Jumping Ship

Guys, it's time for me to move on from this blog.  It's been grand, but I'm feeling a shift.  If I'm horribly vague it's only because that's exactly how I'm experiencing it.  When I started blogging again at the beginning of 2015, I thought I wanted to grow and maybe monetize (ROFL).  That's when I wasn't sure that we'd be living in Wales.  Now I feel tired with the sprawling subject matter.  I want to focus on our little stories.  And I don't want to overthink it.

Turns out I've got a place ready for me.  When my Squaresoft photography website expired (somehow I missed there was a fee, hahahahahahaha NOT GONNA HAPPEN), Crown & Bough became "available" again.  I never explained the name.  For me it conjures flower crowns and golden boughs and pre-Raphaelites and huldrefolk and Arthuriana and Shakespeare and pubs.

I'm going to be over there, but I very well may come back to Everything to Someone, if the mood so takes me.  And it just might, dear readers, it just might.

{Photos pictured of Old Colwyn from last August.}

A "Plan" for 2016

I'm very tired these days . . . I don't know that it's more than usual, however.  I think I'm always quite tired and that I just try to ignore it and run about distracting myself until the fatigue catches up with me.  And then I wonder why I'm so spent!

The past two years, starting in Advent, I've really tried to harness peace in my life.  If "harness" can be used to describe such a word.  I don't know if I've been successful.  I feel more peace, and I think that that's come about by outside forces shifting and settling, things falling into place.  So I can't really give myself credit for that.  This year, the word that comes, un-summoned, is rest.  I want so much to rest.  Rest in my body, rest in my soul, rest in Jesus.  I miss Jesus.

So I want to seek spiritual direction.  I'm just awful at self-motivation.  Having a person to recommend disciplines to me and to check in with me now and again (and pray for me!) is just the remedy.  I'm unsure about how to go about finding one.  The priests I've been to in confession don't seem eager to dole out a lot of advice and/or are questionable on matters of doctrine and practice.  There should be a spiritual direction directory somewhere around here!

I also want to seek out an acupuncturist!  It's been recommended to me by several people and the almighty internet, and I think some damage control in order to preemptively combat the physical pain and  stress caused by special needs parenting is smart.

The only real resolutions I've made are small and do-able:

1. write one poem
2. write one short story
3. publish one piece

Because I miss writing.  I'm happy with my creative outlets of blogging and photography.  I wish I had more time in which to expand on these hobbies, or maybe just time to indulge in them without feeling panicked and rushed and distracted.  But alas, this is not my season.

I'm also sorely lacking in the reading department.  It's shameful!  I must read Kristin Lavransdatter because I haven't, and that is a crime against nature.  If I can just accomplish that, along with whatever reading a spiritual director will assign, I'll feel satisfied.

So that's me in 2016.  Do you set resolutions or briefly entertain the idea of setting them?  How do you go about finding a spiritual director ('cause it's entirely new territory to me)?

Best of 2015

After an extensive break from blogging (call it maternity leave!), I dived back in headfirst in January of 2015, much the same way I began.  I lost some readers, connected with old friends, and met new people.  To all of you: I'm glad you're here.  I hope my blog gives you some happiness, as it has done for me.  I hope that I serve you in some way through writing.  I hope that your year was beautiful despite it's pains.

And, if you're interested, here's a look at the best-read and most-viewed blog posts of 2015.

Sapphires on Ash Wednesday

Things of great value require great sacrifice.  That's the very meaning of worth.

Let's talk about that Similac ad

Let's be honest about our personal, unique, and individual goals in parenting instead of shutting down communciation by fearing judgement.

This Child

Afon's autism journey, so far, the heartbreak and the triumphs.

5 Things that Have Made Me a Better Mama to My Children

Only now are they obvious!

Liking the Way You Look

I've worked too hard and too long to let anyone take that away from me.

Blogging and Transparency

#oversharing on the internet

That One Time I Handed My Baby to a Stranger in a Waiting Room

Babies unite us all with our common humanity.

Mental Health for Catholics

Always consult a doctor or a professional before making any major life changes.

Roan Reuel's Birth Story


#normalizebreastfeeding

In which I take a stand.


7 Affordable Ways to Make Your Week Beautiful


He's my husband.  Not my partner.

Because marriage is an entirely different animal from a partnership.

∆∆∆

What was your favorite post or topic in 2015?  What would you like to hear about or more of in the coming year?

Best wishes for 2016!

He's my husband. Not my partner.

Something I noticed living in the UK is that people refer to John as my partner.  It's the polite and politically correct thing to do, even though our rings are displayed for everyone to see.  Er, that's the whole point of the rings, actually.  ;)

No jumping on the bandwagon; I won't be an offended American, and I'm really not.  I just know that for me, whenever I refer to John, I will call him my husband.  And for John, he will call me his wife.  That's not a political stance.  It's a fact.

My husband is not my partner.  A partner implies someone you go into business with; in the broader sense, someone who works together with you for a common purpose.  The other performer in a two-person act.  It implies a kind of synchronicity and harmony that, let's be realistic, is missing in many, many marriages--some of the time, if not most of the time.

There were lots of times in our going-on-six years that my husband and I were not in harmony.  We did not work together.  In fact, we were at odds with each other, in very painful ways.  We each had our own interests in mind.  We had different "business plans," and it almost ruined us.

We've worked really hard to come out the other side, and our work is not done.  If we were merely partners, though, we would have parted ways a long time ago.  Cue hackneyed excuses: It's not working out.  We have different visions for the future.  We're two different people.  This arrangement is no longer productive.  Checkmark the carefully contrived phrase "conscious uncoupling."

But, thank God (and some times, in my weakness, I do the opposite), I didn't enter into a partnership.  Marriage isn't a contract, it's a covenant.  More specifically, it's a sacrament.  If my husband were my partner, we wouldn't be partners.  I'm going to take a guess and say that's so for the longest lasting and most successful marriages.  So no, it's not offensive for people to refer to John as my partner.  It's just inaccurate.

In other words,

"Marriage is a duel to the death which no man of honor should decline." -- G.K. Chesterton

∆∆∆

Curious about the Catholic stance on divorce and annulments?  Try here, here, and here.

For further reading:

• The Battle that Is Marriage at Better than Eden
• Marriage Is a Kind of Death at Carrots for Michaelmas

Vignettes

outside the Co-op on a cold night with a Belgian bun // winter moon // the non-crawler // a family lunch at Wetherspoons // a pint of Fosters // he picked out a monster truck toy at a charity shop, calling it "orange tractor" // bundled up // rain cover // warm and dry // the last leaves

Pretty Pictures

My blog is not pretty because I want my life to look perfect.  My blog is pretty because I like a pretty blog.

That's it.

I'm an artist-y type, and I like things to be pretty.  It gives me joy and a great deal of pleasure for things of mine to be attractive, and to surround myself with attractive things.  You can imagine that that's difficult with an autistic child and limited means.

So when I have a little place on the internet that I can decorate just so, which is not limited by finances or physical space, I will strive for (subjective) perfection.  That's a personality quirk of mine; it's nice at times but mostly it's just a nuisance.  You don't want to be perfectionist-me, trust me.  I'm sure it's grating, and a total first-world problem, but there it is.

Still, I don't want people to get the wrong idea.  I'm not trying to present a false picture of myself, even though every internet presence is, to some extent, curated.  It's unavoidable.  I just want to let it be known that in my case, I'm not trying to be pretentious; I'm not trying to impress; I'm not faking it.

I just like pretty pictures.

∆∆∆

For further reading:

• hard times, pretty pictures at Small Things
• Please Ignore My Traditions at Molly Makes Do
• Necessary Frivolities at Everything to Someone

Mid-October Notes

We're halfway through the month already.  Looking back at my goals and commitments at the first of the month, I wish I could say I was wrong about faltering from my spiritual and fasting goals. Well.  October is my favorite month.  The seasonal foods and celebrations are a constant temptation for me.  Even though it's Ordinary Time, the secular world is gearing up for Hallowtide and harvest, and I'm a glutton for anything flavored with pumpkin.

These pictures were from the Scarecrow Festival and the Florida Pioneer Museum last weekend.  It was a last-minute drop-by, and we stayed for a very short while because I was sure my British baby was boiling away in the sun.  The heat was suppressing.  This weekend was less hot as we browsed the Rattlesnake Festival after Saturday morning confession.

We're returning to Wales in November, and now that I've finished my photographs for September's wedding, I feel a buzzing anxiety to get back to John and Afon, even though when I get there, there won't be much for me to do.  Afon is in school full-time now.  Roan still isn't crawling.  We don't know anyone, really, and extra-curricular activities and community ties are approximately zero.

We're still in the two-bedroom, second-story apartment without minimal household items--the majority of my things are still packed away, and I'm not sure when we will be able to ship them over.  But when I have them, I know I will finally be able to feel like I'm home.  It's not that things, per se, make me happy--but that my things, having something of my own, something to call mine, and a way to personalize my environment, mark my territory so to speak--is what I'm really looking forward to after nearly two years of feeling vagrant.

How is your month turning out?

3 Steps to Getting a Good Start on the Day

I wrote a little while ago about what you can do to have a spontaneous, beautiful week, but the same things that enrich the week aren't exactly the same things that enliven the day.  After giving it some thought, these are the three things I've determined I must do to have a good start on the day.

(And having a good start to the day is so important because if the day starts well it'll probably stay well. . .)

You laugh.  You shouldn't.  It's so obvious and so hard to do.

By that I mostly mean the internet.  The internet is lethal.

(Sorry, Facebook.  You'll have to wait.)

I can come to it later in the day, after I've got started and feel my self-esteem and sense of well-being spike because of already Being Productive.

Because if you had a magic elixir that made you calmer and clearer and the world sunnier and altogether more easy to tackle, why wouldn't you drink it???

∆∆∆

Okay, now you.  What do you do to ensure you get a good start to the day?  (Because I won't be obsessively checking back for your answers.  Um, no way!)

On Living Intentionally

(Note: This post was written in July, before coming to Wales.)

The knowledge of my limitations has been growing especially this past month.  With all the driving and sleeping--things necessary for the successful and healthy/happy functioning of myself and my children for the other parts of the day--I have less time than ever.  Therefore, I have had to become extremely intentional with how I spend that time.

Aside from sleeping, eating, bathing, driving, the chores of laundry, cooking, and dishes I try to tackle as they come; but they can be put off for a while.  This is carefully considered taking into account whether or not I have enough clothing, food, and clean cutlery to function for the rest of the day, and whether or not I will have enough of a time slot to accomplish them in the foreseeable future, before I do run out of them.

I'm doubling the use of my time by listening to audio books during the long drives.  And even during short ones.  I take naps whenever I can get them, drink a lot of Starbucks Refreshers, and run errands as they come up--like going to the bank or the grocery store.  Maybe a brief outing or a sweet treat for a feast day.

Skyping with my husband is important but not immediate.

The rest I have had to weigh in order of importance and value.  Value being the amount of joy, rest, or spiritual refreshment I get from the task or activity.  Because spiritual food is just as important as physical.

Right now, my intentional living must include the following: reading (or audio books), blogging (writing), playing with Roan (this can be in chunks scattered throughout the day), and bed-time routine/reading with Afon.  Those are the non-negotiables.  If I don't whip up a three-course dinner, answer my friend's email, or do my makeup one day, I'm okay with it.  Some things need to make way in order for the things of greater importance to get done.

This translates to the bigger picture, at least during my child-rearing years.  I know I won't be able to try, much less excel, at the {all of my interests}.  If I had to choose only a handful to focus on for the rest of my life, they would be these:

Writing  //  via blogging, poetry, journaling, or storytelling.  I would drop all other hobbies in order to preserve this first and last love.

Photography  //  it is important to me to capture the little daily wonders and the to document the blossoming of my children.  It is also greatly relaxing for me to sit back and edit/process photographs at the end of the day, or when I need a mental break.

Liturgical living  //  aside from prayer, Mass attendance, and the other obligations of the practicing Catholic, I strive to be aware of the liturgical calendar and incorporate the rhythms of the Church into daily life.

What about you?  Do you struggle to live intentionally?  What are your non-negotiable necessities?

4 Random Welsh Facts

1 // There are two words for "milk" in Welsh.

Llaeth and llefrith.  And no, you're not pronouncing either one correctly.

2 // King Arthur was Welsh, not English.

Considering that he would have been a Romano-British tribesman fighting off the pagan Anglo-Saxon invaders, that would have been awkward.  Plus, England didn't exist yet.

3 // Wales is home to the longest place-name in the world, a town called Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwyll-llantysiliogogogoch.

Translation: “the church of St. Mary in the hollow of white hazel trees near the rapid whirlpool by St. Tysilio’s of the red cave.”  Very specific.

4 // The smallest house in Great Britain is in Conwy, Conwy County.

The last resident to live there was over six feet tall. Ya'll, I've been in there.  There's no way the man could have stood up in his own home.

Happy Sunday!

Blurry Photos

I feel as if there's a profound message hidden in these blurry photos; something about not throwing away a single picture but savoring even the imperfections, which are often the truest to life.  About how digital photography is robbing us of the appreciation of (imperfectly) capturing a moment.  Something about the limitations of film, that we now take for granted.

But I am honestly just too tired to think.  Between driving Afon to and from school and having to catch up on sleep because of Roan cutting some teeth, my time is all but devoured.  So I think I'll just let this photos speak for themselves.  c:

More later, I hope.