Porcupine

For years it's been all about the kids.

Seven years is a long time to forget about your own eyebrows.

Pretty standard fare until I find myself leaning both palms into my ears at 5pm;  screaming at the top of my lungs that I WILL NOT STAND FOR ANYMORE NOISE IN THIS HOUSE WHY MUST YOU CHILDREN YELL ALL YOUR WORDS,  DO YOU UNDERSTAND WE ARE NOT A FAMILY THAT YELLS EVERYTHING WE SAY?!

Oh yes.  They understand well.  Abby even mimics it seconds later.  Her mini-mom tantrum is taken out on poor Lemon and Blueberry.  Somehow Strawberry escapes unscathed but the other two have been sitting in the corner with (rather large and kind of furry) spider remains for days.

They do as we do.  Never as we say.

About two weeks each month  Every so often my skin feels like the quills of a porcupine are protruding from it, thus protecting my person from incoming assaults.  Things like hugs, kisses, interacting with people, being nice, helping someone with their shoes.  Even practicing spelling words while loading the dishwasher is far too cumbersome with quills.  One thing at a time, demanding humans, one thing.  We porcupines deserve a little room, don't we?  Alas, that room is never granted.  The children, the dogs,the telephone, the husband crush me with their own sensory needs, requests for orange juice, excessive displays of sweetness through face nuzzling.  They do not respect the quills.

Oh, but they see them.

The last time Andy suggested I go to the gym or "head on out for a run," my steely voodoo eyes let him know he should just pass me the chocolate chip jar next time.

The thing is, we full-time-at-homers don't need advice on what to do to find balance.  We memorized the freaking book on How To Find Balance.  We just need you to watch the children so we can.

Plain and simple.  You stay here.  I go waaaay over there.  And yet, things fall to crap upon execution.

Abby sniffles in my lap and says I must be mad at her because I've only spent the last 23 hrs with us glued at the hip and it was that last hour that really sealed the unconditional love contingency clause in our relationship.  23 hours does not a good mommy make.

When the quills are out, even my freaking dogs are personal energy vampires.  The walking, the feeding, the eyeballs asking when the fun part of their life will start, the constant cute snowy faces that need all that kissy make me lose track of my important things.  Like eating an avocado with a knife in my kitchen.  Alone.

Since I'm a girl of action, I made my family miserable for 5 years figured out what I could do to add energy to my body instead of chronically depleting it.  

First off, I tweaked my diet again.  Completely ditched the lattes in favor of green tea and much more water. Added some meals throughout the day to boost metabolism.

Secondly, I took note of where I go for fun.  Not errand running or exercising.  Those are more energy vampires for me.  Certainly not grocery shopping.  That place is like a colony of children who need me to help them with math.  Insta-exhaustion sets in before I find the wobbly cart.  No, I paid attention to where I drove when I sought refuge.  And wouldn't you know, my van drove straight to a place that is part thrift store, part dog adoption center.  I know, it's like I made it up.  But I swear it's real.

So now, I volunteer in this magical center and it's all kinds of perfect for the predicament my crowded soul is in.

It's fixing all things tangly in there.

Because look at who I get to hang out with.

None of them get poked by any quills.



You know why?

Because I don't have any when I'm around them.

These sweet bunny faces are generous spiritual guides.  They give energy in spades, not take it.

My Happy Place is taking pictures of them while we play.  There is warmth, affection, and a little bit of poop but it's awesome.   Each love here is looking for a family to dote on.  If you're local (Louisiana), please let me know if you're ever interested in adopting any one of them you see here.

I hope to be taking their pictures for a long time to come.

It's the least I can do for those who give so much without ever once caring I'm sometimes a porcupine.