Simplify

Remember way back here when I was dreading the beginning of school for Lindsay and wondering what life was going to be like? Well, guess what. I survived it. Thinking back to that time reminded me of this mental list I had going on to do in "all my spare time once school starts". It read something like a housekeeper's nightmare, including entries like reorganize entire house and prepare dinner in the mornings to save afternoon time for playing with children.

Ummm... totally unrealistic.

Most of that list never materialized for obvious reasons. I can think of one time when dinner was made and in the fridge prior to 2 pm. And the house never did reorganize itself, fancy that! Somewhere over the course of winter break I realized that our "stuff" in our home truly owns a piece of us.

It was the pantry that broke the proverbial camel's back. While I grocery shop on an almost-weekly basis and fill up the empty spaces in the cupboards and fridge, there are some things that hang out in the deep recesses of the pantry and the dark corners of the freezer that beg to be eaten or thrown out. So, with recipe book in hand, I tried an experiment titled How Many Days Can We Eat Out Of The Pantry Without Grocery Shopping.  Here's a little sneak peak into our findings:

Lessons Learned From the Bottom of the Freezer

"We've been having some really yummy meals lately, Mom," Kimberly commented at dinnertime one evening last week. 

I took that as an extreme complement.  You see, I hadn't been regular grocery shopping for two weeks, and "staples" shopping for much longer than that. My list was front and back on several scraps of paper stuck on the magnet board, scribbled in a combination of pencil, marker, and glitter gel pen notations. Challenging myself to come up with healthy, tasty meals from the bottom of the freezer encouraged me to bump up out the rut of routine recipes we eat regularly, put on my creative chef hat, and work some culinary magic in the kitchen.  That magic looked like cajun chicken tacos, spinach ravioli with garlic tomato sauce, and scrambled egg and potato wraps.

An unrealized side benefit to this experiment was the sense of freedom from the overabundance of surplus food we never took time to prepare and eat. And a whole lot of extra room in the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer.

We could have gone longer (17 days was our final number), and by that time we were really missing eggs.

And cheese and butter.

And shaving cream.

Oh, wait.

That's not a food. But I didn't want to step foot in a store for fear I would cave in and pick up some splurge item like mayonnaise and all would have been for not.

Now if we had been out of toilet paper...

So all of this experimenting made me realize how many, many extras we have in our lives. Does one person really need a total of 42 shirts, sweaters, and sweatshirts? (Yes, I counted and I'm not saying who). And how can two children truly enjoy and play with 29 stuffed animals?

So, one Saturday when I was by myself I attacked my room and the playroom with reckless abandon. If you had happened by on that particular day, or the next, or the next, or today, you might have thought I was moving. You would have been wrong. But I did have an impressive number of boxes to sell, bags to donate, and a jam packed trash can to set out at the road on Friday morning.

Even after a few days of clearing out I find I still have too many "things". It's been quite a journey so far discovering just how emotionally attached I can be to stuff and how freeing it is to release some of it. I am finding room in my life for more time with my family rather than more time for washing, drying, and hanging 42 shirts.  And I'm not through yet...

Overheard In The School Yard

With hands in our pockets to keep out the chill, I waited with Lindsay in line to ride the trikes around the playground this morning before the bell rang. Two vigorous young boys raced the bikes around the painted line on the blacktop and skidded to a halt in front of the next waiting child, then ran to the back of the line for another turn. As the line moved forward, Lindsay hopped on a bike and took off while those two young boys inched forward.

As I smiled and waved when Lindsay turned the corner, the first boy with blond spiky hair and a scrunched up nose turned to his friend and said, "The fast bike is going to be coming in first. Here, I'll switch places with you. You go first."

The second brown-headed boy looked incredulous. "But that means you'll have to use the slow trike! Why would you do that?"

Blondie shrugged his shoulder, gave a little grin, and said, "I don't mind the slow bike. Besides, I know you like the fast one better so you use it! It doesn't matter to me if I go faster or slower."

In the me, me, me world at elementary school, this conversation was balm to my soul. The little blond boy had a grasp of the importance of the relationship over the desire to get the better bike.  That's the kind of example I desire for my children, a win over selfishness (with which they struggle daily) while maintaining a healthy dose of self-confidence.

On closer inspection I realize that I struggle with selfishness daily too. I can be selfish with my time and my attention, while freely sharing correction and criticism.  It's easier to tell and boss than to lead by example, and when I am distracted by thoughts and ideas, the easy road is the one I take, much to my regret.

Recently I have been reading through the book of John, soaking in the being and person of Jesus Christ. Time after time Jesus turned from his intended destination or goal and stopped to talk to someone in need, heal a suffering soul, or offer comfort. Along with his love, he offered his time and attention to those he cared about most, humankind. In a way, he chose the "slow bike", valuing the relationships over his original plans. I want to be like Christ, reflecting a stillness that has time to recognize the needs and the people around me. How easy it is to get caught up in the fast pace of life and the enjoyment of activities and things!

Leave the fast bike for someone else, I want to go slow.