There is a delicate silver line that I gingerly tiptoe each time I gather my thoughts, photographs, and emotions together to write a post. I snap the pictures, string together the words, and publish the posts to stretch my creative muscles, let family and friends eavesdrop on our corner of the world, and create a keepsake of the way we pass our days.
On one side of the line is honesty, truth and transparency, and in that respect I desperately want my posts to accurately reflect our lives. On the opposite side is gratitude, optimism and discretion, and I find it refreshing and uplifting to challenge myself to seek out the beauty that is abundant in my life amongst a world rife with heartbreak and disappointment. In this post, blogger Susanna Conway vents her frustrations about the lack of grit and honesty in the blogging world, and one of my favorite blog authors, Kelle Hampton, defends her rose colored glasses here arguing that Van Gogh chose not to paint toilets and dumpsters.
So I've been searching for the balance in my posts between finding the silver linings and painting an honest picture. I am making an effort to view my life through rose colored glasses and find little miracles to be grateful for. I have also been choosing not to focus on the negatives, insecurities and shortcomings. I'm not in the market for smoke and mirrors, embellishment, or illusions of grandeur nor am I interested in airing my dirty laundry, complaining about small misfortunes, or showcasing my toilets and dumpsters.
Just in case my tendency to favor writing about the brighter side of life has anyone fooled into thinking I do it all, have it all figured out, or that I never have a bad day, here is a sample of the good, the bad, and the ugly; There are often dirty dishes in my sink (and on my counter, and kitchen table). For the past three days I have rummaged through a basket of clean laundry for underwear rather than folding it and putting it away. Given the choice, I will always pick time playing at the park, in the backyard, at the library, or farmers market over any sort of productive housework. I rarely use Milani's nap time to get any respectable work done, if I'm not snuggled up next to her napping myself, I'm usually editing photos, reading, writing or (gasp) facebooking. There was cat yak on the carpet in my bedroom for the better part of today (I swear it's easier to clean up once it dries.) Jon can attest that its not at all uncommon for me to me to deliver an Oscar Award wining meltdown, and I am notorious for igniting my Italian fury and provoking a good fight.
Not so long ago I would rather have walked on nails than admit any those details even to myself, and consider it a huge accomplishment to be able to embrace the gritty truth about myself. I have to declare it a major victory over the nagging voices in my head that try to convince me that I should be investing huge amounts of energy and time into keeping a tidy house, and a level head. I'm finally learning that a spotless house and perfect organization are not what make me a good mother or wife. Instead it's the ability not to sweat the small things, to sweep the crap under the rug, and take the time to enjoy the million tiny sparkling moments that add up to a rich life. I'm determined not to let them slip past unnoticed while I'm elbow deep in dishwater, or whining about the things that don't go my way. So I'll keep putting off the mundane chores in favor of tea parties, and picnics, and afternoon bike rides; I'll continue finding the silver linings and brilliant lessons hidden in the crappiest of days; I'll continue carefully selecting the most exquisite moments to capture in pictures and words; And I'll continue my effort at being self-deprecatingly honest about the fact that, let's face it, I've got loads of room for improvement. I guess I will keep teetering on my fine line serving up a heaping portion of optimism and humble gratitude, with a side of blatant reality.
And in an effort to divert the attention from the smoldering pile of wreckage I unloaded above;
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I cannot get enough of this girl!
I can't kiss her enough or hug her enough. Can't hold her closely enough or breathe in deeply enough the sweetness from the top of her head. And it seems as though every single thing she does is mesmerizing, and entertaining, and endlessly spellbinding to me. I want to sear every moment and every image into my brain, because I never want to forget exactly the way she looks as she eats her bananas or tediously teeters across the room on wobbly legs. (Note to self: take more videos)
I have to capture her laughing.
And studying the other kids with a furrowed brow.
And doing her twisting twirling version of a ballet performance on the ground. I don't want to miss anything. Which is why I end up with 241 pictures every time and wonder how I will ever narrow them down to the handful I end up posting.
Nothing beats watching her figure out her world.
As she swishes her hands back and forth in the pool for the first time, or tastes the water, or fills and dumps out her blocks, it's as if I'm seeing the world for the first time through her eyes.
Everything is fresh, and interesting, and warrants further exploration. And when my girl smiles, lookout, because everything is suddenly right in the world and I expect the heavens to open and angels to sing. Ok, that may have leaned a touch on the melodramatic side, but I just can't get enough of this girl!
On one side of the line is honesty, truth and transparency, and in that respect I desperately want my posts to accurately reflect our lives. On the opposite side is gratitude, optimism and discretion, and I find it refreshing and uplifting to challenge myself to seek out the beauty that is abundant in my life amongst a world rife with heartbreak and disappointment. In this post, blogger Susanna Conway vents her frustrations about the lack of grit and honesty in the blogging world, and one of my favorite blog authors, Kelle Hampton, defends her rose colored glasses here arguing that Van Gogh chose not to paint toilets and dumpsters.
So I've been searching for the balance in my posts between finding the silver linings and painting an honest picture. I am making an effort to view my life through rose colored glasses and find little miracles to be grateful for. I have also been choosing not to focus on the negatives, insecurities and shortcomings. I'm not in the market for smoke and mirrors, embellishment, or illusions of grandeur nor am I interested in airing my dirty laundry, complaining about small misfortunes, or showcasing my toilets and dumpsters.
Just in case my tendency to favor writing about the brighter side of life has anyone fooled into thinking I do it all, have it all figured out, or that I never have a bad day, here is a sample of the good, the bad, and the ugly; There are often dirty dishes in my sink (and on my counter, and kitchen table). For the past three days I have rummaged through a basket of clean laundry for underwear rather than folding it and putting it away. Given the choice, I will always pick time playing at the park, in the backyard, at the library, or farmers market over any sort of productive housework. I rarely use Milani's nap time to get any respectable work done, if I'm not snuggled up next to her napping myself, I'm usually editing photos, reading, writing or (gasp) facebooking. There was cat yak on the carpet in my bedroom for the better part of today (I swear it's easier to clean up once it dries.) Jon can attest that its not at all uncommon for me to me to deliver an Oscar Award wining meltdown, and I am notorious for igniting my Italian fury and provoking a good fight.
Not so long ago I would rather have walked on nails than admit any those details even to myself, and consider it a huge accomplishment to be able to embrace the gritty truth about myself. I have to declare it a major victory over the nagging voices in my head that try to convince me that I should be investing huge amounts of energy and time into keeping a tidy house, and a level head. I'm finally learning that a spotless house and perfect organization are not what make me a good mother or wife. Instead it's the ability not to sweat the small things, to sweep the crap under the rug, and take the time to enjoy the million tiny sparkling moments that add up to a rich life. I'm determined not to let them slip past unnoticed while I'm elbow deep in dishwater, or whining about the things that don't go my way. So I'll keep putting off the mundane chores in favor of tea parties, and picnics, and afternoon bike rides; I'll continue finding the silver linings and brilliant lessons hidden in the crappiest of days; I'll continue carefully selecting the most exquisite moments to capture in pictures and words; And I'll continue my effort at being self-deprecatingly honest about the fact that, let's face it, I've got loads of room for improvement. I guess I will keep teetering on my fine line serving up a heaping portion of optimism and humble gratitude, with a side of blatant reality.
And in an effort to divert the attention from the smoldering pile of wreckage I unloaded above;
*******************************************************************************
I cannot get enough of this girl!
When I break out the camera, my trigger finger goes insane.
I have to capture her laughing.
And studying the other kids with a furrowed brow.
And doing her twisting twirling version of a ballet performance on the ground. I don't want to miss anything. Which is why I end up with 241 pictures every time and wonder how I will ever narrow them down to the handful I end up posting.
Nothing beats watching her figure out her world.
Everything is fresh, and interesting, and warrants further exploration. And when my girl smiles, lookout, because everything is suddenly right in the world and I expect the heavens to open and angels to sing. Ok, that may have leaned a touch on the melodramatic side, but I just can't get enough of this girl!