Alaska
1:14 PM - Posted by Bobbi - 0 comments
May is my three-year anniversary of moving to Wisconsin. A part of me celebrates because a lot of good things have happened to us since we've been here, but there's another part of me that still misses Alaska.

I grew up there, spent most of my life there, so it isn't easy for me to move on. This summer, the boys and I will be going up to Anchorage and Fairbanks where we will be reunited with my sisters and mother, along with many, many friends. It's going to be fun and a little intimidating to finally witness how much Anchorage has continued to grow in my absence.

We'll be hiking Crow's Pass - my sisters and a friend and I. I'm excited to get back on the trail with a pack on my back and nothing but the world in front of me. I always feel like Perry or Henson, explorers without limits, without fear, just me and my pack and the world under my feet. The terrain is familiar there, and welcoming.

We have a countdown on our calendar. The boys check it once a week to mark off the days that have passed and count the remaining days. They are excited to spend time with their Nana and their cousins and aunties. I am excited to spend time with friends and hang out with my sisters. We have already scheduled yoga classes and cycling classes at a local yoga studio. 

My mom has already told me she plans on taking some half days (because she cannot take off a whole day - what if someone needs her at work?) and we will go shopping together. 

What are you summer plans? Are you traveling? Camping? Hiking? Hanging out with friends? Whatever you are doing, enjoy yourself!

Blessed be.


Balance?
11:13 AM - Posted by Bobbi - 0 comments
Last month I did a lot of writing and not a lot of quilting. This month I've done a lot of quilting and not a lot of writing. Of course, this is all in an effort to get as much possible done before I go, but I'm going to have to make peace with the fact that I can't possibly get everything finished. I'm not twelve people.

Sometimes having so much to do is frustrating. I've already given up many hobbies; must I give up yet another? Do I give up quilting or writing? Is it a matter of poor time management? It a matter of overextending myself? Is it all of the above? 

How do I possibly do everything I'd like when I'm stuck here, cooking and managing the house, trying to pursue something meaningful and fun, while I avoid cleaning the bathroom? 

I have no answer to any of this, except that there must be a balance between home and travel, work and play. I just haven't seemed to find it yet.

Have you managed to strike that balance? What's your advice?

Blessed be.


Coaching
4:40 AM - Posted by Bobbi - 0 comments
Balin has played tee ball for the last two years. He enjoys it immensely, mostly because when we get home, he gets to eat a popcicle. In fact, I'm pretty sure if we cut him off, declaring that there would never again be popcicles after tee ball, he would choose not to play tee ball. 

This year, upon signing him up, in a strange fit of delierium, I thought about how much fun it would be to coach.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Robinson asks. 

He's right, because I always seem to bite off more than I can chew. It's as if a great snake somewhere had unhinged its jaws and forced a whole cow down its throat.  Fortunately everything on my to-do list seems to get done. Eventually. Kind of like the cow being digested. 

"I'm only going to be the assistant coach," I protest, as if that's going to make everything better.

I find out that the mother of one of Balin's classmate's is going to be coaching with me. The two of us have never coached before. I doubt that between the two of us we've ever played a sport. 

Over the phone, she seems a very nice person, and I'm glad we were paired together. The thought crosses my mind that we were paired up because we are girls. Which we probably were.

Somehow that idea makes me a little sad - as if women coaching tee ball is a joke, anyway. But maybe it's practical: maybe everyone knew that we sort of knew each other through school. 

I've decided to take on a whole who cares attitude about it. The whole purpose of tee ball is popcicles, right?

Blessed be.


Birthday Bowling
9:28 PM - Posted by Bobbi - 0 comments
Dear Arthur,

Yesterday was your birthday. You turned eight. You were so terribly excited for this birthday, so much so that you insisted upon doing something fun. You chose ice skating but rink had closed for the season. Instead, we ended up inviting your whole class to bowl with us at the local bowling alley on Sunday, the day after your birthday. 
Apparently, a few other people in your class had birthdays about the same time: Andrea and Salvador and Ja'Caigh. I brought homemade chicken and sausage tamales and fruit with ground up chili for your class. Everyone wanted more and received seconds of fruit, but not of the tamales. It was noted by several of your classmates that I would have to make many, many more next time because they were so delicious.

On Sunday, we hoped for a big turnout. Your past birthdays had not been well-attended, so imagine our surprise when 11 kids showed up! Even Aunt Gloria came down from the farm to see you and wish you a happy birthday. She fetched your pizza and root beer and even reminded you when it was your turn to bowl. She took pictures of the two of you together. She had a great time, noting that someday we would have to go bowling with Papa. ("And get Papa drunk!" you exclaimed. She laughed.) 

You bowled a 78 - which was pretty good for an eight year old. After eating cake and opening some brand-new Lego kits, you thanked everyone for coming and handed out the Mixels we bought as a party favor. Everyone was excited to take them home and build them, saying, "Arthur sure likes Legos!" Later that afternoon, you declared that this was the best birthday ever and that you wanted to go bowing again next year. 

My dear, sweet boy: for this next year, I wish so much for you. I wish that you continue to grow into the good person that you're becoming. I wish for you to become more confident and more capable in your abilities. And I also wish for you to be yourself, always.

Blessed be. 


Someone Turns 5!
2:04 PM - Posted by Bobbi - 0 comments
Dear Balin:

This year was a strange year for your birthday, and I apologize for that. You see, we had gone to Nashville for spring break. Your birthday fell on that Monday. You looked around the table at dinnertime, sighed, and stated very matter-of-factly: "I guess none of my friends are coming to my party tonight."

Once we reassured you that your party - with your friends - would be held the Sunday we returned, you could not stop talking about it for the rest of the week. You mentioned it at the Lego Store. The zoo. Numerous times to Uncle Johnny and Uncle LeeBob. It became your favorite topic of conversation, which, in retrospect, is pretty normal for an excited five-year-old.

You wanted a Paw Patrol cake, so I obliged, making a chocolate cake with chocolate icing topped with Rubble, one of your Paw Patrol dogs. He had dug a hole in the first layer with his tiny excavator which I had liberally sprinkled with blue candy crystals and cake crumbs to emulate dirt.

Many friends came to your birthday party, most of whom you had not seen since last summer. You insisted upon not inviting anyone from your class - which I found amusingly odd since you  always speak quite fondly of Hector and Andrew and Zachary.

You received many new Paw Patrol toys - most from your Auntie Blythe - and some fun Star Wars books that you have already read over and over again.

This year, Balin, I hope you continue to grow from a toddler into a charismatic, lovable little boy. I hope you keep practicing your knock-knock jokes and learn to tell them with ease and perfect timing. I want for you to continue to make people laugh.

Blessed be.


Lucky
1:30 PM - Posted by Bobbi - 0 comments
For some reason I've been thinking a lot about an old, old discussion some Fairbanks friends and I were having. I am not at all sure how the subject had come up, but we were talking about "the best". Everyone agreed that one friend had the best, most beautiful house. Another friend's husband had the best body and everyone wanted their husband to look like that.

As shallow and self-absorbed as it was, I waited for someone to say they wanted something of mine - but it didn't come. No one said they wanted my house, my car, or my husband. No one wanted my family, my life, my anything. I was hurt, deeply hurt, not because my life wasn't great, but because it meant I was not special.

The funny thing is, I look back at that conversation and a part of me still feels a little sad. I've grown up a lot since then and don't rely on others so much to make me happy but there will always be that little part of me that wishes someone would say, "Wow, Bobbi. You're so lucky."

The thing is, I already know I'm lucky.

I have a husband who washes the dishes almost every night, who pitches in with the housework, and who makes enough to support us so that I can stay home and take care of the boys, if need be. I'm not afraid to speak to him about anything and everything. He supports me in my crazy endeavors.

I have two boys who are amazing human beings. They are creative and kind, intelligent and loving. They are gracious to their classmates and teachers. People remember them.

I live in a brand-new townhouse. I teach people English. I brought Imagination Library to Beloit. I take care of myself. I get to travel. I have sewing skills. I can (successfully!) write grants. I have an extended family that loves me. I have friends who like me for who I am.

There are more things that make me lucky, too. So even though it wasn't spoken those many years ago, I am incredibly lucky.

What makes you lucky?

Blessed be.


Normal
10:57 AM - Posted by Bobbi - 0 comments
As a child, you grow up in a certain environment. You don't always have the ability to determine whether or not you exist in a normal or abnormal situation.

My sisters and I grew up in a tiny, 2-bedroom apartment in Barrow, Alaska. With such limited space, most people would have limited stuff, simply because at a certain point, you'd be falling over things just to get from one place to the next. 

I remember vividly, however, the stacks of boxes along the wall next to the door to the main complex. There was a desk under there, somewhere. The kitchen countertops were always covered with dishes or food because the cupboards were full of dishes, food, and papers. In fact, our pet birds lived in the kitchen since there wasn't room for them anywhere else (I don't even want to think about how unsanitary that was).

The thing is, all of this was normal to us girls. Some of our other friends had as much (or more) stuff in their homes, too. The "I might need it someday" mentality was very much alive - not just in our home - but in our community as well. Getting rid of stuff was unthinkable. 

My parents have since moved to Anchorage and their 3-bedroom home is filled with stuff. Some rooms have neat paths through the clutter from the door to the beds or the furniture. In other rooms, it's floor to ceiling piles of boxes, papers, and books. 

My parents are fairly neat hoarders; it's dusty and they have pets, but my mom maintains their living conditions fairly well considering their predicament. She vacuums regularly in the paths with visible carpet. 

My dad collects books and stamps in order to sell them and my mom keeps every single childhood memento - even scraps of paper or junky McDonald's toys. For my dad, stuff means money; for my mom, it's a tie to the past.

The problem is, the house isn't just full of Mom and Dad's stuff; there's a huge amount of stuff belonging to my sisters and my nephew as well. For one sister, this stuff is a remnant of a past relationship with her emotionally abusive ex. As cliche as it sounds, the stuff seemed to represent this barrier for her: life seemed somewhat livable because she was protected by a physical wall of stuff. My youngest sister still has stuff at my mom and dad's because her 2-bedroom condo is too full of toys and clothes to bring it to her house. She's not a really collector and I don't see her as a hoarder, she just has a lot of things from when her girls were little that she's interested in selling, but just hasn't gotten around to it yet. So, she has a mentality similar to Dad's.

And me? My home is not wall-to-ceiling full of stuff, but I do have old papers that I am in the process of getting rid of and I feel as though I could easily become a compulsive shopper. Thrift stores are my weakness and I feel (slightly) disappointed when I leave without buying anything. I love interesting jars and green Floraline vases. I have more than enough fabric for projects years in the making. I have upholstery fabrics that will (eventually) become tote bags. I've had some serious buyers remorse after some of my purchases and have had trouble giving certain things away. It's hard to shake the mentality that I need so much - in actuality, I need very little - and I find so many things that I want but don't have room for. 

Keeping clutter in check is all about self-control and I sometimes lack self-control. 

For instance, I received a birthday coupon from my favorite thrift store giving me $5 off my next purchase of $5 or more. The problem is that this thrift store is nearly two hours away, up at the farm. We have been busy every single weekend, so odds are I will not be using the coupon, which sends me into a slight panic every time I think about it because I cannot resist a good deal. I can't rush to the farm whenever there's a good deal up there and yet I feel this compulsion to do so. I know this is ridiculous and silly, but I can't help it.

This Spring, I aim to get my paper clutter out. I plan on getting a high school photo album made and the old pictures sent off to friends because I don't like it sitting around and - more importantly - I don't want that stuff anymore. Why keep it?

How about you? How is your Spring Cleaning going? What are you planning on getting rid of?

Blessed be.