Wooden Nickels claims that I started talking at 9 months and haven’t really stopped since. CV(D) tells me I’m a verbal processor. I have to talk things through before I can get any kind of clarity. But that doesn’t mean my thoughts come out of my mouth with clarity. I find myself stopping in the middle of a sentence to switch gears too, too often.
Tsh Oxenreider writes extensively (and quite well) about living simply on her blog. When I read her book, Notes from a Blue Bike, I learned that Tsh and her family live simply, so that others can simply live. I had no idea that was the second half of the sentence for her, and it completed the picture for me in terms of the way her family frames so many of their choices.
Since I’m in this new season in life, where my days just sort of stretch out in front of me, with no routines quite as well established as those that were in place while I was working full time, I’m playing a lot with saying yes and saying no. So much so that I realized that there’s one sentence I always get halfway through. I’ve said no to some things. But I do that so that I can say yes to others. Ah, there’s the other half.
All the Lean In-ers, and Girl Bosses will tell you no is a complete sentence, and I firmly believe that (never ruin an apology with an excuse and all). But though it’s a complete sentence, it’s not necessarily the whole sentence. A no to one activity or task means a yes to another, hopefully much more meaningful something in its place.
Huge blog confession coming up here, dear readers, but one thing I don’t do right now is make Gooplet’s food from scratch. It was always my intention to, and I did for a little while. But here’s the thing. Right now, he’s pretty much eating single-ingredient foods. And while I once babysat a toddler who ate risotto, and have since dreamed of having a child just like that, I’m totally fine with feeding him butternut squash that someone else made and pureed. Or kale and pears and raspberries (a recent favorite). You know there’s no kale in our house. This choice means way less dishes, less time at the grocery store trying to buy a CSA’s worth of veggies to make sure he’s eating a variety, and way less time spent praying that he can happily occupy himself in his jumper while I steam it, puree it, and store it in those little food blocks. (I do really love these food blocks.) And that choice, that “no,” or even that, “not right now,” opens up space for more of the things I want to do.