I hate white walls. Actually that's only partially true. I love Lynda Reeves' white walls. I even tried to mimic her perfectly decorated rooms... the accent colours making the oxford white seem more like a cream than a titanium. But my furniture was from a garage sale and the kids make sure to decorate the room with their own version of high style. (Mainly Lego, books with pages missing, lines of cars and crayon circles.)
So now I hate white walls. They belong in hallways that are too long to want to paint. And maybe in my dream house in an art studio where the light reflecting through the massive windows adds its own stunning hue. Someday...
I have painted every room of every place I have ever lived. The room in a family's home in Toronto (and first time out of my parents house) was painted. My first room in my first/only apartment with a lovely roommate, was painted (red). Our basement apartment when we first got married was bright orange, baby blue, Tuscan yellow, lime green and black. It's incredible that my mother in law still speaks to me after the priming job she had to do.
Our home now has gone through it's own shades of orange and vermilion red and marigold yellow and has now become chocolate and soft sage and Tiffany blue.
I NEED colour. I NEED colour to breathe. I need it in my clothes, in my food, in my hair, in my makeup, in my garden, but most especially on my walls.
Over the years many, many friends have picked up a paintbrush and slathered the thick mess of Behr pallets on my walls. These friends are loyal. It takes patience and love to spend hours making sure the roller isn't making bubbles or the massive marks on the ceiling cuts are wiped off... and the cleanup? Well, that is PURE LOVE MY DEAR.
Now it is time for me to show my loyalty. And I was more than happy to begin.
For these friends who I cherish and adore, painting walls is the most simple form of saying "You are important to me" and "You have amazing hor dourves"... *wink* Feed me and you own me.
these girls have been a rock for me. I have grown in all ways because of their presence in my life.
Even yesterday I called Beautiful Emma simply to talk out a major head crisis. I couldn't breathe, I was panicked and I had no idea what I was doing. 5 minutes later I was coherent again.
Sometimes those 5 minutes of listening to my insane ramblings is all it takes for her quick wisdom to set me straight.
For those 5 minutes I will happily spend a few hours decorating my fingers and arms, and pants and face in turquoise and red.
I would do it any day.
(That's the "how the hell do we get a roller up in that crevice?" look. We then decided it was a let A Hubby figure it out kind of thing...)
(Just because I am in love with all Spring shoes and it's time to bust them all out of hiding... hello patterns... I love you...)
My brain has been weird lately.
I've been in a strange state.
Not sure how to put it?... Life has been a little off.
I would like things to be simple. But I know I would get bored.
Yesterday in the developmental pediatrician appointment we learned about Farmers and Hunters.
Farmers are the people whose brains are wired to thrive on repetition and stability. These people become accountants or psychiatrists. They need consistency day in and day out.
Hunters are people who thrive on drama. Who require change and are intensely visually and creatively inclined. These people become ER doctors or artists or professional sky divers.
Our little family of four are all Hunters. (At least at this point The Princess is...)
The Prince and The Hubby are at the extreme end of the spectrum. The Prince is so visually and spacially aware that along with his slight language and audio processing delay, becomes highly exhausting. All those mothers who have strong willed children have nothing on me...
The Prince does not sleep at night. Multiple wake ups inculding blowing bubbles all over our kitchen one night and another night, eating a large portion of a tub of chocolate ice cream.
We never know what we'll find.
He hid after church for at least 15 minutes causing a mass search last Sunday. He was beating Mommy at Hide and Seek. Yeah he won all right...
I often feel inadequate, and unqualified for the role that I am in.
Patience and I do not see eye to eye and I must have a solid chuck of sleep nightly or I begin to resemble a bear dragged out of hibernation a week too soon.
I personally hate play dough and building towers out of blocks. I will take the kids to the lake, or fly kites, or dig in the garden. I will decorate pizza dough with them and let them help mix the pancake batter but you will never find me baking cookies alongside them. I DO NOT like kids crafts, but I'll colour with crayons and invisible markers.
Yet I am often at wits end for what to do with The Prince.
And now we are being faced with more and more decisions as he gets older. Decisions that I don't want to make. Things that others might find simple, but to me are insurmountable choices. Whether to let him come into our room at night or lock him in his for safety, to put him in summer camp or not, to keep trying to remove all milk from his diet or give up because it doesn't seem to make a difference. Let him play in the backyard without me right there? No.
I need a friggin vacation.
But I can't take a vacation.
So I walk. More specifically on gravel.
I walk on gravel at the lake.
There is a gravel path that leads around a small bay and it is the most soothing experience. I love the sound of gravel under my feet. The crunch and the texture. It takes me out of my rambling thoughts until all I am is someone walking on gravel. Just a person walking. Not a mom or a wife or a friend or a tired mess. Just a body moving in a forward motion.
These are the times when I have conversations with God.
Arguments, love chats, tears, smiles, debates, thank yous... You name it, I pray it.
I need a few more two way conversations than usual...
Or maybe I really need them all the time and I've been so busy I've forgotten it was missing.
Today I didn't get my gravel walk. I didn't get enough sleep, enough breakfast, enough coffee, or even a shower...
But these perfect little green-blue eyes looked into mine and The Princess told me she loved me.
Sometimes that is my gravel.