I believe so many things about myself that just aren’t true. Not even a little bit true.

You’re a failure.
You’ll never be enough.
You’re unattractive.
You’re too much… too loud, too vocal, too animated, too MUCH.

Only recently did this gigantic “ah, HA” world open up to me where my character traits I believed were flaws were actually GIFTS.

GIFTS.

I talk too much? No. I don’t. I just really, really don’t.
Try: I talk openly and freely. I’m expressive and talkative and colorful. It’s the way I was made and created, and for over 20 years, I’ve been solidly SQUASHING it because it seemed so demmed unattractive.

I’m playing a new game now -new field, new realm, new ball game.

As I’m cleansing my my life of my false beliefs, I’m finding I have to avoid certain places and situations that trigger them. Of course, I learned this by finding myself plopped IN those situations and thoroughly hating every fiber of my being.

I’m a very hands on learner.
Just ask my battle-worn sewing machine.

So here’s the deal: I can’t do cardio workouts right now. Every time Jillian Michaels pops up on my screen, I’m suddenly unattractive and riddled with shame.
I used to RUN toward that, thinking I needed to rid myself of my unattractive-ness!
When really? REALLY. I just needed to rid myself of Jillian Michaels for right now -until I’ve accepted myself fully as I am, until I’ve learned that I AM attractive and can embrace what I see in the mirror at any given time of day: first thing in the morning, freshly out of the shower, and right before bed when the day’s cookie count has accumulated in my bloated abdomen.

Shame for me is found in so many places.
I see Jillian Michaels… the trigger is pulled, and BAM: a false belief runs the gamut of my mind.
You’re too soft.
You don’t have it together.

I see a clean house run by someone who cleans their house religiously.
You’re not enough.
You’ve failed.

I see someone going through hard things who is all steel and granite.
You’re weak, you’re so SO weak.
You’re less than.

The blank unholy truth of it all is that I have this crazy belief that the way other people live somehow has something to do with ME.
And it doesn’t. It doesn’t AT ALL.

They can clean their house, and I can NOT and we can live and love each other without me believing that I am somehow the world’s worst and fullest failure of a creation that ever poisoned the carpet she dared to rent.
(PS: most of that is the kids’ fault… okay?)

I can own my beautiful MUCHNESS: my loudness, my animation, my crazy love for anything free and wild… this weird existence between country western and liberal gypsy (go ahead, ask me how long it’s been since I shaved my legs).

And I will say this: I do stuff really well. For everything I DON’T do well, I DO DO other stuff well (like make 11 year old boys laugh by saying “DO DO”).

There are wonderful people who have taken this journey before, who will read my words and think, ‘duh, Alicia.’ and that’s okay. Right now I’m in a cleansing place of learning to accept myself in spite of how others live, in spite of the mountain of “shoulds” I’ve built in my 28 years, in spite of my default setting that tells me life is somehow all about me.

In truth, life is a gigantic, majestic, embracing work of art full of variation and life and color. And I am a piece.
A good piece.
A MUCH piece.
A necessary piece.

And for that, I will stop apologizing for who I inherently am. I will apologize for things I do that are offensive and awful, but
“sorry I talk too much” is no longer on the menu, along with “sorry my house is a mess.”

Cleaning. It’s just not something I GET. I have to work REALLY hard at understanding the mechanics of organization and cleaning. Right now, during my cleanse, I just can’t do that.
Yesterday, I asked my kids to run and clean their room while I picked up the living room. Minutes later, my daughter came out of her room… where she had been CLEANING, remember … with THIS

My daughters have inherited my MUCHness, and now is the time to start loving that part of me so I can fully love and instill self-love and full self-acceptance in them.
Because the scene of my two favorite females emerging from a work environment wearing hard evidence that they’d actually been PLAYING was awesome and hilarious and (let’s face it) admirable.

I found this image through Glennon… Momastery Glennon… and it fits today.

 

About it, she says:

I’m often asked about my parenting “strategies” and I usually just say -“forgive yourself for being yourself.” But I saw this picture today and it reminded me that another parenting strategy of mine is to gently swerve out of the way sometimes so beautiful things can grow.

And I issue that same invitation to myself… to get out of my own way and let myself swerve out of the white lines I’ve painted in my restricted and colorless Mountain of Shoulds.

So this morning, I left pretty early for a quick medical test in a town 45 minutes away. I took my eldest with me and left everyone else in the dust.

Because they were sleeping.
But apparently, my starting up the car and backing out of the drive woke my 5 year old son up, and he naturally assumed that his ENTIRE FAMILY had abandoned him.

He did what any boy in his situation would do, which is run next door and tell “Super Grandma” (we have a lot of Grandmas around here) that his family left him alone.

She did what any loving neighbor in her situation would do, which is come next door and see the mess of my weekend and discover that my husband was sleeping soundly under his favorite thick comforter while his son was PJ-clad and gallivanting around the neighborhood.

We’re going to make her card.
I’m not sure if it should be full of apologies or gratitude. We’ll probably go with both and cover all of our bases.

This month has kind of been like that, you know?

A few weeks ago, we were driving to the store and my husband asked what I was thinking about.

I don’t know WHY he does that. It’s always mildly frightening, and he has to mentally go through this whole PROCESS of deciding to accept me anyway -in spite of my inner most thoughts.

“I was just thinking about how I hope I have a tumor growing on my brain so there would be a natural explanation for my utter lack of physical grace. Walking across a room and moving around is sometimes such a chore because I stumble and bump around. Is ‘bramble’ a word?”

Awkward is though.

Awkward has sort of been the theme of this month. It’s just been… off in ways that are head slappy and sighy and “of COURSE”y.

But the days are getting longer, and the Arizona heat is flirting with me. So I don’t much mind the awkwardness.
To be honest, I’m getting kind of fond of it. It feels familiar.
Which is probably hard evidence that there’s no tumor on my brain. I’m just naturally brambley.

My soul needs nourishing.

Sometimes, my soul needs more nourishing than it does at other times. Lately, I’ve needed a steady stream of nutrition directed RIGHT at my soul’s epicenter.

I wanted to share a little sample of my Soul Feast with you today. Is that okay?
I have so many things to blog about, but my time is very precious. What very little down time I do have these days is spent lying on the trampoline soaking up sun with my boy.
“Do you feel the Vitamin D, Trent?” I ask with my eyes clothes and limbs stretched out on the warm, black canvas.
“No,” he sighs, “I just feel da heat.”
“That’s the Vitamin D!” I say.
“Oh. I wanna feel da Vitamin D wiff my toes,” he says and peels his socks off.

That’s what I want to do with my downtime. I want to plug into the present and let the early spring sunshine have it’s way with my skin.

That is soul food.

Every once in a while, I push play on this video and let my soul digest slowly.

And quotes. I’m big on quotes. Quotes are like fulfilling Soul Snacks. Unless they’re about someone else making you happy and passed around the internet by preteens. Then they’re sorta maddening.

I found that gem on Facebook, and I absolutely love it.

Here’s another great video I push play on every once in a while… just for good measure:

It keeps me from “at least”ing others… AND myself.

My sister recently introduced me to Yoga with Adriene, and I can’t recommend it enough. It’s come into my life right when I’ve needed it.

She has a slew of videos, and I’m loving diving into them.

Yoga is the one excercise that finds it’s way to my soul through my body, and I’ve found this detox tea from Camp Wander to work the same way.
I leave out the Apple Cider Vinegar because I don’t have any.
And also because I’m not brave enough to buy any yet.

But my morning routine goes something like this:
Oil Pull as I read scriptures (instead of facebook -staying true to one of my new Dailies)
Wake my daughter up for school
Do Yoga
Drink my Detox tea while I listen to DeBussy

Make breakfast
Shower
Get Ready
Go to Work

Except I don’t always fit ALL of that into a morning. But when I do, the rest of the day feels it.
Heck, if I can even get THREE of those into one morning, the rest of the day feels it.

I know there’s more goodness out there, and I know there’s a huge amount of Soul Food just waiting to be discovered, but I’m simply handing you my present soul food.
Bon Appetit!

They say we’re living in The Information Age.

But I really think we’re living in The Answer Age.

Everyday I’m bombarded with answers!  They blow up my facebook feed, headlines, even my phone line.

Stay at home as a mother.

But don’t.  Don’t stay at home.

Let babies sleep, but wake them up.  Make them take naps -no wait, DON’T.

Wear pants to church!  But also remember that you should absolutely NEVER wear pants to church, and there’s a bunch of meme pics of Elder Holland to back it up.

Give cake to gays!  But for the love, don’t EVER bake a cake for gays.

There’s answers for addiction, for relationships, for marriage, for parenting, for lifestyles!

A few days ago, I began to be bothered.  NOT by the insane amount of answers being shoved into my face at any given moment (because we all know you don’t have to be online to have someone have answers for you!) but because I felt stupid.

STOOPID.

In the sea of answers, I seem only to be on the receiving end.

And that must mean -by default -that I am stupid.  Right?

All right, so that’s a false belief, but before you diagnose me and give me an answer, please just listen for a few minutes…

I don’t have the answers.  I don’t have the pathway down.  I can’t sit here and type out what you should be doing or shouldn’t be doing or which boundary you need.  I can’t laden you with comforting answers or set you on a path or put you on my back and carry you down my path, expecting you to see the RIGHTNESS of it all as you observe.

Because all I have is questions.

Through this whole thing, I’ve resigned myself to a few unchangeable truths in my own life.

1) I really don’t know anything which doesn’t make me stupid -rather, it sets me free.

2) God knows everything.

3) He doesn’t tell me everything, and I reserve the right to resent Him for it now and then instead of handling this truth how I feel I’m “supposed” to (which is to stuff my anger down and go to church.  Now I shake my fist to the sky and go to church which is different because my stress level has gone down.  Follow?  No?  That’s okay.  I barely follow and I’m living it).

But as I got ready for work on Tuesday and felt anger toward Him for not letting me know the WHY of a few hard things going on right now, a good friend a few states away sent a poem my way that read:

“I SHALL know why, when time is over,
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.
He will tell me what Peter promised,
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now. “

~Emily Dickinson

My answers lie where Emily’s lie: in heaven.  Even reading that poem minutes after shaking my fist to the sky, I found God giving me my #3 truth all over again.

I KNOW, Alicia.  I KNOW, so don’t worry so much.  Just keep asking questions.

 

Truth #4:

I have no answers for you.  I will respect you enough to let you tell your own story and find your own answers while simply sharing my story.

My days are filled with me content to not know enough to participate in online arguments, happy in my question quest, but reserving the right to let God know how irritating it is that He keeps so much to himself even though I truly know what a beautiful gift it actually is.

Not all beautiful gifts are 100% irritation-less.

 (*cough* kids *cough*)

Truth #5:

I used to have answers.  I used to give advice and hand out “HERE’S THE WAY” tickets.  And sometimes letting go of that makes me feel dumb.

But abandoning a world where I insist on having answers has freed me.

There’s no pressure anymore.

There’s only a world of exploring questions and asking God for my own truth.

I won’t wear pants to church, but will you?

I would totally bake a cake for a gay couple but don’t hold an opinion on your answer to the same situation.

I let my baby sleep, but would you?

I can’t walk you through this life.  But I can tell you that God is walking me through it.  And sometimes I pretend He sings songs to me… songs about calling and answers.

I smile each time I hear the line, “and if you court this disaster, I’ll point you home.”

What?  Me?  Court disaster?  Please…

(By the way, it’s 8:30 in the morning, and I’m currently dealing with the stench of burned milk.  I forgot I let the burner on, okay?  It happens.)

This is me coming to acceptance with not having answers and owning that THAT doesn’t make me -by default -shallow, dumb, stupid, or clueless.

It makes me free.

I recently had someone challenge me to come up with 3 to 5 new uplifting tasks I could perform every day… and then they told me they were going to check up with me once a week to see how I was doing.
I kind of hate that. In a good way. You know what I mean…

I came up with:
1) Instead of opening my facebook app first thing in the morning, I’d open up my Gospel Library app and spend a few minutes reading from the scriptures and manuals of the church.
2) Take time to look in the mirror each day and tell myself I love myself.
3) Find one person each day to express sincere gratitude toward.

I have to say that number 2 is RIDICULOUSLY hard to do. It’s easy in theory, but when I’m face-to-face with me in the mirror, it’s hard to meet my own eyes and say, “I stinking love your guts, lady.”
It just is.
It’s awkward and weird… and then I walk away feeling sad because I’m not fully feeling the self-love. However, I have used mirror affirmations before with amazing success, so I’m going to keep it up. It’s a little bit crazy how such a simple act can be so stretching.

What would you choose for your dailies, do you think? Not that I’m challenging you -I have my own challenge to worry about -but I just wonder.

10 sit ups?
A daily walk?
Sing a song? out loud?
Meditate?
Add a leafy green?
Listen to uplifting music?
Express yourself?
Write in a journal?
Put make up on everyday?
Do an act of service?

There’s so many options, so many different personalities to tailor them toward.

So far, it’s going okay for me. I’m not 100%, but that’s okay.
Yesterday, I didn’t hardly get out of bed except to visit the bathroom and I don’t think I did a single one of my dailies… except profusely thank my husband for buying me Sprite, taking care of the children, cooking, and cleaning the house.

He’s the best mom ever. I’m serious.

You guys are delivery guys.

I received a total of 15 comments -all of which I stuck in my back pocket and breathed a sigh of relief because when it comes to travel I’m overcome with anxiety. It’s hard to push through it and tap into my own creativity. So thank you for getting the process moving for me. I’ve been procrastinating it!

Random.org picked our winner: comment #15

 

Jewel wrote:

JEWEL!
Thank you for all of your ideas!

I wanted to post the winner yesterday (like I said I would -I’m such a pants-on-fire liar), but I ended up unexpectedly spending some quality hours with my husband at his work.
And then he stopped off at my favorite florist to pick up the bouquet he ordered… and then came out with TWO bouquets. It turns out two men love me enough to send me flowers.
My husband and my Dad!
I used both bouquets -neither of which contained roses because although roses are pretty, I’d rather not thankyouverymuch -to decorate our dinner table. This year’s Valentine’s Feast went off with about 300 hitches and was nearly cancelled three separate times.
(Moms, can you relate?)

And as we all sat down to dinner, I said to my husband, “I’m not doing this next year. I’m forcing this to happen and that’s not how I wanted this to be. No one else wants to do it as much as I do.”
“I want to do it,” my husband said.
“Thanks for offering, go for it next year.”
*BAM*

I started planning this year’s feast on February 15th, 2013. I collected things throughout the year to add… heart ramekins, a pretty vintage tablecloth from an antique store…
A few days before, I finalized a menu and then whisked myself off to the store where I bought fancy goblet-glasses and a $20 huge hunk o’ Salmon.
I spent almost $100.
It kind of makes me sick…

And by 5 o’clock I was yelling at the kids, stressing about the green beans, and fending off a baby who hasn’t stopped screaming for a week.
That’s when my phone rang, and I picked it up and told the man on the other line that I’m very sorry, but the dinner I’d been planning for a year just wasn’t going to happen.

It finally did (thanks to the hungry man on the other end of the phone line), and although it didn’t go off as perfectly as I’d fantasized (a flaw of mine -and Anne Shirley’s), it was a good experience.
(still not good enough to make me go back on my vow. There will be no feast put on by the likes of THESE hands come next year.)

Along with the salmon and green beans, we ate a spinach salad (well, my husband and I did -the kids just picked at it with their hands. Verdict: weird and yucky). For dessert, we dipped strawberries and marshmallows in chocolate while we watched Mormon Messages, and then the kids went to sleep while Mom and Dad finished off the strawberries and Martinelli.
We watched “Austenland” and laughed so hard we almost peed our pantaloons.

And then I woke up seven hours later on the couch with the big comforter from our bed tucked tightly around me… my husband loves me enough not to wake me when I crash and burn after a long day AND to sleep with a lighter blanket on a cold night so I Can have the warm one.

I love him too. I love him enough to make him an avocado breakfast even though I hate avocado (I’m actually thinking of starting a club?) and I love my kids enough to feed them fancy foods (fancy for US, I mean) even though they’ve brought to the brink of insanity and I love you enough to give you eValentines.
Designed by Yours Truly.

I hope your Valentine’s Day was filled with love of others, of self, and of chocolate.

The package one is indecent.
I’m not even sorry.

I left this weekend.

It was quick and painless and even included a hefty bit of Costa Vida and got me thinking I ought to leave more often. We took our family down to the warm valley and attended the Gilbert Temple Open House.
Alice pointed to everything, “Pri-bee! Pri-bee!”
And I have to agree with her… everything in that temple was pretty. Lacy was in awe the entire time. Trenton was thrilled over the multiple stair cases. Danny was nearly moved to tears by the Celestial Room and I was just so bully gall darn happy to have us all in the Temple at the same time.

Once outside we took a picture which made us realize that
1) When Danny is stressed he loses weight and
2) When Alicia is stressed she gains it.
3) Our children are darling, no matter what we sometimes might believe.

The weather was perfectly warm -short sleeve and sandal kind of weather, and I’m grateful we were able to go as a family and meet up with more family.
The Phoenix area in February is gorgeous enough to make you want to move, but all you have to do is think, ‘I could totally live in this,’ for 5 whole seconds before you remember The Phoenix Area in July.
Yuck, melt, die.
But February?

Bliss.

We stayed the night with my brother and sister in law who put us in stitches watching “Impractical Jokers” and entertained our children by making wooden spears and launching mini marshmallows through the house.
And if you ever want a good hearty laugh, watch my littlest one go after launched mini marshmallows. She doesn’t mess around.

A girl after my own heart, I say. This coming the day after I stress ate half a bag of mini marshmallows…
ANYway.

You guys really are pretty much the best and most amazing people in the entire universe. I’m saying that because you’ve all been so supportive and sweet about my going off gluten. You’ve given me answers and resources and pats on the back.
I’m happy to report that after going not-quite two weeks without gluten my joint pain is almost non-existent. It’s a gigantic miracle. I was in so much pain this last year since the baby was born. I didn’t like talking about it, but I was scared out of my mind because it hurt. so. bad. I’d been dealing with it for 5 years, but this last year was… gosh… helly.
So thank you for that. Really, I appreciate it so much.

I also wanted to thank you for helping me out in my Bubble situation. Several of you reached out quickly after my post, and each of you comforted and cheered me and helped me.

NATURALLY when my husband and I tried for HOURS (as in… the drive down to Mesa and back) to figure out once and for all what we’re going to do for our 10-year anniversary, I finally threw up my hands and said, “I’ll ask my friends.”
And by “friends” I mean you.
And he knew it.

Because I don’t want to taketaketake, I crafted up a gift of Valentines Proportions (okay, Valentines Colors) to give out as a way of thanking you in advance for input.

We don’t have tons of money, and I’m sick of spending gads on time perusing Groupon Getaways.

I just want to know… do you have any go-to spots you love to slip off to when you can? Any dream vacations? Any ideas at all? Tips? Tricks?
Every comment you leave will be one entry to winning (I wish I could give you a million dollars, but) a hot pad and wooden spoon set.

The hot pad is bursting with pink and coral with a little mint and pumpkin thrown in there (dark grey on back). I just love it. After I finished the front, I sat and stared at it and just loved it. Because it was lovely and bright and no one came up behind me and UNcrocheted it. It’s lovely how hot pads STAY DONE.
So refreshing -like a balm to my laundry-sickened soul.

The spoon has hearts on the bottom. Because I love you. And the Valentine’s season is coming and going WAY too fast for my liking.

Please post your comments here and not on facebook because I will lose track of you if you start running social media circles around me.  The comments should include some input as to our 10 year anniversary trip, so you KIND of have to earn your entry.  Sorry about that.  But also desperate about that.

I’ll put all your names into a hat and pick one out on Thursday and mail the package out on Valentine’s morning (FRIDAY!).

Thank you, I love you. I really do.
And I have my Valentines in, so if you want one… send your address my way! And remember: Alicia’s sense of humor is weird. Just keep that in mind as you read your Valentine Postcard from me.

~Alicia

PS: Here’s the Hot Chocolate Float recipe I promised I’d post *cough* (two months ago) *cough*

I have a son named Trenton who is five.

This means I spent an hour in the kitchen today explaining where we got our knives, why we use refrigerators, and why we don’t microwave nails (I’m a little worried about that one, but anyway).

As I made a pretty incredible spinach dip in the kitchen (for myself for lunch. I felt deliciously naughty about the whole thing), he asked when would we get a cow? to kill? and get milk?
“You don’t get milk from dead cows,” I said, “Milk comes from cows that are alive.”
“I KNOW,” he was a little annoyed that I didn’t understand him fully, “I just said WHEN are we getting meat from a cow and a cow for milk?”
“We’ll get our meat cow in a few months,” I said, “I don’t know when we’ll get a cow to milk. I’d love to have one.”
“Well,” his voice took on gusto, “All we need is a bucket! That’s all it takes.”
“A bucket?” I asked, smiling.
“Yep.”
“We DO need a bucket,” I said, “But we also need a little barn, and some really good hay. If you feed a milk cow yucky hay, you get yucky milk. And then you need a big thing called a strainer (I showed him how big with my educated arms), and a filter goes in the strainer to get all the dirt out… and then you need jars to keep the milk in. When you put the milk in the fridge some yellow-colored cream rises to the top, and you use it to make butter, so you need special tools to make the butter and then you can make cheese and yogurt… you just need all the tools.”
He blinked back. and then sighed a long sigh.
“If we could just get a bucket at da store…”
and then added as an after thought, “But we can never use my Kinex box. That would not be great, right Mom?”

Right, bud.
Riiiiight.
Whatever you say, Bucket head.

And now I’ll get back out there into the world of not only mothering, but answering every question he can think of.
“Who built this house?”
“But who OWNS it?”
“If Grandpa owns it, where did all the toys come from?”

He’s a stumper, that one.

I need your help.
and maybe forgiveness.

Here’s the deal. I just really hate Michael Buble. Lacy calls him Michael Bubble. But I’ll get to that in a minute…

He keeps popping up on my Pandora stations -MULTIPLE Pandora stations! It’s as if Pandora assumes I’m supposed to like him, or SHOULD like him. But my wonderful counselor told me, “Alicia, don’t should on yourself.”
I don’t like him (Buble, I mean.  I love my counselor). I once watched a piece of a special about him on TV. He was scootering around backstage, and the lady interviewing him remarked how “real” he was, “even off camera, he was JUST like he was on stage.”
Except he was still on camera.
Just BACK stage.
And I was just irritated muchly over it all. Like, who is he REALLY? What’s his angle? What’s he like off screen, away from cameras? What’s his voice like REALLY? I want emotion filled Michal Buble in a barn, singing to a field of blackbirds… singing about pain or anger or out of controlness!
I feel a certain shallow aspect in his voice, and it bothers me to the point that I can’t get on board.
Thumbs down, Pandora. I’m popping The Bubble.

And then the field of blackbirds I wish Bubble would sing to turned out to be CROW and they’re flying into my mouth. Right now.
It’s Dean Martin’s fault really.
And Pandora’s.
Really, anyone’s fault but my own, naturally.
I wouldn’t even tell you about it but I’m desperate, friends. Can you help?

I was sitting at work listening to my now-Bubble-free Nat King Cole station when Dean Martin popped on and made me cry as he softly sang, “You Belong to Me.” Do you know how stupid you can feel sitting in an Auto Shop Office, surrounded by men listening to Metallica… crying your eyes out because you’re JUST SURE Dean Martin wants to marry you?!

I went home and listened to the song again. I played it for my husband. And then Lacy. And Lacy took it a step farther -she pulled up youtube on our playstation and streamed “You Belong to Me” by Jason Wade, Dean Martin, and thennnnn
“Michael Bubble?” *giggles* “That’s a silly name!”
And as he sang, I melted right there on the spot. I need this song. I went directly to iTunes, plucking crow from my teeth as I went.
And guess what? IT’S NOT THERE. I can not find this song or CD anywhere. I’ve exhausted my means! Now it’s down to prayer and friends.
Can you find this song? Do you know a way I can get my hands on this track?! Do I have to write The Bubble and ask HIM?! And confess how I’d like to hear his real voice with real emotions because I can’t listen to him anymore?!?!? You guys, this is all so conflicting.
Help me, Rhonda.

A few months ago, I was sitting at my desk at work when I was hit with this overwhelming idea to start an etsy shop full of things I love to pieces which is, of course, kitchen stuff that reminds me of anything prior to 1965.

I began instantly pinning images, inspiration, and ideas.

And then I went to work. I made two rules for myself.

#1) Instead of creating things I hoped would sell (which is how I’ve always approached the “selling what I make” world), I would instead give my own flava free reign. This means LOTS of bright colors and LOTS of not telling my gut “no” when I see a new shade of yarn I like. This means going antique shopping and buying kitchen antiques I’d normally say “no” to because I already have that (egg beater, sifter…) and this also means I’m learning more about myself as I go. It doesn’t take long for me to lose myself in this crazy, busy world. This shop will give me an outlet and keep me grounded and save me from just tiredly going with the flow. On Saturday, we went shopping. My husband told me he’d set a chunk of cash aside to buy some things for the house.

“Want to look at shower curtains for the kids’ bathroom?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” I said, “I’m going to go check out.” (At this point, we’d been shopping for HOURS with three CRAZY kids and it was my first gluten-free attempt at shopping. I was overwhelmed and over-tired.)

“It will only take a second,” he coaxed. So I went. He choose a very nice coastal scene shower curtain.

“What do you think? I really like it,” he said.

“It’s nice,” I said, though my heart wasn’t really in it. We choose a liner and some of those shower clips to hang it with… and then I just kind of snapped out of it when we tried to find a rug to go with it.

Because the rug we almost chose was TAN.

TAN.

Is there anything in the world that’s more hum-drum than a TAN RUG in the bathroom where children play?!

At that point, I snapped out of it. I tapped into my gut that I’ve been fostering over the past few months and bagged the whole coastal idea, asking my husband to please just… trust me.

And that’s when the bright GRASS GREEN rug came out to play. And a cherry red towel and a dark, rich purple towel… and ROYAL BLUE shower rings. As it now stands, the kids’ bathroom is a bright, playful room the kids can’t get enough of. Even Danny’s in love.

I made my own theme because Wal-Mart can’t tell me what to do. Ha!

My etsy shop is a reflection of that -my own theme, my own colors, my own taste in lovelies.

“Are you doing this for money?” My husband asked as I sat and crocheted for hours on end. I hadn’t even given two shakes’ thought about the ol’ payolla.

“No,” I shrugged, “I just want to do this.”

#2) I will step away from the shop if I ever start to feel pressured or panicked or stress… because that isn’t what this is about. It’s about giving myself space and permission to invest in what I love, even if there’s a conflicting, nagging voice going on inside my head… telling me “it’s not as important as family history or visiting teaching orororororor…”

And with that, even though I’ve been working on it since November, I give you… My Etsy Shop

KITCHEN SCRATCH

It’s where I go to play when I get the urge to paint a flour sack towel with my Mom’s old potato masher… or I’m suddenly struck with a quick saying to burn on a spoon, or I can’t get a crazy color scheme out of my head until I sit and put it in a pot holder.
And the best part? When I finish a project, IT STAYS DONE.
That never happens in my house. There’s always a critter trailing behind me mucking the house up, but all is well in Kitchen Scratch.

All is well.