Conundrum

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!

Firsts

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!

Just To Say I Did It

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.

I have a lot to say about Fred Meyer

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.

What I Daydream About

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!

Vanity

Tomorrow morning my sister is driving me to the airport.

I will be getting on a plane to Nashville, TN... without Andy and without Jack.

For six days.

I haven't cried yet.

It doesn't mean I won't.

That is a long time to not snuggle your baby... or your honey for that matter.

But at the moment, the most distressing thing about the trip is that I can't wear my contacts for the entire trip.

I just had to go and get a swollen eyeball the day before I leave.

I had to make an emergency stop by the optometrist today.

He gave me eye drops.

And said, "no contacts!"

I hate wearing my glasses.

They are not cute.

And now every swanky person I meet in Nashville is not going to know me as "that really cool girl from Seattle." Instead I will be "that girl who would be cute if she just didn't have those awful glasses."

Sigh.

Well Nashville, here I come. Please know that I wanted to wow you with my style, but have been advised to refrain by a healthcare professional. Perhaps we will meet again (well, we haven't officially met yet, but you know what I mean) and I will show you my true identity.

Nashville here I come.

And while I may make light of the concerns about leaving Andy and Jack, I'm really nervous.

Wish me luck!

I Feel a Rant Coming On

I'm sitting on my living room floor, folding laundry and watching the most recent episode of What Not To Wear. You all know how much I love WNTW... but guys. I feel a rant coming on.

As they often do, Clinton and Stacy are making over a poor, sloppy mom. It happens to be "Blossom." I can't seem to remember her real name just now. I never watched Blossom, but I like the way the actress talks. She is very well spoken and uses nice, big words.

But what is making me want to rant is that she keeps saying, "I don't have time for me." "I'm such a busy mom."  Blah blah blah!!!!

PEOPLE!!!

I can NOT stand this refrain that is sung over and over and over to, and from, moms. I am a mom. I get messy. My clothes get ruined. I get tired some days. I spend many, many hours with a baby in tow. But it does NOT mean that I only think about me as a mom and it does not mean that Jack is my ONLY consideration when I get dressed and it most defiantly does not mean that I order my life to accommodate every single whim of the small person in my home.

Where is the balance? How did it come to be that moms are expected to be 100% about their kids, but at the same moment are bombarded with magazine articles and makeover shows helping them "fix" their "it is all about the kids" attitude?

I know we are getting into sensitive territory. Motherhood is very personal. 

In addition to wadding through all the media stores, cultural expectations and church stigmas, moms also face the physical effects of sleep deprivation and hormonal fluctuations. The combination of these factors make it so hard to make decisions that we are proud of or even feel like we have a choice in how we do things. 

But doesn't something seem amiss?

I've pondered for the last few weeks now about writing about how I've come to view motherhood and the things I've been learning as a whole woman in this season. I am finding that I have strong opinions.

However, the timing doesn't seem quite right yet.  And, truth be told, it is frightening to put my thoughts about parenting out there to be criticized and questioned. I don't want to add to the mountain of information that is really just opinion.  I KNOW that what works for me will not work for someone else. I KNOW that what works for our family this week will most likely not work next month.

But I also know that I am doing my best to listen to the Holy Spirit and am trying to approach each day with a big perspective. Letting "mother" be an appropriate part of the whole. 

So maybe some day I'll work up the courage to publicly put to paper where Andy and I are coming from, and more importantly,  what we're moving toward, as parents. But for today, I will simply turn off yet another show that tries to tell me that all mothers must surrender themselves, fashion and soul, to their children. 

And I will pray for the moms that I know.

Pray for courage, for peace, for freedom from lies that have worked their way into family dynamics. 

To all of you moms, and yet to be mothers, I'm cheering for you. Our roles ARE important. You ARE a great mom. And you most defiantly can be the most stunning and fresh version of YOURSELF while you parent. 

So DO IT!

Reminiscing

Because our home is pretty tiny, Jack's room has doubled as a storage room for quite some time.  We always do our playing out in the living room, and he's not old enough to care that we use his space for storing our overflowing amount of stuff.

But that changed yesterday.

I was seized with a great NEED to clear it out (This has happened before.  I don't know how it collects so much stuff so fast, but I think it might be a lifelong battle).  So all day yesterday I sorted through clothes (his and mine), put a limit on the number of shoes I can own at one time, and created a heaping pile of items to take to the thrift store.  

One of the things that I sifted through yesterday was a box of letters and cards that I have been saving.  Notes that people have written me, valentines, and letters.  There were some from 1993!  I've saved them because at some point in my life, they have been significant. 

While Jack was taking his nap and the cleaning in the actual room was put on hold, I brought out the box of letters and began to sift through them.  

Many, many letters from my mom, dad and Lizzie.  Written while I was a summer camp counselor, living in Colorado with Annie, or away at college. Cards for birthdays, graduations, and our wedding. 

Some from people I don't even remember, some from now-broken friendships, and even one from an old boyfriend.

It is a common misconception

 that I did not date anyone before Andy.

  Mostly because it was kind of a joke. 

Less than two months,

 and mostly because... 

well...

 I don't know really.

  Maybe just because he asked. 

It didn't really make much of an impact on me.

  I remember

an awkward trip to the zoo,

 getting lost on a hike,

 and actually using the phrase,

 "I think it might be better if we were just friends."

 We weren't friends.

I saved the letter for Andy

 to read when he got home from work.

We both had a good laugh

 at the poor grammar and

my only attempt at boy-girl relationships before him.

  The positive outcome

 of that one prior relationship

 is that Andy and I now have a first kiss story

 that makes us laugh every time

we talk about it.

Maybe, if you ask real nice,

I'll tell it to you some time.

I truly am a words person.  I love compliments and I love the way you can make words work for you.  Because of that, it was hard to part with so many things people had taken time to write to me and about me.  

I did saved some, from significant phases in my life.  I kept ones that brought back memories, made me laugh, and reminded me that at some time in my life, I have encouraged and supported friends. 

It was also fun to remind my sister of what a goof she is.

On the envelope of one letter she wrote me: "Rah rah ree! Kick him in the knee!  Rah rah rass!  Kick him in the other knee!"

When I told her about it over the phone she laughed and laughed and said, "I used to say that all the time!" She has now promised that she will revive it.  I don't doubt that she will.

In the spirit of reminiscing, Andy took a stroll down memory lane last night too.  Every time we drive by the Skate Deck on our way to Costco, he tells me stories about how he used to be the most awesome skater and how much he loved it and who he bought roses for... you know, the whole skate deck scene. 

Well last night, our church rented out the whole place for Children's Ministry.  Andy tried to take Ellery to the last one, but it didn't work out.  So this one has been on our calendar for weeks.

We picked Ellery up and she could hardly contain herself.  I tried to warn Andy that she might collapse into tears after her first tumble, but he was optimistic.

!

(Can you even stand Andy's hunky arms!  Oh man!  What a tough guy!)

It turns out that he was right.  She LOVED it.  She skated with Andy.  She skated with me.  She skated with the woman dressed like a giant peep and she even went around by herself!  

She fell.

She got up.

She laughed.

She skated some more.

By the end of the night her face was red and sweaty.  The only tears came when it was time to go.  

We were all impressed with her skills on wheels.  But my favorite part of the evening was when Andy pushed me around the rink (even though it was against the rules).  I felt like such a teeny-bopper.

Prior to pushing me he also did a lap with Jack in his arms (which Jack loved and was also against the rules). After giving me and Jack rides, he cruised around by himself.  Then, the announcer got on the intercom to remind everyone of the rules: "Please remember: no skating with children in your arms, no pushing others on their skates, and no cross... [I don't know what they called it, but it was the fast kind of skating]."  I think they were just reminding Andy.  My oh so good, bad boy. I love it!

His hunky arms, his great attitude and willingness to fudge on the rules for the sake of a good laugh all contribute to my wearing this last night. 

Yes, my husband does indeed ROCK.

Red Shoe Revelations: Part II

Okay, so I broke my promise.  I should know better than to assume that any day will go the way I plan.

I am hoping you will forgive me when I tell you that instead of revealing my RSR:II yesterday I was busying learning the two-step with my adorable husband.  

This was a pretty major night since we have never, in our two years of marriage (and 7 month dating/engagement period) danced together.  Never.

Not once.

Until last night.  

We were both TERRIBLE, but we had a blast.

So now, on to last Saturday evening when I donned my Exhibit B shoes.

For Christmas, Andy surprised me with tickets to the Pacific Northwest Ballet's presentation of the Nutcracker. 

I really wanted to go before Christmas, but we decided that financially it wasn't the best use of our money.  Instead we made a plan to go next year as a belated anniversary celebration.  Do the whole dress-up, dinner out thing.

I was okay with that.

But I was even more okay when I opened my presents on Christmas Eve and discovered two tickets that Andy had sneakily commandeered by way of my equally sneaky mother. 

His hard work at making it a surprise was almost blown when Ellery wanted to tell me about the tickets early.

But that has nothing to do with my red shoes, so we'll save that story for another time...

So, I finally got the tickets and Andy's mom, Angie, offered to watch Jack.  

Earlier in the day I had been totally drenched in snow-muck, so I was so excited to redress and give the day another shot at being cute. 

Plus, what woman doesn't like to dress up when she goes out with her hunky man?

My mom had also given me a very swanky black jacket and I put it on with my red heels.  I remembered the afternoon's debacle, but my vanity won out.  I was determined to be fancy for the fancy Nutcracker.

So I got all dressed and pranced around the house, preening for Andy and his mom.  My heel-walk saying, "look at me, look at meee!"

We made our way out of the house and down the steps...

But my first step onto the side walk sent me right back up the stairs.  

I just KNEW that it would be foolish to try and make it through an evening with those shoes on.  

Another day would be fine.  But Saturday was just too melty and yucky.

So I went back upstairs, put on my ugly, snow-safe, clogs and then traded my swanky jacket for my still cute, but not special occasion worthy, green peacoat.

During my quick change Andy had warmed up the car and was waiting for me right outside our door.  I got in the car and he sympathetically said, "I'm sorry honey."

He knows how much I like being dressed up, and he knew that the weather was putting a serious damper on my style.  

But here was the moment that I had the chance to choose to either pout, and have my evening spoiled, or just roll with the punches.  

On our last several dates, 

I am ashamed to admit that I have been 

the most unpleasant version of myself.  

I have given into tears and tantrums 

and carried a dark cloud into our rare times 

without a babe.

I don't know why I kept doing that, 

but it was becoming an issue and I resolved to stop it.  

What husband is going to want to keep taking his wife out 

when all she does is complain and cry 

when he tries to do something nice.  

It just doesn't make sense.  

So there I was, in the ugliest pair of shoes that I own, on my way to the most extravagant outing, probably of the last year. 

But when Andy said, "I'm sorry honey," something clicked for me.  The dressing up is my thing.  Andy doesn't need me to be all dolled up to have a good time.  He just needs me to be happy and comfortable and companionable.  

Truth be told, he probably doesn't think those shoes are all that great anyway. 

So when I got into the car, I made a choice to not even mention the shoes.  I would carry myself and behave as if I was the hippest girl around. I would smile, I would laugh, I would flirt with my beloved.

And can I tell you what!

My decision to enjoy myself, regardless of my appearance, was honored. Our dinner conversation was significant, full of hopes for the New Year, thoughts on the state of the Church, musings of how we as a family can have a greater impact for the Kingdom of God.  

And our car ride was peppered with mutual admiration for each other.  My lighthearted attitude provided an open door for Andy to express his gratitude for something I had done earlier, a small act that had made a big impact on him.  I would never had known if I had let the storm simmer.

And while Andy was totally miserable at the ballet (he fell asleep in the first act) we both, with unspoken unity, resolved that the night would be a fun one.  I didn't shame him for sleeping, he didn't grumble about being there.

In the past I have let the small things become large.  I have let my evenings be spoiled by unmet expectations or minor offenses.  I have decided to be mad. 

What a waste!

I can build the habit of happiness.  I can make the choice to set aside my ideas of "perfect" and enjoy what is.  

For this New Year, I want to train myself to be content.  To choose levity.  To breath life into my husband and son with the words I speak and the peace I promote.  To be unruffled by the minors of this world.  

So, my dear red shoes, thank you for this lesson.  I am sure there are many more to be had.  But I will take a day, or month or lifetime to soak this one in.

"But godliness with contentment is great gain.  For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.  But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that."  

1 Timothy 6:6

Happy New Year!

Red Shoe Revelations

On Saturday the snow was starting to melt, but because there was so much of it the side streets and driveways were treacherously covered in dark, gritty slush.  

Gross.

Very gross.

I had planned to meet my good mommy-friend at, where else, Target.  We both had money from Christmas and were eager for an excuse to get out of the house and swap mommy stories.

On Friday I had ventured out with Lizzie to spend some of my aforementioned Christmas cash.  I had found not one, but two dazzling red shoes on super clearance.  

Exhibit A: Deep red flats bejeweled with huge, bright gems ($10).

Exhibit B: Shiny ruby heels ($12).

That brings my red shoe total to three, or four if you count my satin zebra slippers with red leather accents.

Is that terrible?

You are probably wondering if my revelation from God was that I had too many red shoes.  It wasn't.  Whew!

Maybe he is saving that for another day. 

I hope not.

Anyway....

You know how it is when you have new things to wear.  You want to show them off as soon as possible.  And, seeing as how I was cooped up for weeks and weeks and weeks (maybe I'm exaggerating, but only a little) I was excited about the prospect of being SEEN.  It seemed like a good occasion to christen my new footwear.

Because it was a simple outing and I only expected to go from my car to the store, I donned the flats.  Sure there was still snow on the ground, but by Saturday it was very melty, remember?

My house to the car.  Fine.

My car to the store. Fine.

Inside the store, waltzing around.  Dazzling.

But then we added a trip to my bud's house.  She warned me that her parking lot was a mess and impossible to navigate with the said slush.  But never fear, there was a "trail" from a nearby strip-mall that would take us right to her door, and the public parking was much better for little cars. 

Great!  More visiting time!

It turned out though that my bejeweled shoes were no match for the muck.  My first step out of the car landed in a puddle up to my ankle, completely submerging my new shoes in dark, oily, ice-cold water. 

EWWWW!

The trail was no better. With each step, I saw my new, sweet slippers darkened, smudged, sullied by the snowy wasteland.  

I considered crying.  I considered whining.  I considered forgoing the whole visit in an attempt to save my shoes.

But my heart heard a little whisper.  "They are just shoes."

Okay, I realize that that may not be a major revelation to most of you.  But in the process of coming to terms with the mess that is motherhood, I have taken refuge in fashion.  I like looking together.  I like being "that mom" who makes it seem so easy.  

There is nothing wrong with looking good.  Or with my glittery red shoes.  But there is something wrong when they own me. Which I confess was starting to happen.

So as I sloshed through the puddles, and watched the toes of my shoes blacken (you can see it in the picture) I just smiled.  

I was with my friend, headed to a warm cozy house. I could have mourned the wreckage of my purchase, but instead, I choose to let it be.

We had a yummy lunch, lots of laughs and a successful hair-dying.  I would have missed out on so much had I been absorbed in the state of my shoes.

I wonder how many other moments in my life I need to say, "They are just shoes."?  "It is just..." I don't want to be a woman who is blown and tossed by the winds.  I want to be steady, secure, sure.  I do not want to be distracted by disappointments and miss the joy that is waiting to be lived. 

Exhibit A, the flats, were just the first taste of my realization.  The heels took their turn later that evening.  But I think, that part of the story will have to wait until tomorrow.  

Stay tuned for Red Shoe Revelations: Part Two.  

Tomorrow.

I promise.

What They Don't Tell You...

Motherhood is an INCREDIBLE, life-changing experience.  One that moves you irrevocably from your old life.  The change is good, but as with any change, there is an adjustment period.  

The thing about a baby though is that you are always adjusting.  The baby grows, so you do to. The adjustment period never ends.

Let me give you a glimpse into the nitty-gritty, real-life world of Emily and Jack.

Let's start with the fact that as I type, Jack has crawled under his high chair and discovered a spoon dropped from a previous meal (and probably parts of that previous meal).  He is chewing eagerly on the spoon while taking momentary breaks to "push."  

Which means that in a very few short minutes a special smell will waft toward my nose and I will be called away from this note to change a diaper.

What they don't tell you before you become a mom is that you will actually think his pushing face is cute.  You'll laugh, you'll tell people about it, you'll change another diaper like it is no big deal, and tomorrow you will do the same exact thing.

Also, no matter what anyone says,

Pampers really are the best diapers.

There is a reason they are twice as expensive.

I hate it when you really do have to pay more for

better quality.

Pampers, I love you.

But I can't afford you.

What is a mother to do?

Moving on.

After about 8 months of perpetual regurgitation I think that Jack has finally outgrown that stage.  He was a champion of spit-up and although I swore it wouldn't happen, I fell into a routine of sweatpants and tee shirts at home.  The disappointment of getting dressed, only to be doused with white slime was too much.  

But we are past that now.

Or so I thought.

Last night we went on the a family outing (yay for family outings!).  I had just that very day purchased a lovely, v-neck sweater.  Soft and gray. Unsullied by the early baby stage.  

I cannot express in words how delightful it felt to put on something new and fresh.  I felt revived, I felt pretty, I felt like a woman.

An hour into our activity it was covered with baby-gross.  Not just a little dribble of formula.  But real, genuine vomit.  Complete with lingering sick-smell.  I wanted to cry.  But I didn't.

What they don't tell you about motherhood is that clothes are just clothes.  Things will get wrecked.  You will wear sweatpants to avoid the heartache. But you learn to smile and remember that you have a happy baby who loves you with our without bile adornment and you have a husband who will still tell you, "you look stunning" and hug you even if you don't smell nice.  

And finally, in this addition of "What They Don't Tell You..."

I was sick this week.  Really yucky sick.  Being sick with a baby to look out for is about the most miserable thing that I have ever experienced.  EVER.

-WARNING: disturbing, but real-life details to follow-

At one point I was sitting on the toilet, with the garbage can on my lap.  Losing it from both ends... and there was my chipper baby, holding onto my knee.  I could do nothing to usher him out.  I could do nothing period.  

Well, I did do something.  I had Andy call his mom.  She swooped into the rescue and relieved me for the day.  

What they don't tell you about being a mom is that you'll admit many times that you can't do it alone.  Your pride will be put in its place.  You will be given endless opportunities to say, "I need help."  You will learn to not only accept, but seek out help, or you will crumble.  

The list of people who have helped me is long.  I am grateful for each simple act of kindness.  

What they might have told you about being a mom, but you poo-pooed or simply forgot, is that it is a hard job.  It feels impossible some days.  But in each impossible situation you can choose which attitude you will adopt.  You can cry (and I do).  You can get angry (and I do).  Or, hopefully, you can thrive.  You can let your character be developed right along with each of your baby's new skills.  

To all of you moms.  KUDOS!  You are doing a lovely job.

To all of you pre-moms.  Well, just wait.  Enjoy what you have now, because you can never, NEVER go back.  Most likely though, you won't want to.

He waved to ME

Okay, so I know everyone is dying to know about my clandestine appointment with Clinton Kelly.  

In my previous post, I had a few questions about how the day would go, let me address those first:

Were there guards?  No.  Unless you count the woman turing away those hopeful of catching a glimpse of C.K. but did not have a ticket.  Fortunately WE had tickets.  Also, there were women of all shapes and sizes present, though the presentation was geared toward plus-sized frames.

What did I wear?  As usual leading up to an event, my closet's contents seemed woefully inadequate, but I told myself to get over it.  I spent much too much time lamenting my lack and far too little time celebrating what I do have.  So I wore a pair of grey tweed-ish plants (long and straight, just like Clinton and Stacy advise - thank you Value Village), an apple green wrap top that looks quite good with my red hair and a pair of metallic purple peep-toes.  It was a pretty good ensemble.  

Did I win the $500 shopping date with Clinton?  No. But he did wave to me when he was in the store.  Probably because when I saw him my face flushed and my mouth kind of went slack and my expression was both one of awe, fear and delight.  But still, Clinton Kelly waved at ME!

Also, let me clarify something.  I know that it is silly to get so invested in a tv personality.  I'm not really obsessed.  I just enjoy being dramatic about some things, What Not to Wear and Clinton happen to be a couple of the things I like to be dramatic about.  That being said, here are some of the tips that I remember...

1. Shoes ALWAYS set the mood of an outfit.
   
2. Get professionally fitted for a bra.
   
3. Have your clothes tailored.
   
4. When you find a pair of jeans that you love, buy two pairs - one to wear with flats, one to wear with heals (Of course this means that you will need to have them tailored).
   
5. When assembling an out fit mix and match: color, pattern, texture, shine.
6. T-shirts do not count as clothes.  They are only acceptable for layering, loungewear or the gym.
7. To find clothes that fit and are fabulous - you have to try A LOT on.  He said that on average the women on the show try on 20 pairs of jeans before they find one that fits.

It was really such a blast to sit and listen to a charming, well spoken and handsome man.  I especially enjoyed his information about "what you don't see" on the show and his parting comments which advocated for women to embrace their beautiful selves and stop beating themselves up for not looking like the "fake" women in advertisements.

Thank you Clinton!

One of the startling things he said was that of the 240 women that he has worked with on WNTW, only two have been able to say they are happy with their bodies.  What a sad, sad number!  I left feeling very challenged to become one of those women and spur my friends on to the same.

Women are beautiful.  We receive so many messages that say we CAN be beautiful, but those messages are all conditional. If you buy this, if you wear that, if you change this, if you...

Am I willing to be the odd-woman-out and love the shell that God has given me to inhabit while on this earth?  Am I willing to talk nicely to myself, in private and in public?  Am I willing to ruthlessly edit the messages that I receive through media - cancel magazine subscriptions and delete shows from my DVR, if that is what it takes?  Am I willing to let others compliment me and receive those kind words as truth?  Am I willing to train my thoughts to dwell on the positive and stop comparing, stop chastising, stop chasing?  I think I am.

Are you?

a happy day and a dilemma

At this very moment I am listening to Andy have his first in-home guitar lesson.  Jack is sound asleep and has been for an hour and a half.  I've got a painting on the table drying, my house is mostly clean and my refrigerator is well stocked.

Ahhh... life is good.

It has been a very contemplative week. I feel like there are so many thoughts to send out into the wide world that they are jammed in my head and unable to make their way though my fingers and onto the screen.   Although, it could just be that I am concentrating so hard on being inconspicuous while Andy is instructed that I have no brain power left for creative prose.

Could be.

In the midst of my good day (which involved not one but TWO outings with friends and my first purchase of spiced cider) I am also facing a dilemma. 

I think I am going to return my orange jacket

GASP!

Yes, I know how excited I was about it, but let's be realistic for a moment. I have a baby who is a perpetual fountain of regurgitated milk.  It is gross.  I have yet to wear that beloved jacket for fear that it is going to be immediately doused with slimy white baby backwash. That would make me cry and I really try and avoid situations that make me cry.

Sigh.

My mom's argument was, "Won't you cry when you return it?"

Perhaps, but I don't think that I will.  

I could keep an article of clothing because it was expensive and it is beautiful.  But it is impractical. Or I could return it and spend the money on something more sensible.  My responsible self knows that I need to return the jacket.  Unless someone can talk me out of it, the jacket is going back this week.  

Other minor updates:

• I purged my purse of the old and unloved lip glosses
  
• I still am not that impressed with Facebook
  
• Jack is eating fruit AND Cherrios
  
• The tickets arrived for my big date with Clinton Kelly and I think I may have accidentally be registered for a plus-size event (ack!  I must meet Clinton!)
  
• I still haven't got my mascara
• I love my husband and my baby (how could you not love these guys?)

Dreams Really Do Come True

First things first, let me just exclaim again that I must have one of the world's most amazing babies!  Truly! 

When I get him up in the morning, after a few minutes of cuddling and feeding, I take him to his changing station, which happens to be in our living room, on the floor.  I change his diaper and we make goo goo faces at each other and I tickle is tummy.  Then, he really loves it if I just leave him there.  

He rolls himself over and explores his own little corner of the house.  I usually stash a few toys in the vicinity for him to find.  He turns in circles and rolls around and occupies himself for a good 15 minutes while I brush my teeth, make some coffee, or blog!  

What a baby!

In addition to a dream baby, I have had a couple of exciting moments in the past few days.  

I'm thrilled, because fall has finally settled into my heart.  Our days are still warm and more beautiful than anything we had this summer, but the mornings are foggy and cool.  I ran out to my car this weekend with bare feet and found the pavement cool and delightful.  Not only that, I could see my breath!  Happy Sigh.  I love you fall.

Another reason I'm excited that fall is here?  My new fall jacket!!!!!!!!!! (that is 10 exclamation points! ) Ladies, it is lovely.  It was also expensive.  In general, I'm a cheepy when it comes to buying clothes.  I shop at Kohl's, Target, T.J. Max and the clearance racks.  I'm okay with that.  I'm even a little proud of it.  

But on Sunday Andy took Jack for the day (which was wonderful in itself) and I went shopping with my sister. We were blessed with a little extra money this month and Andy and I decided that we could both have a little "treat" for being so diligent and frugal the last few months. Lizzie and I were hunting for shoes (I am notorious for only wearing flip flops and I'm working hard to acquire suitable cool weather alternatives) but spied some lush looking jackets in a window and went in to have a closer look.

These outer-garments were amazing.  As in: INCREDIBLE, BREATH TAKING, EVERYTHING THAT I COULD EVER WANT IN A JACKET!

I tried on an orange tweed one first and was immediately in love with it.  Unfortunately the price tag was quite a bit more than I had planned on spending.  We continued to walk around the store while I clutched the coat, refusing to set it down, even though I was fully aware that I wouldn't walk out of the store with it.  I think I tried it on about four times in a half hour.  

So in one hand I had the fabulous orange.  A few minutes later I spied a bright green jacket.  A little more appropriate for winter, and... on sale!  So I tried on the green.  It was lovely, but it just didn't have the WOW that the orange did.  

So I continued to carry both around, weighing my options.  In one hand: a jacket that is so "me" it makes me want to cry, but that will probably only be warm enough for the fall and that is more money than I want to spend... but I LOVE it.  In the other hand: a jacket that I really, really like, that will make it through fall and winter and that is right in my price range.  But isn't the orange jacket.  Hmmm....

So I asked the sales associate to put them both on hold while I took a walk and thought about it.  

Eventually, practicality won over vanity (but just barely).  As I purchased the green jacket I did one of those prayers.  You know, the one where you say, "God, if you felt like it, and you decided to give me extra money, some how, some way, for some reason, if you did, could I please come back and get the other coat?"  It is like praying for your sports team to win, or praying that you pass a test in school.  You know that in the scheme of life, it really is very minor, but you can't stop yourself from praying anyway.  

So I went home, fully content with my purchase.

Then, yesterday Andy was looking through some medical bills that we had.  Most of our "extra money" this month was going to be for paying those bills.  As he was getting ready to write the checks he was commenting on how silly some of the charges were.  So with great resolution he said, "I'm going to go talk to them in person.  These are just ridiculous!" And he did.

Within the hour he sent me a text message.  Our bills that were over a $1000 were reduced to less than $300!!!  Way to go Andy!  My hero!

You can guess my first thought.

Last night we went back to the store and now I have both jackets!!!  Very happy sigh.  Thanks God!

I thought about having Andy take a picture of me in the jackets last night, so I could show you how fabulous they are, but I decided that he might have had enough of my raving and dancing and cheering about the jacket.  I'll save that request for another day.

...

Since I spent so long talking about my new fall clothing, I'll have to be quick with my final wonder-moment.  I'm sure I'll expound later, so I feel safe in summing it up.  If all goes as planned (which I know it doesn't always) I will meet CLINTON KELLY!

In November my mom and I are going to a fall-fashion preview he is doing at Macy's.  I can't wait!  Oh Clinton Kelly.  I'm so glad you are gay because otherwise I don't think my fondness for you would be appropriate. This way, we can just be friends.  I really hope you like my new coat.  

...

Contented sigh.  I am one lucky girl.