Sherri Cornelius

Three years ago I made a list of things I wanted, things I felt would make me a more fulfilled, whole person. I’m amazed at the number of things on this list that I actually did receive.

1. Brand-new car—My Saturn’s not brand new, but a perfectly wonderful substitute


2. Brand-new house—I no longer feel desperate for this like I used to.


3. Happy relationship—we’ve always had a rocky relationship, and I’m not seeing that change anytime soon.


4. Nicer clothes—Somewhat, because I’m working at it


5. off foodstamps—it was scary, but we are now government assistance-free


6. good health—The health problems I had then are still with me, but I’m learning to manage them. Also, I’m working on solutions now.


7. book published—grumble grumble


8. BVA finished—Done!


9. new recliner—Got one for my husband, and a futon for me.


10. home repairs--That’s happening next week.


11. bicycle—Got this before I had a car to take Maggie Rose to school


12. tighter skin—probably wishful thinking, at my age. :)


13. new laptop, lightweight, fast, pretty. Plenty of memory, comfy keyboard. Strong but light. GREAT BATTERY! –Got this one for Christmas last year


14. cell phone—It’s been a life saver


15. I want to feel free to be myself.—Might never stop working on this one, but I feel more myself than ever


16. iPod—We have 3! Hand-me-downs from my mom, but perfectly usable.

That’s 12 out of 16! And while at the beginning, three years seems like forever, it’s really not long in the scheme of things. So maybe I need to make another list. It’ll be a lot shorter now that I’ve received so many of the things I needed. And you know what? There’s still time to receive the other things on my list.
Those things did enrich my life. They helped me feel more independent, more relevant, more connected—and most importantly they brought joy to me when I needed it.
Have you received anything you’ve asked for lately?

Ihate eating during the day. I resent having to interrupt my activities, however mundane they may be, to refuel. Which is why it’s all right that I don’t have much in the kitchen right now because I haven’t been to the grocery store. The car’s still down and the Hubs’ truck stinks to high heaven. I’ve been living on almonds and baby carrots and the occasional Little Debbie snack cake, saving the real food for the family dinner.

And I’ve yet to lose a pound.

The past few weeks have been emotional, frustrating, joyous:

• My stepdaughter had her second child, and my stepson’s wife had their first baby a week later.


• Found out my stepson will be stationed in frickin’ Washington state when he gets out of boot camp in a month, and of course his wife and baby will go along. Not that I’d get to see them much if they stayed here, but dang.


• What should have been a relatively simple job of changing out the water pump has become an exercise in futility, with one impossible bolt and wet, chilly weather.


• I’m not a happy person right now, and I don’t know how to get happy. I feel stifled and trapped and lonely, not to mention off-balance and unsure. And at this point I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it.


• Home repairs might help. I had a meeting with the insurance adjuster about some hail damage to the roof and siding, and it looks like I’ll be able to get new shingles and new paint. That’s nice.


• I’m enjoying getting to know my cousin during the process, since he’s also my contractor. My dad pretty much raised him, and it’s interesting to hear what life was like with that side of the family, since I wasn’t part of it. But that’s a whole ‘nother blog post.

Something I have learned about myself this week is that I need tidy, beautiful, calm surroundings. My home doesn’t reflect that and it’s something I need to change.

The kids and husband are firmly back in the outside world, post-holidays, and I am still ensconced at home, relieved to have my quiet days back, but missing the family at the same time.

I’m learning just how hard it is to pick up a long-abandoned manuscript and care about it again. The synopsis I was supposed to do for the middle grade reader? Well it just isn’t coming along like I’d hoped, which is to say, at all. It’s about halfway done, and I think it’s a viable story and the writing isn’t bad at all, but I always feel faintly embarrassed reading my own writing, whether it’s good or not. Knowing I’ll have to read the book again to write the synopsis has caused me to put it off.

Plus, there’s a lot of pressure in being a hausfrau. And before you working women get all up in my face, let me say I’ve done that, too. I’ve worked all day long, picked up the kids from daycare, fixed dinner, and been so busy with kids and so tired from work that I didn’t lift a finger all week on the house, doing the bulk of the cleaning in a Saturday marathon, with little to no help. That was my life.

Here’s the difference: If I walked into the house above, I’d think, man, this lady is busy. If I walked into my house today, I’d think, man, this lady is lazy.

After all, a housewife with no kids during the day should have no problem keeping the house spotless and the kitchen stocked; a writer with all day to write should have no problem pounding out the pages; a handywoman with tools and time should have no problem fixing the leaky pipe in the wall/rotted siding/holes in the porch room walls; a woman with hours to care only for herself should have no problem exercising and exfoliating.

And each one of those on its own would be true. I feel like if I could focus on one thing I could do it really well. I’d be the best at *insert activity*. But that’s the track my mind goes through, and so though I still hit the high spots, I never feel I’ve done enough. I have so much time, you know? “I really should write today, but it can wait till the kids have something to wear. And what’s that? The toilet’s running again? Damn it, I fixed that already! I guess I could shower first, but I’ve already started this blog post…”

And so now I have one more thing to do, and that is to list my priorities. I’ll do it right after I load the dishwasher.

Man oh man, a cold front came through yesterday and dropped our high temp by about 30 degrees. This morning it was cool enough that I could actually go in the shed without dodging wasps--they get active at about 80 degrees, and the hotter the better--so I denimed up, grabbed a broom and got to work. I straightened shelves, picked up all the tools I'd flung in there to avoid the wasps, swept, rearranged. Took me a couple of hours. Just as I was finishing up a wasp or two started a lazy circuit near the ceiling--I'm guessing it was about 75 by then--and seeing how it was also lunchtime, I closed up and came on in. What a great morning!

Many of you may not define a morning spent cleaning the garage as "great", but I love taking care of my home. Let me say that a different way: I love when my home is not chaotic. Since I'm the only one who cares and I don't have the means to hire the necessary laborers, that means I get to do it. So while I may not love the work, I love having done the work.

I feel that way about writing, too. Most of the time I'd rather be doing something else, but once it's done, my satisfaction makes it all good. I guess a lot of worthwhile, fulfilling things are that way, like college and childcare and marriage. Sure, you like the work enough to keep doing it, but the real reason you do it is the payoff. A degree, well-adjusted children, partnership. A novel. A place to put the lawnmower. You know, the payoff.

What's your payoff?

I haven't had a chance to check the dryer for punk-inserted fish, but I'll let you know what I find. I'm loathe to take the dryer out of its hole. What a lot of crap work.

In case you're wondering, I still feel fantastic. Woke up at 6:48 this morning, couldn't believe it was that early, checked all the clocks, went back to bed, was actually wide awake and got back up.

We got a new bunk bed for the littler kids' room. Abby has her own tiny room, and Jonah and Maggie share. We rented till we bought this house a few years ago, so our furniture was never bought for the space, just forced into whatever odd space we had. Now that our family and residence will be stable for a few years, I'd like to start buying pieces that fit our rooms. Having the extra floor space has already made my life easier, and it looks SO much better than the 2-bed  configuration we had before. I'm almost 40 years old. I want a home that reflects my personality, which is orderly and clean(ish).

As for the discussion surrounding the purchase of the bunk bed, a personal note: I love you, Honey. Thank you for listening.

So I have a lot of housework to do today, and I actually feel good enough to do it. What have you planned for the day?

Update on the fish thing: The load I dried yesterday came out smelling fine. There must have been something in that one stinky load. I'm scared what it might have been; didn't find anything unusual in the clothes.