Packing

I am avoiding packing. I don't want to do it.

As I have been packing, I am wondering if this is a summation of my life. Is this as good as it gets? I've got it pretty darn good right now. I enjoy my family, my husband has a wonderful job. We are healthy and content. For this, I am grateful. We don't have many things of monetary value, but our needs are met, so I'm good with that. The less stuff I have, the less I have to keep track of and the less I have to clean. Although I have these feelings of gratitude and contentment there is still a nag of discontent. Is that possible? To feel content and discontent in the same moment? I have a comfortable life, but there is something lacking. I'm tired. I'm annoyed that it seems as though my kids fight all the time. In reality, they don't, it just feels like it. Even though I know that staying home with my kids is the best thing I can do right now, it is not satisfying enough. I don't feel like I am doing enough. I still feel inadequate. I feel inadequate, but if I were to change something, to do more, I burn out. I'm already exhausted and bored with it all.

What I am saying is that maybe I am the slovenly lazy sack of bones I've been accused of. I don't work, I exsist. The saying goes, there is no reward without effort. I feel like my efforts are for naught. I clean and cook and mend and push and wash and fold and yet I am not seeing rewards. I clean the kitchen and not an hour later it is a full fledged disaster zone. I do load upon load of laundry, I fold it and put it away, only to do it all over again in three days. I exercise every night for a week, only to feel more tired than I did to begin with and just as fat and unhappy. I change diapers, only for them to be filled and changed again. I sew projects just to see how poorly I really sew. There is no reward in that.

Am I not putting forth enough effort to see a reward? Am I merely existing? Am I just flying under the radar?

Right now I am shut in the sewing room. The baby is content in her playpen. The two oldest kids are giggling in the living room over something and the preschooler and the toddler will not stop howling at each other, or me for that matter. I'm tired of being referee.

Perhaps it will be years before I see the results of my efforts. I'm feeling rather burnt out as it is though. I don't think I can do years without results. It is maddening to do this day after day, week after week, month after month. Year after year. This is just downright self imposed insanity.

Moving....again.

Well, here we go again. We sold our house in Wisconsin and found a new one here. Now it is time to pack up, again, and move to our permanent residence. I have 2 weeks. The last week I have been fencing sitting about a lot of things. First off is the New Year's Resolution to loose weight. I think I am the only woman alive who is breastfeeding, chasing 4 kids and can STILL gain weight. All I can come up with is that I am not sleeping much, and it is wreaking havoc on my hormones, triggering the weight gain. And why am I not sleeping? That, my dear friends is the question of the century. I used to not be able to function without my 8 hours of sleep. Now I"m like the energizer bunny. It doesn't matter how much sleep I don't get, I just keep going and going and going. So I guess sleep took a back burner in priorities. What's keeping me up? I dunno. Because the computer died for a good 10 solid days and I STILL was not going to bed at a decent hour. And then once I am asleep, without fail, at least two kids will wake me up for something. Bloody noses, night terrors, bad dreams, super soaked pull-up. You name it! They all wake me up....except the baby. Go figure! The baby is the best sleeper of them all.

Another thing weighing on my mind is my book. I'm writing a book, but I'm not sure I want to continue it. Why? My wonderful sister attempted reading it on the blog, and told me "It's not bad. You're no Hemingway, but it's not bad." Now, this shouldn't bother me, and it doesn't really. She is very well read, and I value her opinion, which is why I asked her to begin with. And I know for myself that it is indeed, no Hemingway. It is consumeristic crap. I am an attention whore. I am writing that book with two simple goals: Make money and be famous. I feel rather shallow for doing it with that purpose. I know I am capable of writing something meaningful and enlightening, but I choose a plot and theme that is marketable. Sellable. Lucrative.

It bothers me to think I just might be as shallow and selfish as people have accused me of for years.