Family Updates

Clutter and clarity

The other night as my children and husband sniffled and snored in their sleep, I felt it coming.

The adrenalin and the rush of the before mama gets a cold nesting. It's a real thing. It's as real as the need to fold endless onesies and count diapers in the weeks prior to giving birth. It's as instinctual as running from room to room, putting a hand on little hearts to make sure the breath still flows.

So at midnight I gathered myself out of bed, and came to terms that sleep would not come until I had done something.

We live in a tiny apartment {tiny for two adults and two bigger than life kids... } with white walls and white carpets, both marked with the signs of childhood. Juice stains and creativity splashed on any given wall. Intentional and not. We live here. But the clutter often brings me to my knees. I can't think. I can't breathe. I can't move without stepping on a toy or a treasured red leaf or crackers.

So I cleaned at midnight. I wanted space to move and breathe and create. I gathered toys and sorted into bins and bags to giveaway. Less is more.

This space, this space that is mine and theirs and his and hers, is communal. I write on a netbook on my living room couch. Sometimes the dining room table. Often from my bed. I create amid chaos. Don't we all...

We do what we can, where we can. We fit in parts of us amid the days of family and work and life. And at times it's so much that we simply burst and go crazy until we can create a bigger space for ourselves.

And so it was getting to be 1:30 in the morning. I could finally see the floor, the counters were cleared off, bookshelves orderly. I breathed in the silence and exhaled intention for my craft.

Nesting is part of my process. Today I can write. I can sit on my couch that smells a little funny, and create without the stumbling blocks of distraction at my feet. I'll take that nesting urge and forfeit a few hours of sleep, and even the cold that follows on occasion. Clarity {in whatever form, even stuffy nose and sore throat of impending doom} aids in my creativity.