I feel like I am in a perpetual state of behindedness. (May not be a word.) I have 187 emails in my "draft" folder. Partially written, never sent. I have 23 unheard messages on my cell, and 12 on the land line.

I still have a land line.

I have posts partially written on artificial twinning in adoption, with awesome, thoughtful submissions from you cool people to go with my own humble writings on the subject.

I have a post partially written on how grateful I was for all the kind feedback from the last post but how I still  sometimes feel like giving up on insurance and therapy because the it feels too hard, and I can't delegate it and I have four kids to educate and two toddlers to keep alive and I am burned out and I haven't even started. So, everyone said You're great! Go get' em tiger!  I am decidedly not feeling tigerish. Do you hear me? Zero progress.

I have another partially written post on all the books I've read so far this year with reviews. And yet another on city life and country life and my journey to give my kids the best of both worlds, while living smack in the middle the suburbia.

I have a post partially written on "lying" and truth and how it affects adoptions and relationships with friends and family in Ethiopia. This one has Be Sensitive written all over it, and it just takes more time to put together than I am giving it right now. But it's in my drafts folder, germinating.

And speaking of germinating, I made sprouted-wheat bread for the first time ever (OK, I used 1/3 flour to get my feet wet) and it was amazing. Seriously lovely bread. I have a new method for sure.

Confession: I haven't gone to a yoga class in over a month. I cannot tell you how sad this makes the approaching swim-suit season. I am in crummy shape and I do not like this feeling.

In the name of lil' bit of catching up, here are some bite-sized updates, to soothe my, so-very-behind soul.

My sweetness, Cookie Monster, turned five and Samantha turned seven and gladly consented to a combo birthday celebration as long as they each got their own cake. Vanilla coconut for Cookie, and chocolate brownie peanut butter for Samantha. We had a crammed house full of love. These two are my first two babies, and they are such good friends. A note about these cool kiddos on their birthdays for posterity's sake: Samantha is our resident story and power poetry writer and creative director of the children, and sadly for her, has not yet lost any teeth. She would give up a vital organ to have a horse and has a knack for languages and is too artistic to bother with putting clothes away.

Cookie is the perfect middle child and can move from being part of the little boys pack and leader of Terrible, Dangerous, Messy Planning Committee, and then the next moment, recall minute details from the novels we are reading and facts about the Periodic table of Elements with the older girls. He has the closest relationships with all five siblings and though he tortures all of them, they forgive him because he's hilarious.

We like to rock party games that cost zero dollars:

In other news, Mimi played in her first softball game and loved it, but after her first practice Hubs noted she was frustrated by how stinking hard it is to try to pick up on a new sport that everyone else on the team knows from years of being an American and watching it, and years of previous play. She was able to express how sucky it is for everything you do to feel like an uphill climb. Language, math, speaking, making friends, spelling, reading, sports: there isn't one thing that isn't profoundly more difficult having to do it in another culture and language. But girlfriend has fire. She doesn't know like we do how brilliantly she's doing. I don't care if on paper she's reading English at a third grade level. She cares, because she's wicked smart and knows she's behind other kids. But we could not be prouder. (And Brady still worships her, so there's that.)


It's official. Granola bars are too expensive for this size family. I have taken to making muffins, thirty-six at a time, for a quick grab snack.


These babies don't have one bit of sugar, just some local honey. More and more, everything we make is from scratch. The kids are not complaining, but it's kinda funny how our life revolves around food and clean up from making food. Someone, please, just buy me a denim jumper so I can get on with my life.

Seriously though, speaking of not wearing the denim jumper, at the softball game when interrogated by all the other sideline parents about our family, the home schooling, the holycraphowoldarethey? Now that I think about it, I am pretty sure the only thing that bridged the Weirdness Divide was that I was wearing designer jeans and mascara at the time. It was like a battle was being waged in the other mothers' minds:

Wait, this woman looks normal. Like she fits in with us, we just don't understand the words coming out of her mouth about her life. But she must be OK, because look, see? The jeans...

I created one of our favorite hairstyles this week and Fikir cannot stop admiring herself. It's alright because everyone else is admiring it too.


I was thinking the other day about my failings, mistakes, mess-ups. My daily need to apologize to the kids and do "re-dos." But really, I do not have time to dwell on my short comings. Because dinner for tomorrow night is already late, there are five loads of laundry that may never actually be put away, and we need to go to the library and work on fractions.

The kids have going on:
gymnastics (four of them)
therapy (five appointments a week)
farm internship day
piano lessons (three of them)
cello lesson
yoga, zumba and sometimes singing classes and this summer there will be swim lessons and track.
Looking at this list that does not include academics or housework or time spent reading or my violin teaching schedule, it's safe to say I think I will be staying behind permanently. I will never ever again be caught up. I am throwing in the towel.

Oh, and after the beep? Don't leave a message. Just call back sometime, I am very sorry and grateful in advance.


Sharon said...

Too funny! I have a blog draft about country and city life too!

Maegan said...

I absolutely loved this post. In part I love this because of your confession of being behind and I think we all relate to those days and moments of too many good things and not enough hours or energy. I also love it because I think it's this recognition that we are human and need forgiveness and understanding. The knowledge that are not going to be our every wish that keeps us hoping, trying and searching out what is the highest self I can be.
And throughout this post is the constant reminder of the great things present- the milestones, the friends, the celebrating, the learning, the tasty food and the togetherness. And with all that happiness comes the letting go of other things that obviously are less important or else they would be on the accomplished list.
This post reminds me of the great quest- which is good, better and best? And how should each day be filled?
And I love the 183 drafts. My guess is someday when it's you have time you will probably love the drafts too because they were more raw and unedited and give great insight and perspective to this time in your life.
I love hearing your voice here. Keep going powerful mama. You don't have to be a tiger every day. But the days you feel like a kangaroo bouncing from one thing to the next, you are still beautiful and doing awesome!

S said...

You are doing so much. Much of what would be impossible for me to do. Be kind to yourself. I hope this Sunday you have the most relaxing mother's day full of yoga and no cooking.