Decluttering and organizing

I’ve been trying to organize and declutter my house. I make attempts at this every day, although I don’t really much of a difference.

So today I spent a few hours in my bedroom. I was feeling very detached from everything so it wasnt hard to find things to let go of.

I pulled at least ten items of clothing out of my closet right away, I filled up a trash bag with garbage, donated 3 pairs of shoes that weren’t bad at all. I went through my clothes for a second round and probably found ten more items.

In the end I had a huge bag full of stuff to donate. My closet looks better inside, and I created enough room to put a box of art supplies at the bottom. I’ve been tripping over that stupid box for weeks.

Even the huge bag to donate has been dropped off. Now the down side is visually my room only looks a tiny bit different, and I won’t get super productive with my goal of decluttering and organizing the rest of the day. I’ll be doing the absolute nessisary things, like picking kids up, dinner, etc.

As good as it gets

it’s raining, thundering, and lightning outside. My dog is snoozing I’m my lap.

I wonder how my iguana feels about storms.

I got out a puzzle after dinner. A puzzle I bought even though it was overpriced, because it glows in the dark, and I thought my kids would like it.

I imagined us all building it together, frustrated yet determined.

I gave each kid a handful of peices. They picked this activity instead of coloring. One kid pushed the pile back saying he’d rather watch.

The other picked out a couple edges  and asked for his I pad.


Those old family photos

The other night, when I was looking through the old family photos at my moms house, I snapped pictures of some on my phone.

It was hard to narrow it down, but here are my favorites:


My mom in 1981 in Oklahoma. She said they had just moved here from Germany when this picture was taken. I think she looks pretty here with her natural hair color, and she looks happy. 


I don’t think this was a good picture since everyone seems distracted, but this is how I remember my family in the time before things fell apart. We are at church here, I’m the little one that’s not smiling. Not surprising, I through fits and got spankings there all the time.


Me and my brother John. We were like best friends. I’m the smaller chubbier lil fella.


Another family photo the way I remember us. I remember this exact day. My dad still looks like that too.


I feel like this was an ‘after things fell apart’ photo. Notice my sister is not here. I think my parents look tired.


A lot of photos after church. I still have this vest.


I love that my dad is in this picture. He was kind of distant, probably one of the last times he went to church with us. I always wanted him there with us.


Me and my sister after she wiggled her way back into our parents good graces. I was especially hurt by her absents, and was always so happy to see her. I know she only came back because of me and John.


I feel like this reflects the person I was becoming. I named that rabbit ‘Baby’ only because I couldn’t find a suitable name. He was the most mild mannered rabbit, and he never got any bigger. I still find comfort in animals.

Well, that’s all for now. Thanks for reading this, I know hearing someone tell about those old family photos bores some people to death.

A mother and son

My apologies go out to my fellow bloggers, I haven’t kept up on reading or commenting very well. (let alone writing)

Everything around me seems to be malfunctioning, or falling apart.

My new phone is becoming cranky faster than it’s predecessor (who left me with nothing) but I’m going to continue treading this water until I get through it.

Every time I go about fixing myself, or being fixed by others, things around me need  repairing.

If it’s new, it will develop a problem that prevents it from fully functioning.

Mr. Cranky-Phone is holding some pictures hostage that I’d like to share. They are from my childhood. I went to visit my mom the other night, we went through my old photos.

I mostly had good memories, up to a point. My good memories coincided with my Moms memories of sorrows and apologies for things that happened to me- things completely out of her control.

Maybe she was going through something similar to what I am going through now.

We only share a few bad memories, my body bares the scars that prove the truth behind hers.

What my body feels bothers me more than my scars ever have.

I’ll never forget it. 

She always looks down when she tells me this; her hand shields her eyes, I’ve always assumed she’s crying, or holding back tears. I know she’s reliving the moment every time, every time I listen  attentively.

YOUR FATHER wanted these curtains hung, he was so persistent on things,  I had to sew them up first, I was sewing and hanging these curtains, and all of the sudden I look up,  your tiny fingers gripping the floor beside the staircase, and before I can even move they slip off. 


I seen you laying at the bottom of those stairs, you where completely unconscious, I thought for sure you were dead, I got down there and you were still breathing. 

This was one of my brushes with death. I don’t think it was her fault. I do know what it is like to be a completely overwhelmed parent.

Completely overwhelmed parent unfortunately looks kind of like inattentive parent- but I assure you they are not the some thing.

I’m off to bed, but I think there may be more to   …    whatever this is that I’m experiencing.



Just sharing images

image This is the area of my yard that I have been working on for the past couple weeks. The progress is slow, but paying off. I love it more and more.

image And this is the view I see from laying in the hammock.  The grand old trees reaching their branches into the sky. Their flowers smell sweet in the spring, along with the honey suckles, and in the fall their are flowers that bloom also. Even in the middle of these hot summer days- that spot is an escape.

My most loved and missed pets are buried there. Some ppl might find that morbid, I can’t. Theres no where else I’d rather put them.

image Last of all is this; the first page in my new sketchbook. It has a meaning that I hope to pass onto someone, although I’m not sure they will ever care to understand.


Someone should know

The best and worst thing about being in prison is the way time passes, you can look down at your watch and instead of seeing a face you see calendar pages flying by. Then you look out the window and it takes all day for that sun to go down. I always wanted to tell someone that. Someone should know. 

-The Fear of the Number 13

I kept writing because people should know what happens out here.

-The journal of a boy ( I can’t remember who to credit)

Laura Ingals Wilder wrote her story because she felt that people should know what her life was like.

She wrote a true story, unfortunately it was edited drastically because people thought that children should not think of life as being hard.

L.M. Montgomery had done a bit of editing herself.

Her life was hard, in her old age she gathered up her journals and diaries and re-wrote them to have happier endings.

These thoughts have been floating around in my head and I’m not sure what to do with them.

I have things that someone should know.

Life life has been unbearably hard lately, and I haven’t been able to tell anyone those things.

Or anything for that matter.

Today was my first meeting with a new counselor. I made about 10 phone calls to different doctors, trying desperately to get some help.

They all directed me to the local institution that has failed me several times.

This was my last ditch effort, so when she started to redirect there, I stopped her, I literally begged for her to listen to me.

While on the phone, I felt her switching from receptionist mode into professional mental health mode.

She guessed correctly at what I was feeling, and kept me talking, which I didn’t mind.

There was cation in her words as if I was the person standing on the ledge, and she was the one sent to talk me down.

Maybe it’s those things that we hold- the ones that someone should know- that are imprisonning us.

Maybe they are the real indicators of time within us.




Just thinking

Lil Guy is starting 2nd grade this week. Lil Fella will be in 7th, he starts next week.

I think I’ll start wrapping up my summer projects soon, which will feel good. I absolutely hate waiting around.

Ive done all the things I can do- with kids.

I’d really like to feel like the same five minutes of my life are not on repeat anymore.