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!

Coming Clean

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?

A Party

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!

My Day in FB Updates

I try and make a point to not keep my Facebook status TOO up-to-date. It would never do for people to think that I have nothing better to do than let them know what I'm doing.

Additionally, I don't really think most of my virtual friends are that interested in what I am eating for lunch, what errand I am running or my current emotional state.

However, you, my faithful followers, I know are interested.

So, for you, here is what I considered posting during various points throughout the day:

Emily Aichele is leaving the house without a shower and in her husband's sweats. If you see me, please disregard my disheveled state. I promise I won't make a habit of it.*

Emily Aichele is about to undertake the absolute worst household chore... scrubbing the bathtub. Ugh. It needs to be said again, UGH.*

Emily Aichele wishes she had a cupcake to reward herself for finishing the most hateful job of tub scrubbing.

Emily Aichele doesn't keep cupcakes (or any other sweet baked good) in the house for the very reason that she would use them as incentive for finishing (or starting) unpleasant chores.

Emily Aichele confesses that she ate the pieces of cake she brought home last night from a party as a coping mechanism for a stressful morning.

Emily Aichele confesses that she medicated herself with cake while watching a show about obesity.

Emily Aichele thinks that no matter how sprinkled a grapefruit is with sugar, it really doesn't satisfy the craving for something sweet and buttery.

Emily Aichele is proud that she at least tried to soothe her sweet tooth with grapefruit. And is glad that there is no fallback baked good to eat following her healthy choice.

Emily Aichele finds herself balanced on the fence of shaking her head at her ridiculous ways and nodding in appreciation of her charming approach to life.

Emily Aichele wishes you a good evening. Sweet dreams.

*Actual update. I couldn't resist.

Embarrassing But True

At this very moment Jack is dozing off to sleep.  I am staring at a house that has been ransacked by a lovely, long, messy play date and am toying with the idea of taking a nap instead of restoring it to order.

Oh the luxury of motherhood.  Deciding that naps rank higher on the priority list than dishes.  

But before I cozy up in my down comforter, I have a confession.  

Every Monday I wake up disappointed.  Disappointed that it is not Tuesday.

Care to guess why?

Because Tuesday is Biggest Loser night of course!  

I am hopelessly addicted to the Biggest Loser.  

I'm not sure why I've made such a deep and long lasting commitment to a reality show, but I have.  

Confession #2: I cry almost every episode.  I know Jillian and Bob are over the top with the self-empowerment speeches, but I just can't help but think, "These people may have never thought of themselves in any good terms."  I also cry because I can just imagine the change in their lives when they are 100 pounds lighter.  

I'm a sucker for any sort of make over, really.  But these people are doing the work.  They are learning how to change the course of their lives.  It is good to see people opt for exercise and healthy eating instead of surgery or pills.  I really get emotional when they are able to go off of the 13 medications they have to take each day or when they can fit into some outfit they thought was just a dream.  

Confession #2.5: Pill-popping and quick-fix "health" gimmicks really get me riled up.  I am very sad for our nation and its struggle with obesity and health in general.  I know I'm a bit hypocritical - I know I could do better for my body (read confession #3) but I would say that I live by an 80/20 scale.  80% good for me, 20% for fun.... sometimes 70/30.  But I ache for families that consume only meals from boxes or drive-thrus, or whose primary entertainment comes from a glowing box.  How can so many people just not know how to care for themselves?  

I better step off my soap box before I get too squirly. 

Confession #3: When I wake up on Mondays and face the disappointment of waiting one more whole day to see the next chapter in the Biggest Loser journey, I usually console myself by doing some sort of baking.  

Then I eat whatever I've baked as I watch the Biggest Loser.  

Don't tell me you don't do the same thing!

Brownies have been the craving lately.  Or chocolate chip cookies.  But I think my baking phase is dying down (luckily, the more I'm in the gym, the less I want sweets).  Maybe I'll go back to microwave kettle corn.  Maybe. 

Confession #4: When I go to the gym on Wednesday, I visualize Bob coaching me as I run on the treadmill.  There is no way I would want to face the wrath of a Biggest Loser trainer, so I run extra far or push just a little bit harder than I do the rest of the week because I have a fresh mental picture of someone cheering me on.

By the way, I added

a whole mile

to my run today.

I'm feeling pretty smug.

That brings my mileage to

TWO

miles.

Woohoo.

Oh.

I guess I still have more work to do.

But we've got to celebrate the small things.

Right?

Confession #5: Biggest Loser is my gateway reality show.  I scorned reality tv for so long.  Now, not only do I watch B.L., but I also keep up with Survivor.  WHAT!?  Why?

I don't know why!

I just do.

Confession #6: I'm blushing from all this self-revelation.  I hope you still love me even after you know my shameful secrets.

Now, I have about 30 minutes left to close my eyes and ignore the scattered toys.  After that, it is back to the pick up, play chase, tickle tummy, start dinner routine.  

I have not baked anything yet today, and I just might resist this week.  After all, I want Bob and Jillian to be proud.

And I want to not feel my bum bounce when I add my next mile.

John 10:10

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."

I have confession.  In the last weeks I have fallen victim to the thief.  What has he stolen?  Joy, confidence, acceptance, energy, peace.  What has been left in the wake? Fear, guilt, anxiety, sadness, confusion.  

I was weak and I let the thief walk away with my dreams and hopes.  I barely put up a fight.  I don't think I knew what was happening until they were gone.  

The thief is a master of disguise.  In a season of life where mothers are expected to be tired, overwhelmed, distanced from spouses, and even depressed, I accepted the changes and didn't question.  I assumed they would just go away.  

But here I am.  Seven months into motherhood and discouraged.  I battle daily to find simple pleasures, to approach another load of dishes or laundry, or sometimes even Jack, without grumbling, to LIVE THIS SEASON TO THE FULL.  My thoughts turn sour at the slightest bump.  Instead of my usual optimism and confidence in God's love and provision and my ability to hear him, I assume the worst.  I assume that I am alone, unwanted and doing everything wrong.

It hurts.  It feels crushing.  I almost want to give in.

BUT I WON'T.

Jesus said he came that "they might have life, and have it to the full."  That EMILY might have life to the full.  

"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.  Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1

"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 2 Corinthians 3:17

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control."  Galatians 5:22,23

"... I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10

I was reading in Genesis last week and came to the chapter where Abram and Lot are about to part ways.  God says to Abram, "Lift up your eyes from where you are and look north and south, east and west.  All the land that you see I will give to you... Go, walk through the length and breadth of the land, for I am giving it to you." Genesis 13:14,17

I distinctly heard God call me to look up from where I am.  In the middle of the day, I see a dirty house, a needy baby, dinner to make, not enough time to enjoy the company of my husband... those things discourage me.  My feeble view of the future looks like more of the same for awhile, instead of the life of adventure and purpose that I crave.  

But God sees all of the north, south, east and west.  He sees it ALL.  He knows where I am now and he knows what he plans to give me.  It is going to be more than I could ever even think to ask for.  

So his challenge to me?  To Go. To walk the length and breadth of the land.  To love him each day and to flourish in the midst of diapers, in the midst of loneliness and in spite of the foggy future.  Just GO.  Live it up.  Thrive.  Set down roots of faith in him and obedience.  Keep my hands open to receive daily doses of the joy and peace that I need.  Live with gratitude and endurance.

This season, this battle, this daily fight to accept the gift of full life, is necessary to shape me for the things God has in store.  Truthfully, that knowledge doesn't really make it feel any easier, but I have to learn that my feelings aren't always going to reflect the truth of who God is and how he's working in my life.  They can be a tool, but I've been relying on them too heavily.

So now, on to the art of living.  God, please seal this truth in me.  

Courage to you friends as you look north, south, east and west and as you go claim the land God has promised you.  

The Chase

I wonder how many hours and tears and thousands of dollars I have spent in the pursuit of beauty.  

A lot of days (maybe... almost, most days) I feel like I keep my beauty cravings in check, but then a day like today comes along and I am reminded of the true state of my heart. 

Today was haircut day.  I intended to just look at a few pictures of styles before I went to my appointment, but before I realized what I was doing, I had spent an hour looking at pictures of Victoria Beckham's beautiful hair AND perfect face AND sculpted body and losing every ounce of confidence I've ever had, all the while forming a list of the items I simply must acquire to up my beauty quotient - none of which I actually need. Why do I so easily buy into the culture of beauty when I know it is not what I want? (actually, I really do want to be beautiful... just not in that worldly, expensive way)

The hope of coming home more lovely than I left is always there on haircut day. Sometimes I cry when I realize that a trim didn't change the scale or shrink my nose or give me more money to buy all of the high-fashion accessories that I crave. Sometimes I keep my head and heart straight and just go about the business of getting my hair cut.  And every so often I am able to be totally pleased with me, just the way I am. 

Today my hair turned out fine... but not like the picture of Posh (ya think?!).  I confess that left me disappointed.  Silly girl that I am.  Maybe one day I won't be won over by that foolish hope and cruel disappointment, but today, again, I was.

But here's the crux: 

I serve a creative God.  He thought of and executed everything beautiful on this planet.  I firmly believe that my love of beauty starts as something holy, delight in what He has crafted and designed, but it quickly becomes distorted, misplaced and cheap.  Instead of being in awe of HIM, the creator, I identify the creation and admire, verging on worship, it.  I want it to be the other way around.  I want to be transformed by the creator, not transfixed by the creation.

Oh Lord, please forgive me.  Change my heart.  Give me a new measure of beauty.  Make me aware of what influences me and what I allow to speak into my heart. Strengthen me to live in a way that admires beauty, but is not consumed by it. Thank you for your faithfulness.  And thank you for all things beautiful.

The Grass is Greener

I miss having co-workers.

Don't misunderstand me.  I am SO thankful to be able to focus my energy on my family and not have to divide my attention between a profession, or even "just" a job, and the boys I love best.  I know being a "stay at home mom" is a coveted position and I do my best to not take it for granted. However, there are a few aspects of having a real (as in paid, with set hours and a specific location in which to do your work) job that I am coveting this morning:

1. COWORKERS: Mal, Christy, Marli... I miss you!  When I worked, there was always someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of, to laugh with... now to have those relational moments I have to be very intentional.  The fact is, most of the United States is busy.  To schedule time with people involves two or three phone calls/text messages/e-mails and the examination of several calendars.  So much simpler to just walk down a cubical or two and say high or share some tea with a comrade. 

2. HAVING A BOSS:  A boss tells you what to do.  If he's a good boss, expectations are clear and you know what you are responsible for.  Motherhood is pretty much a guessing game for me.  There is lots of advice out there, but nobody is laying out the plan... that's my job now.  Man!  It takes so much mental energy.  There are days when I just wish that someone would tell me what to do and save me the effort!

3. PROJECTS WITH A DEFINED END: I miss the satisfaction of knowing that I have accomplished something.  There is instant gratification in saying, "Yes!  That task is done! For good!  And done well!"  There is no end, finish, time off or checked box for being a wife and mom.  

4. FEEDBACK: Jack really isn't at the stage yet where he can say, "Wow.  You're a great mom.  You are really instilling strong values in me and teaching me how to one day be a happy, successful adult.  Thanks mom!"  At work, if you do a job well, you usually hear at least a "thank you." But at this point in my life I have to keep doing my best with little feedback or affirmation.

Friends, this whole motherhood gig is hard work.  With the strength that God provides, I will face the challenge, but I have to accept the fact that life is full of choices.  To follow one dream you often give up another.  Luckily I am pursuing this dream with a dear husband and delightful family and friends.  There may not be the instant praise that I crave or the simplicity of executing someone else's plan, but there is the sweet satisfaction of know that I am where I need to be for this moment and that there is grace for each day.

Confession

I like the phrase, "I confess..." If is kind of cleansing, like throwing away clothes that don't fit or cleaning out the fridge.  

I confess, I like looking in the mirror and saying to myself, "What a beautiful girl!"

I confess, after years of loudly proclaiming my dislike of coffee, I now need at least one cup a day.  I really don't know how that happened.  I think it started with the Pumpkin Spice latte...

I confess, I'm "one of those moms" who babbles nonsense words to her baby.

I confess, my son's name is Jack.  Yesterday I called him Jake.  

I confess, I spent all day yesterday angry about something ridiculous.  I cried.  I seethed. I held full conversations in my head that only fueled the fire.  And then, I gave up.  I decided not to have those conversations and not to be consumed by my feelings of self-justification, self-pity, hurt, frustration... all the yucky ones.  What started as a horrible day, ended with laughter and camaraderie. 

I confess, that was hard work.  It took a whole day of internal fighting and choosing to not be ruled by my emotions. But it was SO worth it.