Decorating for Fall

Hello there. I've been doing a bit of scrapbooking in preparation for a holiday that will not be named that is fast approaching, and while I've been doing it I've had the chance to look back at lots of old blog posts. It has been so fun to stroll down memory lane and remember my joys and struggles as I read what we've written and look back at old pictures. I've actually really enjoyed the posts labeled, "philosophical musings," perhaps most of all. They're just me. My brain working through things. I realized that those posts are pretty much nonexistent these days. I feel more like the family reporter than anything, which is better than nothing. But I'm mourning the loss of brain and wit and self lately as I drown in tomato sauce and casts and kindergarten and toddlerhood. So I wanted to try my hand at it once again to prove to myself that I am, in fact, capable of musing. Perhaps even philosophically.

I don't remember where my fall decorations are. In fact I didn't even remember that I had any until we were on a walk on Sunday and somebody had a cute little garland of orange leaves woven into their porch railing. I should find those, really. Three or four years ago I'm sure I lived for the day that I could put up my smiling little scarecrow on the door. It symbolized holidays, family, celebration, being in sync with the outside world. I recall my extreme anticipation for frosting the Halloween jack-o-lantern cookies that the kids were really too young to frost anyway. My excitement over baking things. My frustration at long empty afternoons with no obligations. The list goes on. I was restless, excited, antsy.

I don't know what I am now. I think I must be in the adult version of the awkward phase. You remember that fun pre-teen era of your life? The one with chubby cheeks, buck teeth and huge glasses? Just before you figured out the right way to dress for a grown-up body and how to pluck your eyebrows without totally obliterating them? Yeah. Something like that plus about twenty years and I think we're there. My afternoons are beyond full. So are the mornings and the evenings and the nights. The thought of having to bake something or decorate anything or go anywhere or even just glance at the calendar fills me with dread. I am slightly drowning in what the ambitious young twenty-something version of myself has dealt me. Fall decorations? HA! Do you know how much work even just finding those will be? I am imagining myself right now digging through our attic crawlspaces, Leah on my heels (literally). With Addison talking nonstop about one fascinating science phenomenon or another to the point where I can't think clearly. And then a muffled "Mom, I'm done!" reaching my dusty hiding place from Bryn in the bathroom. I will be grumpy and sweaty and talking in a very terse voice.

So I guess the time has come to grow up. Let's power through the awkward phase, for crying out loud! Last night I went to a Relief Society meeting about managing stress. For like three minutes of it the lady presenting had us all close our eyes and think of a peaceful, calm, happy place. She talked us through all the smells and sounds of it. It was lovely. She counted down from ten to one and I opened my eyes at the end of it and felt good. My happy place was the house I grew up in. More specifically a huge tulip poplar tree in the back yard that had two by fours nailed up the side to a little particle board perch on a high branch. I would lay there in the summer and daydream and listen to the wind in the leaves and stare up at the sky.

Do you have any idea how much of a pain it must've been to get that particleboard nailed up there? With ten little helpers? DAH! We're talking "looking for the fall decorations" to the 6th power, plus sharp pointy objects in the mix. But it's my happy place, still, almost twenty years later. Because my Mom and Dad got over themselves and just nailed the darn things up.

So tomorrow maybe I'll climb up in the boiling hot crawlspaces and dig around and find my glittery leaves and rust-colored berries and pretend that my house isn't dirty and I don't have week-old presidency meeting notes to type up. And then my kids and I will decorate the house. And I'll fix the decorations that Leah pulls down daily for the next couple of months. And our house will feel festive and magical and special. And I'll look back at the blog in another five years, through my rose-colored glasses and long for the days when life was so simple.