Fresh and Fancy

To Mothers

2012-01-18T20:47:00.000-08:00

Sweet and beautiful mothers,

I have been thinking about you a lot since starting this adventure of extra-mothering. Extra because I’m mothering children that aren’t really “mine” – not extra in the sense that I do anything more than what I would do for Jack and Joey…

The nature of my job means that I stay pretty busy, a word I have avoided for a long time, but now seems to fit. I move a lot during the day.

A lot.

A house of 11 kids means that when one body is settled, two or three more are up and moving and talking and needing…

As I have adjusted to this new pace, I have had to reframe my idea of what a “good” mom looks like. I simply can’t do EVERYTHING that I thought I would as a mother.

I have reviewed what I assumed I would do as a mom and had to sort my expectations. There are some things that are a MUST for me – things I would regret not incorporating into my family if I let them slide. Other things however are simply a result of how I was raised or what appeals to me. They are the aesthetics of mothering - the non-essentials that make up what kind of “look” I like.

And for now, some of those minor preferences have taken a backseat to the more urgent needs of my large-scale household.

It used to be that I played a mental parenting chess match. For each move of actual white-piece parenting, my mental black pieces would respond. Every hour of the day alternating between doing and thinking –often critically. Most days, I felt like although I was moving my white pieces across the board, somehow the black pieces always found a way to capture me.

Guilt. Fear. Indecision. Doubt. Check mate.

Now, given the speed of my mothering, I spend a lot less time scoring myself than I do in actual parenting.

I do what I need to do throughout the day, and at the end, if I have energy and emotional capacity, I might review it and see what will work better tomorrow. If I don’t have energy, I will go to bed and know that I did my very best with the day that I had.

This is the change in me that most often makes me think of you.

I used to spend a great deal of emotion considering how to be an intentional and aware parent. But a lot of my thought was more about what was wrong with me than what was right. And, I think, most of it came from a place of fear in me. Fear of not doing my job well, fear of disappointing those who love me or fear of disabling my children in some unseen and un-healable way.

Fear is not really a very good motivator. It is never satisfied. Once you respond to one fear, another is always there to criticize and confuse.

Let me right now say that yes, parenting is very hard. It requires attention, selflessness, and a willingness to always adjust.

Those things are hard.

And we will continue to do them regardless of their difficulty because we are women who respect the call of mothering and desire to honor a creative and loving God who has entrusted us with beautiful and messy and one-of-a-kind children.

Those are hard things, yes. But it used to be the impossible pursuit of perfection that felt so hard for me. I wanted EVERY. SINGLE. MOMENT. to reflect perfection in my parenting.

If I spent a half hour doing the dishes while my boys played happily, I would wonder if I had missed a special moment with them. If I rushed through bath time to get more quickly to bedtime, I would end the night fearful that my boys went to sleep feeling brushed off and unloved. If I lost enthusiasm for making playdoh balls only five minutes into what I hoped would be an activity to fill the morning – I worried that my children wouldn’t have an opportunity to exercise their creativity or express their growing understanding of how the world works…

All these little fears mounted through months and days, filling me with deep concern that I was missing so much, and more horrible to me, that my children were missing so much.

What I have discovered as I meet children with heavy stories and parents that range from uninformed and unable to outright evil… is that parenting isn’t quiet as “hard” as I had been making it.

I have met children who have not just missed out on story time a few nights in a row, but children who, in second grade can’t recognize all the letters of the alphabet. I have taught children who haven’t just been rushed through a bath now and then, but who at the age of 10 aren’t able to shower themselves or use the bathroom in a clean way.

For most of us, I think that mothering is much simpler than we make it.

Do you smile at your children?

You are a good mom.

Do you talk to them while you push them through the grocery store?

You are doing an excellent job.

Do you pay attention to the things that make your children the most glad and try to make those things a part of their days.

You are a success!

The things that make a difference for your children are not going to be all the times you miss. They will live. They will understand that they are not the center of the universe, and that is a good thing.

The things that will speak to your small children and remind them that they are safe and important and valuable to you are the very tiny things that you do so naturally.

I know so many mothers who are truly wonderful. They parent creatively and thoughtfully. They consider the words they use and pay attention to their children’s responses to what is happening around them.

I have been taught and encouraged by these mothers.

But I have also heard their fears, their frustrations, the weariness that creeps in so easily.

To you, my friends, those who mother, please believe me when I tell you that what you are doing is enough. If you wanted to do one or two or three things less, that would still be enough.

Please fill your lungs with a deep, expanding breath, and consider for a moment that you ARE a good mom. The striving and aspiring and worrying can take a break for a minute. Look at your children and know that they will survive a childhood with an imperfect mother and they will be better people for it.

You are loved.

Rest well my dear friends.

Flash

2011-09-17T22:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a flash.

Sort of like a firework behind my eyes, only I couldn't see it. I just knew that one moment my mind was dark and the next, truth seemed to be exploding and shining light into the dim places.

It was one of those afternoons when the dread of "out of control" was washing over me.

I was hunting for a piece of paper.

To make a list.

Or four lists.

Or maybe just to make a note of "be better at everything" lest I forget that I'm not living up to my unrealistic and unholy expectations of myself.

One particular relationship in our house has been draining me for weeks. I was tired and worn out by the frustration and consumed by a "fix." The kind of consumed where your mind can't rest. You start by thinking about the problem. And thinking and thinking about it. Then you urge yourself to find a solution so you aren't just one of those perpetual whiners. But your search for a solution takes you on a bumpy road, filled with potholes and signs that bear all of your insecurities and paint in bright colors the fears that YOU, in fact, are the source of the frustration to begin with. So if you want to fix it, you have to start by knocking yourself all to pieces and then rebuild yourself as a new, in control woman.

Control.

When I get flustered, I want control.

I want a list to tell me how to get that control.

To make order.

To own and manipulate.

As I simultaneously lamented my failures and clung to the abilities that I believed could put me back into a sense of controlled, or controlling, well-being, I had the flash.

I realized that when I am overcome by a weight of "out of control" it means that I have tried to take something that is not mine.

When I can't settle into my life and relax in the ebb and flow of my days, it means that I have abandoned what has been very specially planned and saved for me while I'm on this earth and traded it for a heavy, impossible load.

When I take something that belongs in God's hands, and try to trap it into my own, I upset the balance of my relationship with the Creator.

It should come as no surprise that I feel out of control.

I never had control.

And in actuality, it sure sounds a lot better to know that someone who is everywhere and knows everything and can do anything is the one who is leading this pony.

Why on earth would I actively choose to spend my days in a frenzy, making lists to tell me what to do, how to change, what to stop and what to start? Why not, instead, when I feel that so-very-strong temptation to take something that is not mine, could I not realize what I've done and open my hands immediately.

My temptation, when feeling unsettled, is to curl up into a tight ball and hold what I think is mine close to my chest with my body ridged and weary around it. Who would have imagined that the solution would be instead to expand and stretch and open my arms to allow all that is not mine, all that I should have not tried to control in the first place, to go. To be in someone else's hands. To be in the hands of one much more capable than I.

Can I tell you, when I realized this, I was in my bathroom. I was trying to catch my breath and find my bearings and trying to shake off the soul-crushing weight of being a failure at making my life fit into my skewed understanding of "good."

I saw the pop of light and watched the little trickles of glitter fall over my weary mind and my heart that was bruised by the heavy load I had been trying to hold.

I made a decision to open my hands and drop my list and believe that God loves me.

When I left the bathroom, the difficulties were still there.

But so was peace.

I haven't fixed anything. The things that were hard before I went into the bathroom are still hard. The difference is, I feel more agile and sure footed when walking this trail.

The difference is, when I look at the trouble, I don't need to fix it.

My breath comes easily, in and out, trusting that as I take the time to breathe, God is caring, and participating, and holding all that is his, handing me beautiful pieces to look after as he sees fit.

My habit of holding too much has taken its toll, and I am sure that I have some recovering and restoring to do, but I see another way of approaching life. With my feet shod with the readiness of God's peace, I plan to walk in it.

Care to join me?

Conundrum

2011-09-08T08:28:00.001-07:00

I've got a serious dilemma.

We're talking big.

As in the decision I make regarding this problem could potentially change the outcome of my whole life.

Oh what I wouldn't give for a sarcasm font.

In the grand scheme of things, what I'm facing is miniscule, but isn't it so strange how the very smallest of things somehow grow into monsters in our lives?

Maybe that is just me.

Anyway. My problem.

My problem is that I am this close to swearing off Target.

I know. I KNOW!

Not Target entirely, just their clothing section.

I have been avoiding the final shutting of my heart-doors toward the colorful and affordable mama-meca, but this morning just might have thrown the last straw on this camel's back.

Most of my wardrobe comes from Target. EVERYTHING that I have purchased since starting my new life as a foster mom has come from Target.

Why?

Well, the major factor is that if I want to shop at a real clothing store it requires weeks of planning and arranging to find a time to go (no sarcasm font needed here). It is much more convenient for me to take a scan of the selection on the first trip to Target in a week, notice what I like, and then quickly grab what I'm interested in on the second trip of the week and try it on.

It breaks the shopping process into two parts, making it manageable with kids in tow, which they almost always are.

The second reason is that with $17 for a cardigan (I confess a deep and librarian-like love of cardigans) I get instant gratification. I don't have to save up for what I want. $20 here or there doesn't seem like a big deal, whereas if I journey to the Loft (see... I should have been a librarian) or Macy's or some darling boutique, I have to go prepared with the reality that a single twenty isn't going to get me ANYTHING and that my stack of twenties is going to get me very little.

But here is the problem. Over the last few months I have purchased a few items from my standby, Target: two dresses, one pair of shorts, a workout top and a few clearance tank tops.

Within the first wash both dresses AND the workout top were destroyed. Gentle cycle, hang dry... the dresses both looked like they disintegrated in water and the sports top lost the entire seam along the bottom.

I exchanged the dresses and brought home new ones that have fared a little better.

But today I was ironing my shorts and realized that again something that I had recently purchased, and taken extra care with, had fallen apart.

Argh!

I'm mad.

The reality is, if I have to replace items every month, I'm not saving time OR money.

Target is the only place I know of that sells the perfect shade of green (bright but not too limey) so I may have to deal with a change in my expectation of color-selections... but friends, I think I'm over the concentric red circles for my clothing.

Am I being too dramatic?

Too harsh?

Expecting too much?

Please talk me off this ledge if I'm out of line because if you don't, this long-time relationship is over!

Happy Birthday Andy!

2011-08-19T21:32:00.000-07:00

I married a wonderful man.

You may have picked up on it, but I'm pretty fond of my husband.

You may have also picked up

from the two above photos

that Andy likes the Huskies,

and his black sweatshirt...

Today is his 30th birthday.

Mostly, Andy is pretty unaffected by life. He takes things with an easy stride and quiet resolve. This birthday milestone is no different.

When a friend asked him how he felt about turning 30 Andy just shrugged and said that he was okay with it, that it made him feel like a valid adult now.

Before I had even met Andy I remember telling a girlfriend that if I ever got married (I was one of those I could be single forever gals - not a man-hater, just someone who was pretty comfortable as a single) I wanted to marry a "man."

When I said it, I meant someone with strong hands, a deep voice and big muscles who wasn't afraid to get dirty, especially while changing my oil and mowing the lawn.

But as I have discovered more and more of the treasure inside of my husband, I realized that although Andy does have lovely, rock-hard muscles and a swagger in his manly step, those are not the qualities that cause me to think of him as a man.

We have just had a new near-17-year-old boy move into our house. He is a BEAST! Six-something feet tall and a good 250lbs. Linebacker material (for other women whose husbands do not watch sports, the linebacker is the big-guy on the football team). He stomps around the house challenging everyone, throwing his weight (quite literally) and bragging about how he is twice the man that Andy is.

Confession:

The first two weeks

I was SO

irritated by this peacock

attitude.

I really wanted to put him in his place

and point out all his shortcomings

until the spirit in me that loves Jesus

fluttered enough to catch my attention

and remind me

that this show of arrogance

is most likely masking

some deep wound.

His hurt will never be healed

by my pointing out his failures

over and over.

The contrast between this boy and my man is so startling. I wish so badly that I could make our giant kid understand that masculinity is not a matter of size, it is a matter of character.

If there were ever a magic trick that could make teen boys actually listen to what I said, I would use it in this relationship. I would point to my husband and commission our new charge to care less about his stature and instead learn from Andy.

My husband lives out an example of humility.

A fact you should know about Andy is that he is really good (REALLY GOOD) at a lot (A LOT) of things. He is just one of those guys who can pretty much pick up any sport or activity and be awesome at it. He knows his skills and he uses them well. He also knows that besides physical activity he is highly intelligent and quick witted. Yet he approaches new situations with a watchful eye. He does not look for moments to prove himself or show someone else up, instead he listens, he learns and he does his best whenever he can.

When I first met Andy, I mistook his quiet and understated confidence as arrogance (or, perhaps it did use to be arrogance, but he has outgrown it). Now, when I watch him or work with him, I am amazed at how comfortable he is with himself and how capable he is.

I love knowing that he is the best around, but never hearing him say it himself.

Andy is generous.

Andy gives cheerfully. He looks for opportunities to support missionaries, he tithes without fail and he loves to walk Jack through toy aisles looking for something fun to play with.

Several years ago we were part of a building campaign at our church. I had an amount in mind that I wanted to give and was nervous to tell Andy about it, as it was a lot more than I thought we could do. But when we talked about it, he had the same amount in mind! For months and months we gave, even when it felt like we couldn't do it. At one point I wanted to back out and quit, but Andy remained steady and we saw the entire campaign through.

Andy expects to learn, grow and change.

I am not married to the same man I walked down the aisle with.

The man I am married to now is deeper and wiser and more understanding than the man I first feel in love with.

Andy has made intentional decisions to change attitudes and actions that have been part of his make-up for a very long time. He refuses to cop-out from hard work relationally by saying, "that's just the way I am." Instead he does the slow and steady work of learning about me and teaching me about him.

He is softer now, more compassionate, is slow to anger, speaks wisely and plans for the future.

The man I am married to now has stepped into his responsibilities as husband and father and has WILLINGLY made sacrifices to his own comfort in order to care for me and our boys.

Andy listens to God.

None of what I've just said would matter much, nor would it be a part of who Andy is, without the fact that Andy hears from the Lord and is willing to obey.

I am so very grateful that Andy cares more about what God says than any other voice in his life, including mine.

If you ever get a chance to hear all of Andy's story, it is worth listening to. Andy is the best example to me of a life transformed by the love of a heavenly father.

The man I live with and love now, is not the man who went by Andy Aichele 10 years ago. He has grown from heavy drinker, recreational-drug user, angry, aggressive, disrespectful, imprisoned, dismissed, dishonest, calloused, and careless to honoring, thoughtful, respectable, influential, brave, and willing to go where he is sent.

Andy,

I adore you. I am grateful beyond words that I get to journey through life with you. Thank you for being a MAN: living boldly, loving deeply and leading well.

Happy Birthday!

A conversation over chocolate-peanut butter ice cream

2011-08-14T12:59:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure that it is a bad idea to replace my meals with creamy, heavily sweetened and highly caffeinated beverages, but it seems that is my current coping strategy.

The way I see it I am allowed a week of counter-productive, self-medicating behavior, right?

The answer to that is "yes." Please don't pop my bubble.

...

After walking through way too many time outs, temper tantrums, "he's not sharing" fights and heaps of dishes, I found Andy in the kitchen last night and put my head on his shoulder in surrender.

I mused out loud, "How can I love doing something that is so hard?"

Because I really do love this. Not love in a warm fuzzy sort of way, but in an "I can't even begin to fathom NOT doing this" sort of way.

I have three teen boys in my house currently. One just moved in, but two of them have been with me since Andy and I took on this job. Both of those two have been arrested at least once while in my care. Both have sworn at me, threatened to run away and lied to me over and over and over again.

But I adore them.

They tease me and I tease them. I sympathize with their breakouts, I pluck their unibrows and I chastise them for agreeing to go out with girls they don't really like. I'm not sure I could have ever anticipated the satisfaction and "full" feeling of having two teen boys rush in the house each day, eager to tell me about the latest high school gossip.

Side Note:

It is all fun and games until

a scroungy teen boy

who has trouble remembering to shower

notices your dried out and neglected

toes

and asks you why you don't have pretty

feet like other adult women.

Because, you little whipper snapper,

I'm too busy reminding you to do your laundry

to indulge in anything as frivolous as a

pedicure!

Sheesh!

For the last week, they have shown me extra grace. They have each picked up extra chores (or more accurately, done their chores without so much prompting) and played with Jack and Joey as I pour my efforts into teaching our new guys the ropes. As they have given more of themselves one of them asked me today, "How do you DO this?"

You know I love that kind of commiseration!

This morning, as I was called out of my room by needy little voices I asked myself the same question. How can I do this?

This last week has exhausted me. I feel as if I am mere skin and bones at this point. My body feels empty of soul - all of my mind, will and emotions being consumed by a short (please Lord let it be so!) season of extreme exertion.

I started a conversation with the Lord in my head this morning, asking him how I can give so fully -to genuine needs- yet still find space to be filled.

I mentioned to one of the pastors at our new church, and a friend of ours, that I was asking God that question. His reply was so simple and so sweet: "What did he say?"

I had to confess that as of that moment, I hadn't heard an answer.

But I was wrong. I had been hearing the answer since before I asked the question.

Yesterday GAP partnered with JCPenny's to get all of the 80+ kids in our ministry new school wardrobes. Each child receives a small allotment of clothing money each year they are in state custody. Penny's offered to match what they had.

They didn't just match.

They also paid all the sales tax,

which in AZ is RIDICULOUS!

They opened up their store TWO HOURS early, fully staffed with the brightest faces and most cheerful personalities and we walked our kids through the clothing section, filling bags with new outfits for the school year.

I had asked two new friends to come with our house and be personal shoppers for kids and they both enthusiastically said yes. Andy's mom was in town and she watched our boys for the morning and another staff member played with our two new additions so that our hands could be free to help the school-kids.

I had so much fun.

One of those teen boys I was talking about acted like he had never tried on clothes before. He assured me he had picked out everything he wanted, but when I required him to try it on, not a single item fit. I was able to spend almost the entire time with him, getting him a whole new closet of clothes, because the friends that came with us were so generous with their time.

The boy I worked with took a solid hour longer than the rest of the kids in my house, so my friends took my three other kids out to breakfast and to play.

When I met up with them again they were happy and well fed, feeling like they had just had a treat, instead of like they had waited a hour for a really pokey shopper.

When everyone had finished shopping one friend came back to the house and jumped right in, changing poopy diapers, playing with kids and keeping the house in order.

Andy's mom ended up staying the entire day. She took over bath time, bed time, and all other time with the two tots and freed up my hands and my emotions for Jack, Joey and my big kids.

By the end of the night my house was in order and everyone had received the attention they needed.

Not only that, but my load felt manageable.

The answer to my question is that I stop thinking that my calling is something I live out alone.

I know that not everyone is able or willing to live in a house like I am, but that doesn't mean that they might not be eager to lend a hand or play a part in some amazing stories.

If I continue to operate in a solo state, thinking that because this job is my ministry right now it means that I (underlined three times!) have to be the one to make it work, I am going to burn out and have to give up this beautiful life, before my season here has run its course.

Taking care of kids and building a safe home are the obvious parts of my commission. It would be a shame to miss the more subtle pieces of the picture - those that include inviting our neighbors to compassion, making room for our friends to give, and exposing kids in my home to the beauty of community - simply because I am too self-reliant or self-conscious to invite others in.

So let me be clear.

I need help.

This is not a one woman show.

To make it such is selfish and foolish.

I REALLY don't want to be either of those.

So while I still intend to give everything that I have, I find that I am retiring this evening with hope. Hope that as I invite others in I can give fully, but begin to fill too. That is the place where I want to live; to give and receive in equal measure - that what I give isn't mine, it just passes through me, a stream of living water.

The Pretty Bow

2011-08-10T20:32:00.000-07:00

I know yesterday's post was a bit of a downer, but over the last year I have been trying to make the concept of "real time" friendships part of the way I live.

One of my wise friends introduced me to the concept and it has stuck in my mind.

The idea is that to feed your friendships and to grow deep roots and sweet fruit in community, I have to let go of my need to present myself as "in control."

I have a tendency to like to tell my sad stories once they have a happy ending. I am learning forbearance and the art of under-reacting to difficulties, knowing that in most cases something that strikes me as traumatic will most likely seem less significant a few days or weeks after the event.

But just because something will eventually get better, doesn't always mean that I need to white-knuckle my way through a hard time alone.

Hence the "real time" conversations. It is the practice of saying, "This is where I am right now. I recognize that it will be different in the future, but at this very moment, I am struggling."

Real time feels so dangerous to me. I wonder what people will think, if they hear the "I can't do it" on the front end of an experience, and never hear the "I did it" or more likely, "God did it!" of the resolution. I am often aware of the challenge of presenting hard times without being a whiner and of knowing what times are appropriate to share a genuine struggle.

I am by no means a master of this kind of relationship, but I would like to be one day. So for now, I will simply try and try again!

All of that to say that yesterday was the beginning of a journey ...

Actually,

it is probably somewhere in the middle

since I feel like

I have been traveling toward an

awesome and unknown destination

for some time.

I figure I am about half-way up a glorious,

though steep,

mountain pass.

Every few switchbacks I get to pause

and see the ever-changing view

and admire the vastness of the world,

but then I must continue on,

moving up at whatever

slow and steady pace I can manage.

And God, in his infinite grace, poured fresh and refreshing air into my lungs this afternoon.

I am still tired, overwhelmed and confused, but to my practical self, already I am seeing a transformation in the two that joined our family on Monday.

I understand more of what is being said to me, and I feel bold in bringing them into the way I parent.

There is always an awkwardness that accompanies the transition from a safe and warm welcome, to integrating a child into the flow of our house.

Today I crossed that line and started to establish routines and boundaries rather than just cuddle and mitigate the stress I image the children are experiencing.

That means that we did time-outs, I said "no" when appropriate, and I got to splurge on a pair of pink suede shoes that made baby girl's eyes shine.

Two children

came into my home with nothing.

However long they stay,

they will at leas

t leave with a weeks worth of clothing

and the small toys

I was able to purchase for them.

I have picked a few places to focus my efforts and through repetition (oh it is mind numbing!), consistency and God's infinite grace, already changes are happening.

To see them in writing makes them seem small, but anyone who is parenting - or has recently parented - toddlers and preschoolers understands the victories of hearing "please" and "sorry" unprompted and of putting children to bed and having them stay there without a fit, are huge.

At one point today all four of my under-5 club were asleep or quiet at the same time. Yes I am that awesome.

Later in the day we all sat for 15 minutes and did a craft project, followed by another 20 minutes of playing with Play Doh.

After a hard rain it was cool enough to play outside so I brought out the speakers and put on dancing music. We colored with sidewalk chalk and jumped around, enjoying ourselves greatly.

And if I were not already the most remarkable (of course I am being facetious here) mother today, I set the table with a simple dinner that all 11 people in my home enjoyed. Sweet victory!

But wait, there is more...

To ice the cake, I single-handedly diapered, changed, brushed teeth and tucked into bed the four-under-five in less than half an hour (Actually, I didn't do all the tucking by myself, for which I am thankful! Way to go Andy!).

Rah Rah Sis Boom Bah! GOOOOOOOO Emily!

The humbling and heart-heavy realities of what I have been entrusted with are still present. I am still unsettled and still so tired that I have lost all sense of propriety and am planning on eating a spoonful of chocolate frosting after I publish this post. But despite the frightening unknown and the sobering known, I have moved forward. That is something to celebrate.

I am so very grateful that God's ability isn't dependent on my courage. His goodness isn't altered by my depravity. His love isn't thwarted by my hard heart. His ways are beyond my ways - unmarred by blemishes.

Oh God, thank you for being the same yesterday, today and forever!

And thank you friends for standing with me! Your prayers made a difference in the day!

Broken they may be, but worthless they are not.

2011-08-09T21:08:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I was raiding the garage fridge for all the makings of a preschool lunch. I was over ambitious in what I tried to carry into the house and ended up dropping a large jar of Adam's peanut butter on the concrete.

It broke, of course, and my heart lurched as a large shard of glass slid across the length of the floor, leaving a trail of shimmering and hazardous slivers in its wake.

There are very few messes I find more frustrating to clean than broken glass.

But as I swept up the tiny fragments, I made an effort to draw some parallel between the broken glass and the strange beauty created by the smaller bits, catching the light and making my dustpan look as if it were dressed for a party.

Perhaps, on a different day, that imagery would have rung true. Today, however, what was in the forefront of my mind was the fear that I associate with broken glass. Dread may be a better word than fear. Or foreboding.

While sweeping up so many miniscule pieces there is the very real and likely possibility that something will get missed. Some near-invisible fleck of shattered jar will find just the perfect little dip in the flooring and hid away until I have forgotten entirely about the event. Wait until I no longer keep a pair of slippers outside the garage door. Wait until one day I walk out with my feet bared and that so-small glimmer will become a sharp pain.

Yesterday Andy and I welcomed two new children into our home.

The last portrait I gave you included four beautiful, brown children.

I hate trying to be

politically correct

when identifying races.

The appropriate title

seems to change frequently

and my information doesn't update

often enough.

So I say "brown" simply because

that is what the pretty girl of the family

told me she prefers.

They moved back home with their mom, which is a story for another day. The parting was bittersweet, but left our home feeling like a home.

When they moved out, we were left with four foster children, all of whom have been part of our family from the beginning.

After almost six months, we know each other fairly well. We feel comfortable with one another and each of us has trained the others how to get the best from us.

For two glorious weeks I felt like I was living with my family. My home was predictable, full of peace and happy camaraderie and full of children who have started to let their guards down.

Oh it was bliss!

Bliss may be a bit of an exaggeration.

But it was at least pleasant.

As we knew would happen eventually, we saw four new children this weekend. One came for a day, one came for a weekend and ended up moving in and two showed up at our door late yesterday evening.

When the person delivering the children called, she told us to have a bath running and wash them first thing. They had "bedbugs."

So when two tiny children arrived, one two years older than Jack and another just a few months younger, I had a warm bath going and lots of toys out to play with.

I helped a young boy undress. His clothes were caked with dirt. Instead of underwear he was wearing filthy swimming trunks under his jeans. Beneath his clothing was the wonderfully smooth skin of young-childhood, marred by dozens of small red spots.

The tiny girl has eyes that will not focus and cause her to always look as if she is afraid. Her skin too was dotted with bug bites as well as two large raw and red welts between her legs. My hope is that they are the result of ill-fitting diapers and not something more sinister. Her hair is sickly and she is so thin that her ribs can be counted.

When the woman dropping them off asked me to throw away their clothing I was a little shocked. It was fortunate that they were so close to Jack's age because everything they came with, left with our garbage pick up this morning.

The bath disturbed my heart, to see such small children walk in, so obviously ignored for a long period of time... but the sorrow went deeper as I tried to get to know them.

Neither of the children can talk. I don't mean they aren't physically able, I just mean, nobody has ever taught them how. They seem to be able to converse with each other, in a language that I first thought was foreign, but they are extremely limited in the words they can speak to others.

A boy that is five and a girl that will be three this month. They can't tell me anything.

Luckily they are very good mimes and both seem more than able to follow directions. I do understand when the boy calls his small sister "baby girl" and I have started to identify words that we used often today: share, purple (baby girl's favorite color), trucks, helicopter, BIG helicopter, no and hey!, which is what they call Andy and me.

We tried to tell them our names,

but they persist in shouting "hey!"

when they want our attention.

They aren't the slightest bit interested

in "Emily" or "Andy"

so when they remember not to shout,

they call us mom and dad.

Oh friends, can I tell you. This is really hard.

These children have been horribly neglected. They need so much. And I don't want them.

Please don't misunderstand me. I want to love them, and take care of their needs at this very moment. But their needs are beyond my ability. To say "yes" to giving all that they require means so many nos to the other relationships and dynamics that are established in our home.

I don't want to say no to the four children who are making their home with me. I don't want to say no to Jack and Joey. I don't want to say no to my own selfishness. I don't want different when what I was building was so comfortable.

These children are shimmers of something broken. A broken history, broken family, broken hearts... I am not capable of cleaning this mess.

I want to see beauty in the dustpan, but my heart is fearful. Whatever sweeping I can do, won't be enough. Pain is still there. For each small fragment I can piece back together, another chip of glass waits to draw blood.

I don't know what will become of the two new waifs that are now sleeping in my home. But I do know that ultimately, my job is not to repair the broken.

With the grace and strength of the Holy Spirit I may be able to sooth. To calm. To teach. To love.

But putting the pieces back together will always be beyond me.

As I wrestled today with welcoming these two glass-glimmers, I thought of a story in John:

"As Jesus went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?'

'Neither this man nor his parents sinned,' said Jesus, 'but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.'"

I so badly want to blame someone for the hurt inflicted on the children that find their way to my home... but "this," whatever "this" may be, happened so that the work of God may be displayed.

Friends, I have two darling children in my care this evening that need more than I have. Please pray with me that God's abundance would cover over all of my lack and run deep and rich into their lives.

Family Portrait

2011-05-30T20:52:00.001-07:00

I really wish I could post pictures of my most recent family.

As of this moment I have 10 children.

Four of them have skin that is smooth and creamy and slightly richer than a delicious chocolate brown. They have slim bodies and exotic features and they are extremely affectionate. Most mornings when they wake up I have a cluster of at least two giving me hugs or holding my waist while I cook.

I have three children who have been with me the entire time Andy and I have been on this adventure. Two are sweet and charming. A brother and a sister, they laugh and giggle and while they enjoy their time here, they talk frequently of when they will get to go home.

The sister, my littlest girl, has long, long brown hair that I braid most evenings. Tonight we were driving home from an outing and she feel asleep in the car, with her face squished against Joey's carseat. I carried her into her bed and didn't even bother making her brush her teeth. When I set her down she furrowed her brow for a moment and I felt my heart slow - feeling her worry and confusion. I prayed peace over her and stroked her hair and the creases that don't belong on a five-year-old relaxed as she snuggled into bed.

Her brother eagerly follows Andy's every movement. Coming to our house a little soft - he has suddenly taken to dropping down in the middle of the floor and doing push ups. Today Andy did an intense workout at the gym and his little buddy did a scaled version of it too. With a smile on his face!

Our oldest boy has also been with us since the beginning. In the first month of his being here Andy and I didn't know how to love him. He was caught twice with drugs, lead revolts against our authority, and tormented Jack.

But now...

Now, he is dropping "jokes" about us adopting him. He offers to take care of Jack and Joey. He lets me hug him. He told me the other day, he is starting to think about God again.

We still wrestle with him every day. He makes some good choices, and some poor ones, but he actually cares about what we think about his actions. He is trying and he is growing.

He is a boy who will probably be with us as long as we do this job. He will never be with his family again.

After many, many years of complete estrangement from his mother, he recently asked his case worker if he could try and see her on occasion.

It took almost four weeks to make a meeting happen. One day it showed up on my calendar and I was so delighted to tell him it had finally been scheduled. He nervously got dressed and when he was picked up for the appointment he was much more silent than usual.

He came home an hour and a half before I expected him.

His mom never showed up.

He has another visit scheduled tomorrow and I'm not sure what I will do if she misses it again.

Our eighth bed is filled by the only teen girl in the house. She has been with us about two weeks. I completely underestimated the drama a post-pubescent woman-child could create.

That is all I have to say about that.

Actually, not quite all. She spent FOUR HOURS on her hair one day. When she came out she told the teen boy in the house, "I think my hair is too fluffy."

When he refused to be baited into that fishing game, she asked directly, "Do you think it looks good?"

His answer?

"Not really."

That was a bad day.

And then, of course, Jack and Joey have the run of the house.

I am extremely grateful that to this point I have felt safe having my children around each addition we have had in our home.

Jack has heard a few too many ghost stories and now knows that Sponge Bob exists (but is quick to tell me "we don't watch Sponge Bob"). But he also has friends of all nationalities, ages, genders and backgrounds. I always have someone to buckle him in his carseat and usually he is entertained while I make dinner.

Having Jack around always gives me a reason to reject music, tv or video games that are inappropriate. Even if the kids in my home don't understand why I would care about what they watch or listen to, they understand when I say that Jack can't.

I have to teach most of the kids how to play with Joey. One boy put Joey on the kitchen counter and turned around for a second - long enough for Joey to throw himself headfirst onto our tile. Joey was fine. I spent longer reassuring the one who thought he had hurt my baby, than I did calming Joey down. Joey is a gift to each of us living here. He smiles at nothing, he cries with people who cry and he makes everybody laugh.

I can't control my boys' worlds like I thought I would be at this point in their lives, but their worlds are now deeper and wider and richer than I could have ever imagined was possible.

And Andy.

My Hero.

This job would not work without both of us. Andy is steady, and fun, and a MAN.

When I look at my husband I am simultaneously amazed by his strength and filled with wonder at the ways he has softened through this experience.

I'm not sure how to describe it, except to say that I am so very glad that I am married to him and feel infinitely lucky to be the one he gives his love and protection and support to.

It is a good life I am living today.

This Does Not Bode Well

2011-04-15T13:09:00.000-07:00

This morning I planned to take Jack and Joey to the zoo to meet one of our little people for a field trip.

We showed up to communicate in the small ways that we think she is important, but it turns out that she just wanted to say hi for a minute and stick with her class.

So I wandered the zoo with my two boys and loved hearing their little voices and big ideas. I gave Jack a few dollar bills to buy a balloon and when I told him he could run over and pick one out he moved faster than I have ever seen.

He was thrilled by it for all of three minutes and then asked me to carry it (after Joey proved incapable of holding it correctly).

But... this story is mostly about what happened on the way to the zoo.

Of course I had to stop for coffee. My supply at home is all for hot beverages and I have yet to learn how to make a delicious iced latte for myself. So I ordered my drink and a tidbit for Jack and waited in line for my turn to welcome a scrumptious and necessary caffeinated treat.

Usually when I drive I relish the way the car gets so warm and toasty. I let it heat up and then I alternately am pleased at the cool sensation of turning on my air conditioning and feeling all the little hairs on my arm be blown about and my cheeks cooled.

As I ordered my coffee I had been letting the car get to the warm point in anticipation of my iced drink. So when I pulled up to the window you can imagine my surprise when very cold air began blowing into my vehicle.

Um.

In Arizona, apparently, there are air conditioners that blow into your car as you wait at the drive thru.

This is not a good sign.

I have been enjoying the perfect 85 degrees every day.

People keep telling me, "just wait" and I have been laughing and agreeing that pretty soon I'll be one overheated and grumpy girl.

But it wasn't until I realized that it will become hot enough to necessitate AC for the brief moment you roll down your window to receive your iced coffee that I really started to worry.

I'm really in trouble here.

I was not built for the heat.

I am about as fair as they come. The only person I know who is more pale than I am is Jack (who, as it turns out, HATES having sunscreen applied to his face. Oh joy!). I enjoy wearing clothes that cover my body and I not sure how I am going to manage to accumulate a wardrobe of clothes that are modest enough for my tastes (I'm totally not over the top when it comes to modesty, but so many of the clothes that come out in the summer can be appalling!) yet will keep me from dropping dead the minute I walk out the door, or, as it seems, roll down my window at Starbucks.

Oh friends, the heat is coming!

Just be prepared that starting in two weeks, when you check this blog it will mostly say, "IT IS SO HOT!" for about four months.

I'll try and get creative with the wording so you don't get bored, but the idea will be there.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Fiesta!

2011-04-13T21:21:00.000-07:00

Well.

I have entered the world of crazy.

But I think we all knew that would happen.

Earlier this week my rose colored glasses were broken.

Luckily for me, the world still holds beauty without them.

...

This weekend I took our little girl to a birthday party.

Which turned out to actually be a giant family reunion of a huge Mexican clan.

I sat the whole time, thankful for Joey and his cute face as a buffer and slightly alarmed to be the only white person in a room full of extremely friendly, but difficult to understand, grandmas and aunts and overly-friendly uncles.

I did get a spontaneous hug from what might have been the oldest looking woman I have ever encountered. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest that I had never met her before. I was standing, so I should be hugged.

The awkwardness I endured for two and a half hours was all worth it to hear that I was part of our five-year old's very first time ever going to a friend's house. As we drove to the party her legs bounced and her ponytail whipped as she tried to look out of all of the van windows at the same time.

She very shyly admitted that she had never been to a friend's house before.

When we arrived she hid behind my legs, even when her friend ran to greet her. Throughout the party she would come find me and ask if she could participate in different activities. By the end of our time her cheeks were pink and her eyes were sparkling.

I was exhausted from smiling and making halting conversation, but she was full and that made me glad.

I am thankful to have had that moment of satisfaction, because the weekend went down-hill from there.

Without all the shocking details (truly, shocking, I mean ... like worthy of an episode of some crime drama), I will sum up the last three days by saying that we have had two boys suspended from school, found drugs in our back yard, called the police three times in as many days, had two children removed from our home by the police and heard more profanity than I have ever heard strung together in my life.

The first night of chaos, I felt battered. I was confused and obsessed with all the things I did wrong that only made things worse. The second day of chaos I thought, I've seen it all before (how quickly I am learning) and the third day, today, I just feel sad.

It is sad to see so much brokenness.

I have begun to learn to pray in new, desperate ways and to invite God into my home at every moment.

I am grateful tonight for my mom and dad. I am thankful for support from friends old and new, and I am amazed that God's word is so alive and so powerful for today.

I was going to end by commending all of the moms and dads I know and emphasizing what an important job it is to parent, even imperfectly - but I realized that inside of me a soapbox is growing in huge-monstrous proportions and standing on a soapbox after three days of no sleep and heightened emotional levels is not wise.

So instead, I will end by saying that Jack and Joey are doing well. Joey is the star of the house and everybody wants to be the one to sit next to him in the van and help carry him into church.

Jack is finding his place in the house slowly but surely. Most nights I wake up and find he has snuck into my bed at some point in the night. When I discover him I relish the warmth of his wiggly little self next to me and kiss his buzz-cut-head. Then I usually carry him back to bed so I can sleep.

A few times I have actually just gone to sleep in his bed to save the effort of moving him from his comfortable and safe place.

We all are making our adjustments, but we are intact. We have met new friends, Andy and I have laughed and smiled and worked together and I haven't even made him listen to me cry (yet). We are tired and my brain is so full that new bits of information are temporarily being turned away - a problem - yes, but nothing a handy pen and paper can't take care of! Through it all, we are meeting God and meeting each other.

The last days have not been easy, but they have a purpose, and I am content in that.

And how could I not be finding the beauty in my days with these blokes about?

Jack, if when you are older you wonder why there are three pictures of Joey and only one of you - it is because you are miserable to take a picture of. You are too fast and usually are stuffing food in your face. And when you aren't eating, it is probably because you are coloring.

On your face.

In ink that is very hard to wash off.

But I adore you still my funny, sweet, clever and artsy boy!

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

2011-03-23T20:52:00.000-07:00

On Monday night I sat around a long, beautiful table with my new kids.

After a chaotic afternoon, we all found ourselves sitting down to pot roast, mashed potatoes, and asparagus wrapped with bacon - my favorite thing to serve kids.

I am now the proud foster mom to three teenage boys, two elementary school boys and the sweetest little slip of a girl you could find (Ellery no longer falls in the "little slip of a girl" category as she is now nearly seven and reads at a middle school level).

All of the children in our home have been in group home settings before. One of the boys has had 22 different placements and asked me in an equally indifferent and hopeful tone of voice if this would be a permanent placement.

I couldn't tell him yes or no, but I could tell him that I was happy to have him.

And I am!

Yesterday I cheered on a boy at the skate park. Today I listened to him ask every hour when we could go back.

Yesterday on the first attempt to get to the skate park I received a call from one of the schools asking me to pick up one of our kids who was suspected of bringing drugs to school.

Today I assembled a tv stand that had thwarted all of the teen boys - even the ones who "like to put stuff together" and Andy.

Today I also had a mini-meltdown over the minor detail that I haven't figured out where CrossFit fits into this new life.

Tomorrow is Jack's third birthday, and I feel just a tiny bit guilty that I haven't even purchased gifts for him. We will, don't worry, but I am finding myself extremely thankful that he is still just young enough to not be aware of how exciting a birthday could be.

Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to learn and to develop a flow for this new family. To pray. To laugh. To feed. To thank God for his good gifts and ask him again to give me everything I need to let his love flow through me and into the very special and fragile lives that are now living in my home.

Quick Update

2011-03-18T14:51:00.000-07:00

Well, we just (seriously, JUST... like five minutes ago - so this will be brief) rolled back in from our second, and apparently last, short-term house stay.

Midway through our week at SPLASH 8 (each of the 10 GAP houses is numbered), we got a call saying there were both a house and kids waiting for us.

So this weekend we will be packing up our daily life and moving it to a new house, for good. Joining us on Monday will be a set of four siblings (3 boys and a girl, all middle-school or younger), a teen boy, and a teen girl.

It has been fun to see how other families order their days and to have an opportunity to test out our skills in a home with lots of chances for immediate feedback. But I can not tell you how excited I am to have my own home.

The house we are moving into is still in the process of being renovated. We did a walk through yesterday and it is far from finished, but with a good team, and some elbow grease it should at least be functioning by Monday for us to bring kids in.

My fingers are crossed!

To be continued...

Trial By Fire

2011-03-12T06:19:00.000-08:00

Andy and I have now finished our first week of in-home work. We relieved a couple so that they could have a week off. After a crash-course of how their house worked they handed over their keys and left us to the lions.

I felt a little foolish during training, but I made a special point to ask what I was allowed to talk about on this here blog, in regards to the kids who Andy and I are interacting with.

You will be happy to know that I can still share about this adventure, I just have to be vague in reference to the kids. No names, no ages, no identifying details. I knew, going into this ministry, that I would be working with kid who needed a safe place and a refuge from unhealthy and unsafe families and situations, but until this week I didn't KNOW.

I spent Wednesday night sitting with a young woman as she experienced an intense flashback to the brutal events that brought her to GAP. She was mentally trapped in a memory of abuse. She couldn't hear me, but she gripped my hand as she screamed and moaned. Andy was upstairs with some of the high school boys, and each time they moved or came into view she was terrified.

After a consultation with her therapist I got her a drink of water and lead her, unseeing, to sit outside. As we sat on the porch swing, she calmed down. When she could hear me, I started to tell random stories. Anything that I could think about that was unrelated to the world she knows. I talked about my mom's new paint colors, about moths, about driving to Arizona.

Eventually, she sat limply on the swing, but started to ask me questions. She asked about how Andy and I met, and about school and about why we moved. After a long time of swinging and talking, she said she was ready for bed.

I got her another drink of water and stayed up while she brushed her teeth and put her pajamas on. In the morning she acted like it wasn't a major event and just moved on with her day.

At some points of the week, we felt like we the girlfriend in "The Parent Trap." Kids hid things from us (the phone and remote) they told us tall tales, they frightened us with the realities of bobcats and javelinas (okay, that was just me that they scared)

Javelinas,

in case you are like me and

have never heard of them,

are a sort of wild pig.

Sometimes called, a skunk-pig.

They travel in packs and

are highly aggressive.

They have large, sharp canine teeth

and a gland somewhere on their body

that can produce a stench kin to a skunk.

They eat cactus and small children, so I've been told.

They are blind-ish and as a result travel about at

dusk and dawn.

They terrify me.

They have taken on a mythical quality

of evil and if I see one, I might decide to

scream.

In the course of two days I was told that I was beautiful, and that I was ugly. That I was cool, and that I was mean (said with as much venom as a frustrated elementary school boy could muster). Kids jumped up to help us when we asked, or they jumped up, literally, on counters and couches in an attempt to exactly the opposite of what we asked.

I worked with two elementary schoolers who could barley read and struggled to write.

Andy did impromptu workouts outside and the boys thought it was a treat to do lunges across the driveway.

I prepared food according the the mandatory menu (the menu will have to be a whole other post, or two or three) and I also whipped up food that got rave reviews from the kids. I consider it a personal triumph that in a house of seven kids, from elementary to high school, every child but one ate the asparagus I made and asked for seconds and thirds. And that happened after many cries of dismay when I pulled it out of the grocery bag.

One teen in our care took a special liking to Andy. Though he also like to spin stories and push the boundaries, he seemed to battle within himself - "do I want to help these newbies, or do I want to make it miserable for them?" He did a little bit of both, but when he said, "You guys are weird. I've never met anyone as weird as you." He said it with a hint of admiration and later in the week he casually dropped the suggestion, a few times, that when we have our own SPLASH house we should ask for him to come live with us.

Andy and I both felt like we were able to, by God's grace and strength, to handle each event that came our way. We developed genuine care for the kids we were with and I cherished the moment that the boy who fought with me the most asked me to come read and pray with him before bed.

Both Jack and Joey got fevers while we were there and Andy was attacked by some sort of sickness early in the week. When he went to bed by 8:00, I managed the house by myself and it was fine. I remained healthy until we left and as soon as I was in the car I was struck by what I think was my first-ever migraine. I sat motionless in the van as we drove home. Then I went straight upstairs to throw-up and fall hard-asleep for a few hours. Andy, the champion of all husbands, took the boys to the park and left the house silent for me to rest. When I woke up I felt a million times better and ate a little dinner before turning in early.

At the beginning of this venture I wasn't sure I was going to be able to say that it would be "fun," but after this week, I can say that it will be. I loved almost every minute of this week. I love the kids and I love the staff of this ministry. I love my husband and was amazed again by him as I watched him interact with the kids.

Yesterday afternoon we learned that we may be in our own house very quickly. We toured it and Andy and I both agreed that we could make it our home. It is in the process of being cleaned and stocked with furniture, and though it is not ready our program director said that if she received a call today with a sibling set of six kids, she would send them to that house and tell us to get there ASAP.

Andy and I still are working out how we will make sure to give our boys the individual time and attention that we want them to have, but we feel like we have time to make those discoveries.

Last night, as we both sat with Jack and told stories and prayed, Jack wrapped his arms around our necks and said, in the tone of voice that belongs only to sleepy preschoolers, "I love you guys."

We love you too Jack.

We love you too!

We have today and tomorrow to rest and do laundry and then on Monday we walk into another house. A new set of kids and a new routine.

If you had asked me four months ago what I though of someone who did this job, I would have immediately thought of all of the hard parts. But today, I see the hard parts only in light of the miracle of being able to, even for just a few days, communicate to a child that they are safe and cared for and important.

And that Jesus loves them.

Today, I am amazed.

One Year

2011-02-26T14:38:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday Joey Boy!

You have added so much joy to our family.

We love you dearly!

Point of Vulnerability

2011-02-25T08:40:00.000-08:00

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

James 1:27

I had been spending some time with this verse prior to knowing anything about GAP Ministries or ever having considered foster-parenting. What had caught my attention was the last part, "keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

I was coming at it from the perspective of someone who wasn't working with "widows and orphans." I appreciated the third "option" for genuine religion. My thought was, "Well, if I'm not working with the "homeless and loveless," as the Message translates it, at least I can make great efforts to keep from being polluted by the world."

But now that I am in the midst of preparing to host children who are temporary orphans, I see the verse in yet another light.

I love that God's word is living and active.

This week Andy and I spent two very, very long days finishing our initial training and testing. We will be required to have on-going training (all house-parents are) over the year, but we have now passed all the hurdles to get us going.

Training was extremely difficult for me.

In part, because I realized that I am, in fact, "working" again. After nearly three years of being at home, I am jumping back into schedules, meetings, paper-work, deadlines, and a myriad of other work-related words that I haven't had to think about for a very long time.

It took me many months to get OUT of work mode, I'm sure it will take a similar amount of time to transition back IN.

But, it is tricky. I don't want to look at the lives in my care as "work." I have decided that for me, I will think about anything on paper as my job. The logs and forms and information that I have to keep daily to report to the state of Arizona about how I am providing care, those things are what I get paid for. The children that come under my roof, the conversations that I have, the discipline that will inevitably be required - those things are a privilege. Each life I encounter is valuable to God, I want to treat it as such.

The other aspect of training that was difficult was the array of horrible, horrible scenarios that we were trained for. At some point during each of our training sessions I had to struggle against tears. And on a couple of occasions, Andy and I both were fighting to remain composed.

I learned everything from how to supervise phone calls between children and their estranged parents, to how to handle children who run away from our care, to how to identify and report signs of sexual, emotional or physical abuse.

Oh, my heart breaks.

So yesterday, when I read, "and keep yourself from being polluted by the world," I had a whole new perspective. If I am not careful, things that now sound unimaginable to me, will become common place: the anger and difficult behavior I encounter will become a nuisance instead of a sign of deep hurt, the paperwork will seem like the priority over people, the wickedness of man will cease to cause sorrow in my heart.

I don't want to be dulled or polluted by this world.

I am about to encounter more of the "world" then I ever have. I have always had a family that loves me, a sense of security, a safety net. My world has been small, because I have had that luxury. But now, by my own choosing, I am opening my home to the world. I am welcoming people in who are covered with the world's pollution, either by their choices, or by misfortune. My options are to try and stay away, so that I don't get dirty in the first place, or to draw close, and let the Holy Spirit daily cleanse me, so that the pollution doesn't stick.

I hope that I live the latter.

When I went to get my physical and drug test (a very bizarre experience) the doctor who was helping me was completely baffled by what Andy and I are doing. She kept saying over and over, "Ten kids! Ten kids?!" She was very friendly and curious, but she just couldn't fathom it. After a little bit of conversation she said, "You should be on reality tv!"

Now, I confess, the though had crossed my mind. There is a certain element of the process that has seemed very detached from reality (making it perfect for "Reality TV") and like prime fodder for mass media.

Yet as I was reading, "and keep yourself from being polluted by the world," I realized that my other point of vulnerability, and entrance-point for pollution, will be my pride.

I know this venture sounds either miserable or marvelous, depending on your own personal risk-aversion. Either way, there is a sense of wonder that accompanies doing something out of the ordinary.

I am a person that loves praise. I love to put on a good show (not on a stage, that would be horrible, but I like to make things look good and easy) and have people notice all the little details I have paid attention to. I know this about myself.

I know about myself that I like to do well. Prepare yourself for a disclosure that reveals my true sin-nature, but whenever I start a new job, I always, always think, "I am going to be the best they have ever hired." There is something in me that just wants to make people love me and need me.

So, I would lie if I said wasn't walking into this venture thinking, "Andy and I are going to be the best!"

And I would lie if I said I didn't think telling people about it makes me sound oh-so-awesome.

But...

Knowing this about myself, I make it my aim to stay in step with the Holy Spirit. If I can genuinely walk with him, and surrender my ambitions to be the very best, to his goals, then I feel in a safe place. Being humble, doesn't mean not being incredible. Jesus was humble on this earth, and we all know how awesome that turned out! I firmly believe that God wants big things for the kids who come into GAP's care, and if I am a part of that, I will be so grateful! The danger comes when I see successes, and claim those victories as my own, rather than evidence of God's goodness and greatness.

So, in addition to the challenge to keep my heart soft, I need to keep my heart humble.

Easier said than done.

But with God, all things are possible.

Oh Lord, please help me as I give you my life!

...

I had hoped to give you a little more factual information to answer questions, but right now, my heart and head are so full of the process that I can't quite nail down details. Bear with me, we will get there.

Thank you for joining me on this journey!

FAQ: What is a "houseparent"?

2011-02-18T13:59:00.000-08:00

Andy has officially resigned from his job.

We are now officially "all in."

His company paid for us to move to AZ, and Andy had agreed to at least a year here. With that in mind, we offered to pay back the moving expenses. Andy's boss, while sad to lose an incredible employee, was very supportive and told us to keep it and leave with his well-wishes. So, now we are jumping through all the hoops and signing stacks and stacks of paper to get us ready for our new adventure.

Yesterday I had to go get fingerprinted. That was exciting!

Actually, it was very boring.

And I went to the wrong place... twice.

But my boys were troopers and stayed polite and pleasant for all three stops. Jack was slightly distressed that my hands got so dirty and for several minutes after we got back in the van he asked me to retell the event, spending extra time and details on the part where I washed all the dirt off.

I realize that I haven't give lots of specific details about our upcoming life.

You may be wondering, "What does that mean, 'houseparenting'?"

You might be wondering, "Who will feed all those kids?"

You are probably wondering, "What about Jack and Joey?"

Well, I will tell you.

Probably not all right at this very moment, because frankly, that might make a really boring post, and honestly, I still am not sure that I am completely clear about what I have signed myself up for.

But I can tell you, in this very post, what Andy and I *think we* have signed on for.

Our eventual goal, after training, is to be the resident parent-couple at one of the ten houses owned and operated by GAP Ministries. We would live there and treat it as if it were our own home. We would have 8 available beds and would probably see a pretty regular turnover in kids.

In Arizona, once a child has been removed from a home by CPS, the parents or guardians have one year to remedy whatever the situation is that caused their children to be removed. When the state removes the child, they call GAP to see if there are any beds available. When there are, a child that comes into one of our houses could be there just for the weekend, while a family member steps up to take the child, or they could stay the full year and later be placed with a permanent foster family.

Andy and I will be responsible for welcoming each child and integrating them into a "home" setting. For some this could be teaching them proper hygiene, it could be modeling a healthy husband-wife relationship, it will probably be teaching them how to live at peace with those in the home, it will mean developing and maintaining a routine for the home - including chores, financial management and solid study habits, and for all of them it will involve managing a lot of appointments (case workers, parent-visits, court hearings, school, after school activities, doctor, dentist, etc.).

The goal of our role really is to create a home and invite children who need a safe place, to participate in the home experience. The ministry we are working with encourages outings and celebrations that contribute to the family vibe. If Andy and I wanted to budget and do the leg work, we could drive our whole house to Disneyland. We can take them swimming and hiking and to the art museum... whatever we feel like coordinating. We can take the kids for pajama rides to get ice cream on a school night if we feel like it! I love that about this ministry, that they put so much emphasis on creating a home and facilitating family.

Before surrendering myself to this transition, I spent some time going over all of the pages I have written in the past of what I want to define our family and our home. What I want us to major on. The things that I feel are critical expressions of who Andy and I are and what we want to teach our children.

I wanted to make sure that those things, that I also feel are God-given, would not be violated by this new undertaking.

Over the last three years I have kept random pages of thoughts and ambitions for my family, my marriage, my parenting... I have kept them all in one place, but haven't actually ever put them all on the same page, or read over them as a whole. As I did so, I discovered two major themes: peace and hospitality.

Those are the words that over and over and over again call to me. They embody what I want of my home and what I pray daily:

Lord, please fill this house with your peace.

Lord, please use our home as a sanctuary for those who need rest.

When I was growing up, my mom painted our front door. It was beautiful. A bright, shiny red frame with the following sentiment artfully written:

Peace to those who enter here.
Courage to those who go forth.
Let those who go and those who stay
Forget not God

Over the last year especially, as Andy and I have transitioned through three different houses, those words have filled my brain. That is what I want my offering to this world to be. A home of peace. Peace that speaks not of my hostessing skills or my cooking or my decor, but peace that seeps into spirits and invites my guests and my family to know God, the Prince of Peace.

With those two words, I feel such invitation to this new ministry. During a short part of our decision process I wanted to run away and say, "not right now." But when I saw those two ideas, in my own handwriting, alive on page after page, I knew that this was right.

What I want for my own children, I want to offer to orphans.

Peace.

Hospitality.

And as I talked to my own mom, and was refreshed and encouraged by HER enthusiasm and confidence in me, I thought, "the kids I am about to meet will probably never hear their mom say what I get to hear from my own mother." If there is a mom who is not able to speak comfort and encouragement, or who chooses not to celebrate her child, I want to do it. I am discovering that mothering, for me, is not just about Jack and Joey. It is becoming about every child who needs a woman to speak gentle words and to offer fresh food and to cheer for all of the little victories.

So for me, that is what I have signed up for.

To mother.

To promote peace and offer hospitality.

Of course there will be all the details of living and of managing and of learning. I expect hurt. I expect frustration. I expect challenge. But I don't fear it. Because over all of those things I know that God is able to do more than I can ask or imagine. And when I ask for his peace to fill my new home and to bring rest to those who need it, I know that I am praying HIS heart and can expect to see his hand and meet him face to face.

Turning Our Hearts

2011-02-17T15:01:00.000-08:00

Yes, it is true.

Andy and I are considering being "houseparents" for a truly incredible organization that welcomes foster children into home-models while they are in transition between being removed from their homes and being placed with permanent families.

...

Since relocating, Andy and I have been on a wild adventure of seeing God move in mighty ways on our behalf. It is remarkable what has happened in our spirits as we have made space to listen and interact with our Heavenly Father.

Originally, we decided to move for a "break." We wanted to take a year and refocus and step out of what was starting to feel like a cluttered life.

As our departure neared, and as we have been adjusting to the move, it has become more and more clear to us that while the idea of "something new" was the driving force in our move, it isn't the point.

A week before we left, Andy shared with me that while he felt like he was being obedient to the Lord in pursuing his teaching degree, it still somehow felt selfish. We had built a nice little plan revolving around summers off and comfortable houses and close family. But something was stirring in his heart, causing him to open up to possibilities beyond our plan.

Just two nights before we hit the road, one of the pastors at our church was praying. As he prayed it was one of those, "there is someone here..." prayers. He said that he felt there was "someone who was on a path, a path that might not be bad, but that God was asking them to turn from their path and work for other people's eternity."

Immediately Andy and I both knew he was talking to us. At that point, our move wasn't about a rest any more. It was about waiting to hear what that would mean for us, and opening our hearts to God's invitation to work intentionally and specifically for his glory.

Through a series of divine appointments we have met a couple who currently work full-time as houseparents in a home that serves as a transition place for foster children. They have a family of three boys of their own and currently host six foster kids.

As the husband was sharing what they do, and about the organization that he works for, both Andy and instantly knew that it was our next step to find out more about it. The ministry is called GAP Ministries and after two or three emails the directors asked to meet us for dinner. On Thursday we connected over the phone and I said Andy was off on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and we could meet any time in the next few weeks on those days. She disappointedly said, "You can't meet this weekend?" We made plans for an evening dinner yesterday and at the end of that dinner she said, "We are starting training for another couple on Tuesday and Wednesday if you want to come."

So we have spent the last two days touring houses that host kids (there are 10) and starting the process of training (there is a ton!).

So, the wheels are turning and we are moving toward a MAJOR adjustment in what we thought we would be doing. The ministry is extremely well run and Andy and I are both amazed at the thought they have put into how they operate.

We have committed to waking through the doors that keep opening until we see a great big red light. At this point, I don't expect to see that red light, so we are moving our minds and hearts toward planning to be foster parents for anywhere from 6-10 kids.

The job requires two full-time parents so it would mean that Andy would leave his job.

I feel so unqualified for such an undertaking, but I know that I can't turn away from this - I might be swallowed by a giant fish!!

From the moment we opened ourselves to participating in this ministry, everything has felt like confirmation. From the songs on the radio, to the bible stories I read to Jack, to things that we have talked about over the years that are coming to our minds in a fresh way, to the scriptures Andy and I have been reading on a daily basis.

This is what Andy read the other morning in The Message:

"So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life - your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life - and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it."

Romans 12:1-2

We feel like we are being asked to surrender our "sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking around life" to a whole new way of existing. We are under no illusions that it will be easy or even fun, but we know that this is what we are to be faithful to now.

It is both terrifying and exhilarating to set our feet so firmly on a course that God has invited us to. So, as we continue in the process of learning a whole new way of living, and preparing our entire family for a life of ministry, we would so appreciate your prayers.

Self Discovery

2011-02-17T09:54:00.001-08:00

You know you are a true grown-up when you use your hard-saved money to purchase a washing machine and dryer.

You know you are brave when you have ivory skin and move to Arizona.

You know you are very brave when you move to Arizona with your fair skin and purchase sunscreen in SPF 70 instead of 100.

You know you are a brave adult when you in the course of a weekend tell near-strangers that you are willing to move into a house of eight foster children as fill in "parents" and they say, "Great! You are hired."

You are now caught up my life.

Curious George

2011-02-07T08:38:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was digging around in one of our yet-unpacked boxes. I was looking for the special yellow goo that makes my hair stay smooth, instead of floating around at all angles and forming an unruly halo of pomegranate-red hair tentacles. Believe me, I need it here. So. Much. Static.

The top three things that Jack says about Arizona so far:

1. It is so sunny.
2. It is so cold.
3. It is very shocky.

All of our boys' blankets are fleecy and when I adjust them during the night for bedtime, it is a firework show in their beds.

Anyhow, I was pawing through the most likely box to find my smoothing solution and instead of drawing my hand out in victory, I pulled it out in horror. Attached to my thumb was one of Andy's razors, without its protective cover. All four (or five or six - whatever is the current maximum of razors for men's shaving devices) were dug deep into my thumb. With stomach-turning effort, I detached the razor and tried to identify the damage.

I had no luck even examining it as my whole hand was covered in blood in just a few short seconds. I made my way to the bathroom to find some band-aids. I could find little tiny ones and some bigger Curious George ones. So, I strapped up my thumb with bright blue adhesive strips with pictures of a happy monkey and bright yellow bananas.

I went through all of our band-aids yesterday and this morning resorted to cotton pads and electrical tape. I have yet to have a good look at it, but I suppose I'll get around to it.

Until then, I will struggle with texting and I will answer Jack's every-five-minute-inquiry about what I have on my thumb.

My very own Curious George!

Surprise Ending!

2011-01-29T19:25:00.000-08:00

In the few days I have been here, I have made several big shopping trips.

It takes a lot to restock a house! Cleaning supplies, groceries ... you never think about having to buy all your condiments. You just know that when you open the fridge there will be mayo and ketchup and dressing and mustard and sun dried tomatoes ... until you move ... and there is nothing! And if you forget to buy baking soda, well then, you can't make muffins!

But anyhow, I have been to a lot of stores lately. And and each store I have come home to discover that one (or more!) of the items I purchased had a broken safety seal, or no seal at all... or that the bag had been cut open on the back and taped with masking tape!

I'm not sure what to do about this phenomenon.

Is it a southwest thing?

I suppose I have taken it for granted that if I toss a bag of basmati rice into my shopping cart that the package will be intact. Or that if I bring home a jar of peanut butter it will be sealed for freshness (I have had three faulty jars of peanut butter in the last week - different stores, different brands). Perhaps I have expected too much. Perhaps it is time that I carefully analyze each product I place in my cart before I make it to the checkout line. Perhaps I will start writing polite, but straightforward letters to the stores and distribution companies and receive hundreds of dollars of free products to make up for the inconvenience of having to return or repurchase staple items. Perhaps I don't have enough time or energy for that and I will just start praying over each poorly packaged item I discover and hope that my family is not poisoned.

In addition to this disturbing trend, I have also discovered that Fry's is most definitely not Fred Meyer.

...

Wait!

GAH!!!

I was just about to post a side note and discovered that I no longer can find the right-justified button on my blog options! How I am supposed to give you a side note in the center of my blog?? How? Someone, please tell me how to fix this problem!

Side Note: Please imagine it on the actual SIDE of the post.
I know that you remember when my Everett CrossFit trainer commented on the perviously linked Fred Meyer post. You will be horrified (and probably delighted by the awkwardness of it all) to know that throughout my time working out there he referred to that post (and several other embarrassing ones, including giving Andy the nickname "huge") on a regular basis.

I must now tell you, this is the end of the side note, as I don't have the clear signal of the text returning to its regular position.

Side note. End. Now.

...

So Fry's. It is not Fred Meyer.

Our landlords were describing the best places for groceries and likened Fry's to Fred Meyer. It is part of the whole Kroger conglomerate. But people, it is a pitiful substitution for my beloved FM.

How can it be so bad you ask? Let me tell you:

Strike one: the aisles aren't wide enough for two carts to comfortably pass each other. Strike two: the first jar of peanut butter I grabbed was leaking all over and gave me greasy hands. Strike three: they do not carry prosciutto or pancetta, or any other cured meat that is better than bacon and delicious when wrapped around almost any vegetable and roasted. Strike four (okay, I know there are only three strikes in a "strike" series, but I couldn't come up with anything better at this exact moment - forgive me): the checkout boy made a comment about my huge order and I said that I had just moved and instead of being nice he said, "I'm sorry." Lame checkout boy. Then he made it worse by saying, "Where did you come from?" "Seattle." "You should have stayed there." Doubly lame checkout boy.

See. Not Fred Meyer.

And now, for the final news of the day, which has nothing to do with groceries or Fred Meyer or my underwear, and which I was not anticipating having to write about, but now must because I hear hobbling upstairs, Andy has come home injured.

I wasn't blogging when Andy was ultimate fighting, but if I had been, I would have told you about his unnatural ability and willingness to continue life-as-normal with a major injury. One of our dear friends and mentors once described Andy by saying, "He's the kind of guy that would go hunting and get shot and forget to tell Emily about it until two weeks later."

A truer word was never spoken.

So when he comes home and nonchalantly says, "I think I hurt my ankle." That means something serious.

He went out tonight to play football with some of the guys from our neighborhood and came home happy. In the same sentence when he was smugly telling me about his interceptions and catches he removed his shoes and said, "that is not normal."

Me: No honey!

Me: Please tell me you didn't just go out and damage yourself!

Me: Really?

Me: Aw man!

Me: Honey!

Me: Is it broken?

Andy - unconvincingly: Nah.

Me: Honey!

Me: Honey!

Me: Oh man.

It looks awful. And if it even registers as annoying to Andy, then it is pretty bad. I wasn't able to convince him that it was worth a trip to the walk-in-clinic tonight, but tomorrow might be a different story. So, you may be hearing from me soon about navigating new hospitals and doctors in Arizona. Let's just hope they are more careful with their patients than the grocery stores are with their merchandise!

First Impressions

2011-01-27T08:38:00.000-08:00

I am having trouble believing that it has been only a little more than a week since I loaded up my minivan with books and a lamp and boys that I love, and drove ... and drove and drove and drove ... to a new home.

The drive actually went about as marvelously as it could have. Jack and Joey did so well. I am continually amazed at how resilient and able my children are. Children in general actually. I find that I often underestimate what my boys are capable of.

So far, Tucson is much more lovely than I was imagining. It has its own special look - that just happens to be so-not-Northwest. It is prickly and angular and very, very bright. Currently, it is also surprisingly cold. I am charmed by the giant shifts in temperature throughout the day. Yesterday I could see my breath when I walked out in the morning and by the middle of the afternoon I was ready to shed all my layers and lounge around in just my tee-shirt.

We found a lovely house to rent from a fun young couple who just happened to be making a quick out-of-state move at the same time we were. It is a little bit out of the city which means we will commute to all of our activities and I'll have to be efficient and thoughtful in my grocery and meal planning - but there are serious perks that made it work the drive for us. We are situated in a new community that is full of parks and the coolest pool you have ever seen! There are walking trails throughout the development and an elementary school right in the neighborhood.

We have only been in the house for a day, and that was spent unloading our moving truck and unpacking boxes, but so far I've seen small children run out from most of our neighbors' houses. I am looking forward to baking a big batch of something and introducing my family to the neighbors.

After a couple of interviews, we found a new CrossFit gym. There were two we were interested in. One was close to us and one was a little further away, but we picked the further one because the people there were significantly more friendly than the close one. They also have a beautiful gym that is situated in the artsy-est street I have discovered in Tucson yet. The doors on all the neighboring buildings are bright red or turquoise. There is a set of stairs painted a brilliant orange with teal tiles and one of the windows has some beautiful deep blue scrollwork on its screens. The gym also has a backyard set up for kids and when we were there last week, Jack didn't want to leave!

When I walked into the gym last week they were sharing their space with an art class. Very fun! I am looking forward to hunting out more colorful parts of the city. It seems that there are VERY distinct districts within Tucson. The "don't drive past that line" streets and the streets that attract artists and foodies. Because we have been getting our house squared away, we haven't even had time to wander through the city. We have just been finding the necessities.

I noticed that my list of "necessities" includes mostly things that fit into how I did life at home. Trader Joe's, Costco, Target, Starbucks ... and as I was checking off my list of need-to-know-locations, I decided something. I decided that the point of this whole Arizona Adventure isn't to just recreate my Washington-life in a new state. I want to be open to new ways of structuring my days and leave space for new attitudes and relationships to grow.

I feel so privileged to have this chance to adventure with my family. I don't want to forget that this truly is a gift. I want to be sure to be grateful and humble and open, not just waiting for good to happen to us - but seeking it out and being the one to plant goodness when we see needs and opportunities.

So even as I unpack, and try desperately to keep my family hydrated, and navigate new roads, I am praying for a heart that loves Tucson and sees God's hand, and hears his heart while we are here.

I'm off to moisturize my hands and continue wading through our boxes of life.

Enjoy your day friends!

Beyond the Basics

2011-01-10T12:26:00.000-08:00

As a follow up to the big announcement, I want to give a little bit of context.

In the course of a weekend, Andy and I decided to move our whole family to another state. A state that in my mind is about as different from my Pacific Northwest home as you can get. Well, maybe somewhere in the mid-west would be more different, but in my imagining Arizona is about the complete opposite of Washington.

How did we do that?

Why did we do that?

I can tell you one thing, this is not a giant act of obedience or a "God told us to go" sort of situation. It was more like the opportunity opened up and God said, "Here are two good choices. Either one will be fine."

Not cosmic, I know.

But I recently read something that said that God doesn't speak to everyone in the same way, but how he speaks to one person tends to be consistent. I love that idea. It means that I am not responsible to hear God in the same way that my friend or pastor or dad does, but I am responsible to recognize how God consistently speaks to me.

And I am pretty sure he gives me choices.

This last year of our lives has been long and full of strain. Andy and I have both been worn down, but have tried hard to continue in the things we have felt are important.

The problem is, neither of us have had enough in reserve to feel successful in the areas we want to be significant in our lives. For each of us, things that are very important to us have suffered, simply because our capacity has been too small for our vision.

Once Arizona (Tucson) was on the discussion board, we suddenly were dreaming of what it would be like to rest, to dedicate some time to knowing our boys and knowing each other and knowing ourselves better.

The way we have been living didn't leave much space for going slow or much energy for laughing and playing and trying new things. Do you know that feeling when small changes no longer are enough to keep you healthy? And something in your life needs a serious overhaul? That is what we felt like.

Only we didn't really see it until the legitimate possibility of a move entered into the conversation.

We saw where we were in a new light and decided that we would take an opportunity to make some extra space in our lives.

A significant part of the decision to move has also included Andy taking time off of school. Full time work and full time school have been a huge draw on the time and energy of our family. So for the next year, we have committed to Andy being out of school.

His heart is still turned toward teaching and finishing his education, but our hope is that we will all be better able to make it through the last season of his program when we are rested and recharged.

But besides giving ourselves some space we just really feel like, "Why not?"

We have always said we want to be people who are adventurous, and willing to live in a way that isn't quite traditional and here is a great big chance to do it.

So Arizona, here we come!

We are packing our boxes and looking for houses and building up our iTunes account with new music and podcasts and books on tape because, man, is it going to be a long drive!

In the midst of all the details to get us there we are excited and so looking forward to what might happen as we give our family room to grow deep roots and bear sweet fruit.

Just the Basics

2011-01-05T14:27:00.000-08:00

"It could be a disaster, it could be a golden-year, but most likely it will be a little bit of both and something in-between."

That is what I told my grandma when I let her know that Andy and are moving to Arizona.

In two weeks.

That's right folks.

Andy and I have officially given into a dream and are following the yellow brick road.

Whether the path leads us to the Emerald City or to the lair of the evil flying monkeys has yet to be determined.

Let's back up a mite, shall we?

Several months ago Andy used his joking voice to let me know of a job opening in his company's Tucson shop. For the same position he holds here, just in a sunnier state.

Several days ago, after living in total chaos for a week, I used my joking voice to say, "Hey, how about that job in Arizona?!"

Then, all of a sudden, without even meaning to, we were both using our serious voices to discuss what it could and would mean and if we would really be interested in a major shift of lifestyle.

Turns out we both WERE interested. So Andy talked to his boss and wouldn't you know it, the job was still open, but just, and so Andy signed his name on a few sheets of paper and ta da! We are packing our things and driving to Arizona in about 13 days.

The first week after the decision was made was pretty thrilling.

The last two days, as goodbyes have started, have been pretty heart-wrenching.

In a little while, when I'm not feeling so emotionally taxed, I will explain more about what we hope to accomplish with the move and some of the most motivating factors - but today, I think I can only manage the basics.

There is still a sense that this isn't really happening and I have a small hope, married to a small fear, that seeing it written, in my own words, on my own blog, will settle some of the flutter in my brain and heart.

Let it be known, that I am VERY excited about the possibilities before me and my family.

And let it also be known, that I am mourning the life we have loved in Washington and the fact that it will stay and we are going.

It occurred to me that this is the very first time I have had to deal with significant loss. It feels very strange to know that my own choices are causing such sadness, and that behind and next to and in front of and all around that sadness are other emotions: expectation, hope, fear, enthusiasm, love and joy and peace.

I feel compelled to DO something with all of these emotions. I feel a need to reign them in and tame them. But I'm not sure that is really the point. They are part of this adventure, and part of this life and I think I don't want to miss this part.

I'm in-between again.

So, prepare for a peppering of thoughts on moving, both poetic and practical. You will probably hear more about Washington vs. Arizona for a while than CrossFit (gasp!), so just be ready.

And, by the way, the first thing we did after putting the move on the table as a legitimate possibility was to look up the available CrossFit gyms in the area. There are four. We will be in CrossFit heaven.

True Story.

It Matters

2010-12-26T21:18:00.000-08:00

Today was full of delights.

Small moments to treasure had been happening all day, but I didn't stop to take an inventory of them as they were happening. It wasn't until I was listening to Andy and Jack and Joey laugh in the bathroom as they all took a bath together that I discovered that today was a good day.

As I was listening to them, I finished putting away the trappings of Christmas.

I tucked a luxury chocolate bar into my underwear drawer for the next sweet-tooth emergency. Isn't it nice to know that you have something scrumptious to indulge in on a day when you really need it?

I also cleared of my dresser, which so quickly collects clutter and lit a few candles. On top of my dresser I carefully placed my beautiful Christmas gift.

A several months ago I went shopping with a few girls with the express purpose of admiring beautiful things and celebrating our homes. Most of us have a tight budget, so we planned on finding something small that we could take home that would remind us that the tasks of our simple lives matter and that looking for beauty in the mist of those things is not only okay, but necessary.

We wandered the paths of Pier 1 and talked and laughed and each gravitated toward the sections of the store that might hold what we were after.

As I strolled my eye caught a beautiful lamp. I am not sure why it was so overwhelming to me, but the moment I saw it, tears came to my eyes. I know that is SO cheesy, but it is true. I've been living a long season where beauty feels hard to come by. I've felt outnumbered by people who love facts and reality and who have trouble seeing the value in the frivolous. In that company I've tried to think like I imagine they do. But I'm not built that way. I wasn't created that way. In trying to force myself into that kind of living, I've become disjointed, depressed and unable to find any footing that feels solid. Something about that lamp reminded me how important the lovely aspects of life are.

Not having a home of my own, while the lamp reminded me of the importance of beauty it also pressed on the tender part of my heart that believed that for now, my life - including beauty, is on hold. I so longed to claim the beauty of that lamp for my own and declare that beauty matters NOW, but I was still intimidated to say, out loud, that I need beauty for its own sake.

But I did say it. I told Andy that even if it sat in a box until we moved into our own space, I wanted to have it. I wanted to know that there was something to look forward to, even if it was just putting a lightbulb into a lamp.

So, like the wonderful husband he is, Andy bought me the lamp. It couldn't matter less to him what provides light to our home, but he is pretty smart about knowing when something matters to me. So even though he thought it was over-priced and not terribly sensational, yesterday morning I received a large box, with my reminder of beauty inside.

My original plan really was to just tuck it away. To hid it until everything in my life was just perfect. But that wasn't right. Didn't I just say that beauty matters now? If I keep putting it off and pretending like I can live without it, soon I won't recognize it when I see it. So I pulled it out. I put it together. And I remembered that life is good and that beauty is essential.

In the same way that I have suddenly realized that I need to actively invite beauty into my life, I recognized that creating is equally important. For me, to admire beauty is only half of the equation, creating it is the other.

So today I went and bought a canvas. When we moved I put all of my paints into storage but tomorrow I will be retrieving them.

I'm not sure what I will end up painting, but it will probably be purple. I'm really into eggplant these days.

And now, I'm sitting at the computer, watching the Biggest Loser finale and admiring a tiny box of Grey Salt Caramels that one of Andy's customers sent home for me. A woman I've never met. She was asking Andy about himself and after hearing his story she tied a bow on a tiny box and told him to take it home to his wife with a "bravo" and the encouragement that mothering is an important job.

Can I please be a woman like that?

It really was a good day. And tomorrow, when I wake up, expecting another morning of brain-fog and the familiar struggle of finding my footing an a season that has previously looked dreary, I will see my lamp, a true symbol of light in the dark and beauty in the ashes, and remember that there is hope.

And that beauty matters.

Comparing

2010-12-17T13:19:00.000-08:00

I've been going through my pictures from the last year, enjoying sweet memories, and being amazed at how much can change in a year.

For example, take a look at how Jack has changed, in just a year:

From this:

To this:

Even more startling is how much it changes when you add a baby!

And since we are making comparisons, let's take a look at Jack and Joey at, oh, say 10 months:

Jack in Red, Joey in Elepahnts

What a pair of cuties!

And now, for the real reason for the post, my before CrossFit and, I won't say after, because I'm not done, but my six-months-into CrossFit comparison:

I have a side note before the pictures.

I was going to link you to what I thought

was one of my many posts

on my love for

(addiction to?)

CrossFit

but it turns out that I haven't really been writing

of my undying devotion

to my life-saving gym.

I've just been thinking about it.

And well, spending all of my extra life moments there.

I wasn't joking when I said

I can currently only handle three things

and I've decided to devote myself

to my husband, my kids and exercise

for a short period.

I was sort of glad, for your sake,

that I couldn't find too many links to

me waxing poetic about

Box Jumps and Push Ups and Squats

because really that would get mighty boring.

But then again, I guess writing about that would

be preferable to writing about nothing,

which I have been doing,

since all I do is CrossFit.

Quite a conundrum.

Anyway, without further ado...

Okay, this isn't a side note, but it is a disclaimer:

I was horrified to discover this picture at Jack's birthday party, one month after having Joey. I am even more horrified that I am actually posting it on the internet. Don't be surprised if I change my mind and you come back to find this post deleted. I KNEW that I gained some weight, but I didn't ever think I looked like this:

The sting of stumbling across this photo was somewhat lessened by the fact that I had just watched this video (the first one), posted on my gym's blog. That girl is me. And that bar is really heavy. Well, heavy for me.

Jesse, the trainer at the gym was gracious enough not to include the part of the workout that still makes me look ridiculous.

A lot of days when I workout, I know I still look foolish, but I don't really care at this point. I FEEL good, even if I LOOK silly. Those workouts really have been a life-saver.

And seriously, if you want to work hard and sweat a lot and have some fun and feel so proud of yourself every day and hang out with really interesting and wonderful people, find a CrossFit gym. There is NOTHING else like it.

Okay, I'm done with my plug.

I'm off to the gym!

GAAAAHHHHHHHH!

2010-10-14T21:58:00.000-07:00

I told you several months ago that I moved in with my in-laws.

I have a story I could tell, every day, about this adventure, but I am saving them all up to tell them in bulk some day.

Speaking of telling you stories,

it appears I have not

shared my dirty-mouth-due-to-Biggest Loser-story.

My apologies.

I shall remedy that now.

Let me start by telling you

that I just really don't like cursing.

I don't even like to say, "I swear"

when I mean "I'm totally serious."

Until this story took place,

I had only said one bad word

in my whole life.

It was in sixth-grade and I was late for the

bus for a band field trip

and I couldn't find my flute.

I said "the s word."

Gasp.

I don't even really like writing

"the s word."

But yes, I played the flute in middle school.

However nerdy and school-girl

you can imagine me at that age,

multiply it by about a million and a half,

and that would be me.

In purple stirrup pants.

But back to present day.

Imagine me a just a few weeks from birthing

my second son.

Huge.

And tired.

And with a brain that was totally malfunctioning.

Andy and I were watching

Biggest Loser.

Well, I was sort of spacing out on the couch

while Biggest Loser was on

and Andy was taking care

of things around the house

and wandering back to see highlights

of the show.

At some dramatic twist to the weigh-in

Jillian Michaels swore.

Big time.

Like the worst one of the bad words.

They beeped it out, but her mouth

made her emotions extremely obvious.

Andy heard drama on the screen

and wandered back to get caught up.

As he was walked into the room he

asked, "What'd she say?"

And without the slightest hesitation,

that dirty word fell out of my mouth.

And Andy fell right to the floor.

It took me just a second to realize what I had just done,

but Andy caught it immediately.

I am not sure

if he has ever laughed that hard.

Needless to say, my face was very red

and my dirty-mouth count now is up to two.

Anyway, I now live out in the country.

With a cat that catches mice and snakes.

And a family of dear, complete with a daddy-buck with antlers, that we see in the morning eating apples that have fallen from our apple tree.

Before you picture a barn, let me show you my current residence:

Not too shabby eh?

The house is new, but even new houses in the country can't avoid the blight on an otherwise perfect season.

Spiders.

The destroyer of all my lovely feelings about autumn.

Not just any spiders, wolf spiders. Don't click that link if you can't handle spiders.

Gah!

Now, I'm not life-or-death afraid of spiders. I'm just grossed out on a normal-person level. Except wolf spiders. I'm probably a little more then normal-person afraid of them.

Screams and everything.

Well, it appears that I will have to overcome that squeamishness if I am to raise two boys in the country.

Today Jack ran up to me with a very proud face and said, "Mama! What that?"

Usually he brings me a crumb or dust bunny to examine. A few times it has been a dead bug, but that has seemed manageable.

I was bracing myself for a fat fly or crusty crane-fly until he came up with a closed fist.

Dread set in.

He had something ALIVE.

He opened his hand, and his entire palm, his sweet, pudgy, baby-soft palm, was covered by a wolf spider.

I screamed.

He dropped it.

I then had the unfortunate task of catching the spider and killing it.

The only thing close enough to grab and still keep my eye on the spider was a piece of mail. Me with a tiny piece of paper against a killer-arachnid! I wildly tossed the envelope on the floor, hoping to have it land on the speedy, ugly guy and then squish him under it, but the spider was so big and fat that even when the envelope landed on it, it was no use, the spider just continued to crawl around - with a piece of mail on its back! What sort of monstrous bug does that?! Eventually I had to get a tiny big braver and press the paper down onto the spider with precision.

GAHHHHAAAAHHHHH!

Precision is difficult to manage when you are imagining a fist-sized spider turning on you, leaping at your face and then devouring your first-born child.

But I finally prevailed.

I wish I could convey my terror and disgust. Even writing it now I feel like I have bugs all over me.

But as soon as the carcass was disposed of I thought, who can I tell?

There is only one person who can fully appreciate the horror of such a moment.

My sister.

I called her and left a trembling message, ending with several reenactments of my shrieks at discovering the black creature on my son (insert gag here).

Jack though that my squealing was hysterical. For the rest of the night he asked me, "Mama, what'd you say?"

When I would forget I would say, "What do you mean?"

He would smile wickedly and say, "About a spider!"

Then it was my job to squawk and watch him laugh at the memory.

He also kept wanting to examine the envelope for signs of guts and leftover spider bits.

Oh boys!

How many more years of boys being interested in bugs do I have left? I'm not sure I can handle it if this becomes a daily habit, which I am afraid of given Jack's delight at my loss of self-control today.

Next time, I will have to try very hard to not make a scene.

Actually, I don't know if that is even possible.

I'll have to try something else.

Can you give a kid a time-out for bringing you gross things?

GAHHHHH!!!! Every time I think about it I shudder.

GAHHHHHH!!!!

This kid is going to give me a run for my money!

A Good Day

2010-10-13T20:46:00.000-07:00

Friends, I am really excited today.

I have a new hat to wear.

In addition to mother, wife, woman, sister, daughter, friend and an enormous selection of service-personnel descriptions, I am a FREE-LANCE WRITER!

It is true.

If you are paid to do something, that means you are legit, right?

Can I just tell you about writing?

Or more specifically, me writing?

I had no idea I LIKED to write until my last job. I worked for an incredible pastor who encouraged me in my writing and gave me every opportunity possible to word-smith and compose.

When I left that job for motherhood, writing was what I missed the very most, hence this tiny bit of cyberspace that I have claimed as my own.

Since leaving that position, some of my past co-workers have continued to ask me about my writing and what I might do with it some day.

Truthfully, while flattering, that is SO intimidating. I mean, I'm just a mom. Just a lady who likes to tell stories and likes to imagine that a handful of people are interested in the ridiculous aspects of my life.

I know some wonderful writers. I know that I am not in their league.

I still love to put thoughts to paper.

But now, things are happening. Small to start. I'm not working on a novel or the next great compilations of essays, but I am being invited to work as a professional writer and actually have multiple projects on the docket.

I still have no clue what writing will look like as part of my life in the future, I just know that it will be there... and I know that I like what it is now.

Seriously, free-lance anything sounds nifty, but a free-lance writer sounds AWESOME!

...

In addition to securing a new job title, I also made my first batch of successful chocolate chip cookies.

Go me!

In-Between

2010-10-07T14:06:00.000-07:00

*Um, I still have only been getting about two hours of sleep at a time (that makes about 7 months of sleep deprivation). I have a feeling that when I read back over this post it will be a little confusing and rambling, but it makes me feel like myself to write things, so I'm just trying to capture things when I can.

I also had a toddler bouncing on my lap the entire time.

So if you make it through the whole thing, kudos to you! Good luck!

...

Most days, I really, really love bedtime.

Some days I love it because it means I will be putting both of my li'l pumpkins away for the evening and freeing my hands for some activity of my choosing...

or the dishes...

but still,

doing dishes with two free hands

is infinitely easier

then doing them

with no free hands...

But those days are surprisingly rare.

What I really love about bedtime is that it is the part of our day that Jack and I both are most familiar with.

It has been the same, give or take a few details, from his birth.

It is a chance to end on a good note.

Some of the hardest days have ended with the sweetest cuddles and nighttime songs.

I also love bedtime

because it reminds me

of one of the most

memorable parts of my childhood.

I remember my dad

tucking me in until

I was in high school.

The stories that he read to me

hold special places in my heart

and I can't wait until

Jack and Joey are

old enough to enjoy them too.

As Jack has been getting older, he's been getting sneakier. He knows how to make me do things that weren't part of my original plan and he gets his way far more often then I would have thought he would.

His new ploy has been to prolong bedtime by asking me to "nuggle" him. If he is feeling very ambitious he will ask to "nuggle on the couch" which I almost always refuse because it will inevitably lead to him asking to watch a show, or eat a chocolate chip or play hide and seek.

And we all know what happens when you give a mouse a cookie...

When the couch request fails he asks me to lay down next to him. I usually oblige while we tell our stories or sing our songs. Recently he has decided that mama's bed is more interesting then his own and will often ask to have his stories there.

Last night, after sitting quietly on the deck and watching the stars and listening to airplanes and cars and frogs, I knew it was time for him to be in his own bed, by himself, with his eyes closed. So when he asked me to snuggle in mama's bed, I lovingly told him that it was time for bed. Then I closed the door and moved on with the evening.

Jack usually is in bed around 8:00. Somewhere around 10:00 I wandered into my bedroom only to discover that my cheeky little monkey had silently crept out of his bed and tucked himself into mine!

With our light still on, he was passed out on my pillow with a book tucked under his arm.

It was one of the sweetest, most charming things I have ever seen.

And for some reason it made my heart ache.

Mothering is so complicated. Complicated seems a much more accurate word then "hard."

There are the tedious parts: the dressing and undressing, feeding, figuring out naps...

There are the disgusting parts: diapers, spit-up, sick babies...

There are the sweet and silly parts: wild dance parties, tickle attacks, funny faces...

There are the rewarding parts: seeing your child learn new skills, words and emotions and hearing them say please and thank you, even when you aren't there to remind them...

But then, there are all those parts in-between.

Last night was one of those in-between parts.

When I looked at him curled up in my bed I suddenly remembered that some day, he will face major disappointments and I might not know the words to make them better. Some day he will make significant mistakes, and he may not choose to tell me about them. Some day, his feelings will be hurt, he will struggle, he will be responsible for his own actions.

The part that is totally captivated by Jack's wonderful personality and is truly enjoying seeing him grow up was face-to-face with the part that recognizes that my job is to prepare him for his adult life.

That is a little bit scary to me.

So while I was bursting with the sweetness of finding my toddler asleep in my bed, I was also sobered by the significant responsibility that I bear as a mother.

I'm not sure what to do with those in-between times, but I have a feeling that I don't do much different at this point.

I keep enjoying bedtime and continue to feed and diaper and play. I watch him, and teach him all that I can about shapes and colors and good attitudes and socially acceptable behavior while playing with other children.

Every day I open my hands a little wider to give him space to learn what he is capable of and remind him that I see great things in him.

I remember that as much as I love him and want to protect him and offer him every good thing, even my best efforts will fall short somewhere.

Every day, as I lead two wonderful boys, I must let myself be led by a parent far more capable and wise and creative then I can ever hope to be.

There really is no other way.

So Lord, thank you for these lives entrusted to me, let me enjoy them, but not hold too tight to them.

There is a much longer conversation here, happening between me and God, but I'm not sure it will be terribly interesting to you.

But I hope, that if you have been enveloped in those in-between times, that I am right there with you. Luckily we serve a God who is never in-between. He is over and in and around and under... covering over all of our lack.

Peace to you in the in-betweens friends.

Bacon-Wrapped Revival

2010-10-01T22:14:00.000-07:00

It came to my attention this evening that several of my friends were totally baffled by my fluttery feelings toward J.J. While I won't make a further fool of myself by expounding on the finder qualities of Survivor's most recent castoff, I will just say, "Jimmy, I'll miss your smile."

It also came to my attention that one of the very same friends who mocked my crush-choice has on her list of former infatuations, Adam Sandler.

Really?

Adam Sandler?

However, despite our inability to agree on something as foolish as crush-worthy celebrities, we did all enjoy a smashing success of a party this evening.

...

Have you ever experienced a season when you find that you can't quite hold onto the person you desire, or believe yourself to be? The pressures around you to act/think/be different than you are seem too strong and you find that without realizing it you have given up way more ground then you ever intended?

In short, and to refer to a dreadful cliche, have you ever lost yourself?

Or, you feel like you know where your "you" is but it just doesn't seem to be welcome to those around you?

I know that sounds so dreary.

But that is sort of where I've been.

I spend a lot of time thinking about who I want to be and how to get there.

I invest a lot of energy into my decisions about parenting and wifedom and the many other tiny facets that make up Emily.

Truthfully, I think that is good. I would be neglecting beautiful traits that God built into me if I lived otherwise.

But what I've run into is this: I've hit a place in my life- a season of schedules, living situations, realities of life - that seem to fight hard against my nature. Try as I might to stand up to life, I feel deflated and bruised. And, in a completely unguarded moment, like who I am and the things I used to believe to be wonderful about me, are worthless to this world.

It is verging on miserable. I am trying so desperately to not become bitter or angry or lost. Some days I do better then others. When I look up, away from my obsession with myself, I can know that seasons are temporary and sooner or later the frustrations and difficulties of this season will give way to new beauty and a fresh season.

But boy is it hard work to keep reminding yourself of things that ARE true, but don't FEEL true.

Tonight I co-hosted a party with a dear friend.

We made fancy food, pretty drinks and we somehow found a lovely balance between feeling like grown-ups and including our messy, noisy, delightful children.

I ate bacon-wrapped dates and stuffed mushrooms and salmon ravioli. I made pumpkin creme brulee to celebrate the season that I love. And I chitted and chatted and smiled and laughed with some of the most beautiful women I know. Our families gathered together to form one big, noisy crowd enjoying food and life together.

And I found myself again.

I caught a glimpse of the woman that I know myself to be.

I discovered a moment of respite from the work of reminding myself of truth.

It was so refreshing. She's in there. She might not be all bright and shiny and able to take on the world RIGHT NOW, but she's not gone. That woman, ME, is still beautiful and still capable and still valuable.

I'm not sure how to capture that assurance for the remainder of the hard days, but for tonight, I will go to be satisfied and delighted, thanking Jesus for bacon and blue cheese and friends that share the best of themselves with me - and invite me to do the same.

Thank you dear friends.

Firsts

2010-09-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

As a mother of an infant and a toddler, I bet you open a post titled "Firsts" and expect to see drooly pictures of Joey's first tooth or a catalogue of Jack's first trip to the ER for stitches. While those events are, most likely, not far off, I have much more interesting firsts to present to you.

I am happy to announce that I have discovered the joy of having a favorite sweater. You may wonder how I have made it to near-thirty without the novelty of a favorite item of clothing.

I'm not sure.

A pair of Andy's sweats came close while I was pregnant, though I had to retire them when I moved in with Andy's folks because I had worn holes in places that are completely inappropriate to expose while living with your father-in-law.

So now, I have a sweater. Soft and loose, but not slouchy. The perfect shade of grey to hide baby boogers and rice cereal. Suitable for wearing to bed, to the gym, or to Target. A wonder of a top covering!

I truly don't think you are interested in my apparel

which is why

I have refrained from sharing

my clothing woes

which involve shrinking

out of everything I own.

*I know, I know,

bragging disguised as complaining,

but it IS annoying

when I have no way to replace

the baggy-saggy jeans and sloppy looking tops*

and re-discovering

how messy this phase of babyhood is.

But it provides a natural segue into my other first.

Which I think you will be much more entertained by.

My first crush on an older man!

SQUEE.

I would say that it is also my first celebrity crush, but that wouldn't be true since I had a doozy of a crush on MacGuyver when I was smaller and a second infatuation with Dean Cain as Clark Kent. But other then that, I can honestly say I have been crush-free.

I've never been much of a crusher anyway.

In fact, Andy holds the distinct privilege of wooing a girl who was resolutely single and determined to keep her heart from wistful affections that might never be returned.

That being said, it is with his full permission that I make this "firsts" disclosure.

I confessed last season that I am a little attached to reality shows. The new season of Survivor has aired two episodes.

In those two episodes I have developed a fond affection for Jimmy Johnson.

Here he is looking rugged and Survivorish.

Here he is looking debonare and flashing that melt-me smile.

Ladies, if I were to meet this man tomorrow, I'm pretty sure I would blush uncontrollably, and probably do a lot of giggling.

Oh dear.

When I announced my fluttery feelings toward this former Super Bowl coach to Andy, he laughed. Really, really hard. Almost as hard as when I accidentally swore while watching the Biggest Loser.

Did I already share that story?

It is Andy's favorite.

And yet another example of

the

[melodramatic voice here]

havoc that Reality TV

is wreaking on my inner person.

Obviously he isn't worried about me being slightly smitten with a famous face. In fact, I think he might be a little happy since it gives me a much greater tolerance for watching Sports Center.

This may just be my season for being a football fan!

Caught!

2010-09-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

This afternoon Jack was playing in the garage with an empty coffee cup.

Confused as to where he found it I said, "Hey buddy, where did you get that cup?"

He looked at me like "Geez mom, where do you think?"

Then he answered my query and said, "Starbucks."

Oh dear.

I may have kept him from the frenzy of the golden arches, but this child already knows too much about my drive-thru vice.

As a side note,

I thank the Lord

that someone finally

decided that Starbucks

should offer drive-thrus.

The have saved

many a day from a disastrous end.

Has It Really Been So Long?

2010-09-20T22:44:00.000-07:00

Forgive me blog for I have sinned.

For it has been nearly TWO MONTHS since my last posting.

...

I always feel better after confessions.

Don't you?

Anyway, I'm back. After a brief frenzy of "how on earth do women mother more than one child at a time?"

Seriously people, look at how boys play - how am I supposed to keep up?

Luckily this well-muscled man is always ready to run interference.

So, after realizing that I won't and can't and don't need to "keep up" I feel like I finally have some solid ground under my feet.

A few weeks ago I was making my apologies to friends who I haven't connected with in ages. As in well before my last blog post. Unacceptable.

As I was offering my genuine regret over missing important months out of beautiful lives I offered the tentative suggestion that I would be ready to engage in life again somewhere around the middle of September.

Why then?

Because the middle of September is fall.

And fall brings me to life.

The fragrances.

The colors.

The textures.

The pace.

Truly, autumn revives me.

I am so glad it is here.

And I'm so glad to be blogging again.

Very Important (Not Really)

2010-07-27T21:15:00.000-07:00

A few things you should know about today:

1. I had what was quite possibly the most perfect cupcake on the face of the planet.

It was made fresh this morning by my new friend and delivered to my door just hours after its creation. It was s'mores flavored: a thin graham cracker crust at the bottom of the cupcake wrapper, topped with a layer of bittersweet chocolate, topped with 100% perfect chocolate cake, topped with more chocolate chunks and graham crumbs, topped with homemade marshmallow cream and toasted with a kitchen torch.

I could have eaten myself sick with them. If it hadn't been for the fact that I had to go workout this afternoon, I probably would have.

2. I love my mom.

A lot.

If you haven't met her, you are missing out.

Here she is holding Joey.

Pretty, pretty.

Andy and I went to work out today (45 dead lifts, 60 box jumps and 75 pull-ups, thank you very much). Jack was in a bit of a funk (he is not getting even close to enough sleep and neither am I - a terrible combination) so I dropped Andy off to let him workout and I went to my mom's house. When I got there she cheerfully offered to keep the boys and sent me back to the gym.

It was just what I needed!

Not only is she lovely, and helpful and generous, she is also the ultimate word in just about anything.

Whenever Andy and I have having an "I bet" conversation the winner is always decided by what my mom says. For example, if we have differing opinions of what a word means, we always ask my mom. Or, if we are disagreeing over a bit of trivia, it is always the same, "I'll ask my mom."

The only caveat to this method of deciding who is correct is when it comes to something scientific, such as "What is the term for that whooshing sound you hear when a car drives by?" Then we ask my dad.

It is the Doppler Effect.

There is a lot more to say about my mom, but I have a few more things you should know about today, so I will save her other glorious traits for a later post.

3. I cut off all my hair.

All of it.

There isn't a piece on my head that is more than two inches long.

And it is fabulous.

It makes me feel brave.

This is actually the second time in four days I have been to the salon. For weeks I have been eying a very short, punky style. When I went in to get it cut my hairstylist (who I like very much) talked me out of it. I went with what she said and came home with a really toned-down short-ish style.

Andy gave me a firm (by firm I mean loving and insightful) talking to that went something like this:

"Why didn't you get the cut you wanted?"

"Because she said she didn't want to do it."

"But it was what you wanted, you have been thinking about it for forever. That's why girls never get what they want - they are too afraid to say what they want!"

"I guess I just assumed she knew better."

"She doesn't."

He has a pretty good point, and made think about why I do a lot of things that I don't want to do... I always think someone else knows better. I wonder why? So, spurred on by my wise man, I called and asked if I could have it fixed, and they did, at no charge. I am much happier, and have just the style I wanted!

4. I have a ton of emails to answer and useful computer things that I should be doing, but I don't want to .

I only get to the computer after the boys are in bed and by that time all I want to do is read a few blogs and tell you important things. There is just never enough time, or energy, or brainspace. I am trying to figure out how to be okay with that.

5. Today probably ranks on my top ten list of bad parenting days.

I wavered somewhere between impatient and snappy, and total pushover. Not a bit like the mom I wish to be. Good thing there is always tomorrow.

6. My minutes of computer time are done. I feel guilty for everything that I didn't get to, satisfied with actually posting something, wistful for more time at later point in my life, and considering taking a bath, something I haven't done for several years (minus sitting in a few inches of water with my wee babes).

7. I really want another cupcake.

Where's The Sugar?

2010-07-20T12:58:00.000-07:00

I love Jesus.

I love his church.

I love the church despite the fact that it is made up of humans.

And a lot of times humans get things wrong.

Especially large groups of humans all milling about together and trying to humanize holy things.

Joy is holy.

Suffering is holy.

Rest is holy.

Hard work is holy.

...

Somehow, although my mind knows that Jesus invited his disciples into a holy -and HARD- life, my emotions have absorbed the Christian-group-think-candy-coated idea that Jesus makes everything better.

Recently my candy coating seems to have melted in my hand.

Instead of a safe, colorful, shiny and sweet capsule for the melty, chocolaty, palatable gospel, I have a sticky mess.

I'm stained.

Crunched.

Not very pretty.

Not neat and tidy.

The problem is, I'm right where I know I should be.

I am truly confident that I have been following Jesus to the very best of my ability. I don't feel like I'm being punished or paying the price of folly. I feel like I have been obedient and what I have received in return turns out to not be a pat on the back and a full bank account, but rather a forecast of difficult situations stretching ahead of me for a long way.

A small part of me, the part that wants to fit into the acceptable mold of happy churchgoer, is tempted to be disillusioned. Is tempted to feel small, because after all, what kind of press is it giving God if I say I'm following him and my life looks pretty lame right now?

But a bigger part of me feels... I don't even know what yet. I feel like my eyes have been opened. Like I've just accepted a challenge to duel. To fight against the woe-is-mes and the preconceived notions of sugary sweet salvation.

To stand up and say that Jesus is real and loving and life-giving in the midst of struggle. In the midst of frustration. In the midst of mourning. In the midst of dragging my feet and feeling reluctant to face the day because it is likely going to be REALLY HARD.

Jesus is bigger than hard.

Jesus is bigger than disillusioned.

So here I go. Into another day of "this is not what I imagined." It may not be what I dreamed of for my life, but when I said, "Here I am Lord" I meant it. I'll say it again.

Here I am.

I've counted the cost.

Where you lead, I will follow.

Let's go.

Air

2010-07-13T20:34:00.000-07:00

Having a blog is scary. It means that on days when you feel - whatever the feeling, good or bad - that there is always the temptation to share. And sometimes those feelings aren't ready to be offered to the world yet.

So, silence.

...

Do you ever feel like all the wonderful parts of you are suffocating?

...

If you are waiting for permission to let the good and lovely and against-the-grain parts of you grow? I extend it to you now.

Go, be unusual.

Be bright.

Be creative.

Feel.

Write.

Paint.

Eat.

Do things in a way that makes sense to you and do it without explaining your reasons to anyone.

You are valuable.

Your talents are real.

There are gifts inside of you, just waiting to get out.

I mean this truly.

Permission has been given.

Begin living like you want to, and not like you think other people want you to.

Start a trend of bravery.

Begin a revolution.

Set aside the "I think I shoulds" and dive head first into the "I thrive when I..."

Do you know where you thrive? If you don't, discover that! If you do, live it!

Please do this.

Don't let the world miss out on you because you are trying to be someone else.

Revive the hope that you are valuable and unique and needed in this world.

Hope.

Hold tight to the promise that there is not only a plan for your life, but that your life is part of the bigger plan.

You are not insignificant.

You are lovely.

YOU are lovely.

Tower of Lebanon

2010-06-29T21:57:00.000-07:00

I have a big nose.

We all know this.

If you have been silently gawking over the size of my sniffer, let me just make you a little more comfortable by assuring you that, yes, I am aware of the larger protrusion smack dab in the middle of my face.

Andy calls it the Tower of Lebanon. It is a reference from Song of Solomon (do you call it Song of Solomon or Song of Songs? Just wondering) where the Lover is waxing poetic about his Beloved's physical beauty. Andy does it to tease me, but I figure if the wisest king in all of history had a thing for large noses, then I can be at peace with mine.

And I was.

Until today.

Until it betrayed me.

In Target of all places!

My safe and happy place.

The sanctuary of new moms.

It is, truly, a destination for the parents-of-two-and-under crowd. I must have seen a dozen women with infant carriers in their carts today.

I told my mother-in-law

that meaningless trips to the store,

to spend just $3,

are a life saver.

Because it only costs me three dollars,

but it can take up to an hour,

if I really draw it out.

That is an hour that

Jack is contained and entertained

and usually Joey is asleep

(the magic of motion people!).

Heaven.

But I digress.

Back to my nose.

Do you ever have days where you just feel in a dither? You are clumsy and stutter and always feel like your hair is in your face and you keep twitching to try and get it out of your eyes? It was that kind of afternoon for me.

I had taken Jack to Target to pass the time and were checking out. I couldn't find my card at first, and was fumbling through my wallet. Receipts were falling out, my hair was in my face, I was spastically flinging my head to try and make my bangs get out of the way, and I kept forgetting that I was around adults and was using my "mommy" voice to talk to the checker and was nervous laughing and getting almost hysterical when the betrayal happened.

My nose...

dripped.

Not like it started to run and I had to sniff.

It out of the blue, just dripped.

One giant droplet from my oversized nostril, onto the floor.

The woman in line behind me actually gasped.

Well, the woman was actually my sister. And what she really said was, "OH!"

But still, a drop big enough to be perceived a full cart length away? Imagine the view the checker got?!

After more fumbling (what do you even say at that point?) I gratefully left the store. Lizzie and I didn't discuss it then, but later, when I texted her she said, "That was amazing! I don't think I have seen that happen to any one except grandma before!"

Great. I used to have my nose associated with a biblical beauty. Now it is just a drippy-old-lady feature.

Not exactly what I was going for.

I hope it was a one-time offense because I'm pretty sure I can't handle it if this becomes a regular occurrence.

Meaningless Drivel

2010-06-27T16:32:00.001-07:00

I almost fell down the stairs today because my thighs are SO sore from my workout on Friday.

I just thought you should know.

More Than Enough

2010-06-20T21:16:00.001-07:00

I feel like I'm drowning in ordinary.

Well, maybe drowning is a might too dramatic and a smidge too dark.

I'm blinded by the ordinary?

Stuffed too the gills with the ordinary?

Paralyzed by the ordinary?

What I'm trying to say is that there are big ideas lurking just outside what I can really focus on. Dreams, hopes, compassion for the world... ideas to implement... prayers to be prayed.

These big things keep popping into my mind. I get little glimmers of "real" thoughts. I feel like I start to ponder something of substance... only to find that there is no space in my brain for these wide and unwieldily considerations.

Each nook and cranny is already filled with the laundry, with counting the hours of sleep I am or am not getting, with questions of what to feed my family, with the budget, with everyday-plain-ol'-life.

I want to be a thinker.

I want to have something interesting or insightful to share with the world, or even just with my husband and girlfriends.

I want to have space to hear God ask me to do crazy-exciting things.

But I am deafened by the theme song for Blue's Clues, the buzz of the monitor when I put Joey down for a nap, and the ticking of the clock that says, "Hurry, hurry... do something IMPORTANT!"

But then...

Then, if I can mute all the noise of the world that is telling me that big thoughts are better than baby-thoughts, I remember that I am thinking about wide and unwieldy things.

I'm thinking about how to raise boys who are adventurous and smart and respectful and ready to be amazing husbands and remarkable dads.

I'm thinking about how to be a wife who honors her husband and sends him out to work (or in Andy's case, school) feeling like he's on top of the world and like he has someone cheering him on in all of his ambitions.

And if I remember that the worst that happens if the laundry doesn't get done, is that the laundry isn't done... I have room in my head to know that I have heard God ask me to crazy-exciting, counter-cultural things!

Every day I hear God call me to be gentle when I feel like giving into anger. And I do it! Then I hear Him ask me to do more than was asked of me... and I do it.

I gave up space of my own in pursuit of the adventure God has called my family to for this season.

That is HUGE!

So all of you big ideas. All of you future dreams. All of you thoughts just waiting to be thunk. You can go on waiting.

I'm busy.

I'm doing all the things that matter for today.

Wandering

2010-06-09T22:38:00.000-07:00

I had so much to tell you tonight!

I've had three or four posts wandering about in my brain for quite a few days now. I need to write them down so I don't forget to tell you later...

But tonight...

Tonight I got distracted.

I told Andy yesterday that I'm pretty sure about 50% of my brain space is taken up with thoughts about food.

Doesn't that sound like I would have an eating disorder or some major emotionally unhealthy attachment to food?

I don't. I like food, but in a totally normal way.

I think.

I just spend SO much time planning meals, grocery shopping, feeding babies, feeding adults, feeding myself.

Food, food, food.

Additionally, both of my parents have discovered that they have pretty severe food allergies to really common foods (gluten, dairy, eggs, almonds, salmon, on and on). So I find myself eating things and wondering how I could adapt them to suit my folks.

I wonder if I have allergies.

I wonder if Andy has allergies.

I wonder if Jack and Joey have allergies.

Food, food, food.

So, instead of writing to you about really fascinating things, like my most recent failure at a new venture and how I realized that I've never really failed anything before and I don't care for the feeling...

or about my dreams of never having anything in a box in my pantry (making all my granola bars and crackers and cereal, etc. ... Oh wait! That has to do with food again!)...

or about my slightly odd attachment to paint chips from the hardware store (I have some framed)...

Instead of transferring those terribly interesting and revelatory tidbits into clever and witty posts, I wandered through the cyber pages of dozens of cookbooks on Amazon. I've actually spent my last three nights pouring over cookbooks - adding them to my wish list, adding them to my cart, deleting them from my cart, writing them on a list to look for at the library...

What can I say, I'm just fascinated by food. Food is what I do right now, and I want to do it well.

Sooooooo...

Tell me.

What did you have for dinner?

What do you wish you had for dinner?

And what's your favorite cookbook... I'm looking to add to my collection!

Four-Thousand Words

2010-06-06T14:14:00.000-07:00

Just To Say I Did It

2010-06-03T21:40:00.000-07:00

I had two goals tonight.

One, to dye my hair.

Two, to post something, anything, on this ol' blog.

Well, 9:00 rolled around, and Joey is finally down until sometime in the single-digit morning, and I'm pooped.

That means hair dying is most assuredly out for the evening.

Dying your hair while exhausted (especially when you use the reddest, stainy-est shade that I fancy) is a very silly thing to do. Sort of like singing karaoke when you've had a few too many drinks

Karaoke, by the way,

is on the very top

of my

"Things I'm Terrified Of"

list.

I'm seriously, seriously

afraid of singing in front of people.

It sounds like torture.

Spelling outloud is second on that list.

Or like buying pants a size too small thinking that they will fit in a few weeks... very silly.

For a brief moment I considered just crawling into bed after my shower and calling it a night. But then I decided that if I went to sleep without accomplishing either of my very small goals, I would feel pretty pathetic.

So...

Here I am.

Rambling on.

...

I discovered a few things this afternoon.

1. I'm clumsy.

2. I'm tough.

3. It is probably time for a new pair of gym pants.

This afternoon I was running around Downtown Everett, doing my little work-out thing, and my foot caught my pant leg. Without any warning I was falling quickly toward the pavement. I hit both my knees, my palms and then rolled to my back.

That's when I realized I'm clumsy... and also when I discovered that it might be time to move to a smaller pair of pants (Note that I did not pre-buy smaller pants, that, as we have already discussed, would have been very silly).

I realized I was tough when I jumped right up, smiled to my running partner (yes, I was running with someone who witnessed the whole thing) and continued my workout (which I will tell you included 45 jumps up onto a 20 inch box. I feel like such a stud!).

I now have knees like a seven-year old. I had planned to wear a skirt this weekend while hosting not one, but two parties - one baby shower and one 50th birthday - on the same day, but I may have to reconsider. I'm pretty sure scabby knees are not on the summer's hottest trends list.

...

I have several other stories that have been in my head to tell you this past week, but it is just so tricky to get to the computer with energy and creativity to communicate the things I want to.

I hope you understand. And I hope that changes in the next few months.

Until then, I will leave you with the oddest conversation of the week:

Aunt Gwyneth: Your face looks so thin!

Me, in my head: Oh, I like where this is going!

Aunt Gwyneth: So thin! Have you been throwing up a lot?

Me, in my head: What?

Me, outloud: Throwing up?

Gwyneth: Yes.

Me: Um, no. But I have been working out.

Me, in my head: I guess I better start wearing make-up again.

Please, tell me, when you see that someone's face has thinned out, is your first thought, "Have they been throwing up?"

I would really like to know.

The Well

2010-05-22T21:13:00.001-07:00

I've been a bit of a crank lately. It seems like I'm extremely prone to irritability and anger, two qualities that don't at all match the way I think of myself or the self that I want to be.

Here is my theory.

Actually, here is the lead-up to my theory.

I enjoy thinking of my life in seasons. My additional word to describe life lately has been "capacity."

When I see someone who is better then me - well, not better than me - but someone who seems to be able to keep more balls in the air or fit more hats on her head, I remind myself that each of us have a different capacity.

I also try and give myself grace when I can't seem to hold as many things together. I recognize that my capacity can grow and shrink depending on the amount of sleep I get, exercise, emotional factors...

I'm in a season where my capacity is very small. I don't get much sleep. I've just moved and am adjusting to an entirely new way of living. I am parenting two small children who require near-constant hands-on attention.

Today I was particularly moody.

That brings us back to my new theory.

In my pondering over why I am having such a hard time keeping an even keel, I thought of a new word picture.

A well.

I can see myself as a well. Deposits being poured in, and water being drawn out. I see all the people and projects of my life standing around the well. My sweet friends are pouring huge buckets of delicious clean water into my well. Jack walks up to the edge and gleefully dumps his little cup into the well, all the while using a giant sized bucket to draw water right back out and fling it on the ground in a colossal tantrum.

Commitments I've made pull water up and out.

Andy pours water in. I draw water from my own well to pour back to him.

In and out.

The water line moves up and down.

Sometimes I'm full to overflowing, sometimes it looks like I'm going to be completely dry.

I think my emotional struggle lies in the fact that I moved from a season where my well seemed so full to a dry spell.

My capacity is small, simply from the nature of my life stage. I am trying to conserve my water, save it for Andy and Jack and Joey, and some days it feels like water is being drawn out of me with huge buckets, against my will. I'm fighting to have enough for everyone, but there just isn't.

I get angry when I feel like my water has gone to something that is less important to me that one of my boys. It irritates me when I have to give them less so that the other realities of life (laundry, grocery lists, complicated relationships) can get a few drops.

This picture shed some light on my mood, but it also brought me to the solution.

I've been trying to keep my well full on my own. I try and conserve where I think I can. I monitor everything that goes in and comes out. I stress when I see the levels getting low and I get giddy when I've just received generous amounts of water poured back in.

But Jesus said, "Whoever believes in me, as the scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him," and, "... if you knew the gift of God ... you would have asked him and he would have give you the living water."

I've been trying to live fully on lifeless water. The only solution for my dry well, is to fill it from a source that never runs dry.

Oh Lord, forgive me for trying to keep my well full on my own. I've been stingy with my water where I could have been generous. Please fill me with your living water and teach me to give it freely.

CrossFit

2010-05-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

I think we might have a problem.

Here I am, writing happily about my issues with undies, thinking that only my gal-pals bother to read what I post, only to discover today that the trainer at the new gym-thing I'm going to reads it too!

GAH!

I walked in today in my bright pink girly top and messy hair (my hair is always messy these days, but especially on work-out days because it takes SO MUCH effort to get out the door and to class on time) and he says, "Your blog is hilarious!"

GAH!

That would be a double GAH!

It is hard enough to act normal when I'm doing things like dead-lifts and pull-ups (don't worry, I have to do the most baby version of pull-ups and can hardly manage that) - things that I've never done before and look really awkward doing, but now I have to try and act normal while doing those things AND running through my mind all the ridiculous things I've said here recently, thinking I was just chatting it up via blog with GIRLS.

Maybe I need to change the name to No Boys Allowed.

Despite the awkwardness I felt at having my trainer know that I own pink panties, I am really, really enjoying this new way of working out.

I like getting out of the house by myself. I like learning new things (and everything I've learned so far is new) and I really like waking up a little sore, knowing that I'm getting stronger and stronger.

So three cheers!

For CrossFit

For a brighter outlook

And

For the hot shower I'm about to take.

Life is looking good.

I have a lot to say about Fred Meyer

2010-05-05T22:12:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have moments when you realize that at your core you are petty and trite and not even close to the nice, lovely person you think of yourself as?

I am that petty person these days.

I know I'm really a miser at heart because when I looked at my attitude and realized it was terrible I actually though, "I know I am seeing this ugly thing in myself now, but God can change that in me... but I don't know that I really want to ask him to. I kind of want to be a brat and feel justified in my mean ways."

I am not a nice person.

In a few more days I will come to a place where I will lay myself before the Lord, but because I'm always perfectly honest here on this ol' blog, I will tell you that I'm just stewing in my sin at this point.

But let's not talk about that too much.

Let's talk about Fred Meyer.

I have always been a Target girl. I love me some Target.

But I might have a new bff.

The Snohomish Fred Meyer.

Maybe because it is so close. But it might just be because something awesome happens each time I go.

Last week I went to FM wearing a grey cotton skirt and a pair of leggings. Under my leggings I was wearing some of the brightest pink panties you have ever encountered.

Somewhere near the organic carrots my leggings suddenly started to creep from my waist to my hips and showed no sign of stopping.

I'm not sure how it all happened, whether I was just walking with wiggly hips, or the very sheer nature of my undergarments caused some sort of legging malfunction, but as the leggings were doing the shimmy, my underwear decided they wanted in on the trek.

I was trying to find an unoccupied aisle to adjust myself, but the store was very busy. I tried a few inconspicuous hitches but all that did was pull up the leggings and miss the panties. Pretty soon the leggings were barely holding on to my rear and my pretty pinks were not anywhere near where I had put them in the morning.

GAH!

By the time I left the store there was nothing between my bottom and my skirt and I was gritting my teeth against the moment when both the leggings and my underwear made the final plunge to my ankles.

That moment never came, but the first thing I did when I got to my van was to put everything in it's right place. If someone had walked by at just the right moment I very well could have been arrested for indecent exposure.

...

Today I took Jack and Joey with me to grab a few items and get Jack out of the house.

When I shop with both boys Jack always sits in the front seat and I put Joey's carrier in the main section of the cart. It doesn't leave any room for groceries, but I don't have to do it very often, so I can manage once in a while.

When our trip was finished, I wheeled the cart out to the van. I rested the front of the cart against the van to keep it in place and transfered Jack first (I always do him first so that he is as contained as possible). Then I grabbed our groceries and put them in.

When I turned around for the third time, to get Joey, the cart was gone.

Can you even imagine what went through my mind?

First I was totally confused, then I was a little scared, and then I was laughing hysterically as I saw the cart rolling at a leisurely pace down the parking lot with a little baby in it.

Somehow the cart got free of my positioning and was following the gentle slope of the lot.

I made some sort of exclamation and quickly chased after the cart (good thing I wasn't wearing leggings!). After I had retrieved it and returned it to the cart rack I heard someone chuckle. I looked up and a young couple had witnessed the whole thing and enjoyed the show a good deal.

I know that could have gone horribly wrong had a car been part of the equation, but as it was, I had a good laugh, which felt very nice.

...

Not all of my enjoyment of FM comes from my own propensity for being totally ridiculous. The employees also brighten my day.

On the same day that I almost showed the world of Fred Meyer my fancy pants

Side note:

In England,

"pants" means panties.

I didn't learn this until

after I told someone at the train stop

"I like your pants,"

and they looked at me like I

was really, really weird.

I was purchasing some pastrami at the deli.

I was going to make reuben sandwiches.

I really love reubens.

The woman behind the counter was a little older, and seemed like a totally run-of-the-mill deli lady. That is, until she handed me my pastrami.

She said, "Have you ever had our pastrami?" When I answered in the negative she began to show off the sliced meat, "you can see how beautiful it is..." and promised me that it would be the best that I had ever tasted.

I smiled, pleased by her enthusiasm, but what made her my favorite deli lady ever is that when I took my meat and offered the usual, "Thanks, have a nice day," she returned with a very sincere, "I hope you enjoy it immensely."

I love that!

When was the last time you enjoyed something immensely?

That pastrami may not have been the very best I have ever had, but I did enjoy it immensely.

Good Gifts

2010-05-01T20:47:00.001-07:00

This season of my life has been pretty rough. Kids are hard, moves are hard, a spouse in school is hard... sometimes hard things just pile up. That isn't a bad thing all the time, it is just how life goes.

When I was pregnant with Joey, I felt so lame and I truly worried that I wouldn't have any friends when it was over.

Boy have I been proved wrong!

Not a week has gone by without someone calling me or texting me to see how they can help.

Last week I was almost delirious with fatigue. I started composing a snarky blog post in my head (please tell me you do that too) about all the things that people CAN'T help with... it was going something like this:

"How's it going? Is there anything I can do to help?'

"Well, no, actually, there is NOTHING you can do to help. Because I'm pretty sure you don't want to take my baby who wakes up every two hours or less in the night, and let me get some sleep, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to give us a free car so that I'm not stranded in the country and I'm.... "

Blah blah blah, I'm a whiner.

But then, I started thinking. Sometimes I let things stay awful for a little while and then one day, *snap!* I start problem solving.

So I started thinking through what people COULD help me with. I realized that a large part of what is making life hard right now is that I am so, so, so lacking in sleep.

I originally assumed that there would be no way to get a full night sleep, because who in their right mind would bring home someone else's baby and subject themselves to that if they didn't have to.

And then I thought of who.

Sweet, sweet Rosemary and Josh. Here's why I thought they would be up for it: 1) they are awesome 2) they don't have kids yet (one on the way) so they will be able to catch up on the sleep they miss 3) they love kids... A LOT 4) they think that anything that is a new experience is fun and worth a try.

A night with a newborn is definitely an experience.

So, I called Rosemary and she without hesitation said she would have my baby overnight!

Do you hear the angels singing?

What a gift. If you ever encounter a mom to a new baby who is not getting enough sleep, offer to have her baby overnight. You will bless her socks off!

Or, I might be the only woman on the face of the earth willing to part with my baby for a whole 14 hours just 2 months into his life. If I am, I'm okay with it.

The day following Joey's big sleepover, another of my friends, Ashley, who happened to be the recipient of The Meltdown, came and picked Jack up. Even though he had a snotty nose she took him out ALL DAY with her two kids and left me with hours and hours to take another nap, organize my room from the move, and just enjoy Joey.

Jack is a handful.

You can tell because the first thing my mom friends tell me when they bring him back is, "Jack did so good! He only hit one kid!"

I'm hoping he'll grow out of that.

So for Ashley to take Jack with her own 2 year old and infant was a major commitment. And one that I so appreciate.

But she wasn't the only one! Allison, another dear friend, has taken Jack on several occasions. And this weekend, she took BOTH of my babies with her one toddler. She asked me in the morning if she could do that for me and before I could say anything she said, "Don't worry. I know what I'm getting myself into."

Oh the bliss of a few hours all to myself!

I caught up on some emails, unloaded the dishwasher and, you guessed it, took a nap.

I love my friends!

And now, not wanting to be left out of the gift-giving extravaganza, my very own Andy has lined up childcare for me for Monday, Wednesday AND Friday nights for the WHOLE MONTH of May so that I can go workout.

It is weeks like these that make me wonder, how did I get so lucky?

I may stop thinking that when I go to my first workout.

Because remember how I told you that Andy now looks like Hugh Jackman?

Side note:

Why didn't anyone tell me that

in the original post

I wrote "Huge" Jackman

instead of Hugh?

I wonder what other horrible

mistakes I will find when I go

back to the posts from my pregnancy and

these first few months.

I shudder at the thought!

It is all thanks to a workout theory... system... I don't even know what to call it. But it's name is CrossFit.

So when he arranged for childcare, he also signed me up for an introductory CrossFit class.

I will be doing this.

Be careful on YouTube.

I just got sucked into

like 40 minutes of looking at

people doing CrossFit.

Craziness!

Am I insane?

Yes.

Do I really wish I could look like one of those girls?

Yes.

Enough to workout like I live on the Biggest Loser Ranch?

Perhaps.

We shall see.

I hope I don't puke the first class.

The Move

2010-04-28T22:49:00.001-07:00

For the last few years, Andy and I have been committed to two things.

One, that I stay home with our kids.

Two, that he finishes school and can move into full time teaching (his goal is to teach middle school students and coach wrestling).

Those two goals have meant lots of decisions about our time, about our money, about our relationships.

We've gotten pretty good at the routine.

I know that when a new quarter starts at school I'll have a week or two when I'm antsy and irritable, until I get a handle on Andy's new schedule and realize that he will still have time for me.

When someone offers me a job (it has happened more than once) we know that we'll think about it, and dream for a little while about what it would be like to have some extra cash, and we'll always decide that me being home is better.

When someone offers Andy a job (it has also happened a few times) we think about it. Andy looks wistfully in the distance and I know he is thinking that working a real job would be a whole lot more fun that sitting in class and doing homework, but we always come back to the fact that teaching is where he KNOWS God has been propelling him. So he keeps keeping on with school.

When being a one car family gets annoying Andy will wander Craigslist looking for a beater, we'll stare at our bank account, considering the value of the car vs. the value of our tiny emergency fund. And as of yet, each and every time we prefer the security of our little bit of savings over the convenience of another vehicle.

When we drive by houses for sale we sometimes pull over, just to look at the price and to enjoy the moments of dreaming of days ahead. We've kept a tiny apartment since we've been married and have enjoyed being resourceful with closet space and the satisfaction of filling the living room with people, even though we've never had fancy furniture or a table big enough to seat more than four.

But the apartment situation has changed.

We are now in a house!

My in-law's house!

Yes, oh my gosh, it is hard. And a little weird. And, if I let it, a blow to my pride.

But any change is hard. And the more people you have in the house, you realize that you are weird and your husband is weird and your family is weird. Let's all be weird together. And as far as my pride goes, I didn't need it anyway.

Why would I be embarrassed? There is a very strong cultural stigma associated with "living with your parents" but when your parents, or parents-in-law, are really neat people who love Jesus, there is a lot that can work really well.

Andy's folks have known about our two commitments and have been asking how they could help for awhile. When our landlord said that she would have to start charging us rent again, they immediately offered us a home. Their way of cheering on their son and caring for his family.

Thank you Aicheles.

So there is no shame. I could have sought full-time employment and made arrangements for Jack and Joey. Andy could have taken a break from school and found a job that would support us... but we are choosing not to compromise the things we have set out to do.

So, here I am. In one day I went from a tiny little apartment to a huge and beautiful new home with a yard that measures in acres. I don't know quite what to do with myself.

But I do know that I must be thankful.

Without gratitude the endearing quirks of multiple-family life would soon become grating.

Without gratitude I would forget that my two-year old, who is spending more of the day crying than laughing, is a boy with a God-given future.

Without gratitude I would let feelings of entitlement grow in my heart and feel betrayed by the world.

Without gratitude my heart is in danger of becoming hard.

No thank you!

Or rather, "Yes! Thank you Lord for these days."

Status Update

2010-04-27T09:45:00.001-07:00

Andy said something humorous the other day and I couldn't stop grinning over it. After less than a minute my cheeks hurt.

That is a bad sign.

Not nearly enough smiling happening in my world lately.

It's 10:00 and my baby should be sleeping, but he's not

2010-04-22T21:51:00.000-07:00

I started out the day with a colossal meltdown.

The kind where you really hope you don't have to talk to anyone because as soon as you open up your mouth your jaw will flap around like a fish, not making any sound because no words can describe how completely out of control you feel and your eyes will betray you and begin to send streams of tears down your face, and despite your best efforts at maintaining some small measure of dignity you will get all snotty and blubbery and greatly embarrass both you and the unfortunate soul who happened to run into you first.

That is exactly what happened. Only, the person I happened to see first was a sweet friend and she gave me a huge hug while I cried and neither of us were embarrassed.

My giant flood of emotion gave me my very first migraine. I can't say I ever want to have one again.

So I took a long, long nap while Andy played with Jack and Joey slept.

I woke up from that rest feeling much better.

Not quite like all was right with the world, but like it might be after a few more days of balmy weather and maybe a new pair of jeans.

Then I made a simple dinner and did some yoga.

I've finished off my day with a brownie topped with strawberries and whip cream, one step closer to my world being righted.

Things That Don't Go Together

2010-04-15T17:22:00.001-07:00

The Flu and parenting two small children.

The Flu and just about anything.

A relapse of The Flu you thought you had just recovered from and parenting two small children.

Parenting two small children and packing for a household move.

Packing for a household move and just about anything.

The Flu (original version or relapse), parenting two small children AND packing for a move.

They most DEFINITELY do not go together.

Sick Day

2010-04-13T22:37:00.000-07:00

Last night I was sick.

Really Sick.

This evening Andy asked me, "Are you going to tell people about it?" and I emphatically said "No!" I said, "Are YOU going to tell people about it?" He assured me that the details are mine to keep. I figure "it" - believe me, "it" needs the quotation marks! - will become one of those stories a few years down the road that we pull out to demonstrate how our marriage has developed and why we remain so deeply in love. But it really will have to wait a few years.

Moving on...

After two long naps and a glass of apple juice, I was well enough to sit on the couch. But that was about it.

Luckily, Jack was a dream today. It was all I could manage to select a show for him to watch from our DVR. Usually, if I have too many shows on in a day I notice that he gets really feisty and sassy from being too sedentary and having too little of my attention. But today he entertained himself and told me cute stories and at random moments would come kiss my hair or coo at Joey.

When I did turn the tv off he curled up on the couch with me and Joey and played a game he invented which involved him trying to stick a turquoise rock in my belly button. He thought it was hilarious. I usually hate having my belly button (not my belly... my belly button) touched, but I made an exception because he liked it so very much.

I would like you to know

that I almost

wrote a little quip

about expecting his hand

to get lost in the folds of my tummy

but I didn't

because,

well,

it isn't true.

I love this body of mine that has

grown and birthed two sweet boys.

I will continue to love and care for it

regardless of what I want it to be - right now

or what it once was and no longer is.

Despite feeling so yucky, I thought, "This is a sweet life."

In other news:

At six-weeks postpartum, something magical happened. I don't remember such a sudden shift with Jack (I don't remember a lot about those first few months with Jack), but with Joey, the first few weeks I really wondered if I was going to bounce back.

Now, things are still hard. I'm still tired, but life seems manageable. The shift was so dramatic that I wondered if there is some hormone flush that happens at that point, or if that is how long it takes your body to acclimate to a torturous sleep cycle... or if there is some other physiological change that happens exactly at that milestone.

It could be that, or it could just be that I have mastered a few essential life skills with two babies:

I can pack the diaper bag, get them out the door and load them into the van all by myself.
I can nurse Joey and walk, if needed, to retrieve destructive or noisy toys from Jack.
I can bathe both boys at the same time.
I can leave the house without my hair fixed and not feel all that bad about it.
And I survived Andy being gone for a full four days... joyfully!

In addition to the practical skills, I think I've let go of some pretty harsh expectations I've had for myself (see above, tummy side note). Everyone in my life loves me, regardless of how put together I look when go out, or how much I do or don't get done, or even how much more frequently I struggle to be patient with Jack and fail.

I am loved.

And recognizing that has lifted a load.

I know that there are many good days and many hard days before me. But this evening, I am once again enjoying the journey. God has good things in store for this family and I am so happy to be where I am.

Coming Clean

2010-04-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

I have a confession.

I don't always recycle.

Do you hate me?

Sometimes when I'm cooking and using lots of cans, like a soup that uses several cans of beans, I toss them in the sink with the good intention of rinsing them out and popping them in the recycling when I'm done with all my meal making. The problem is, when the sink is also full of dishes and the counters are cluttered, rinsing the cans seems like an avoidable portion of the work. Just toss them in the garbage under the sink and move on.

Surely it cuts a good 1.75 minutes out of my cleaning time!

And other days, Jack finds some jar or jug that I've put in the bin particularly interesting and pulls it out to play with it (which is why I must throughly rinse all containers that will eventually be recycled). After I have tripped over his favored juice bottle or tuna tin about three hundred and sixty two times, I am so tired of seeing it that I hide it from Jack... in the garbage can.

Does that make me a bad person.

Or more specifically, does that mean I have to hide myself in shame from all the faithful recyclers that inhabit the great Northwest?

I hope not.

I have another confession that might get me kicked out of my home state.

I don't really like soy milk.

What is the deal with soy anyway, is it good for you or not? I hear conflicting messages and I am confused.

Same with dairy.

And just about every other food group.

Someone somewhere always has a reason that some food is no good for the human race.

Sheesh.

Until I get straight answers I'll just keep eating what I love.

And I'll keep not liking soy milk.

I can handle it on my cereal. But it certainly doesn't cut it in my coffee and please, please don't ask me to drink it straight.

But milk seems to make both of my babies gassy, as well as my darling man...

...who is in Mexico

building a house

and who I was bravely living without

until he called me

and I was reminded of how very much I adore him

and now I keep wishing

he would come home and tuck me in,

but alas

he will not be back in The States

for another two days.

Instead of filling my fridge with multiple milk products I just go with the gang and have soy when I want cereal. But frankly, it isn't really cutting it for me. I am trying to decide if it is worth it to have Joey squirm and fuss after I drink it and therefore he drinks it... and when I think about that, I realize that I'll just have to make do for a while.

Oh the sacrifices we mothers make!

We've tried Almond, Rice and "Grain Drink" in addition to the soy. Not a single one of them are delicious, but because soy is questionable I thought I should at least give them a go. Soy by far is the least objectionable... but seriously... is soy a yey or nay these days?

Anyone?

What's Bigger Than A Baby Step?

2010-04-06T20:06:00.001-07:00

Today, my friends, today reminded me what it is like to have order in my life.

Two days ago, after a complete meltdown, I decided that even though everybody says that after a baby you should rest, give up having a routine, and just let things go until you are feeling like getting around to it, that there are a few things that I need to get in place as soon as possible to keep my emotions and a healthy sense of self in a safe place.

That was an incredibly long sentence. I will try and avoid that in the future.

Let me back up a bit.

After Jack (albeit, a year after) I was in the best shape I have ever been. Since having Joey, and assessing the "damage" my body sustained through pregnancy, I have been more self conscious and spiteful toward my body than I have in a very long time.

It got to the point that I actually canceled a few get-togethers and have dreaded social gatherings (usually my lifeblood!) because I haven't wanted to be seen. I fear scrutiny and feel as if I have failed the universe because I am not back in my single-digit size six weeks postpartum.

Besides feeling disappointed in my body, I struggle with disappointment in my parenting. I loose my patience a lot more often. I forget to feed Jack meals and instead let him survive on spoonfuls of peanut butter and pretzels. I criticize myself each time I have to make a choice of which child's needs to attend to first. At several points in each day, somebody just has to cry for a little bit because I can only do so many things at once.

Combine a crushing sense of discouragement when I look in the mirror, with the brutal realization that I am not as "good" at parenting two kids as I imagined I would be. And you have a recipe for disaster.

In a wave of emotion, Andy sat on the bed with me and listened to me lament all the things I disliked about myself in this season. The way I summed up my emotions to him was to say, "I miss feeling like I have it all together." His response was so insightful and honest and wise that it totally redirected those dark emotions. He said, "You never feel like that. You think you did, but let's be honest, you never do."

Deep Breath.

True.

I look back and paint a picture of myself and my life and the timeline of Jack's infancy with bright and cheery colors. I remember the good and even add a little shimmer to make it sound better... but the reality is, there is and always has been something I am adjusting or fearing or looking forward to.

That truth released me from the trap of all the things that I am not, or thought I should be, or thought that I was. It moved me to look at the things that are draining me and decide which of those things are simple realities of this season that I will wait out, and which of those things I can change.

My first step was to get back to the gym.

This morning I took both boys to the gym. I felt so accomplished! After a few hiccups with getting the boys settled, I ran on the treadmill and then did some ab work and lunges and all those work-outy things.

I did it.

I made it to the gym... in the morning even.

And tomorrow I will go again.

And the day after that, I will go again.

Over the past several years I have learned a few things about myself. And one of those things is that my physical health has an enormous impact on my emotional self, and my emotional self has a profound impact on my spiritual health, and then it circles back to my physical self...

So, after a day of working out, I was motivated to try a few other things that I have been trying to figure out how to mange with two kids. Tonight Jack and Joey had their first bath together! It was terrifying and I was afraid Jack was going to dump water all over his wee brother, but he didn't! We made it!

And THEN, after both boys were bathed, they were both IN BED at the same time. Understandably, Joey will wake up in a few hours and need to be fed again, but still, both boys are in bed at the same time!

Each of these moments combine to make me see that yes, indeed, at some point, either three weeks or three months, or three years from now, order will be restored.

And in three weeks or three months or three years, there will be another set of challenges that I am sorting out and fears that I am facing and accomplishments that I am celebrating.

So friends, let me end by encouraging you. Whatever you are trying to sort-out or fix, or are just wallowing in, it will end at some point. Decide what you can do to make it better and recognize what will need to be endured. Take a moment to be real with yourself and make sure you aren't looking behind and painting a picture that is a little more glittery than it was when you were living it. If you are wishing for what was or what should be, stop. Look at and enjoy and live what is right now.

You can do it.

I will celebrate each moment with you!

Sunday Brunch

2010-03-28T11:47:00.000-07:00

You may have surmised, from my last few posts, that this whole two-kid thing is difficult.

Let me clarify.

It is the hardest thing I have ever done.

Okay, now that we have that cleared up, I am ready to celebrate a beautiful morning.

Andy woke up with Jack and took care of breakfast (a cookie for each of them) and entertained Joey until he said that he was hungry, at which point Andy brought the wee babe into bed with me and I snuggled and nursed and listened to Andy and Jack laugh and talk about Dora's latest adventure.

When I finally got out of bed we all played on the living room floor. Andy kept one hand busy bouncing Joey in his seat and the other tickling Jack. I laid on the floor in the midst of the sweet chaos and participated in the classic Jack sandwich game with Andy.

Then I made a shopping list and Andy took Jack to the store to get ingredients for a yummy Sunday brunch (because a cookie does not cut it), as well as coffee to fortify us for the day ahead.

As I made vanilla french toast with homemade blueberry syrup and whip cream...

Prior to going to the store

Andy and I had a long

heated conversation

about the merits of

whipped cream

vs.

cool whip.

He reviewed my list before

leaving, in case he had any questions

and when he got to the

"whipped cream"

he said,

"You mean Cool Whip?"

As if the two were interchangeable!

Never!

Despite his arguments that

Cool Whip is the greatest invention of all time

he brought home whipped cream.

Can you imagine desecrating

a beautiful fruit topped french toast

with COOL WHIP?!

Thankfully the Aichele house did

not witness such an

atrocity today.

Jack sat on the floor and read a book to himself (he has been doing this almost every day and it makes little bursts of joy bubble up inside of me)

Did I tell you that when

I was pregnant with Jack

my first totally out-of-control,

no-foundation-in-reality,

breakdown

happened when I was home alone

one night and I started thinking

about Jack as a little

elementary-schooler.

I got a vivid picture of him in my head

talking to Andy and saying,

"Dad, can you ask mom not to read to me anymore?"

And I burst into tears!

I have always looked forward to reading

to my kids

and the thought

(though totally imagined)

of him not wanting me to

was crushing.

So, now that Jack loves to be read to

and to read on his own,

I am truly delighted.

... Back to the story of this morning.

As I made french toast and sipped my iced coffee, Jack charmingly entertained himself and Joey rested peacefully on Andy's chest. The house was quite, in a restful, soothing way and my kitchen smelled delicious.

It was so many simple and small pleasures, rolled in to one 30-minute window. I felt refreshed by the break from the frantic, sleep-deprived fog that has seemed to hold me captive for the last month.

I realize that later this afternoon there is a good chance of the fog rolling back in, but that is why I put my baby down and let Jack run around unattended in order to capture the moment in writing.

When I look back on these difficult days, I will see that in totality, they have not all been painful or exhausting. Tender and delicious moments have peppered themselves throughout. And some day soon, the sweet will begin to overtake the sour and once again, I will find myself smiling at the prospect of each new day.

And now, Joey is frantically screaming to be held or fed, or some mystery something that I don't know about... so, back to the order of the day... but at least with a full tummy and a calm heart.

On my way

2010-03-25T10:31:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I realize that my life, and therefore the content of this blog, is suddenly very small.

The first few weeks of bringing a baby home are so consuming, and so emotional, and so taxing in a variety of ways.

But that is what I am living right now, and I am determined to survive it with at least a smidgen of grace and beauty.

And by beauty I mean internal peace. I can't even attempt glamour at this point. I won't bore you with my self-esteem woes at this point, but friends, woe is me, at least my self-image!

Despite my weight, despite my eyes that refuse to stay open and are perpetually red rimmed and watery, despite my daily ride on the emotional roller coaster... I can say whole heartedly that each day is better than the last.

I can see windows of opportunity to spend time with each of my boys individually. I can see progress in my understanding of who Joey is as a one-month-old and how to bring out his best (meaning, get him to sleep longer at night). Jack is mellowing out, after a very aggressive and moody couple of weeks and I am learning to better edit my emotions.

With each dip and rise in the day, I am learning to listen to the true thoughts and discard the fears and guilt and stress that wander through my mind as side-effects if sleepless nights.

I am discovering new strength as I trust the Holy Spirit to guide my decisions and I am reveling in small accomplishments. I am learning to weed out needless work and to pour the energy I have into the elements of my life that really matter.

Each day I remind myself that I'm going to be okay. That my husband will still love me even if I'm a little crazy right now. That my children will not be ruined for life if I am not capable of anything more than turning on the TV and preparing frozen meals and that at some point, I am going to sleep for more than an hour at a time.

...

At this point Jack unplugged the computer (Actually there were about two more paragraphs following this, but they didn't get tucked away with the autosave). My momentum was lost and I have no idea what I was going to say. I can't think of a clean way to wrap up my thoughts after such a long break (I started at around 10 and it is now 4) so, just know, that I'm surviving.

I'm not quite to thriving, but I expect that I'm on my way, and that is a wonderful feeling.

I'm Feeling Optimistic

2010-03-22T10:34:00.000-07:00

I successfully handled two different issues with the Insurance Company.

My living room, dining room and kitchen are clean.

My house is quiet and peaceful.

Dinner is in the crockpot.

I caught up on email correspondence.

I have half of a grocery list done and most of a menu for the week.

I'm about to take a shower... BEFORE noon.

I feel like a human.

It's Mine, All (Almost) Mine

2010-03-20T22:31:00.000-07:00

Today marked a very special occasion.

I took myself out for my first, post-labor run/jog/walk. Mostly walk.

It felt sooooo good. I did a long route, knowing that I would be slow and sort of lumber along, which I did.

But I didn't care. It just felt good to move!

It also was wonderfully soothing to my spirit to be totally alone for an hour and to have my body to myself. My dear husband kept both boys and cheerfully sent me on my way.

I'm not sure if he was so cheerful about sending me out because I had been a total brat a few hours earlier and he didn't want to deal with me, or if he was so cheerful because he knew that I would come back a much more pleasant person. Probably a healthy dose of both!

I'm celebrating the accomplishment of getting out alone as well as getting active. I definitely feel like both are worth celebrating, as they take a lot more effort that they ever had before.

In order to leave Joey home, I had to pump a bottle for Andy to have to feed him. Have you ever had to pump? If you have, you know that is one of the worlds most awful activities.

Except when it means

that you can look forward to a

full night of sleep

(minus having to get up and pump)

because your darling husband

said, "If you have bottles for me

I'll get up with Joey tonight.

I think a full nights sleep would

be good for you."

Ohh... sleep. How I have missed you!

After effusive thanks, I said,

"Wow, I must have been acting

so terribly lately for you to offer

to get up in the night!"

Yes, it is true.

I have not been my most charming self

the last few days.

So sorry honey!

Okay, another side note:

One of the things I love

the very most about Andy

is how quickly he forgives.

I am not always nice

or perfect.

Each time I mess up and have to

apologize, he treats the

offense like it is no big

deal. He forgives me

and moves on with life.

What a gift!

I learn so much from him!

DISCLAIMER: If you are a man, I suggest you stop reading at this point. Not that I anticipate any men read this, but if you are a man and you do happen to read this, come back tomorrow for a more gender-friendly post. The following uses words like "lactating" and other referrals to breast milk and breast feeding. I'm pretty sure you don't even want to know...

Only slightly more awful than pumping, was my experience with purchasing a sports bra to accommodate my lactating self.

Earlier this week I went to get a new sports bra. I took about a million, okay, it was only four - because that is all that they had in my size, options into the fitting room (as well as a million pairs of black workout pants, which is not much of an exaggeration).

I made my selection for pants and moved on to the top-wear. The first bra option was pretty good. The second was a pass. The third... oh wait. I can't try on the third one because milk is POURING from my chest.

I didn't even know that could happen! Despite having recently fed my wee child, somehow my breasts decided that in the fitting room of Sports Authority was an appropriate time to gush fluid.

I'm so sorry if that is gross to you. It IS gross. But it HAPPENED. Don't worry, I checked all the garments to make sure I hadn't sullied any of them. I quickly dressed myself and covered my spurting chest. I took my pants and the bra that was adequate, and left the store.

While it took a little extra work and embarrassment to get ready to run, it was oh so worth it! I'm sure my legs will be tired tomorrow and I'm sure that it will continue to be a struggle to make exercise work, but Oh! I'm willing to do the work!

And now, with that happy reflection, I am off to another happy part of my day, resting my head on my pillow, with the freedom to keep it there the next time Joey calls for me...

Andy, I really do love you. Thank you!

Adjusting

2010-03-17T01:37:00.000-07:00

I forgot how much work a newborn baby is.

And I had no idea how difficult two children would be.

Don't get me wrong. Joey is incredibly sweet, and I am excited to see how Jack develops as a big brother. It is just that right now the needs for my involvement in both of their lives is incredibly intense.

Joey requires lots (as in almost constant) of feeding and burping and soothing and diaper changing.

Jack requires lots of supervision around Joey, affirmation that he is still my baby too, as well as lots of feeding and diaper changing.

Jack is giving me

more and more

cues that he is ready for

potty training.

I can't even begin to

fathom how to go about

that process.

Oh dear! We're in for a fun

couple of months,

that is for sure!

To cope with the new pace of my life I've shut off my thinking for a few weeks.

I'm not sure if it is a good tactic or not, but so far it seems to be working. It allows me get through each day without an excessive amount of tears or guilt and a reasonable energy level for the next day.

At some point, I realize that I will need to return to making intentional decisions about parenting, housework and all the other components of my life, but for now, I think I'm allowed to coast.

I have had a few meltdowns at random points.

Andy has been INCREDIBLE

as a support and encourager.

My favorite part of becoming

a four-person family has been

seeing Andy develop as a husband

and dad.

In each new season of our life

I realize anew what

a valiant and godly

man I have married and

I am

THANKFUL!

I think the biggest thing that stretches my emotional capacity and causes me to freak out - meltdown - overreact - whatever you want to call it is the feeling that I had just got myself and my life and my child in order and now I have to start all over.

I felt so confident with Jack and had a system for most things: showering, planning meals, spending quality time in God's word, bedtime... but now everything feels upended, like I need to reconstruct each component of my world to accommodate or make space for our new little bug.

The task seems daunting.

But I keep reminding myself, it took almost two years to get to that point as a mom of one, I can't be hard on myself if it needs to take that long with two children. The reality is that two years goes by amazingly quickly when you are talking about kid years.

So for now, I will go about my days, not thinking too hard, or being overly critical of what I can or can't do. I'll remember what I'm moving toward, but be content if my steps are small. I'll smile as often as I can, try and say "no!" to Jack as little as possible, and extend Grace to myself and those around me.

My life will never be the same, but that doesn't make it any less sweet.

Arrival

2010-03-07T12:24:00.001-08:00

Baby Joey has arrived!

He made his grand entrance last Friday, February 26 at 6:08 pm.

Despite being a week early he outweighed his big brother, weighing in at 8 pounds 2 ounces and stretching a grand 20 inches.

I've had a couple of freak outs, which I figure are expected when you're living in a constant state of sleep deprivation, but besides that, I feel like this whole two-kid thing might be totally doable.

Sleep Deprivation Side Note:

Contractions started in the middle of the night

on Thursday.

I knew I couldn't sleep any more

so I got up and read and had a bowl of cereal

and sprawled out on the couch

making plans for Friday

because I KNEW these were the real

contractions and that Joey was coming soon.

So, I was up all Thursday night.

Then, after Joey was born I was up all Friday

night in the hospital

because you know they come and poke you

or take your blood pressure or

randomly come in just to make sure you

aren't getting any sleep.

Anyhow, I was on two nights in a row

of no sleep and a day of laboring out a baby.

On Saturday a nurse came in to ask more questions

and do more pokes and tests

and who knows what else.

I had several close friends visiting and just prior

to the nurse's entrance we had

all been getting very silly.

You know the kind of silly that only happens

when you are really tired?

Yes, it was that kind of almost hysterical silly.

So the nurse comes in and I am wiping away a tear

of laughter and she asks me my name

and our last name

and all the while I am answering questions

my party of friends and Andy are still laughing.

Then the nurse asks me the baby's name.

I say, "Joseph."

Then she says, can you spell it?

"J. O. . uh."

All my friends stop laughing and look at me.

Long pause.

"No. Actually, I can't spell it right now. Ask my husband."

Andy: "J. O. S. E. P. H."

Doh!

Sometimes you just reach your limit, you know?

I didn't know I named my kid

a name that is so difficult to spell out loud.

Sorry Joey!

Joey is remarkably calm and seems content to have joined this world. He is also a champion eater, getting back up to his birth weight in less than a week. My baby, the over achiever!

Jack is totally enamored with this bitty brother. Randomly throughout the day he will run up and kiss or hug Joey. Very sweet, but also quite scary, as his (Jack's) giant head often ends up totally covering Joey's entire face.

Today Jack was eating peanut butter out of the jar - its a Sunday! A day for relaxing and watching cartoons and eating peanut butter out of the jar! When he was done with his snack he put his spoon in Joey's hand and set the jar of peanut butter in the bouncy seat with the babe. He said, "here baby!"

All in all, life is sweet. Andy is a trooper of a husband and family and friends have been feeding us well. I feel so pampered and so supported! Joey is in for a great life with all the folks who are celebrating the start of his days!

Now on to planning Jack's 2nd birthday. I'm just waiting for our birthday club party planner to come in the mail. I hope it gets here soon; I need that checklist!

A Party

2010-02-25T19:41:00.000-08:00

I considered throwing a last minute party tonight.

A pity party.

But I didn't think anyone would come.

And I don't have anything to wear.

And truly, I don't want to wallow in my failings or the shortcomings of the world around me for too long.

But some nights, it is oh, so tempting.

After making it through my entire first pregnancy with a smooth, unmarked belly, I confidently entered the previous eight months with little fear as to the state of my skin. But 38 and a half weeks into this journey I discovered tonight that I have been marked forever as a mother.

I have stretch marks.

I have never in my life worn a bikini.

I didn't think it was ever an option until I started training last year for the triathlon. When I found out I was pregnant the second time, I told myself that after this baby that would be my goal... to wear a two-piece swimsuit sometime before I turned 30.

Side Note:

The stipulations on this

is that it has to be to a beach

that there is no chance

of running into anyone

that I will ever see again in my life,

so basically,

it means Andy needs to take me

some place for vacation.

Now, that dream will never be realized. I am too white (and too opposed to tanning) to even think about exposing my midriff if it is crisscrossed with permanent purple lines - telling the world that I went overboard with the cookies and "let myself go" as I grew my second baby.

To amplify the horror of discovering the permanent marks of my hugeness I have an adorable and hunky husband who has faithfully got himself out of bed and to the gym five mornings of the week and now is sauntering around the house with a physique like Hugh Jackman. I'm NOT EVEN JOKING.

Do you have any idea how intimidating it is to be married to a man who has a body like that? The pressure!!! I'm not sure I can take it.

When I try and explain this dis-ease with what my body has become, everyone says, "Oh, you're pregnant, don't worry!" But that is the problem. I'm not going to be pregnant forever (please, please, please let this be true!). Soon I won't have the excuse and I'll have to come to terms with what my body has become and own up to each soft spot, bumpy thigh and flabby arm.

Okay, you are probably thinking right now that I am extremely prideful and self-indulgent and more than a little pathetic. I know that about myself. I'm working on it.

In the past few weeks I have gone up and down through the days - either having revived confidence in my ability to take on TWO little guys instead of just one or being totally overwhelmed by the idea that in a few short days (hopefully less than that!) I will be once again be consumed with a newborn.

I felt like I was just getting the hang of life as a mom, and thriving in it, only to be sent back to the beginning. I have no idea what Joey's entrance into our lives is going bring. I pray it will be joy and sweet moments, but I also know that those will be tempered with long nights, heavy diaper bags, and extra laundry.

Truth be told, I'm scared.

A second truth be told: I am so ready to have Joey that everything feels traumatic. I'm hot all the time and none of my shirts cover my stomach. My back hurts and my feet hurt and I don't care at all that my hair is never fixed because really, what is the point right now.

So I know that stretch marks aren't the end of the world, and I know that Joey's arrival will be wonderful, and I know that my body and emotions are taxed to a point that sometimes just results in meltdowns. Founded or not.

This one is probably not founded, and I am aware of that.

But sometimes, a girls just needs to get a few things off her chest.

Please hear me say that.

I know I'm being silly and dramatic.

But doesn't it help sometimes

to just go overboard?!

Let it also be known that after discovering my scars I also had half a bath of water dumped on my by a feisty toddler, had broccoli thrown at me by said toddler, made dinner to have it hot when my honey got home from school, only to discover that I got my days mixed up and he was going to be an hour later than I thought and what was once a nice hot Welcome Home! Dinner will now be a stale, reheated, not so exciting dinner.

Sooooo...

When all is said and done, I guess I did throw the party after all. Thanks for coming. Now to get down to the business of picking up the place. Parties make such a mess!

Guilt Free Days

2010-02-20T08:35:00.001-08:00

Some days I wake up and just know.

I know that it is a day for lounging and snuggling and ignoring the dishes.

There are things I do every day that are sort of my "job." I feed my family and keep the house in a reasonable state (I really try, but am not always successful). I make sure we have toilet paper and milk. Those things sound like job to me.

But there are other parts of my role as a housewife and mom that are just as essential that, on occasion, get forgotten or put off in favor of the to-do-list tasks. The reading to Jack, listening to his cute sayings, laughing really hard with my husband and letting my attitude and demeanor build an atmosphere of love, peace and celebration in my home.

So this morning, when I awkwardly pushed myself out of bed (I am not very graceful these days) I made a mental declaration that today the fun, the restful, the beautiful things of life get to win out over the usual activities that keep life running smoothly. If the dishes pile up in the sink, I'm okay with that. If Jack and I play really hard and his toys end up in every room, well, I'll just pick them up tomorrow. When Jack snuggles in to nap, I'll cozy up too with a book or a paintbrush, or just my pillow.

I love my life. I love that I have the liberty to enjoy each day, the luxury of putting chores off. I love my home and my family.

Sigh.

While I sit typing this, the sun is shining, Jack is balanced on what is left of my lap and I am sipping homemade iced chai.

In a few minutes I'll hit "publish post" and then I'll pull up videos of babies sneezing on YouTube (Jack's favorite thing to watch). After that, we'll see. The possibilities of the day are endless.

If you haven't decided what you should do with your day yet, declare it a day to just ENJOY, guilt free. I bet you won't regret it!

A New Experience

2010-02-12T17:26:00.000-08:00

Today I had my very first facial.

I have always thought it sounded so luxurious to have someone take care of your skin for an hour, and I confess that my complexion is something that I often wish was more... hmm... perfect. So for Christmas Andy got me a gift certificate and today I redeemed it.

Side note:

I've been getting myself

all dolled up for

labor.

I realize that my due date is still

three weeks off,

but it would be a shame to be caught off guard

and go into labor with shaggy hair

or chipped toenail polish.

Actually, that wouldn't be a shame at all

since it would mean Joey was coming

and as I've already said, I'm eagerly waiting

that day...

All that to say, I've had a pampering

couple of weekends: haircut, pedicure,

new hair color and now

a facial!

The experience was slightly different than I anticipated.

It was odd.

But what may have been odd was not that the actual facial was different from my expectations, it was that it was so close to something I think I may have seen in a movie, that it felt totally staged. Like I was part of a comedy show or like there was a surprising plot twist awaiting me as I left the spa.

For starters, the woman who greeted me had a very heavy accent. I couldn't place it, but do you remember the heavy-set woman from The Fifth Element that was supposed to accompany Bruce Willis on his adventure to save the world? She sounded like that.

Actually, I don't think that woman had any lines in the movie, but she sounded exactly like you would think the Major would sound.

At least she sounded like that until she started poking at my face.

Then she started to sound like a gypsy fortune teller.

After getting me comfortably situated on the warmed table and wrapping my hair in a terry cloth turban, all the lights went out. I closed my eyes and I prepared to relax as Marie (the name of my esthetician) began massaging my face. She gently began in circular motions and I thought, "Oh! This is nice."

Then all of a sudden Marie switched into her gypsy voice. My eyes were closed, so I couldn't see her face, but the lights were all off, so I can't imagine how much of my skin she could see. I also couldn't tell if she was talking to herself or to me. Her voice was so soft and low.

"Hmmm... yesssss..." *Imagine a trance-like voice please*

"I feel the bumps." *Flattering, no?*

"I feel the blackheads." *Gah! You can feel blackheads?!*

Silence.

After those mystic-voiced comments the next few minutes proceeded in silence. She took off my make-up and kept smoothing my skin so gently. I started to relax again. She placed warm cotton pads over my eyes and then...

BLAST!

With no warning, the brightest light I have ever had pointed at my face was flipped on and felt like it was mere inches from my forehead.

Marie switched from mystic voice back to Major Fifth Element and said, "Are you ready to begin the extraction?"

"Uh, yep." *I hope that is the right answer!*

It is exactly what you think it is. She started to prod my face and attend to all those bothersome bumps and blackheads. I knew I had a few. But my goodness! People! I lost count.

I probably lost count because I was distracted by the return of the are-you-talking-to-me-or-to-yourself voice that kept making me think of crystal balls and hoop earrings.

"Oh, yes."

"Mmmhhmmm"

"There is more there." Push, pinch. "Ah, yes."

Each mumble was so satisfied. Like it was a true delight to see the little dirt particles make their way out of my dermis. At one point, after a particularly pleased grunt, she pealed the cotton from my eye and held up a mirror so that I could admire her handiwork. Oh dear.

We are teetering on the edge of way too much information, so I will spare you continued details of what apparently came from my face.

After many other pinches and minutes more of her muttering to herself, the lights went back out and she slathered a series of unknown products over my face.

After she had cleaned me up, she several times reminded me that "the redness" would be gone by tomorrow. She mentioned it so many times that I was a little frightened to look in the mirror. I anticipated a lobster-red face and disheveled hair... but instead, I was pleased to discover, that I mostly just looked like I do every morning before putting on my make up.

She advised a clay masque twice a week to maintain her hard work, and I obediently purchased it.

The experience may have been different than I had imagined (or exactly like I imagined - it is hard to tell which) but whatever it was, it has sure made me smile.

Merry Christmas to me!

And come on baby Joey, I'm all fresh faced and newly coiffed, so you can make your appearance ANY TIME!

And really, has anyone had a facial before? Was that normal?

Care to make a wager?

2010-02-10T17:33:00.000-08:00

Here is what you can make bets on:

Joey's Arrival Date
Weight & Height
Jack's Reaction to the New Guy
Who cries the most: Andy, me or Jack

Information you might like to know to make your decisions:

Joey's due official due date is March 7. I am trying to send him strong mommy-voice commands to come earlier since I am SO BORED of being pregnant. I would much rather be uncomfortable and not sleeping because I'm snuggling a newborn rather than having to pee and because I am carrying an extra 30 pound belly bulb.

Jack came two days before his due date. Lizzie had just finished a reflexology class and I asked her to rub the pressure points that are supposed to induce labor. I don't know what you think about pressure points, but that night labor started... you best believe that I will employ her skills again when I am truly at my wits end.

Jack was 7lbs 12oz and 19 inches when he was born.

When Jack was born I didn't cry (until they told us we had to stay at the hospital for an extra few hours) but Andy did. You know the cute, teary eyes. No messy sobbing for this family.

And to make your conclusions about Jack's reaction, I should show you how Jack reacted to his baby doll:

A side note:

A question really,

does anyone know why

my pictures are suddenly

coming out so grainy?

I have a simple point and shoot

that has served me well,

but my last attempts to capture

sweet moments have resulted in

these fuzzy images.

Ideas?

There are no prizes available, but if you are the winner, you will know and I will know and you can live with pride knowing that you are a really good guesser! Yay!

So, place your bets!

Stage an Intervention

2010-02-09T21:15:00.001-08:00

I have already confessed that I get kind of wrapped up in the Biggest Loser. But today I had a realization.

The Biggest Loser is a gateway show for me.

As I launched into my adult life I set out with a sort of... hmm... distaste... disregard... distain... of television. I lived in three different apartments before Andy and I got married and never once did it cross my mind to sign up for cable service.

I think it started when I was still living at home and I realized that I didn't like the show Friends. To be more accurate, I realized that I DID like Friends, or at least found it entertaining, and I wished that I didn't. Something clicked in my brain that I was laughing at situations and comments that if I were to participate in, in my real life, would be appalling to me. I realized that I was finding depictions of sin and dismissal of God, entertaining.

So, I try to keep the television off as much as possible.

At least, until the Biggest Loser came along.

But that was just the beginning.

Now...

... I have a LINE UP.

People! I have a show each night that I look forward to!

GAH! THIS CAN NOT BE!

Biggest Loser.

Survivor.

American Idol. American Idol? Me? Watching American Idol? I never thought I would see the day!

Throwdown with Bobby Flay (I'm okay with this one. It is a food show. Food shows are totally allowed!)

And now, the cherry on top, is that I know what made last night's Rose Ceremony on The Bachelor "the most exciting one yet."

Sigh.

I don't know what to say for myself. The facts don't lie, and neither does my DVR.

I may not need an intervention yet, but if you come to my house and find US or People lying around, please, PLEASE do something to save me from myself.

I'm back, but I'm rambling

2010-02-08T20:10:00.000-08:00

Well, we are now down to the last month of pregnancy.

Wow.

The beautiful thing is that as the due date gets closer, rather than become more nervous and more concerned with the details of bringing home baby number two, I find myself eager to meet Joey and confident in my family's ability to grow to four with grace and joy.

Not only is my confidence in our family growing, but in the last weeks I have been so amazed by the show of support and affection from my dear, dear friends. I have been well celebrated, affirmed, encouraged and gifted with more than I ever, ever imagined.

I'm out of the habit of blogging, though I have started a post in my head about every other day. Unfortunately, none of those brain-posts translated to reality. The stories are lost and my witticisms never had a chance to be enjoyed.

Poor witticisms.

Even now, I can tell that I can't quite put together a whole story the way I'd like to, but that could be because Andy insists on watching the Bachelor, which is the show that I hate the very most in the world.

It is hard to compose a clever and well-ordered presentation of real life with syrupy and cliche sentiments being exchanged between one man and four women in the background.

I'm so sorry if you really happen to enjoy the Bachelor, but seriously, I CAN NOT STAND IT! Gag me gag me gag me. Gross. Ughhh... It is torture to even have to hear snippets of the conversations from such a show. And the thought of that guy kissing all those girls and professing love to four women at once makes my skin crawl.

So, while I may not be able to concentrate on building an engaging story line in text, I am happy to have a way to turn my back on such a horrible show. Even if the ramblings from the tv box still haunt me...

Hmm... it may not be enough to simply turn my back on the show. I may have to resort to more significant sources of distraction. Good thing I have a box of hair dye in the bathroom and a stack of thank you cards to entertain myself with.

If those two things fail, I will continue my online perusal of double strollers. An undertaking that has absorbed WAY too many hours of my life. I'm lost in the world of tandems, side-by-sides, sit & stands... can anyone out there answer all of my stroller questions?

Please?

I'm going crazy!

But that could just be the creepy-crawlies that Bachelor-man is giving me.

GGGGROOOOSSSSSS!

The Decisions that Mothers Must Make

2010-01-07T16:48:00.000-08:00

I must have this.

Tonight!

How fortuitous that I have all the ingredients.

...

I know, I know, two posts in a day! What has happened?!

Well, what has happened is that I've cooped myself up in my house for way too long and am dying for some conversation. Since there is no conversation readily available (do I sound lame or what?) I figured I'll send my musings out to the internet world.

Okay, so it is 4:50 and just 15 minutes ago I put Jack down for a nap. Gah!

What was I thinking?!

I was thinking that if it is 4:00 (my internal debate started at 4:00, I didn't make a decision until 4:30) and Jack is rubbing his eyes and lying prostrate on the couch, the next four hours are going to be rough. I've been very emotional the last few days, and if I let him stay up, I don't have a store of grace or patience or joy big enough for us to both make it until bedtime unscathed.

I was also thinking that he went to bed very late last night and woke up very early this morning, with only a regular nap to nowhere-near-compensate for the four hours he missed of his regular snooze routine.

Finally, I was thinking that if he took a tiny sleep I could squeeze in a catnap too. Then I changed my mind and thought that if he slept for a half hour I could pick up my house a little bit and do some of the dinner prep so that the final hours of the day fly by without incident.

So, my sweet boy is quiet in his crib, and instead of resting or cleaning, I am drooling over caramel pudding.

So now, to put away my typing, fly through my tidy up and ignore dinner prep in favor of making putting (what the heck?! I just read this - four weeks after posting it - and I wrote "putting" when I meant "pudding" why didn't anyone say anything?!) and letting it set before I get Jack up...

Ready, set... and she's off!

What I Daydream About

2010-01-07T14:48:00.001-08:00

Ever wonder what I daydream about?

Probably not.

But in case you do, let me tell you.

Better yet, let me show you:

A stomach like this

And a bottom like this

And moving like this

I went over to my sweet mum's house yesterday and she had the Athleta catalogue on her table. I picked it up and was immediately in love. And in envy of every bum photographed.

I feel like a five year old, thumbing through the pages over and over, composing a mental shopping list.

I find it weird that I've sort of glazed over the fact that in two months or so I will be in labor with our second child. And after that, I will be nursing and not sleeping much and chasing a two-year old.

Somehow I've skipped ahead to six weeks after Joey's arrival to that magical time when my doctor will give me a thumbs up and release me back to the gym.

How is it that I'm so tired now, so worn-out feeling and so, let's be honest, pathetic, but what sounds the greatest to me is a really sweaty work out? I wish I could bottle the craving for when the time comes and use it to motivate me to actually get back in shape.

Since I know that my memory is pitiful as a pregnant woman and as a new mama, you'll have to remind me of this blog post. I'm thinking about cutting out pictures from that catalogue to keep me ambitious. But then again, it could just make me depressed.

I'll have to see. Maybe I'll just tuck the whole catalogue into my dresser to be pulled out at an appropriate time.

Whatever I do when the time actually comes, you can be before that I will have ogled the catalogue at least once a day for the next week or so. Ahhh... sports bras, yoga pants, tennis shoes... I'll see you soon!

30 Weeks

2009-12-28T15:25:00.000-08:00

You may have noticed that I have been a bit sporadic in my blogging the last few months. Being pregnant with a toddler is tough work!

I find myself either totally dragging and fearing the addition of another little baby to our family or completely energized and eager to take on every task that comes with being a wife and mom.

Unfortunately blogging is neither a mom or a wife task so it has fallen by the wayside.

But there is good news for you... I am now 30 weeks pregnant!

Gah!

That is 30 out of 40. Just a short 10 weeks to go!

Once the baby actually arrives I can go about the business of collecting myself and figuring out what to do with a house of three men. I am quite sure that I will find it nowhere near as daunting as I keep thinking it will be.

Anyway, 30 weeks.

Yesterday I looked at my calendar and realized how close I am to the end of being pregnant. Somehow, having that nice round number in my head made me feel so secure. Instead of feeling like a giant balloon, or like I had let my pregnancy weight gain spiral out of control, I felt totally reasonable and like I looked just right for being 30 weeks pregnant.

To celebrate a day of not feeling disgusted with my shape I dressed up cute for church. I recently acquired a pair of brown, suede, slouchy boots and a pair of maternity leggings (the best $20 I've spent this pregnancy... they are SO COMFORTABLE!). I donned them last night with a sweet little dress and looked every bit the part of a maternity magazine model.

At least I thought I did.

Andy hates the boots and legging look (which I knew when I purchased them and was not expecting fireworks from him when I put them on) and told me that I looked like Robin Hood.

I told him that he would have to deal with it and that I would probably wear them every day for the next two and a half months, so there.

He laughed at me and said that he was quite sure every woman I encountered would probably tell me how cute I looked in them and the he knew he was the minority opinion, but he still thought it looked like a Robin Hood costume.

Then to make up for the teasing he told me my hair looked really great.

Which it did.

Regardless of his opinion of the latest trend, I still felt awfully cute as we headed out the door and prepared to parade myself around all of our friends.

Which I did, with great gusto.

Until...

Until I was talking to a grandma and she was making friendly conversation which included the, "When are you due?" question. I felt so smug to be able to say, "Oh, I'm about 30 weeks." And I tossed my hair to imply, "And don't I look just stunning?!"

Except she didn't catch the hair toss and replied, "Hmm..."

I don't like where this is going...

"You're kind of big for 30 weeks aren't you?"

And the tumbleweeds roll.

And my balloon bursts.

And I plaster a smile on my face and brush it off.

And make a quick exit from the conversation to find someone who can appreciate that even if I am HUGE, at least I still have fashion sense.

I hope.

Can I please pass on a word of advice? If you are talking to a pregnant woman, don't make any comment about her size except that she looks great. That is it. We all know we are getting bigger by the minute, but we can't do much about it now can we?

So.

No. Matter. What.

Don't tell a pregnant woman she is big.

Ever.

Stocking Lunch

2009-12-15T21:03:00.003-08:00

Growing up, one of the most anticipated traditions of Christmas was the stocking. My parents made such an event of the little gift appetizer.

My dad would come up with elaborate ways to hide the stocking. Each Christmas we had a list of rules we had to follow and clues to lead us to the hidden treasure. The whole lead up was thrilling, but the stockings, oh the stockings! My mom was a master of cramming as much good stuff as she could into the foot-shaped sacks.

I think we did the treasure hunt until I was about 22 (my dad does it now for Ellery). When we gave up the hunt, neither Liz or I could quite bear the idea of giving up our mom's amazing stockings.

Side Note:

When Andy and I got married

I think he was REALLY intimidated

by my mom's stocking.

We've had to make new rules for

stockings in our house.

As adoring and clever as Andy is,

I just don't think a boy can

stuff a stocking the same way

a girl, especially a mom, can.

The solution we came to was what we call our Stocking Lunch. We put an afternoon date on the calendar and meet to exchange stockings. My mom makes one for Lizzie and one for me, and Liz and I work together to fill up a stocking for my mom.

To this day we have never achieved as awesome of a presentation as she gives us every year, but we keep trying!

Today was our Stocking Lunch. Oh how I love being with my mom and sister!

Lunch was yummy and our stockings were lavish and we laughed a lot. There is something wonderful about sitting in public, digging through one of the icons of Christmas that is usually reserved for children and surrounding yourself with heaps of festive wrapping paper (my mom wraps each individual item that goes into the stocking).

We all ordered the same thing for lunch so when the check came we asked the waitress to split it an even three ways. It was then that, gasp! I realized that my mom and sister had ordered sodas and I only had water.

Oh the injustice!

Not like it was a big deal at all, but we decided that they would put the tip on their cards and everything would even out. Which it did.

But after all of our stocking jollity I think we were a little rummy. I started babbling on about how I had to leave my tip line blank and I didn't want the waitress to think I was cheap or mean. Then I rambled about leaving a note to explain the arrangement we made at our table:

"Dear Waitress, your service was excellent. I'm sure you noticed I didn't leave a tip, but it is because I didn't order soda and my dining companions did, so my tip is included on their tab. Thanks for the great meal!"

We were all laughing at the ridiculousness of it and then my mom and Liz ganged up on me and kept saying, "Do it!"

And you know what...

I did.

I put an asterisk on the tip line that lead her to the back of the receipt and to my explanation. Regardless of the fact that I feel really silly and totally suckered by my mom and sister, I'm finding solace in the fact that the waitress probably had a really great story to tell when she went home.

That's what I'm about. Making other people's day.

Thanks for another amazing stocking mom!

Jack Attack III

2009-12-10T07:23:00.000-08:00

Jack has been especially charming as of late.

It is easy to adore him when his skin is so soft and his smile is so big and his dimples are so deep...

But it is even more fun to adore him when he says cute things, initiates wrestling matches and softly touches my face and says, "mama!"

It's been a while since I've updated you on this awesome little man, and I figured you were probably dying to know all about what he's doing now!

He sings along with his favorite show's theme song. His favorite line being "come in." That is how he tells me he wants to watch that show, he says, "me min?" And I melt and say okay.
When he sees something unfortunate happen he says, "Oh no!" I love that he is starting to notice what is happening to the people around him.
He hides things, or throws things and the energetically says, "Where'd it go?" with his hands up in the air with an attitude of surprise and eager anticipation at finding it again soon.
When he sees or eats something he likes and it is finished he says, "more?" But he says it over and over and over and ends up sounding like a really soft spoken and sweet version of the seagulls on Finding Nemo.
His attention span impresses me every day. This little boy loves stickers. I have two tablets of those little round "way to go" stickers, you know the ones that come in a package of 2000 in the Crayola aisle at Target? He will sit for half an hour and stick one after another on a piece of paper. When he does it he is very serious and intent. It is amazing to me!
He also loves songs with motions. "If You're Happy And You Know It" is my favorite one to sing because on cue he will clap his hands, stomp his feet, turn around AND shout amen.
Andy has been teaching Jack new boy tricks too. Jack now is practicing jumping off things with two feet leaving the ground at the same time as well as knowing how and when to "tap out." Yes, it is true. Andy will squeeze Jack really tight and say, "tap out!" and Jack waves his hand around and says, "tap, tap."
All of these sweet moments make it so fun to play with him. But I also appreciate that he now will find an activity that interests him and do it totally solo. It is such a delight to watch him hard at work at whatever he has decided to do.

Every day he does something that makes me smile and turn to Andy to say, "How did we end up with such an awesome kid?!" It is fun to see him grow and learn and to discover that he is a naturally soft and sweet and in my opinion incredibly talented!

He Said, She Said: Today

2009-11-29T17:08:00.000-08:00

I'm going to share with you a very true and a very unfortunate aspect of marriage.

It is the fact that sometimes you have to come to terms with the reality that you are just weird. And that you, as a person, even as a loved and adored spouse, can be irritating and irrational and, I hope not often, mean.

Luckily this story has nothing to do with mean, mostly weird.

I am weird.

I am irritating (on occasion).

And it is a darn good thing that I am well loved and have a husband with a good sense of humor because these aspects of my personality come out much more frequently than I would like.

I also happen to be pregnant,

which I like to imagine causes

the increase in these unattractive qualities,

but in reality probably is just a scapegoat for me.

Oh well,

if I've got to surrender my body for the next 9+ months

to an alien creature

then I feel completely entitled to use

all the excuses I can think of.

Today was one of those days that I was totally indecisive. Like one minute I was saying to Andy, "I guess I'll go to the store..." and then a few minutes or an hour later I would say, "I guess I won't go to the store today." Then a few minutes later I would start the same go-round, always about going to the grocery store.

Andy patiently and sweetly ignored my contradictory prater about the grocery store. Giving a simple but genuine "okay" each time I voiced a half-formed plan out loud.

Finally toward the end of the afternoon I had to pathetically confess that I was just in a weird mood and had no idea about what I wanted to do. I rambled on and on about what might be making me think and feel so spastic. Andy listened politely and offered little to say that "no, don't worry honey, you've been completely charming and sensical all day." What could he say? I've been totally retarded!

I concluded my lengthy monologue by saying, "And I feel like a giant pregnant woman."

BONUSE MARRIAGE TIP:

At this point in our marriage

I am too smart to say anything like

"I feel like a cow."

That is much too dramatic to get a gentle response

and what man do you know that likes

to hear his beloved bride called a cow?

My husband sure doesn't.

When I say things like that he just gets mad,

like he would toward anyone else

who talked about me like that.

So I stuck with the safe description

that would communicate the same thing.

Andy's response came out immediately and forcefully, "Well that's good! Because you are!"

I know that might not come across in text with the same teasing but man-factual tone that he used, but it perfectly communicated to me that yes, I am indeed a pregnant woman and I am exactly how I should be... growing big with a baby, so get over it.

Leave it to Andy to snap me out of a funk!

And pregnancy update: I feel huge!

Kindergarten

2009-11-25T08:04:00.000-08:00

Each week I have the privilege of helping in my sister Ellery's kindergarten class.

It is a wonderful plan on several accounts. It gives Jack a chance to hang out with my mom and play with his sweet grandma and it gives me a chance to be a cool big sister to Ellery. It is also enormously entertaining to be in a room full of five and six year olds.

I usually arrive as the kids are finishing their morning recess. Now that I'm a familiar face the kids in Ellery's class will run up to me and show me their coats, give me a hug, or shyly wave at me as they dash by.

Ellery always comes and hugs me and gives me a recap of what she's been doing at recess and who her friends of the day are.

Last week a girl from her class was sobbing and huddling by the teacher. When I got there Ellery ran up to me as usual. In a very compassionate voice she asked what was wrong with the girl. Ellie (the girl who was crying), between sobs said that so-and-so said they didn't want to play with her that day. I was so proud of my little sis when she said, "I'll play with you!" Then she grabbed Ellie's hand and pulled her off to play.

Way to go Ellery!

Ellie is a funny character in her own right. There is a gaggle of girls in Ellery's class who always appraise my accessories. They take turns saying,

"I like your earrings."

"I like your hair."

"You're pretty."

Can you see why I keep going back?

These girls all sit at the same table. Ellie sits at their table too, but even in kindergarten you can tell the "in" girls and the "out" girls. Ellie is not one of the in.

On the way to lunch one day I was walking with the class and one of the in-girls said, "I like your shoes." Ellie looked back to join in the commentary about my appearance. She looked me up and down and then her face broke into a smile. "You got all clean! Good job!!" Then she gave me a double thumbs up.

Yesterday when I went to class it was raining so they were having recess inside. It was a little chaotic as the teacher waved to me and tried to get a movie going for the recess time.

I admire Ellery's teacher

but I have to say that I find it a bit

odd to substitute

a movie for recess.

Especially for kindergartners.

Isn't the point of recess to burn off

extra energy?

Isn't sitting in the dark the opposite of

expending energy?

But I'm not a teacher

and I have fallen pray to the ease of a

moving picture to entertain Jack

when I just don't have the energy to think

of anything else.

So who am I to judge?

When I walked in the kids were all coloring or wandering and when their teacher said hi to me they all turned and waved too. Ellery ran over to hug me and as she was walking back to her seat Ellie ran up to her and with great gusto said, "Your sister... is... SO... AWESOME!"

Thanks Ellie!

As I took my seat at Ellery's table to wait while the teacher got the video going a little boy turned to me and held up his well-chewed fingernails. Out of the blue he said, "Do you have any nails I can chew? Mine are all too short."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't!"

Oh kids, you are hilarious!

I'm so glad I get to see a small part of Ellery's school life each week! Lucky, lucky me!

But seriously, what do you say to a kid who asks to chew your fingernails?!

He Said, She Said: Cute

2009-11-24T07:40:00.000-08:00

The following takes place just a few months into our marriage when I was still getting used to having the bathroom door open while I prepared for the day, and having a BOY walking around my house.

Emily is curling her hair.

Enter Andy.

Andy: "Good morning cute wife!"

Emily, slightly premenstrual and prone to moodiness - also unaware that a woman should never dismiss a compliment from a man: "Thanks but I don't feel cute."

Andy, jaw dropped and truly confused: "What do you mean you don't FEEL cute? You either are or you aren't."

Emily: "No, in a girl-brain if you don't FEEL cute on a certain day then you AREN'T cute on that day."

Andy, looks like he doesn't understand the language his wife is speaking and may have just realized he married a crazy person: *fish mouth*

Andy: "No. CUTE isn't a feeling it is a fact. You are cute or you aren't cute. Look it up in the dictionary."

Emily: "If only it were that easy. But thanks anyway honey."

Andy, walks away totally baffled.

Emily, finishes getting ready and leaves the house feeling cute.

End scene!

He Said, She Said... Attempt One

2009-11-23T11:02:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned before that I adore my husband?

He is so good for me.

We just celebrated our third anniversary and in those three years I have learned how to talk about my feelings without sobbing. I have learned to care less about what people think of me. And I have learned how to sneak veggies into almost everything.

There are still a million things I can learn from him, but the beauty of marriage is that I have my entire life to glean from his wisdom. Additionally, the beautiful thing about Andy specifically is that he is so patient with me while I learn and he forgives so quickly when I haven't learned.

Yes, I truly love the man I married.

But marriage isn't all doe-eyed and rose-scented. Lots of you probably know how hard it is through experience. And lots of you have probably seen or heard how difficult it is through other married friends. True, it is hard.

It is difficult and it is sweet. And somewhere in the middle it is very, very entertaining.

The difference between me and Andy is huge. He is all man. I take that as permission to be all woman. We process information in different ways, we use the same words to mean something totally different. There are lots of differences.

I'm going off on a tangent. What I really wanted to share are two sound bytes of real life with my husband.

Last night we came home from church and it was later than usual. In general we go to a service at 6 PM and get home around 8ish. Jack usually goes right into his pajamas and then into bed, but he was being SO charming that we let him stay up for a while.

By the time he was tucked in though, it was already 9:00 and I got the cleaning bug. Our landlord is coming over tonight (long story I won't bore you with) and whenever she does I feel compelled to present myself as the pinnacle of housewifery (did you know this word is actually in the dictionary). So I started doing that frantic clean up that includes taking everything off the counters and using a q-tip in dirty corners. The problem with this kind of cleaning is that it never, ever ends. There is always something else that needs to be dusted or organized or washed.

Sigh.

So as I was swept away in the cleaning my dear husband said, "You know you can take a break."

I can?

Oh.

So I would sit down on the couch for like two seconds and then pop up again to do something else.

I think he gave me a gentle reminder to rest about three times before I finally decided, "He's right. None of this will matter in a few weeks, or even tomorrow."

So I sat down on the couch and watched Amazing Race and let Andy scratch my back.

Yep, he's a good man.

But that STILL isn't what I was going to tell you about!

That wasn't even one of the 'bytes!

Argh!

I should know better than to try and have a point when I'm talking about my hero, there are just too many things to say.

I should also know better than to try and have a point when I'm pregnant.

Bear with me please.

Oh never mind. I'll have to tell you tomorrow. I'll warn you now, I'm going to skip the preamble and just jump right to my two favorite things Andy every said.

Not favorite romantic things.

Just comments that he's made about

our life.

If I skip the lead in maybe I can get them out before you start to fall asleep and drool at your desk.

Yes, I know you are reading this when you should be working.

Shame on you.

But I'm glad you read it anyway.

So, until tomorrow...

Three Cheers for Andy!

Unbelievable!

2009-11-17T22:22:00.000-08:00

I found myself today shaking my head in disbelief. How can God love me so much? How can he provide so fully for every need? How do I manage to forget that he cares for me when I am so constantly reminded of his provision?

Two weeks ago Andy unexpectedly lost his job.

He called me and let me know he was coming home early and why. My first reaction, before he got home, was tears. Mostly because I'm pregnant and a lot of the parts of my body seem to function on their own accord.

Despite the initial flow of tears, my overriding thought was, "This is okay."

Andy got home and I heard what happened and we talked and we both felt the same way, like God had something amazing in store and that better things were ahead. What could have been a crisis, either to us as individuals or in our marriage, is instead an opportunity for a new adventure.

So much has happened in my spirit the last two weeks. I have grown in gratitude for my husband, who loves and trusts the Lord. I have seen scriptures that I skimmed over in their familiarity come to life in new ways. And I have experienced the grace of God - the kind of grace that makes me draw a breath and worship in amazement.

We don't know what the next step will be as far as employment, but we do know that our landlords have offered to let us live, RENT FREE, indefinitely. Our other expenses are covered for the time being through unemployment. Not only has God seen fit to provide for our practical needs, he also prompted an acquaintance of ours to gift Andy with four tickets (face valued at $300) to the Apple Cup (a dream for Andy!) next weekend and an additional gift from some dear friends that means we don't have to stress about buying Christmas presents. The same day another friend dropped by two nights worth of dinner complete with desert and sparkling juice.

Who am I to deserve such love?

Who is this God that I serve that provides so much more than I can ask or imagine?

What is ahead?

I don't know what is next for us, but it truly must be something wonderful. And even if it doesn't seem wonderful right away, I will celebrate that my God is good and loving and faithful and generous.

God is good.