Angela Amman

stories of choices and consequences

Musings

Quickest Morning Routine Ever

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Just in case you worry that all my thoughts twist into introspection, I thought I might talk about how mornings go around here.

On good days, my morning routine centers me and gets me ready to start my day calmly.

On other days, I leave the house with my coffee in my hand and one eye on the clock, wishing I wouldn’t have stopped to do one last thing before leaving.

Small details tip the scales one way or the other on days like that, and this morning, hearing “My Pony” by Ginuwine, tipped me solidly into the mindset where I can handle anything at all. It’s amazing what a time machine to 1996 can do for a morning mood.

Photo details: Ryan wearing glow glasses from a glow after-school event at the middle school, NOT Ryan at a rave in 1996.

Thoughts on our home office

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(I’ve started and deleted and restarted this post at least ten different ways.)

Since moving into this house, we’ve played musical rooms countless times. We move furniture and change paint colors, and just when we think something fits, our lives shift again. I appreciate our flexibility and hate the process. I feel like we have plenty of space but a completely impractical layout for almost any configuration of our family’s needs, and my frustration grows each time something requires us to change a space I like.

Our home office recently underwent such a change.

We knew we wanted a home office when we were looking for a new home. Ryan loved having one in the old house, until that became Dylan’s room, although he hardly ever slept there. When we moved in, he painted it dark green and moved in his oversized desk. I carved out my own space in it between built-in cabinets, though the shelf felt too high or too short or not big enough for what I wanted.

During one of our rounds of Change the Room, I took over the office. The kids were in school. I worked pretty steadily from home doing social media and content creation. I wanted to write more. Ryan drove to work each day, a typical but annoying commute in our suburban sprawl of a neighborhood. We agreed that I would use the space more than he would.

The deep green became my favorite shade of aqua, and I chose curtains with flowers, a rug with a pattern I liked more than anyone else.

Quickly, it became my favorite room in the house — and then things shifted again.

I joined the PTA and said yes and yes and yes to all sorts of things that pulled me away from my writing oasis. I published, then stalled, then spent more time talking about writing than actually writing. I began to see the cracks in the social media work I was doing.

I got a part-time job at a preschool and kept saying yes to everything but my desk.

The pandemic began. We all worked from home, schooled from home, danced from home, karate-d from home, baked bread and played board games and laughed and annoyed the crap out of each other from home. I tried to write and journaled instead. Tried to write and meditated. Tried to write and ate chips and cried and wondered if we would ever leave the house again.

And I did.

But Ryan didn’t.

Though he goes into the office occasionally now, the great majority of his work is done from our house. For a while, he bounced between the couch and his oversized desk, which lived in the living room, and the kitchen table. Some days he would go in my office and close the door.

(You know where this is going.)

So, once again, the rooms in our house shifted like a kaleidoscope, and the office is his office once again.

The paint remains the same, absorbing the light in delicious ways in the late morning hours, but it’s no longer my space. My things don’t fill the shelves, and my hopes don’t get to live in air there any longer.

It makes sense, logically, but it feels heavy all the same. It feels, some days, that moving my desk through that door meant giving up the hope of writing. I wish I could say I’ve moved past that, that I’ve managed to make progress without a physical “room of one’s own.” Truthfully, though, I’m not sure I can say that. I’m not sure exactly where writing and I stand right now, and it feels like we’re circling each other, without anywhere to land, because of all the yeses I’ve allowed myself to say the last few years.

Saying no, though, is hard.

Instead, I’ll walk by the office and regret that it’s no longer mine.

Feeling Stuck

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I started November on a bit of a writing streak. I managed to sit my butt in a chair and write every day, posting here and making progress on a project I’d like to release by the end of the month. Then I did #OneDayHH and haven’t written here since.

I love participating in that particular social media challenge, both for the moments I capture and for following along with other participants. This year, I looked forward to gleaning a little more inspiration from the day. I wanted to see what I might turn over when looking at the day through my camera’s lens. (Ok, my phone’s camera’s lens, but you know what I mean!)

Not surprisingly, it did uncover a few things — and therein lies my current problem. I reacted so strongly to some of what I captured that I’m not sure what exactly to focus on writing right now. Part of the photo challenge is stepping outside your comfort zone when it comes to sharing. I understand that, cerebrally. My appreciation for writers and storytellers who can share with abandon grows greater each time I sit and think about sharing my own stuff.

I want to write about:

How I feel when I walk past my former home office

How I got through a day without a single photo of our cat

Why documenting a day made me miss small parts of last year

How it feels to see one of my true passions (writing) regulated to late moments, when my brain is more tired than my body — and my body is tired

(And now I want to write about why I can’t find the bullet point list in WordPress, even though I’ve been working in it for years and know I’ve bulleted plenty of things in the past.)

Basically, I have a lot to say about that single day, but it’s all wrapped up in emotions and worries and concerns I obviously haven’t completely faced since we’ve hit the ground running this fall. Instead of sitting and facing those things, I’ve done the opposite. Worked on a house project. Went to dinner with friends. Read a book. Started re-watching AHS: Coven.

None of those things on their own feel negative. But when they’re piled together in a mishmash of avoidance, it gives me pause. So here I am, after a few days off, trying to commit to unpacking those thoughts, one day at a time.

When to Let Things Go

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I walked into the garage the other day and found this apple on the ground, next to the shop vac and other things I don’t recognize. A single bite — and some additional teeth marks — marred the surface, but it was clearly abandoned.

Without asking, I can imagine which of my kids grabbed an apple on the way out the door, took a bite, then got distracted — or simply changed their mind.

I don’t love the wasted apple, though I’m sure the deer won’t leave it wasted for long. I’ve thought about it more than necessary the last few days, the concept of walking away from something that just doesn’t work for you in the moment.

While I don’t want the kids to make a habit of taking a bite of food, then leaving it to rot in the garage (just bring it inside! I’m not opposed to slicing off the bitten section and dipping the rest in peanut butter!) I admire the way they can leave behind certain things.

Personally, I have a hard time letting go. (Not of stuff. I can purge belongings with ruthless efficiency when I’m in the mood.) I have difficulty letting go of commitments and obligations. I still say yes when I should say no, both when I want to say no and when I want to say yes but know I’m stretched too thin. I say yes anyway.

The things I hold onto crowd my thoughts and my hours. I understand logically that I need to shed some of those yeses to make room for ones that matter, ones that feel like dreams some days because I close my eyes before finding time for them. My brain knows, but my heart is slower to learn.

Maybe one day I, too, will be able to set aside an apple I don’t need or want for something I truly do.

Ladybugs All Around

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Michigan parents whose kids play outdoor sports know things can go either way when it comes to the end of fall. We’ve sat through soccer games in October where I needed blankets and heavy duty mittens, but this weekend brought sunshine and air that felt more like September than November.

Dylan’s All Star Game felt a little like a gift, an extra game on a beautiful day, one that didn’t come with all sorts of time conflicts.

It came with ladybugs instead. They flew through the air and landed on arms, legs, faces, and chairs. Some were red like cherries while others faded so much they almost looked white. I fished one out of the V of my v-neck sweater before I had to get indecent on the sideline of a kids’ soccer game.

I don’t know much about ladybugs, except they’re fabled to bring good luck. My mom claims they normally come out earlier in the fall, but nothing about this year feels typical, so I didn’t even bother searching to see if she was right or wrong.

Normally, flying bugs, even tiny cute ones, would distract me. Today, I accepted them — and the day — for what it was: an extra chance to sit outside in the sun, watching our little guy play a game he loves, while little bits of luck flew all around.

Memories of my dad

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my dad would buy me KitKats if he was surprising us with candy

My grandpa loved Brach’s red and white peppermint candies. Those little pinwheels remind me of him each time I see them, even on days when he’s the furthest thing from my mind. I appreciate those moments, nods to memories and reminders of people I love, even though I don’t often pause and give them the attention they deserve. 

Abbey did a Dia de los Muertos project for Spanish class last weekend. Her drawing included the things that my dad appreciated and loved, and while I suggested a couple of things (airplanes!), she put together the majority of it on her own. Seeing her interpretation of the things he loved made me grateful, because I think she was spot on with her choices. 

I wonder sometimes what my kids remember about my dad (and Ryan’s dad). They were young when both men died, so much younger than I was when I lost my grandparents. 

Like anyone we lose, I wonder if their memories are their own or ones they’ve crafted from collective stories and family lore, talk of his favorite things and his never-ending care for the people he loved, manifested in doing much more than saying. We talk about him frequently, but I know each of the people who loved him experienced a different version of him, because no two relationships can ever be exactly the same. 

I miss him at obvious times – like holidays or when I need help with a project around the house – but the times that hit the hardest are the unexpected twangs of memory. A Jeopardy clue about Cheers produced a lump in my throat the other day, and I could see him in his LaZBoy, eating Taco Bell and relaxing after a long afternoon shift at work. 

Sometimes I think those small moments offer clues to my favorite parts of him, the parts I didn’t always think of as cherished until they became part of my past and not my present. 

He must be on my mind more lately, because I truly thought I sat down to write about my grandfather’s mints and how certain flavors invoke the people we love. I don’t mind, though, that my words went in a different direction, looping around to my dad and the way we could sit in a comfortable cocoon of silence, watching Seinfeld or Cheers while the rest of the house slept. 

I hope the kids continue to remember him, even if our memories help them along. I hope his love offers them some quiet protection against any darkness they may face.