~ guilty pictures ~

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I believe I've mentioned that we have a new kitten?

Her name is Cirra - short for Cirrus,

 named for the swirling stripes and belly spots that resemble cirrus clouds.

I just received my camera changer in the mail (thanks Dad!)

and found these guilty pictures from the girls.

They'll get a little talking-to about respecting furry family members......

By process of elimination, the copyright to all photographs in this post is held by Olivia. 

Cirra is in my basket of hexipuffs.

A second attempt is made to put the kitten in the basket. 

This time she won't pause for pictures....

Friends, family and online friends - is there anyone else who needs to be invited to my little blog?

Please let me know in the comments! :D

~carrie~

~ fade ~

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Someone found it and stuck it onto the bulletin board with a piece of tape.

A little EKG sticker.

Lost in the junk drawer.

A little over a year ago, at 3 o'clock in the morning,

I sat in my bed next to my sleeping partner,

peeling them off my chest.

The emergency room triage nurse had put them there, 

and shortly afterwards she'd told me that I had anxiety.

But mostly she told me that I wasn't dying.

And that panic attacks were scary, but that was all.

I went on to have panic attacks several times a day, night, for the next year.

I cannot exaggerate how profoundly dark my life, our family life, was.

Then a simple test showed something in my body was out of balance,

and in a single day.......everything changed for the better.

I could weep with joy......except it is more fun to smile.

There is light in our home, in our hearts.

We are all breathing peacefully,

laughing more,

feeling frustrated less.

My eyes are not clouded with despair and tension has faded.

I notice little beautiful things all around.

My face is soft and prone to smiling.

We spread out into the backyard, 

listening to the birds,

pawing for bugs and flowers.

My windows are open.

And the light is pouring in.

And out.

Once more I focus on the tiny little worlds around me.

My wonderment returns.

Today I celebrate 33 years on this beautiful Earth.

I am glad that I am here.

~carrie~

~ follow through ~

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The box that the girls' bathroom light 

was left under the sink.

Lela found it and whilst in the bathroom,

broke the styrofoam into pieces.

Tiny balls almost lighter than air rolled and blew over the floor.

I didn't follow through with having her clean it up,

and they moved to the bedroom,

where they created a snowy day for their dollhouse inhabitants.

Once again, I didn't follow through with telling them to stop their mess,

and the snowy day turned to a blizzard.

It got much worse than these pictures.....

Far, far worse......

The tiny little bits of styrofoam clung to everything.

Every stuffed animal in the room.....

In between the sheets......

On the walls.....

In our hair......

I admit that I lost my patience more than a couple times,

with three little girls who were having more fun rolling on the floor

than helping vacuum and shake tiny balls out of everything.

After emptying the vacuum canister about a dozen times,

and unclogging the motor filter nearly as often,

shaking out all the sheets, 

brushing off each toy,

we declared the room almost clean.

Now there are only about 3 million little balls of foam hiding and sticking in unlikely places.

Down from 3 billion.....I don't exaggerate. 

I don't feel particularly good about my temper flaring with them,

though I admit that I don't mind them seeing me (rightfully) upset.

I have had a couple apologies - 

for not listening and disobeying and for doing something wrong in the first place.

I've also issued a couple apologies - 

for yelling, and for not seeing that they followed through.

Live and learn.....
Lela's consequence is picking up 25 balls once, twice or three times a day, until they are gone,
(the little ones are at 20).
My consequence is having to enforce the aforementioned consequence......and follow through...

These are small children.

Small children are not small adults.

Small children make messes.

Small children should not be expected to control their impulses all the time.

Small children can learn a lot by having a (relatively) grounded parent,

helping them wade through the consequences of their actions.

And it seems like I have to relearn this every day.

~carrie~

~ in the studio: getting there! ~

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Welcome to the studio!

Looks a little better than before, doesn't it?

The first day was less-than-glamorous.

Towering stacks of boxes that needed to be sorted and put in storage.

Children's clothing had to be moved and put in their new closet.

A bed and frame to be broken down and stuffed in the closet.

One old sewing machine from my uncle's mother finds her home!

A small stack of items still need sorting, but the hard part is done!

The 2nd story window gets great morning sunlight, 

and looks into the backyard.

That old vanity was in my childhood bedroom,

and reflects my new machine and pegboard.

More mess piles are revealed!

The full size bed just barely fit in the shallow closet.

When we have guests, we'll pull it out and set it up.

But in such a small room, where space is at a premium,

it doesn't make sense to leave it out,

unused for 99% of the time.

The little wall to the left of the closet, to the right of the door,

seems like the perfect place for yarn storage.....

My fabric is destined for those two temporary shelves.

They came out of the closet when the bed went in!

Hmmm, that vanity just doesn't seem to be very useful there.....

My newish machine, pegboard of notions and the man who helped make it possible. 

Looks like a pretty good start,

but there's more work to do!

I'm so grateful to have a space for creativity!

It's been a long time since I felt well enough to put my meager talents to good use.

But now that I'm better, I'm looking forward to making up for lost time.  

~carrie~

~ in the studio: a work-in-progress ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What?

This doesn't look like a studio to you???

Me either!

Our little home has 3 bedrooms.

A very large bedroom with bathroom for the adults.

A tiny blue room for the children.

And a larger yellow room that has been a work-in-progress for way too long.

Now, the children are moved out of their tiny blue room,

and into their fresh, beautiful new *PINK* room.

The full size bed had been shared by the little ones, 

and where you see tools and boxes, 

there was a twin bed for the eldest.

Just a few short days ago,

the tiny blue room looked like this,

with some of the children's clothes still left in the closet.

This is my *new* studio! 

Well, maybe it's just *my studio* since there was never an old one.

Unless you count this:

 A tiny cluttered sewing desk, in our bedroom, that doubles as my nightstand.

The pegboard with my threads that my awesome partner made for me the Winter before last.

My fabrics are stored in the drawers of this (below) dresser.

Hmmmmm, maybe instead of a studio,

I should have made it a laundry room?

Finding the fabric you're looking for in a deep drawer?
Frustrating and messy!

My other notions and such were in baskets in the closet.

(That loom that is slightly buried in the laundry mountain

will eventually reside in my studio.)

So, not really much of a studio so far!

But in the few short days there has been much rearranging, 

and organizing,

and shuffling,

so that today things in that little blue room look much different!

Please stay tuned for pictures of the transformation!

~carrie~

~ swinging through the last day of january ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They raised their swings.

Laurel's pendulum moved at a different frequency,

perhaps more in rhythm with her heart.

And she began to pump and move on her own.

It caught me by surprise,

her calls for me to come watch her swing on her own.

I was standing at the kitchen window.

I could hear the pride in her voice.

Excitement.

She's been the only one who couldn't do it for a year.

Selfishly, my thoughts turned to myself.

How many times have I brushed off her calls to 

"come swing me Momma"?

It stings and burns my heart,

to have missed those opportunities.

To have intentionally and unintentionally missed those memories.

Please don't misunderstand:

I have spent plenty of time out there swinging them all.

Lots of wonderful moments, with me laughing and dodging between them.

But I want them to have memories of me gently pushing them,

of them laughing while we play that game we play,

of me laughing while we play that game we play.

Not memories of me walking away 

because I don't have time,

or because I am too overwhelmed by life.

My children are precious.

My time with them is precious.

I deserve to be happier.

I deserve to have a lighter heart.

~carrie~