rainbow. He took his first one to a friend's son, who was dying of cancer, because he didn't know what to say, or what to do, but he wanted to make him smile. A Seed of Happiness was born.

The best thing about these ugly, heartfelt, inspiring seeds is you can't buy just one. You have to buy a whole pack, 10 or more, so you can give them away. While you are always welcome to keep one, and roll it between your hands when lost, true kindness comes in sharing the crooked smile with others. Paying it forward, passing it along.

The truth is we are all homely lumps of clay, made in all shapes and crazy colors, trying to be something beautiful in this world. It's the kindness that ultimately defines us. The passing of our smiles and the act of giving ourselves away.   

The Music of Poets

I love the way words come together. How they make you feel when put together perfectly, or even how they make you see the world so much differently. I can't tell you how many times I've read a line in a novel and thought, "Damn, I wish I would have written that!" Song lyrics are no exception to my envy.

My husband often jokes that I have a melancholy soul when it comes to music. How do you not love the music of poets? Couple that will some acoustic guitar, maybe even a ukulele, and the tears start flowing. I want my music to move me!

In the search for my musical poets, I always turn to NPR's Tiny Desk for that unique blend. I am never disappointed, including yesterday when I stumbled upon Keaton Henson. Maybe it's his gentle demeanor, his heartfelt lyrics, or his mesmerizing voice, but I could not quit listening or look away. I cried the whole time I listened to the last song called "You."

"If you must wait, wait for them here in my arms while I shake. If you must weep, do it right here in my bed as I sleep. If you must mourn, my love, mourn with the moon and the stars up above. If you must mourn, don't do it alone."

Here is some Keaton Henson poetry, my friends. May you feel it down to your very soul.

Chicken Little and Some Discipline

Chicken Little was right. The sky is falling. The proof is that I'm writing two days in a row. Intentionally.  

I often talk to my friend, Mel, about my writing process. Or, more accurately, my lack of writing. I have lots of excuses, but my go-to excuse is always the same. No time and, maybe the even bigger hurdle, I have this huge amount of self-doubt that what I write won't matter. To anyone. 

It paralyzes me. I don't write until inspiration, or a deep-felt experience, comes and about knocks me over the head. Even then, I'm cautious. If I write it, I want to really feel it. The pace of my crazy, parenting, full-scheduled life has numbed me. It is a vicious excuse cycle.

The secret to great writing, as it turns out, isn't actually a big secret. Almost every writer knows intuitively what makes them a writer. Discipline. The big D. Setting aside time each day to write. And then actually doing it! You write when you're uninspired. You write through your hectic life. You write when you're up or down. Then, you keep writing some more.

Writing is my gift. I don't know if I've always viewed it that way, but I do now. It's not a gift because I'm going to write a bestseller, or change the world with my words, or figure out (finally!) what is meaningful to you. It's a gift because when I'm writing I'm home. I'm exactly who I am doing exactly what I do.

Almost every time Mel and I talk, she always has the same question for me. Have you been writing? While my answer is usually no, it is her loving way of reminding me that what I love to do is out there. Waiting. I just need to sit down in the chair and begin.