Stream of Consciousness Whilst Avoiding Cleaning My Room

I have a stack of papers on my floor that need to be gone through.
Most of them are probably trash, but I can't just throw them away.
I have to filter through them.
And then I have to burn the ones I don't want.
Identity theft is so stupid.
"Jesus in New Orleans" is playing on iTunes.
Some days, I want to clean.
Some days, I want to stay in bed.
Some days, I want to go away.
Some days, I want to stay inside.
What kind of day is this?
Bard is home for three more days.
Today, she's getting her hair cut and colored.
I have a grocery list the size of someone's arm.
Remember Ed Grimley?
That was funny stuff.
But I think it jumped the shark with the cartoon, don't you?
I mean, watching Martin Short himself was 98% of the fun.
Why animate that?
Who's your favorite comedy actor right now?
I think mine's either Jack Black or Steve Carell.
The Office is my current obsession.
HTML is amazing.
I need to dust.
"Stella's Tarantella" is playing now.
The Baby loves this song.
She's not much of a baby anymore.
Actually, she's a pretty amazing little girl who is almost six years old.
I love birthdays.
What will we do for this birthday?
When she turned four, my friend Kim painted her a picture.
It was a pink and purple birthday.
There were balloons, and windows, and buildings and guitars and a cake with four candles.
It's one of my favorite things.
It's hanging downstairs.
Are we still friends?
I miss our walks.
My running has stopped.
I want to run again.
Monet and I are hoping to train for a 5K, but we've not been doing very well.
I bought him a pair of running shoes.
I think we'll do it.
But when?
"Spark" by Over the Rhine is playing now.
It's one of my favorite songs.
Especially this line:
"Obsessions with self-preservation
faded when I threw my fear away.
It's not a thing you can imagine.
You either lose your fear or spend your life
with one foot in the grave."
That line was an epiphany for me.
Lose my fear.
What's the worst thing that could happen to me?
No one can steal my soul.
The next life is so glorious.
Eternal bliss.
Oneness with Christ.
Knowledge. Happiness. Freedom from pain.
Wake up dreaming.
Only love can turn this around.
Jesus was an incredible man.
I wish more people could see him and not what his followers do to him.
It's time to wrap this up.
It's time to love life.
Blessings on this amazing day.

The day is new and fresh. Now what will I do with it? I have my plans, of course, as I normally do when I wake to the sun peaking over the hill. I have a lovely view of it from my bedroom window; on most days, I'm happy to greet it, especially lately as I've made the decision to minimize my stress by staying home more, making a commitment to say, "I'm sorry, but I'm not able to do that." I don't say no to everything, but I have cut way, way back on the things that I do as an individual and the things we do as a family outside of our home. Gone are the days of rushing around looking for choir uniforms, or making hour-long drives to this or that organization, or spending days at a time preparing classes for other homeschooled children who choose not to do their assignments anyway. My focus needs to be on my family, on my health, and on the things that I know I can dedicate my time to fully without stressing everyone out.

So, my days are less stressful now. I know that who I am is not wrapped up in my performances. I can have meaningful relationships with people without "proving myself" through committees and organizations and meetings and clubs and societies. And now, if you ask me to do something and I say, "yes," you can know that I mean it fully.

Which leaves many of my days open and flexible. I like that.

Today, for example, is Saturday. Last year, I would have woken on any given December Saturday with a feeling of dread. What long car ride or unpleasant commitment do I have to greet today? Moreover, regardless of how well I do my task today, someone will not be pleased and I will feel that I've failed. What a depressing way to greet the day! How many things I put on the back burner, like teaching my children basic household tasks, or writing an essay, or making meals at home so that I could "be there" for this or that organization, job or club.

But today, I sit at home inhaling the aroma of my son's breakfast-making--pancakes and bacon-- and listening to the sounds of the dryer running, a blessing that has come about because I stopped saying "not now" to the nine-year-old daughter who kept begging me to teach her to do laundry. She has become a maniac, a laundry-doing machine; she sorts, washes, dries, folds, hangs, matches and puts away clothes better than I every have.

Last night, Bo and I were marveling over Sweetheart's gift as a laundress. When she came into the room, we decided to let her choose what the family would do for dinner that night. She didn't know, wasn't comfortable choosing. Couldn't we ask someone else? Couldn't we take a vote? We explained to her that we were giving her this choice because she had done such a fabulous job taking over the laundry chores. She didn't need a reward, she insisted. She likes doing laundry.

She likes doing laundry.

She likes it.

She. LIKES. it.

And so, doing laundry is its own reward. No other reward is needed.

She likes sorting the whites from the darks.

She likes starting the machine.

She likes putting in the laundry detergent and the fabric softener.

She likes the routine of putting the wash into the dryer.

She likes taking the warm clothes from the dryer, smelling their freshness, folding them and ushering them off to their proper locations.

She finds the reward in the enjoyment of the task.

This is the lesson I'm trying to learn. I will say yes to those things I've been gifted to do, those things that bring others joy, certainly, but that bring me joy because the doing of them is my reward. Of course I have to do some unpleasant tasks, but I'm learning to even enjoy those, and to reap my reward from the task itself, not from what others think of it.

This morning, I have a Saturday, and I have a to-do list that is dotted with reasonable expectations, planning ahead, and relishing the process.

And tomorrow will be new, and fresh, and I will not dread it.