Nathalie's Notes

Three things

I like alliterations. And lists. And having little "things" that I do to make me feel like I'm being the organized me I want to be.

I'm just a dork like that.

The three things originally started with my trying to pare down my "organize everything" goal to realistic chunks. Eventually my goal simply became this: don't need to move ten things to do one thing. For example, when cleaning the tray of Sam's highchair, it's nice to have a clear counter to lay it on. Or, when plugging in the computer, it's nice not to have three gadgets (and their cords) near each outlet. Or ... you get the drift. I decided to try to do three things, no matter how small, as I leave each room to see if that didn't add up to make a difference. I am amazed. I think in some circles this is called "picking up after yourself." Novel concept. Not that my momma didn't try to teach me all this stuff.

Three things I did work-wise this morning: started outlining Meet Mac, almost finished Chapter 5, rough, roughdraft of my column which is suddenly due a week early thanks to an unforeseen change in travel plans.

Three things I'm into right now: samples of sugar-free Malibu Rum (alcohol free) coffee flavoring, Snapfish and planning for my new office.

Living inside out

This entry in my journal from last night sort of sums things up: Matt built a wall today. An entire wall from scratch. Sheetrock and everything. I went to Winco and made a squash pie. With store bought crust.

One of the more frustrating things about the division of labor at our house is the fact that when Matt does stuff it's big. Matt's contributions to our household come in the form of steady paychecks and the kinds of things you take pictures of-  building walls, bookshelves, tables, etc. Who takes pictures of piles of laundry? Besides me I mean? How do you take a picture of the hour long call to deal with health insurance issues? Exactly. Redefining the measure of my success is something I'm working on as we near the end of my first year as a work from home mom.

I feel judged at every turn, by others and myself. When I really stop to take stock, I'm proud of what I'm doing and pleased with the progress of our family, household and my career. Life, I'm noticing, is more about the pursuit of happiness and learning to take pleasure in the journey than any of the specific details that make up our days.

This conversation the other day really got me thinking about how I see myself in this new role. It also made me even more committed to telling the truth on my terms because I don't think this mother of two grown children is remembering her early days on the path very clearly.

"So how are things going?" An acquaintance I like asks.

"Pretty good." Stock answer.

"Yeah?" She sounds genuinely interested.

"I mean, you know," I shrug. "Sam's awesome and I'm just sort of trying to adjust and get things figured out."

"Like what?"

"Oh. Everything." She gives me a blank face. "Just things like how to get things done, routines, and stuff so that simple, every day things aren't stressful."

"He's how old? Nine months?" she laughs. "You should've had all that figured out by now."

Seriously? Everything figured out by now? I was kind of thinkin' this was a figure it out as you go kind of deal.

Ouch. I give her the face Amy calls my "face when you're trying not to make a face, face." Keep in mind this is a very nice woman. Someone I truly enjoy seeing and talking to. So double ouch. She didn't mean it, I am sure, as the slap in the face that it was. Nonetheless it left my face (and insides) burning.

So risking criticism (intended or otherwise) is one of the hazards of living inside out. In spite of that, I'm pretty much me all the time. And that is pretty cool.

And other ways Oregon has changed me

I'm on a mission to find real vanilla beans so I can make my own vanilla to cook with. While waiting for the natural foods store to open last weekend, I took a stroll around Goodwill. I found a vintage Superman lunch box to store seasoning packets in and sunglasses to replace the super cool pair that broke in the car accident.

I wanted to wear them right away so I struggled to take the tag off for a moment before turning to the guy behind me in line. For the purpose of this story it does not matter what he looked like as this is Oregon.

"Excuse me, can I borrow your pocket knife for a second?"

"Hey, do I look like the kind of guy who carries a knife around?" He chuckles while pulling one out of his pocket.

"Well, this is Oregon so I figured my odds were good. Also, mine is in my diaper bag in the truck."

He wipes the blade on his (dirty) jeans and explains the dried blood is from a recent hunting trip.

Dude. I don't care if you killed someone with it, I just want to wear the glasses. There is a time I would not have been so much okay with the dirty, bloody knife but hey, there was also a time I wouldn't believe I would pack a pocket knife around. In my diaper bag no less.

p.s. still no luck on the beans.

Call for help

"He beat the shit out of her, but you know she probably had it coming."

Someone I love recently said this to me in a casual conversation. Instead of politely waiting for her to finish the sentence I interjected that, in fact, NO ONE has that coming. I suspect she rolled her eyes on the other end of the line and thought "Oh, great. Here we go again."

Yep. Here we go again. And frankly, sorry it's been so long. There is work to be done and I am able-bodied, loud-mouthed and willing.

A few years ago, when we lived at the Coast, I volunteered at the Women's Crisis Center serving on the board and working the hot line. It was one of the most rewarding and challenging experiences of my life.

Despite the positive aspects, I didn't have the tools to deal with how emotionally exhausting it was and I used that as an excuse not to continue the work when I moved back to the Valley. But I miss it. I would occasionally see requests for help in the paper and think about going back but end up convincing myself I wasn't ready yet.

But the Universe disagrees and continues to whisper in my ear reasons I need to get back to it. There is work to be done. And I am ready to roll up my sleeves.

The Henderson House in McMinnville has a call out for volunteers. Training begins in April. Baby Chi Chi and I are signed up to attend. Who is with us?

Life is Good

Pants on Fire: 454 words, Chapter Thirteen

I'm having some concentration issues, what with the new part-time job I have dealing with insurance companies, agents, doctors, replacing Sam's car seat, etc., all thanks to this one person deciding that wherever he had to be was more important than driving safely. So, I decided to start writing my car accident chapter using the very fresh images of the inside of the ambulance to make the details more engaging. Howerver, despite this unexpected field work, I will not be putting the guy who rear-ended me in my dedication.

On my 85th phone call of the day, I found out the guy who hit us might not actually have insurance. Sweet. So very sweet.

But you know what, I can hardly be upset about all that because a) I am HOME and b) my home is WARM. Like really cozy warm and c) most importantly we are alive and healthy.

But back to my warm home. Here's what this means to me: I no longer have to schlep to Lowe's, Wilco, Bi-Mart or whoever has pellets on sale on a twice-a-week basis, pack 40 pound bags of pellets into the truck and then into the house and then feed the stove all day, hoping it doesn't get clogged. Then, when it does get clogged, wait for it to shut all the way down and vacuum it out hoping that the ShopVac doesn't get clogged and then sweeping up the pellets that spilled in the process and then change my clothes because by now I'm covered in ash.

It means that tonight, when I gave Sam his bath, I just had to get his towel and washcloths. I didn't have to make sure it was warm enough out here, carry the portable heater into the bathroom giving it plenty of time to warm up before giving him his bath, sometimes missing my window of opportunity and putting a stinky boy to bed. He doesn't actually stink but only because he is so dang sweet.

It means that as I type this I hear Sam making little sleepy cooey noises while he sleeps IN HIS CRIB in his WARM room and I don't have to worry about the stove running out of pellets in the middle of the night leaving him to freeze in his swing. Ahh. Life is Good.

No Place Like Home

Well, the Universe is certainly offering me a lesson in patience and flexibility. I think we're on our last night of living like refugees. The county inspector came out on his day off to pass the electrical work this afternoon so now we're just waiting for the power company to come out and hook us back up.

It's been lights out at our house since Friday afternoon. Lights, heaters, hot water, you know, like camping. At home. Thankfully, George and Amy let us crash at their house. Me, Matt, the baby and the dog.

We figured we'd break up the imposition and stayed at a hotel Saturday night. A nasty, nasty hotel in a smoking room where we listened to people having sex. And I've had better showers at campgrounds.

With the house torn apart, the power out and my computer broken, the feeling of being displaced got to me on Saturday and I decided to take Baby Chi Chi to Target for a little retail therapy. And to buy a label maker. A label maker, I think, is the next step in my master plan of organizing everything.

We were almost home when we got in a car accident. Hit from the back by someone going 55 miles an hour. Baby Chi Chi slept through the whole thing! I ended up in a neck brace on a stretcher and Sam had his first (and hopefully last) ride in an ambulance. He seemed to like the pretty lights. We're both fine. I have a slightly sprained ankle and wrist and essentially feel like, well, like I got hit by a car.

Luckily, I did get the label maker so I can create a new file for the accident paperwork.

Valentine's Past and why I think this "holiday" sucks

"Can you move your car?"

Niki and I looked up from her couch to see my boyfriend/her roommate standing in the doorway. Huh?

"Can you move your car?" He repeated without really making eye contact.

"Uh, sure. What's up?" I asked, addressing his strange behavior, since he did, after all, have the spare key to my car on his ring. And suddenly it was clear. He was breaking up with me. What a jackass. But, in his defense, it was probably hard dating someone who was in love with another guy.

Still. He knew where I was at going into the relationship. Also, it was the day before Valentine's day. Really, what a jackass. So Niki and I decided to get out of town on Valentine's day and drove to my hometown. My parents were out of town and I forgot to call the lady who took care of the dog while they were gone to let her know we were there. I made things worse by saying to her, "Oh, Nik and I will be here all weekend so we can take care of the dog (also named Niki). Unfortunately she assumed Nik was a Nick and I've met few who could rival her Neighborhood Gossip status.

Another Valentine's day story that stands out is when another friend of mine got a card from her newish boyfriend. He simply wrote, "Hey!" and his name. Bellingham, it seems, had no shortage of Jackasses.

Not all of my dating days Valentine's were a disaster. My favorite one pre-Matt was when my "we're not really boyfriend and girlfriend but what the hell else do I call it" and I went to Canada with, ironically, Nik's ex-boyfriend and his sister. I remember it being a pretty awesome night, though it's funny what details actually stand out and which ones blend into other memories. 

Oh! And then there's the new perspective I got on this stupid "holiday" while working at the grade school.

My issue with Valentine's day is that it does more harm than good. It sets people up for failure, and causes more heartaches than heart throbs. Though, the coupons for heart-shaped pizzas are nice.

And frankly, if there really was a naked little cupid buzzing around here, he wouldn't let Valentine's day be a weeknight because there is nothing romantic about stressing out to try to do something special for the sake of doing something special. On a Thursday. Luckily for us, Thursdays are traditionally "Together Thursdays" at our house, because, see, we love each other 365 days a year so we don't need this one day to prove it. So I don't need flowers that'll die by Tuesday, or a fancy cell phone or for God's sake jewelry. If you can arrange for me to get a full night's sleep, I'll be your valentine. Otherwise, I'm looking for romantic gestures more often than once a year.

Geek, Exposed

This might be my geekiest post yet ... my writing calendar came in the mail yesterday and I'm excited to start filling it in with my progress. I've been looking for ways to figure out how to work from home smarter. I know "experts" say you should never have more than one calendar but I've always had a personal calendar and a work calendar on my desk at work to keep track of deadlines, projects and cover my ass kind of stuff. It only makes sense that I stick with that system since it reminds me that the two are separate things. I didn't like my writing goals and deadlines mixed in with things like: get food for Lucy, batteries for swing, mail package to Marlo and finish thank you notes.

If you know me, you know I delight in all things office supply related. Selecting just the right calendar is important to me so I was stoked to find this one online: Bylines - 2008 Writer's Desk Calendar. The Essential Weekly Planner for Writers. It includes: literary holidays, goal planning, monthly task lists, a submission tracker, purchase tracker for taxes and lots of other cool stuff. Most importantly it provides a portable place to track my writing.

And then, I can't believe I haven't written about this already because I was so excited when I brought it home I kept showing it to Matt and Booker who were staring at me like: really? For some people to be this enthusiastic it takes diamonds or Disneyland. Not me, baby. For me it's all about the simple things, like my beautiful little Moleskine planner. I'm using that as one big Post-it to keep track of life's little details as well as all of Baby Chi Chi's milestones - like the first time he "talked" all day long (yesterday), the first time we went to a movie with him (disaster), his shot records, etc.

It turns out I'm not the only office supply, moleskine geek out there. Check out this site if you're into that sort of thing too. How do you know if you'd be into it? Well, you were the kid who secretly looked forward to summer's end so you could buy new school supplies, you are pleased to see that Trapper Keepers are making a comeback and wish you could use Pee Chees at work.

Synergy in action

I have another word for 2008: Synergy.

I was working on how to explain why that word when a perfect example of synchronicity occurred. I know it's not exactly the same thing, but you're not really that picky, right?

My professional goal for the year is to make a success of my freelance writing business, as well as get my fiction work published. I've got experience, determination, a willingness to work my butt off and lots of ideas. What I need now is execution and some old fashioned synergy. And maybe a little luck.

When I say I want my writing to be successful I don't mean personally gratifying or fun to share with friends. I mean success in the form of paying the bills. With my background, skills and desire combined I believe I can do it. And I have to do it for Sam. It's the best way I can think of to earn a living and take care of my baby. Even when he's fifteen and talking back. Not, of course, that my little pumpkin would dream of sassing me.

So, synergy: This morning, I finished filling out an order form for a book I've been wanting since I found out I was pregnant last February - Writer Mama: How to Raise a Writing Career Alongside Your Kids. Every time I came close to ordering it, I stopped myself thinking that the last thing I need is yet another book about how to write. What I need to do is just write.

But then, welcome Baby Sam into my writing world. Despite the fact that I can type faster one-handed while nursing than many can type at all, this business of writing with a baby by my side isn't quite what I'd imagined it to be. I pictured him sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside me while I worked. Turns out this kid thinks sleeping is for babies. He has feet to kick, arms to wave and vowels to explore and not enough time in the day to do it, apparently. Also, it's kind of hard to concentrate on complete sentences when you are rocking the bouncy seat with one hand and saying "Yea! Is that the green dinosaur?" every few minutes.

As I threw my hands up in the air after four attempts to meet a deadline yesterday, I decided I would dig out the order form and finally buy the book written as a guide specifically for Writer Mamas which I am so, so excited to finally be able to call myself! I wonder if there's some kind of a badge or bumper sticker to show I'm in the club, until payday anyway.

After filling out the form, I put it in the pile of things to walk to the post office if it EVER stops raining and logged on to Ali Edwards' site to see what other words people were posting for 2008 and I saw someone named Writer Mama had commented. I followed the link to her site and it turned out to be the author of the book I'd just ordered! I'm taking that as a very good sign.

The thing about synergy is, you have to be paying attention to recognize and appreciate it. Which means, of course, that your intentions have to be clear. What do you want? Focus. Really focus on that for awhile. And once you narrow that down, figure out what it will take to achieve it and then go for it.

Is it stupid to get excited about something so little? Perhaps. But it makes life more fun to be delighted by the little things. Plus, it's easier to communicate with God if you listen to the whispers in your heart.

Intergity is a lint roller at the ready

So what's it going to be this year? Organize everything? Lose an unreasonable amount of pounds? Go to the gym every single day this year? Become the picture of serenity?

Come on! I know its not just me who makes these ridiculous, unattainable resolutions year after year. The famous Einstein saying comes to mind: "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing day after day and expecting different results."

It occurs to me there is no time like the present to put on my big girl underpants and stop waiting for someone to come around to wipe my nose and deal with my "things I don't know what to do with piles."

I've always wanted to be the kind of person who has a frozen lasagna in the freezer, ever at the ready, for unexpected guests or emergencies. I want to be the kind of person who has a lint roller. And uses it. Maybe even keep it handy instead of buried under 20 things in one of several junk drawers.

My goal this year is to figure out what being an adult means to me and then do it. For me, that plays in to living with integrity - being my best and favorite self.

The concept of being our best selves comes up for me a lot in my writing and conversations with close friends. I believe it is an ever-evolving process but if you aren't paying attention it seems easy to look over your shoulder in a decade and wonder what the hell happened.

So for me this year integrity starts with a lint roller. And with putting the caps back on things, getting a new role of toilet paper ready before I run out and picking my clothes up off the floor. More often. Let's not go overboard, right?