Observationing: the art of noticing things; observation with flair; taking note of things without consequence and then writing about them in a public forum.
Wordsmithery: the act of creating words offhandedly with no regard for the rules of language and/or grammar. Example: observationing.
This morning as I headed out the door, unshowered and in somewhat unflattering jeans, I glanced back across the wide expanse of our 953 foot house and I noticed that it looked a bit like a small bomb had exploded or perhaps a compact helicopter had hovered for a few minutes over our den/kitchen/dining combination of a room. I couldn't help but wonder if someone dropping by would conclude that a small child lives here or if they had just stumbled upon a crime scene moments after the bad guy had made his exit. I hope people will just assume that someone small and high on life lives here. The alternative makes me feel stressed.
Earlier, while getting Sam ready this morning (i.e. wrestling him to the ground to get his pants on), I happened to notice the wooden desk (Target, circa 2004) in his room. It's where we keep his books and his piggy bank and a battery-operated dancing monkey. There's also a lamp and a noise machine with sound options like: tropical rainforest (a.k.a. dying parrot, which is what it really sounds like if we're being honest), spring rain, mountain stream, white noise, heartbeat (a la Telltale Heart) and a few others. We're in a bit of a spring rain rut right now, and I'm considering making the switch to mountain stream. Anyway, that's the top of the desk. Under the desk is a basket of toys, a small riding toy with a stuffed moose in its seat, a large frog named Leap and an obnoxious, battery-operated ball-throwing toy that Sam inexplicably loves. I say all this to tell you one thing. I used to sit at that desk when there was nothing on it but a computer, a lamp and a pen. Now I sit at the kitchen table when I feel the need to be quiet and write things down. Sometimes I miss that desk, and I can't help but wonder if it feels a little confused about its current situation.
(Maybe I should have warned you that this post was going to be more random than usual.)
Two days ago was Sunday and on Sundays my husband and I take ourselves and the little guy down to our lovely church in a barn on the back of the mountain. It's probably not what you're imagining, but it does have large barn doors and zero air conditioning along with the occasional dog wandering through the service. I love it and I'm not sure I can ever go back to the usual way of doing Sunday mornings in a perfectly climate-controlled church building that doesn't have twinkle lights strung up in the rafters. I noticed something this particular Sunday (prepare yourself to be disappointed by the fact that I am not about to reveal an uber-spiritual revelation that will make you wish you could come to my church instead of yours). I found myself observing that nearly every man I happened to vaguely notice was wearing a wrinkled sweater and something in my writer's heart loved the image in my mind of people digging into the back of their closets and drawers that morning to essentially welcome fall back into their wardrobe by slipping into sweaters that haven't seen the light of day for approximately seven months. There are no words to express how glad I am that Fall finally arrived. Good riddance, Summer. I might take this sentiment back if we have eight inches of snow in our front yard again this year. But, probably not.
(Just for the record, I did pay attention at church on Sunday despite what you may be assuming. I heard an excellent sermon on life calling and sang songs that I love and was happy to take communion with my church family. I just occasionally get distracted, and wrinkled sweaters - and their heralding of my favorite season - just happened to be the subject of my distractions this particular Sunday.)
Someone just woke up from his nap so, that's it for this edition of Observationing and Wordsmithery. Until next time, when I share about the nuances of my relationship with my Kitchenaid mixer and maybe ramble a bit about the laundry. I know you'll be sitting by the computer with great anticipation, and I don't blame you.