You Have Time

A couple nights ago I got grumpy with my husband about how we don’t get time to adventure anymore. About how I want to go hiking, travel, and do exciting things. Please note, i know how utterly selfish this sounds, but I’m turning 30 this year and I have it stuck in my head that I’m running out of time to do all the things on my list of adventuring. He–for the most part–brushes my grumps off, with the exception of “lets do something,” even though we both know that between the kids, work, and lack of babysitters, we can’t just do something. He tries and puts up with me, so i accepted this and went into the bedroom and swooned over our pictures from our trip to Ireland, when i came across this one:


On one of first adventures in Ireland last summer, we went to the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge (click the link and check it out). The walk to the bridge and over to the Island is tiring and not because it’s a long hike (almost 2 miles), but because it’s  very hilly, windy, and cold. The only way back is to walk back across this swaying bridge and  back to the information center. Don and I had just spend the earlier part of our day at Giant’s Causeway and the Bushmill’s distillery, but pushed ourselves to do this too (worth it, County Antrim is amazing, i fell in love with Northern Ireland). When we got to Carrick-a-Rede Island, after my wonderful husband pushed himself to cross the bridge (he’s not a fan of heights), we were embarrassingly out of breath, but the view was amazing, and the lady in the picture above was thriving on the trail. She was 90 + year old woman in a pair of loafers with a small heel, wearing a skirt suit fashioned for the older crowd, but she did this trail. She was with her daughter (or a female family member) and had always wanted to see the vast beauty that Ireland has to offer–she’s from England. Don helped her down the last little, rocky hill on the Island. I wish I had taken a picture, because it was so sweet how he just offered her his arm to grab on to–I married an amazing man. With the assistance of a tour guide, the woman made it back across the bridge (she even explored the Island while on it). She walked the two miles, at 90+ years old in heeled loafers with no complaints and just took in the beauty. This beauty:

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Although i doesn’t look it, getting into the little grove Don and I are standing in (the above picture) was scary because i was right on the edge of the Island. Don actually slipped and it was pretty damn scary, but we got this amazing picture out of it.

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It was an exhilarating experience.

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…and a windy one too!


My point is, he and I have a lot of world to see and a lot of time to see it. Sometimes I get caught up in what I want and it consumes me. Then I take time to reflect on what I have in the here and now, i reminisce about what beautiful experiences i’ve had, and learn that instant gratification isn’t the answer. There will be adventure, there is always adventure (right now, i’m writing a blog post while my little ninja sons fight bad guys around me). Life, the life I share with my family is adventure. The path i’m taking to become a better me is an extremely big adventure. I (we all) need to take in the beauty that is constantly surrounding us, because finding that joy in the little things will ultimately make us appreciate this great big world we live in that much more. Close your eyes, take a big breath in, now a big breath out, open your eyes, and see all the adventure that is in front of you…even if it’s tackling the mess in your kitchen that has accrued through the week or getting past a hard time you’re facing in your life right now. Make it an adventure. Make it something more than a chore. Make it an experience.


The case of the homework grumps and other adventures of January 6th

Work was extremely busy today. I had all intentions of waking up at five, doing yoga, and cleaning…I unintentionally slept in. So, I rushed around like a crazed woman trying to get the kids ready, pack lunches, and get myself ready–I went to work with my hair wet and in a very messy bun, but i got there in time and with coffee in hand. It was nonstop, but I had yoga to look forward to…until I realized it lasted until 7:15, which meant that I couldn’t go because Don had to leave by 7:30 to get to the hospital in time for his shift. I wanted to scream. I needed a release after how involved work was and how crazed our morning was. So, I took a breath and blasted Taylor Swift and Ed Sherran (don’t judge, we all have guilty pleasures) and sang at the top of my lungs–i’m sure folks passing me thought i was nuts. I made it home, though, and I didn’t explode.

Then there was this:

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My kindergartner and I spent over an hour writing five sentences because it was “boring,” “sooooo boooorrrinnnnng,” and interfered with his electronics time. Every time i cheered him up he would find something else to grump about. We finished off his sentences with, “I like school, but I don’t like homework.” He giggled, took a bath, and ate dinner and went without electronics and didn’t even care…but HE wrote the sentences by himself and with very little help from me. Then, I hear my daughter screaming from her shower. I go in and check on her and she’s mumbling about shampoo in her eye, but will not let me help her rinse it out…I walk away. She screams mommy again, I go in again…this time Don follows. I’m laughing at the fact that she’s screaming over soap in her eyes but WILL NOT let us help her rinse it out and won’t rinse it out her self, and Don’s trying to help her. She says, almost completely inaudible, “noooooo I just can’t.” We walk away…laughing, she comes out the shower and low and behold…she’s survived and the tears have subsided. We think it’s safe to start our dinner.

Until this happened:

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My three year old didn’t want to take a bath. Don made me dinner. He made seafood curry. While making said delicious food, I struggled to undress my three year old. It started out playful and turned into me chasing a three year old around our house, while pulling off clothes every time I got in arms reach. I got him down to his underwear before dinner was ready–a moms gotta eat and we ate while our three year old stomped his feet on the kitchen floor and screamed, “I don’t neeeedddd a baf, I just need my Chwishy (Christian) and My Little Pooonniies!” (Yes, my three year old son is a brony. It’s fabulous) Finally, after Don and I finished eating, (yes, he threw a fit for that long over a bath–no clean kids without a fight) my wonderful husband, with a slight raise in his voice, had the emotionally crazed three year old in the bathroom. Within seconds, I heard Oliver screaming like he was in tremendous pain, but alas, Don simply put him in the tub in his underwear. I giggled. I giggled until i snorted. My three year old was standing in the tub in dripping spidey undies. Don lifted him out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel, had me hold him up as he got his undies off, and when i put him down, he quickly grabbed his soaked undies and ran off screaming, “Your the worstest mommy and daddy eber!” Next thing I know, I’m getting wet undies thrown at me during a preschooler’s bath time rage. Then i threw the undies back, he then threw them at Don, Don threw them to me, I put them in the dirty laundry, Ollie dug them out of the dirty laundry and tossed them into the kitchen like he had made the grandest of points. Don looked at me and said, “I love you, i’m going to work,” gave me a kiss, and left. I got Ollie dressed. Life went on with wet spidey undies in the middle of the kitchen floor.