It's no secret that I am passionate about relationships- family, friends, and intimate ones. I've spent the better part of my life asking myself, "Why?", as if I'm any authority. I go 'round and 'round in circles wondering why people make the decisions they do in relationships with me, with others. Do you remember that scene in Sex and the City when Carrie is obsessing about yet another breakup with Big and she's sitting at lunch with the girls reassuring herself that she's got things under control, that she doesn't need to sit on some quack's couch, because she has her girlfriends? To which Samantha replies something like, "Nope. You're too much for us. We've done all we can. You need to get some help." That's me- in a nutshell. I'm obsessive and flawed and hungry to learn more.
Back in January, I wrote about my new year's resolutions in Goalkeeper. I have entered a clear passage in my life which has allowed me to come to terms with a slew of my shortcomings. I over plan, over worry, and over work myself in areas that aren't overall beneficial. The past several weeks I decided to tackle something I've always wanted to do, something I've been too scared or too lazy to deal with, by starting a vegetable garden. It may seem a little too earthy to some or a big step backwards to others since the produce section is in constant, ample supply, but for me it would mean a little bit more. I needed to settle some past hurts and fears, get off my rear, and just do it.
With one little craft, we became bird nerds in this post. Our grapefruit bird feeders were a big hit with all of our fluttering visitors and we didn't want it to end. We made two new feeders with fresh seed mixture and refilled the two we made before. The sun perfectly dried out the old ones so they were sturdy enough to use again. Then, we waited. With all of spring's fluorescent green sprouts distracting the birds, they weren't as excited about the feeders as they were during the winter. However, something else wasted little time getting the feeders within the grip of its greedy little paws.
It's no secret that I'm stuck in my book. I'm starting to despise the word "memoir". It's pompous. Why is my life elevated to such a level that it deserves a published work? Why do I think I'm special enough for others to spend time and energy reading about me? How can I possibly spend that much time immersed in myself and claim not to be a narcissist? How can I justify taking precious time away from my children during the day, or my husband at night, to pour my heart into something which, odds are, won't be particularly beneficial- monetarily speaking? The truth is- it's not, I'm not, and I can't...convincingly. And yet, I must.
The main appeal of camping? The food. I run across yummy camping nibbles on Pinterest all the time. I yearn for the day we cook over the fire in a cast-iron dutch oven or skillet. Until then, we'll stick with what's easy- Hobo Dinner with marshmallows for dessert.
Camping. Camping with kids. Did you just flinch? Or did you sigh? I loved camping as a kid and even as an adult. Cozy tents, a kaleidoscope of stars, crackling campfires, and spending the day covered in a layer of dirt was charming, even exhilarating. From Girl Scout trips to 3am munchies on the Guadalupe, I loved it all. Now, camping as a parent? That's tricky, even a bit scary.