I've recently begun reading a writing book.  (Which, by the way, amuses Seth to no end - "who would write a book about writing a book?"  Hilarious to him, especially after I showed him the entire section of my bookcase dedicated to writing - handbooks, theory, manuals, textbooks)  Anyway, the book is full of writing exercises, and it says that I need to write every single day, rain or shine.  Spiffy - one more thing I'm not doing well enough!  More than that, I need to set aside a half hour of completely uninterrupted writing time when everything is focused, quiet, and there are no distractions.  Nothing is to interrupt, nothing to delay or pre-empt writing time. I have one instant thought - this guy doesn't have little kids!!!  Even 2AM is often prone to nightmares needing comfort, potty-breaks, and crying babies.   The book's conclusion is that if I can't dedicate myself to that half hour a day, I must not love writing enough and I'd better give up wanting to write.  

To a certain extent, I agree with this.  True loves are absolutely necessary to life.  No matter how crazy life with my kids gets, for example, I can't imagine a day in which I don't read at least a few pages of a book.  Reading is like breathing.  I've been know to read while nursing a baby, while waiting in pick-up line at school, or the ever-resorted to retreat of greatest desperation - reading in the bathroom!  It is as necessary as breathing or eating.  Life isn't even life without reading - the newspaper, novels, parenting books, religious books, backs of cereal boxes, e-mail, blogs, everything I can possibly get my hands on!  

So, if I don't feel that way about writing, am I never destined to write even though I enjoy it?  Always to consume, never to create?  As I have twice been interrupted while writing this, once to change a diaper and again to get a toddler a drink, the uber-focused writing time obviously doesn't work for me.  Yet I feel that my true love right now is the cause of the distraction - not what I'm being distracted from!  As long as these little ones are needy and engaging, everything takes a back seat to them.  And, oddly enough for my family, with a genetic knack for feeling guilt about just about everything, I don't feel one bit bad about prioritizing my loves that way.  

And, frankly, I don't believe there is a conflict.  When my husband and I were married, the officiator told us that "Love never divides, it multiplies."  Though he was referring to in-laws and our suddenly expanded circle of family, it applies here as well.  If I love my kids so much that I'll put down a book or stop writing mid-sentence, that absolutely does not mean that I should never pick the book back up or finish the sentence.  Practically, it's just silly to think that love and dedication to one thing must necessarily exclude love and dedication to another.  Love doesn't divide - it multiplies.  My recent hunger to create through writing has actually been inspired by my kids and the flights of fancy and imagination they encourage like no adult ever would.   Evidence of the multiplication principle - one love expands another.  And sharing literature with the kids, from picture books and poetry, to increasingly difficult books as they get older, has re-connected me with the simple beauty, joy, and delight of reading.

But still - regardless of my theories about the "half hour of un-interrupted writing every day" I'm accepting the challenge to write more.  With the upcoming move to a new house, the end of the school year, kids' birthdays, and all sorts of other distractions, it should be interesting how long I can keep the challenge going.  We'll see.

At this point, it has been so long since I've written that I don't think I have any readers anymore, but today I really felt like writing, so who cares if no one is reading!  I've been distracted lately, by more than a few extraordinary events.  

Chronologically, the first distraction has been having my head examined!  I know, I know, it's about time!! lol  But since having Evey, my already annoying migraines went supernova - striking unexpectedly, where they used to be fairly regular and predicable - clustering for days on end - and adding frightening new symptoms like vertigo and numbness.  Consequently, Tysen insisted I start seeing some doctors.  After past negative experiences, I was cynical, and it hasn't been an easy couple of months, with tests of every kind and experimenting with medications, but I'm pretty happy with the results.  Instead of daily chronic headaches with frequent migraines, I have now gone as many as four days without any sort of headache, and the migraine frequency and severity has been cut about in half!  Down side, the meds I'm now on make me drowsy, and it is impossible to get up in the mornings!  Most days Tysen gets the boys ready and takes them to school while I sleep through the whole thing, alarm, kids, and all.  The girls come in and wake me as soon as they get up, and I zombie my way through the morning.  By lunch I'm totally normal, and I'm told that as I build up tolerance to the drug, I will get less and less sleepy.  The saga still continues though, because I have some random spots in my brain - likely results of severe migraines - that are under investigation.  I underwent an MRV yesterday that was absolute torture.  On the upside, I get to blame everything now on this - "I forgot that completely, but you know, I do have a spotty brain."

The second HUGE distraction is Tysen's sudden inspiration to buy a new house.  He came home after a day of financial meetings that discussed the interest rates and opportunities they present, and lunch with a friend who designs homes, completely convinced that now is the perfect window of opportunity for us.  I was less enthusiastic.  Why?  Because I am a tangled mess of over-analytical, over-sentimental, over-thinking!  It's not that a new house doesn't sound good, it's just that I don't know what I want.  And in the meantime, I'm losing all my feminist credentials as everyone is made perfectly aware that Tysen wants to move and is moving us wether or not I want to.  So I feel some need to set the record straight on that, and maybe work out how I feel by writing about it.  

First, if I said to Tysen - "I do not want to move, I want to stay in this house because..." and was able to present him with some rational reasons, he would never go against my wishes (and I wouldn't let him!!).  But in the void of my indecision, why not trust his decisiveness?  The For Sale sign went in our yard yesterday, and it is totally freaking me out.  When I told Chloe what it means, she cried for 20 min. but then asked if we could go see some model homes today.  Every model we walk through Chloe says she wants to live in - which I sympathize with - but she cries and cries at the idea of leaving this house.  It is no wonder that Tysen is confused by me when I'm acting the same way as the three year old!!

Now, in perfect impossible decision practice, I'll list the pros and cons of each and see which list is better.

Staying Put Pros: the excellent neighbors next door. - I know that some say I should "cut the chord" and move away from the parents just as a matter of maturity, but I have so much loved living next to them that it truly is the most compelling reason to stay.  Financial Security - Tysen assures me that we can afford a bigger, newer house, and we pre-qualified easily, but we know for sure that we can make this house payment, and a new, larger payment may force cut-backs in other lifestyle choices.  I would rather be a stay-at-home mom in a little, old, creaky house, than have to go to work to afford a pretty new home.  Sentimentality - how can I walk away from the place where I brought my babies home, where they took their first steps?  Blood, Sweat, and Tears - this place was a mess when we bought it.  We have invested $60,000 in fixing, renovating, and upgrading the home - not to mention the hours and hours of our lives dedicated to those projects.  My kitchen is pure joy to me, because I picked everything out, I tiled and grouted the backsplash, together with Papa I tiled and grouted the fireplace, when pregnant and ill, I learned to use a grinder and installed much of the rock on the house facade.  Everywhere I look, I can say, "I did that!" - Other neighbors.  Our neighbors like us, especially Tysen's love for beautiful landscaping.  I know that I shouldn't feel responsible for everyone's lives, but I do feel keenly the apprehension they all have at what kind of neighbors will replace us.

Staying Put Cons: I never planned to stay here forever.  We had a five year plan that turned into ten years and counting.  I don't like the floorplan - I want a greatroom off the kitchen and a small formal living room.  Even if we finish the basement, the family would all be downstairs while I'm upstairs in the kitchen.  I never wanted that.  - One bathroom, no master bath - tiny dining space. Once Evey is out of the high-chair, we won't be able to all sit at the table together.  There isn't enough room for a table big enough.  We can't build out back either because of the shape of the yard. - The house still has problems.  The floors creak EVERYWHERE, the bathroom floor is rotting away and needs to be replaced, and we're still daily finding insane things the Booths did that we have to repair.  I never have felt like it's my house, especially when I'm constantly living with decisions they made (the house still has a smell that isn't bad, but is "their" smell, and nothing we do, paint, replace everything, air fresheners, gets rid of it completely)! - The bulk of the yard is front yard, which means lots of landscaping, but little real space for hanging out. - The neighborhood is nice (our corner of it) and quiet, but that's because there are no kids.  All around us are retirees or near retirees (or non-english speaking families).  There are no friends around for the kids.  Church even gears for an older audience.  It would be wonderful to be part of a younger neighborhood. - Schools suck.  The local school gets a rating of 3 out of 10 on the biggest school rating website.  So the kids go to the charter, which has an educational philosophy that I disagree with more and more every year.  The school is uptight, negative, and unhealthily competitive.  If we stay, I don't know what to do about education for next year.

Moving Pros: Bigger, newer house.  Hopefully fewer constant repairs and replacements.  A floor plan of my choosing.  More space.  - Younger neighborhood, not guaranteed, but that's where we keep looking for houses.  Friends for the kids.  Potentially great schools.  A new adventure.  All the stuff listed in Staying Put Cons!

Moving Cons: Financial scariness.   Disappointing next door neighbors. Leaving the known and comfortable for the unknown.  Probable year-round school.  Landscaping a new yard from scratch.  Still can't afford a 4 bedroom, so I'd get my formal living room and great room, but would have to finish a basement bedroom either way.  Leaving my gorgeous custom kitchen.  All the stuff listed in Staying Put Pros.

So there it all is.  Whew!  Doubt anyone but me will ever get through it all, but it feels good to sort it out like that.  Did it make my decision though?  Of course not!!  Because you still have to add into the discussion all my psychological insanity and guilt about stupid things like, "the pioneers raised families of 12 in one room cabins - what kind of wimp am I to say I can't breathe in this house with five kids?" and a whole pile of irrational, strange hang-ups and I'm still all tied up in knots.  Who, in their right mind, would hesitate when their spouse comes home, lays out the financial possibilities in black and white, and says that he can give you a better, bigger, more beautiful home?  Who turns around and says, "well, I don't know!  I'm not sure."  Seriously, Chloe would be better at making this decision than I am!!

And between headache stuff and house stuff and all the day-to-day stuff, my head may very well explode!!!  Help!

How do our kids ever grow up even halfway normal when parents do our best to throw them a curveball rule-reversal every time a holiday rolls around?

For example:

Don't talk to strangers - except at Christmas when I tell you to go talk to that fat guy in a red suit.  Wait, don't just talk to him, sit on his lap!  And be happy about it.

It's not polite to ask people to give you things - except at Christmas when you can tell a complete stranger to bring you a whole list of stuff, and at Halloween, when you walk around demanding that people give you candy.

Never eat anything you find on the ground - unless it is Easter - then the more you pick up off the ground, the better egg-hunter you are.  Eat up!

It's mean to pinch - unless it's St. Patrick's Day.  (eurgh - that one causes trouble!) 

It's rude to ring the doorbell and run - unless it's Valentine's.

And I'm sure there are more that elude me right now.  See what I mean though?  Warped!

Chloe is asking Santa for a Little Cute Baby for Christmas.  You may recall that Chloe already has a doll she has named Little Cute Baby.  She got her for Christmas two years ago, and the doll accompanies us almost everywhere, including camping and vacations.   Consequently, she is starting to get quite worn.  So, Chloe is asking for a replacement - an identical replacement - a brand new, exactly the same Little Cute Baby.  Oddly enough, this has been a dilemma for me.   There is some part of me that is sad about the whole thing.  Where is the sentimentality?  Is everything so disposable nowdays?  The ease and comfort of simply exchanging one thing for another, newer, better, should be practical and logical, and yet for some reason it disturbs me.  Maybe it is because dolls are closer to people than things, because of their shape and because of how much love is invested in them daily.  Perhaps the real fear is that one day I'll overhear Chloe's tiny voice saying, "Mommy is getting pretty worn, maybe we should get a newer one!"

Okay - another Seth moment.  Today when we got home from school, Seth said, "Could I have something to eat? The hot dog at lunch was enough to sustain me until now, but I would love a little snack."  He talks like a novel!  A nine year old using the word "sustain?"  I've always loved vocabulary, but now I'm raising vocab freaks!  A couple of weeks ago at our friends' house, I was explaining that my kids are now 1,3,5,7,&9 years old.  Seth said, "in other words, we have now embarked upon the stage of odd numbers."  You should have seen how our friend looked at Seth!  It almost made me snort my drink!  But then this is the kid who, when he was in kindergarten, explained to me that he had scraped his hands because, "I trod upon my pants and tripped."  Seriously - part of me is totally proud, and part is a little afraid!  Seth actually wanted to perform sentence graphing for his talent at the talent show last month.  Not at all normal, and completely my fault!  Can kids still be cool and talk like that?  Or will he be ostracized by his peers forever?  Aarrgh - this parenting thing is complicated!!!  Smart, cool, athletic, ambitious - but not geek, arrogant, over-competitive, or selfish.  Where is that line?

The alarm didn't go off yesterday.  Tysen and I were woken up almost an hour late by Seth, who walked in and said, "either the alarm didn't go off, or else I slept until Saturday.  Which is it?"  Sometimes the things they say are so funny I just can't stand it!

A few years back, we finally gave in and bought a fake Christmas tree.  It was a close-out, after-Christmas deal, and we had a ton of trouble finding a live tree in our price range that year, so we decided to move on.  The next Christmas, instead of looking in a lot, we pulled out our plastic tree and set it up.  You know what?  It wasn't all that bad!  No frozen toes or dismay at prices at the tree lot, or worrying about how long the tree would last before becoming a fire hazard and picking needles out of the carpet until spring.  But what I really did miss was the smell - that fantastic, irreplaceable aroma of fresh pine that reminded me of childhood and ushered Christmas into the house.  I love that smell!

Two days ago we hauled the fake tree out of the basement.  The first thing that I noticed when I walked into the living room after the tree had been set up, was that it does indeed have a smell.  It filled the room with it's own aroma - it smells like fresh plastic.  You know, the way a new toy smells, just out of the box.  And so my natural irony concluded that perhaps it is appropriate that a heavily commercialized holiday should smell like plastic!  Imagine it now - Plastic scented holiday candles, plastic scented potpourri.  They wouldn't call it "plastic," but instead, "the true scent of Christmas."  Out with pine and cinnamon - let them go the way of wassail and sleigh rides, nostalgia for times past that mostly just live in songs.  There is a new tradition in the making!  What do you think?  What other scents could be added to my new line of "True Scent" holiday candles? 

The washing machine just ate Chloe's comforter.  Months ago the washer went skewompus and the agitator only moves in one direction instead of going back and forth.  Instead of repairing or replacing, I improvised:  I turn the machine on the fastest agitating mode.  The way I figure, really fast one direction is about the same as medium speed two directions, right?  Worked fine -- until today.  Luckily, I was in the basement when the machine started jumping around and making crazy noises - who knows what might have happened if I hadn't stopped it when I did?  As it is, the comforter was twisted around clear inside the inner guts of the machine,  the central agitator has come apart in several pieces, and I am soaking wet from wrestling the twisted, torn, dripping comforter from the machine's clutches.  Told you I had a Greek Curse!!