If You Can't Say Anything Nice Don't Say Anything At All; Or, I'm Still Alive and {Occasionally} Blogging

I absentmindedly called up my own blog url yesterday and realized it's been over two months since my last post. Oops. I wasn't intending to take a hiatus, but when I'd think to blog, one of several things would happen.

1. I'd be too busy with my responsibilities to my family and household.

2. The weather would turn nice and I'd take the kids outside.

3. I'd be in a horrible mood, and the blog post I'd write in my head would be mostly complaining.

Usually it was the third. I'm pessimistic by nature and I like to feel like I'm in control of my life. But, when you have little kids and a household to run, there are lots of things that aren't in your control. Like if your washing machine dies a very sudden death while you're cloth diapering and potty training. Or if water starts coming through your kitchen ceiling, but it's not really your kitchen so you have to wait for your landlord to deal with it. Or if you clean a room because company is coming, turn your back for five seconds, and when you turn back the kids have decided the game du jour is "dump all the toys on the floor right now."

That play structure has seriously upped our yard's fun factor from a 0 to an 11.

Seriously, not trying to write a post about complaining. But. BUT.

We have new neighbors. Two new families in our apartment unit with little kids. We've seen them a little bit, said hello and our kids have played together a little. It doesn't hurt that a serious of fortunate events added a free play structure and free water table to our outdoor toy collection, that a week of rain has actually helped the grass seed we put down fill in some of the bare spots, that Sir Toddler (who is now a big preschooler) got a Cozy Coupe from Grandma and Grandpa for his birthday and loves to play in it.

Well, not all of the bare spots are filling in.

The family next door moved from a neighboring town that isn't quite as nice as ours. I chatted with them a bit the other day while our kids played outside in the yard. They have three kids in a two-bedroom apartment the same size as ours, including a newborn who is about a week old. They've been here for under two weeks and they haven't had a chance to get their washer and dryer down to their basement (like our unit, there's no bulkhead and the staircase is only about 27" wide at its narrowest point) so they are sitting in the kitchen and can't be used. If I moved a week before having a new baby, was fitting three kids in a two-bedroom apartment, couldn't do laundry at home, and my home wasn't unpacked yet, everybody would know it. I'd be complaining to my family, my friends, and complete strangers informing everybody about what a martyr I was. Heck, I complain about a whole lot less to deal with. But this mother, who had just had a new baby, was so serene and friendly. She and her husband offered my kids watermelon and we had a nice conversation. They seemed so at peace despite the chaos of their situation.

I'm having trouble eloquently finish this post, so I'll do so not so eloquently: I have a lot to learn about contentment. But the longer I am a mother and a wife, the more I am required to give of myself to my family, the less I want for myself. Maybe by the end of my life I'll truly know how to be grateful for what I have been given.