Summer in Real Time

It's fun and right and good to revisit photos and memories of happy times.  And my first inclination is NOT, when things are messy, or going wrong, or people are stressed, to take a photo.  So, looking back through the past several posts on my blog, it appears as though we are just flitting from vacation to vacation, with nary a care in the world.

Actually, we may just be enjoying our summer as much as it seems.  But most of that enjoyment is at home, and mostly because it is coupled with hard work every day . . . and with catastrophes, minor and major, along the way.  My hammock never feels so sweet and luxurious as it does after I've split wood, canned jam, or hauled rocks.  Or maybe I am hiding from my disrespectful teens, or cooling down and gathering my thoughts (or my ammunition, as long as I'm being truthful) after a spousal argument . . . but the picture of my feet dangling over my hammock is the picture I'm going to think of taking, because I want that sweet moment to last.

Last weekend, I developed an infection in my lymph nodes near my ear, which turned into cellulitis in my left cheek.  It. was. awful.  It was incredibly painful and unexpected and made me so sick (feverish, achy, chilled) that my doctor made a house call and gave me three injections.  I am still taking antibiotics, steroids, and an anti-inflammatory drug every day, though I finally feel more back to normal.  My left cheek was bright red, and so swollen that I got blisters from my skin splitting.  It's still red, and my skin is peeling, but, six days later . . . it feels so good to feel so good.

*sidenote: I am not a fan of the word or diagnosis "cellulitis."  Inflammation of the . . . fat?  So basically, my fat is fat?  Fat on fat?  Fat getting fatter?  It's real, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

The hard times, the cellulitis times, are always there.  There's a lot to be said for how social media (including blogs, and including this blog) can seem fake--an unrealistic representation of how things really are.  A big part of my reluctance to share the unpleasant times is that they are more personal.  I don't keep my difficulties private--I am very likely to share them with a few close friends and family members--but in person.  I don't want to broadcast my problems or trials to the world at large.  It took a lot of courage and vulnerability for me to share feelings about my miscarriage on this blog back in April . . . but even that was easier to share than the trials and tribs that will probably never be mentioned here. Facebook is not where I air my grievances, and I doubt it ever will be.

This is when the fever and chills were gone, but
the redness and swelling were still peaking.

That said, I have totally re-taken a photo after moving dirty socks out of the "scene," and I am reluctant to showcase less than my best when it's from a public platform.  It's so hard to strike the right balance of being genuine with presenting your "best self"--something we are taught to do from the moment we can brush our own teeth or get dressed without help.  Social media is not new anymore, but it's still uncharted territory, and it's hard to fight against inclinations to look and speak and act and present your life only in terms of superlatives--the most flattering, the best angle, the perfect light, the cleanest view.

But sometimes I forget that just making it from day to day is my very best.  And it's good to share, even with the world at large, that things are mostly less than perfect.

We are refinishing our garage floor.  Which means everything from our garage is strewn all over our back patio, side porch, and driveway.  We thought it would take a weekend  and a hundred bucks (insert maniacal laughter), but we are currently on week three of this $400-and-climbing project.  I can't stand having everything out--but it's forcing me to get rid of things and sell things and donate things and de-clutter before we put things back . . . and then take Pinterest-worthy pictures of the shiny new floor and shiny new organization methods.

Metaphorically speaking, and though it's difficult, it's good to let everyone see what's in your garage every once in a while.  Because we're all in different stages of organizing our messy garages.  How can we encourage and help and lift and serve and just relate to each other if we present a garage that somehow never needs cleaning?  No. such. garage. exists. 

Back patio.

Covered side porch.

Driveway.

Summer time is my favorite time, my most productive time, my hardest working and my hardest relaxing--and my house is NEVER as messy and dirty and cluttered and even, sometimes, downright gross, as it is in June, July, and August.  I love canning Nanking cherry jam, and it's deeply satisfying to line up all my finished jars neatly and snap a beautiful, jewel-colored photo.  But you better believe that my kids are hungry because I haven't had time to make dinner, my kitchen is a mess and my floor is sticky and I let the last batch boil over, which replaced the lovely, heady, cherry-and-almond scent with the reek of burnt sugar and ozone.  Not to mention the fact that, after a day of canning in late July, I look and smell like I just ran a marathon, cellulitis or no.  My kids probably don't WANT to eat anything I have touched.  They are happy with what they've been eating most of the summer, anyway: cold cereal.

Jam doesn't just pour into jars with the greatest of ease.
And dishes don't do themselves.
And zucchinis from neighbors are everywhere.

I only took this photo because I knew my thoughts about this
very blog post had been simmering (heh, heh) in my mind.
But I'm glad I did.  This is what canning looks like.

I'm still going to focus on the good times, because I think that's my natural inclination.  I'm GLAD that, when I look back at family reunions, I mostly remember the laughter and the fun and the reconnecting--even though my feelings got hurt or I hurt someone else's feelings.  I don't want to dwell on the negatives.  But I don't want to pretend like they don't happen.  Life is not all smiling family photos and picture-perfect dinners and magazine-worthy before-and-afters.

The bottom line for me is this: I have realized that, in my desire to share good and fun and funny and insightful things on my blog (and elsewhere) sometimes I leave out the "undesireables."  I'll probably still share mostly those positive things.  But I want to (and I plan to!) be more aware of being more real.

Even when my fat has fat.

I am not blind to the irony that I have spent the bulk of this post talking about being real, but then I upload a video of myself featuring a pretty thick SnapChat filter.  Baby steps, people.  1- I appreciate how SnapChat provides a buffer zone of built-in humor, and 2- I didn't film myself without a filter, or I would have shared that. 

Well . . . I think I would have.