A House of Imperfections

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.

-John Howard Payne

Our house is a small house with four walls and a front door. It sits in a building with many other houses and among a community with hundreds of other work-goers and family-makers. It is high off the ground, overlooking neighboring lights and a football field from my youth.

It holds the character of our souls, with walls that bring paint colors of warmth and pictures of our past. We play video games here. We wash dishes here. We eat here and play here and drink here. We pray here.

Everything inside me almost every day screams to keep it up to par. To ensure its put-togetherness-its perfection. My pillows, often misaligned on their classy home, kill me with their sagging bit. And each walk-by I do, I make myself pass over them because there is no energy left for realignment.

Tonight, before writing to you, I put Leaves to bed, took a shower, made my bed, did the dishes, packed my lunch, washed my pump, pumped, peeled my eggs for the morning, and refilled two water bins.

Tomorrow, when I wake up, all of it will be drained out of this house again as we live the day over.

Levi will quarrel with me to get his diaper changed and I will quarrel with the bottle warmer to heat his milk. He will use up all the bottles I washed and I will dirty the pump again. And the water bin for the Keurig will be empty by noon.

A house in disarray was my enemy before this. Even when a streak of dirt lay across the counter. But now I am overwhelmed by its glory.

It is clean and sometimes dirty.

Neat and sometimes messy.

Quiet and sometimes loud.

Fruitful and sometimes wasteful.

It is our own nook.

And when I come home at 6 o’clock to find three bottles in various places including under our sheets in bed, it reminds me of a husband who is home to feed Levi when he needs to be fed.

And for all these things and more, I am so grateful.

A Different Kind of Workout

I haven’t worked out in ages. Or what feels like ages. Before I got pregnant, and even into the first month of my pregnancy, I was gung-ho. I ran like it was nothing, taught a group class at work, and lifted weights a few times a week. There was barely a day where I didn’t do SOMETHING to stimulate my muscles and cardio system.

That has changed now. I still work out, but it is a different kind.

Life in the fast lane, with all our comings and goings, has left little time for exercise. Frankly, any time left in the day we do have is filled with couch lounging, coffee drinking, and Facebook. I guess we could potentially make the time to exercise regularly, but it’s almost too hard at this point. Mornings are short and evenings are practically nonexistent with house-straightening and dinner-making.

In addition, our house is small. And it’s not a house, it’s a condo. So if I work out inside, the people below me get a good dose of thunder above. Plus, I fear I will wake Leaves up.

I always get a little unmotivated during winter, too. It’s dark and gloomy out all-the-time. And all people seem be doing is eating, especially around the holidays. Come spring, I plan to be out there on the streets in my Reeboks, with Leaves in the running stroller.

But even though I’m not working out on a planned regimen as before, I’m still “working out.”

Last night I spent approximately 15 minutes doing lunges in Levi’s room, with him in tow. I was trying to get him to fall asleep, rocking him back and forth and up and down, so much so that it was burning my leg muscles. And he liked it, so dare I stop. There’s nothing a mom won’t do, I find, to get a fussy baby to sleep. Including leg lunges with 14 or so pounds of baby weight. Bring it!

That’s not the only time I, or we, work out with him. Having a child, I have learned, brings opportunity for many ways to stay in shape.

We have to pick him up 90 times a day from wherever he is to change his diaper. And then we remove him from the changing table and put him back down to wherever he was. When we get ready to go somewhere, we have to pick him up again, get him ready, and spend a half hour putting him in his car seat. And the car seat doesn’t move itself. Sometimes I wish it did. Nope. We have to carry it. Along with nine other bags (if you’re me) that you left the house or came home with. That junk gets HEAVY!

And then there is picking him up out of his crib, or changing his position, and lifting him up when you are on the couch holding him and he is ready to go to bed. And of course, the older he gets, the harder this will be to do and the heavier he will get, making more work.

And work it is.

It’s fun work, though. I miss the gym so much, but at least I can tell myself I’m doing something, even when I’m really not.