Musings

Abbey returned from Boston last week, which means all four of us are under one roof again. It’s my favorite way to live, and I’m not oblivious to how short of a time we might have left with this arrangement. Summer intensives give me the opportunity to practice what it’s like to be separated, but I breath easier when we’re all together.

However.

We hardly ever eat together during the school year, and during the summer it’s even worse. (I know the research on eating as a family, and I enjoy it so much when we do, but it’s not feasible daily with everyone’s different schedules.) Not only is dinner sometimes eaten four times, occasionally in several different locations, so is lunch. And breakfast is another scattered moment, since some of us don’t eat it, and we’re all waking up at different times.

I don’t mind that my kids make their own food at various times during the day, and Dylan still asks for lunch more than you might expect. I didn’t love the days when I tried to figure out nutritious combinations that everyone would eat.

However.

The kitchen is a disaster ten times a day. Some days, it’s only a disaster four times a day and some days it feels like I’ve wiped the counter twenty times. Mostly, they attempt to clean up after themselves, but a granite counter and warm wood cabinets mean things get missed. The pans and pots and glasses and crumbs and eggshells multiply amongst themselves.

I understand one day I will only have to clean up the messes I make, and people tell me I’ll miss it. It might be true, but right now, I’m not so sure about that.

One of my tasks for the day was to scroll through my photos and cull some of the things I just do not need any longer. Anyone who’s ever seen my photos can confirm I have an unhealthy habit of taking screenshots of things that I never pay attention to again. I mean to look back, truly.

I have screenshots of funny quotes or inspirational ones. I grab entire poems and mean to read them later, when I have more time to sit with the language. Some images are book recommendations, others are meant to be added to shopping lists or moisturizing routines or possibly lip gloss I plan to try when my four hundred lip glosses run dry.

Then there are the recipes. Some of them involve four photos, ingredients and then instructions that didn’t seem complicated until I hit the photo button for the fourth time. Dairy free or gluten free to try to alleviate stomach issues. Dips guaranteed to make stomach issues worse but parties more fun. Lots of cottage cheese concoctions to add protein. Desserts for the days when I want something sweet but forgot to buy chocolate or ate it all the last time I wanted something sweet.

The single thread tying them together is that they go to my photo roll and never see my grocery list, let alone my kitchen counter.

I want to be better about the screenshots. I want to declutter my brain and my life, not add to the random scattering of information that occupies my thoughts for moments before something new slides into that spot.

They’re a symptom of the scrolling I default to when I’m bored or stressed, the scrolling I’m trying to minimize, if not mostly eliminate. They’re all saved to be helpful in some way, whether it’s to make me laugh or provide extra energy or impart some sort of knowledge. However, when they all just sit in the photo app, they’re not doing any of those things.

I deleted some of them today, though probably not enough.

Maybe tomorrow I won’t add any more.

I woke up too early today. After a restless night of sleep, and the daily feeding of Max that takes place at around 5:00 a.m., I couldn’t fall back asleep. I wish the cat’s breakfast time was a little later, but summer hours mean I can normally eke out a couple more hours of sleep. Today, however, I couldn’t manage to keep my eyes closed.

I made coffee and played my puzzle games (they help keep my brain strong, right?) and wasted a little time. During the school year, I would have used the time to work out or do something productive, but I basically languished on the couch like I was in a drawing room on a fainting couch, only I don’t have embroidery to accompany me.

I don’t expect either of the boys to wake up early today, since they were both up late. It’s possible that by the time either of them ventures down here, I will be ready for a nap, which seems silly. Summer months, when you work at a school, feel dreamlike some days. I guess this is one of those days.

I have a checklist to check, and I’ll do that eventually, but for now I’m relishing the overcast morning, the warm coffee, the soft, lyrics-free, playlist providing background for my still-tired brain. I wonder, for longer than I expected, why that tiredness doesn’t translate to sleep. Generally, I wouldn’t consider myself any sort of insomniac at all. I don’t always need a ton of sleep, but I generally see that as a choice, as I still need to set alarms in the morning.

If I do nap, I need to do it early enough that it doesn’t shift my sleep cycle too badly, because I’ve worked hard to move to an earlier-than-normal bedtime, at least for me. Now I’m rambling, which isn’t a surprise, because (like I mentioned), my brain still feels tired.

Tomorrow, I hope I can piece together a more thorough night of rest. I know from experience that this early of an involuntary wakeup will lead to extra hunger and possibly anxiety and all of the things I’m working to alleviate in my life. For now, I will drink my coffee and talk myself into a workout. Soon.

I refuse to learn certain things, and I wish I knew why.

Too much red wine hurts my head in the morning. (The measuring stick for too much is getting shorter and shorter as I get older, but I haven’t learned that all the way, either.)

Cheese hurts my stomach and so does corn, but I keep eating one of them because it’s my favorite food group. Why don’t I shift my thinking away from that mindset? If I tell myself it’s an allergy and not an intolerance, will I be kinder to my future self instead of indulging my present self? I haven’t managed to find that kindness yet.

A certain pizza place is a major favorite of the boys, and each time I eat it, I feel my digestive system screaming in protest. (It’s not just the cheese, but the cheese doesn’t help, obviously.) Each time I say I won’t eat it again, but I get hungry and have a slice or two and regret it close to immediately.

Staying up late doesn’t bother me the day after my long night, but it absolutely does the day after that.

I could unthread more of these from the tapestry of things I know but ignore for unknown reasons, but the point of this line of thinking wasn’t to eke out confession after confession but to look at why I don’t allow myself to learn these lessons enough to feel better — in my body, in my digestion, in my brain.

I mean it when I say I’m not sure why certain things just won’t stick. I’m not sure if it’s laziness or stubbornness or a delusion that maybe this time things won’t go the same way they did the countless times before. (Surprise. We ate pizza tonight. We’re all tired after spending the holiday away from home, and I didn’t feel like cooking. I ordered from the offending pizza place because it’s Ryan’s favorite, and shockingly, my stomach is already protesting. My stomach does not care that ordering pizza made my life a little easier.)

Maybe writing these things out, seeing them in black and white, will help me make better decisions the next time I’m poised to make a bad one. I haven’t learned these lessons yet, but I hope one day I might.