the not-so-rosy side of life

Recently someone close to me noted that my blog usually portrays the rosier side of life. It wasn't meant as a criticism, just an observation. For the most part, I purposely write about the things that make me happy or contemplative, things that have a positive spin. I like to look for the poetry. I need to look for it. But don't be fooled if you think that somehow my family is more put together, more creative, or even happier than most. I just don't usually write about what's getting me down. But I decided that in honor of that someone close to me, I will share the not-so-rosy side of life.

My woes start with spring. What's not rosy about spring, you ask? Well, it's spring that gets me down. Don't get me wrong. I love the warmer, longer days. I love seeing the sun for more than 10 minutes in 24 hours. But I hate what this season amplifies: how much there is to do.

The windows come open and the screens are filthy. Dust flies off the mini-blinds. I can write my name on every surface in my house and, with the "beautiful" late afternoon sunlight that streams in the windows, read it. Piles of too-small clothes are arranged in small towers on the floor of the boys' closet waiting to be sorted, while I rummage through plastic bins of summer clothes in the attic to find short sleeves for an unexpected week in the 70s. Hats and gloves and scarves that were once essential are taking up precious space in the cubbies and boots are getting kicked around the kitchen. I can hardly even bear to enter the basement playroom anymore. In the winter the mess was cozy. In the spring I have an urge to throw every toy away. And then, there's the yard.

Every year (except the two times I was eight months pregnant and in crazy nesting mode throughout April), early spring leaves me panicky and paralyzed. I don't know how or where to begin. I just want to close my eyes and wake up to a clean, organized house and a gorgeous, landscaped yard. I want to sew and bake and read on the sun porch. But I can't stop thinking about how much there is to do. And so I can't do anything.

This afternoon, my husband is out cleaning the garage. I am not sure what came over him and I don't dare ask. Having someone else clean gives me a little encouragement. I shouldn't need much. I spent my summers throughout college and most of high school as a camp housekeeper, so I know I have it in me. I just need to get started.

When Elliott wakes up, I'm going to tackle the clothes piles. I'm going sort and clean and organize that one little closet and room. I know it will bolster me. It will help me take the next step. It will make life a little rosier again.

And now that I have a plan, I'm going to go bake something.