It's Mine, All (Almost) Mine

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!

He Said, She Said: Today

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!

He Said, She Said... Attempt One

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!

Real Life

Do you ever wonder about the real lives of your blogger friends?

Not the charming stories they tell you or the quippy remarks they make about small incidents in their lives.

No, I mean their REAL lives.

Well, if you have ever wondered, let me give you a glimpse at the less than glimmering moments of my last two real days.

REAL LIFE FRIDAY:

Wake up and prepare to host a second toddler all day. 8-5.

Don't bother with a shower or even real clothes. Andy's sweats and the t-shirt I wore to bed are good enough.

Welcome baby #2 and reassure mom that I adore her child and am delighted to have him again.

Hear Andy open the door. Also hear rustling of plastic bag... did he bring me something? Yes he did! An iced chai and a cinnamon roll! Yay! I love this man!

Uneventful day. Well, in terms of grown up events. Baby #2 has the runs, there is the usual hitting, crying, saying "NO!" a million times. The major accomplishment of the day was Jack eating a real lunch (not just graham crackers or fishy crackers and a banana) including ALL of his vegetables. I was thrilled about that (there is no sarcasm in that statement, it I really was so excited that I squealed).

Both babies take a mid-afternoon nap and I decide to join them.

Wake up at 4:50, ten minutes before mum is supposed to arrive. Check my phone. Three new texts!

Mum says traffic is horrible and she missed the first bus. She will be at least 45 minutes late.

Bummer. That means I won't be able to go cheer Andy on at softball tonight.

Andy is home and both babes wake. Andy rummages around the fridge and asks if the steak in there is for dinner tonight.

I answer in the affirmative. A few moments later I realize that he is asking me if I will make dinner NOW instead of after his games. Ug. I hate telling him no and if he is hungry I feel like I'm not doing my job well, but I have two babies who just woke up and need attention and only 30 minutes before he has to leave.

I hand Andy a baby and scurry into the kitchen to see what I can make happen in 28 minutes and counting.

Hair flying everywhere. Getting sweaty. How does Rachel Ray do it?

Both babies in the kitchen and unhappy. What is Andy doing? He was supposed to entertain the kids while I cook.

Andy emerges from the bedroom in his softball uniform. I ask him to change baby #2's diaper. Don't hear a response and prepare to do it myself. I won't send my charge home with soiled pants!

Andy intercepts the diaper and sets to work. I hear him open it up and groan. Expecting a full one I peek around the corner. I see nothing. Andy calls me closer... "Honey! Look at this! It is gross!" I've seen a million gross diapers. I'm sure it is nothing. I walk over. And laugh. It is one little dot... really no bigger than my pinky nail... and he asks me to wipe it! Seriously?

Seriously.

I rush back into the kitchen and try and pull the meal together. I know Andy won't have time to eat it, but I offer to send it in a tupperware so he can eat it on the road (his friend was driving). As I'm pulling things off burners and mashing the potatoes and bouncing Jack on one hip Andy comes in to say he has to go. He's going to leave without his food?!

Fighting.

Andy leaves four minutes later with food in hand. Most of it. He refused the potatoes saying he didn't want to eat them in the car. I wish I had known that before I started making them. Both of us are still steaming.

Baby #2 gets picked up.

Send Andy text apology and explain why I got so worked up. Receive apology back. All is right with the world.

Put Jack to bed.

Tidy up.

Collapse on the couch.

Andy comes home.

More apologies.

Take a shower.

Go to bed.

REAL LIFE SATURDAY:

Usual wake up routine.

Highlight of the morning is story time with Jack. We curl up on the couch. He brings me a book, I read it, and when we finish he crawls off my lap, finds the next book of interest, brings it to me and crawls back in my lap. Ah!

Receive text message from Andy asking if it is okay if he watches the fights at a friends house.

Start to cry.

I hate telling Andy no! He works so hard, I want him to have a chance to play. But I work so hard too. When do I get to play?

Consider sending back a text message that explains that I don't feel like I can handle another (three for the week) night of putting Jack to bed by myself and spending the evening in isolation. Instead stick with the simplest answer, "I would rather you didn't"

Text tumbleweeds roll.

Know that I have not sent the answer he was hoping for. The night is going to be lame at home anyway if he wishes he were at the fights. Try to come up with a plan that will give me some relief and still let him go.

Send a second text message offering to send him off the the fights with well wishes in exchange for and extra $X0 (dollar amounts have asked to remain unidentified) and a few hours of solo shopping time BEFORE the fights.

Andy replies: "DEAL!"

Shoot! I should have asked for more money!

Exchange several phone calls with Lizzie, trying to coordinate an outing for the morning.

Hurriedly throw on some make up and tame my hair, not with a shower, but with bobby pins. Dress Jack and set off with Lizzie and Jack for a few late-summer yard sales.

Acquire four brightly colored and uniquely shaped vases for a quarter each.

Return home from sales and hang out with Lizzie while Dane and Jack play and Jason grocery shops.

Take Jack upstairs and put him down for a nap.

Crawl into bed and pick up the Chronicles of Narnia. I wonder how many times I have read these stories.

Hear Andy come home. Pop out of bed, brush my teeth, grab my cash and all but run out the door.

Grocery shopping is last on my list before going back home, so I choose two stores that always have something and are near my desired grocery location.

Find a pair of earrings I love... but nothing else. Not even anything worth trying on. The line is ridiculous and not worth standing in for a pair of earrings.

Try second store. Nothing. How disappointing.

Consider crying but don't. Not worth it.

Less than an hour and I've exhausted my options for shopping (in this location). But I'm right next door to the grocery store so I give up my dream of a carefree afternoon and get back to mommy work.

Wander the aisles. Forget things. Wander back down the aisles.

Grab the juice we like and watch helplessly as two extra jugs come with the one I grabbed. One is safe and the other is spilling all over the floor and is splashed all over my leg.

Look around for an employee to notify, but don't see anyone. So I walk away. Well, it probably looked like I walked away, but I was really going to look for someone to alert at the end of this aisle.

Is everyone staring at me?

Am I leaving sticky, dirty footprints that will lead them straight to me, the juice spilling culprit?

I turn around and look back at the scene. An employee has arrived. I imagine him coming up to the mess and accosting the nearest shopper, "Did you see what happened?!" All the fingers point to me as I try to inconspicuously move on. But I feel his eyes staring. He knows it was me.

Continue shopping.

Also knock a box of pancake mix off the shelf and have a discussion about nectarines with a stranger.

Spot the juice-incident employee at the end of this aisle and try to avoid eye contact.

Pause at the magazine rack. Thumb through the hair cut magazines and see the next perfect style. But refuse to pay $10 for a magazine.

Pay for groceries and load them in the car.

Drive home.

Discover an empty house. Andy and Jack must be down with Dane and Jason.

Lug groceries up stairs.

Put away refrigerated items and leave the rest until tomorrow.

Go down to visit everyone.

Send Andy out for dinner.

Come back upstairs when dinner arrives.

Realize I didn't find ALL of the refrigerated items when I first brought the groceries in. Stick them in the fridge and hope they don't go bad or make us sick.

Eat dinner.

Yum.

Bid farewell to Andy with an unintentionally snappy remark and apologize again. I've been having to do that a lot lately.

Jack helps me unload the dishwasher. Which is mommy speak for making the job take twice as long and creating a second mess that is twice as big.

Text a few friends in hopes that they randomly have a free evening. Receive all "no" answers, but well wishes. Feel very lame.

Play with Jack.

Bath time for baby.

Stories, brush teeth, sing, pray. Put him in his crib.

Sigh.

Survey all the chores that need to be done and decide they can all wait. Possibly forever.

The two pieces of chocolate in the freezer and HGTV are calling my name.

I Don't Hate Swimming

First, let me tell you what an incredible husband I have. 

We're down to about 13 weeks before the triathlon, which means I'm kind of freaking out.  It is always a struggle to try and get to the gym, especially when I know I'll be there for more than an hour and especially when Jack is being extra clingy (which he really, really is right now).  So Andy comes home from work and sends me right off to the gym, tells me to take my time and hugs me when I get home, even though I'm all sweaty.

Oh man, I'm so lucky.

Second, wait, I'm not done with Andy.

On Saturday, Mother's Day Eve, ANDY MADE ME DINNER. Not just a frozen meal that I bought so that he could make. He sneakily went shopping, planned the menu and served me a plate of salmon, mashed potatoes and veggies (he only made greens for me, but he made them because he knows I like them). Not only did he make dinner. He also set the table with a shrimp appetizer before hand and after dinner had settled, he pulled out some delicious creamy dessert in yummy chocolate cups.

Oh man, I'm SO lucky.

Third... op! Still not done.

As if dinner wasn't enough. On Sunday I slept in, a good two hours later than I have in, oh, say, about 14 months. When I finally roused myself and walked out into the living room, I discovered a huge bouquet of peach roses and yellow lilies and two, TWO, cards. I got the lovey dovey one from Andy and then I got one from Jack with really wobbly handwriting. I looked at it for a little bit and then realized that Andy had put the pen in Jack's hand to write it. 

So cute!

Speaking of so cute, look at these legs:

And this little boy who wants to be just like dad already:

Three and a half: I should also mention that he made me a delicious breakfast of blueberry waffles, strawberries and scrambled eggs. When I commented on how yummy the waffles were he proudly and somewhat sheepishly said, "They're whole wheat!" 

That's how you know a man loves you. When he buys you whole wheat waffles. 

Really, SO LUCKY!

Okay, fourth - what I wanted to tell you all along - I don't hate swimming. 

I'm kind of amazed by that. 

I went to the gym tonight and ran a really slow two miles and then went to the pool. I got a late start, so I only got to swim about 20 minutes, but the whole time I just kept thinking, "I like this." 

I even thought that after the really weird dream that I had about swimming that involved horses sticking their faces in the pool, forgetting Jack in the water, swimming with my bike seat between my legs and getting tangled in a net and narrow lane... hmm...

So anyway, I just wanted you to know. I like my husband. And I like swimming. 

Not to be confused with loving to slice cantaloupe. 

Just joking.  I LOVE Andy.

That reminds me. Have I told you about how we first exchanged "I Love Yous"? I'll have to write that one out some time. It is always good for a laugh.

Cheers!

Longing

Okay, so I know I just posted the pictures of Jack's haircut and you are probably thinking, "Emily, why didn't you just make one post instead of two different ones?  Silly girl."

Well, you are right about the silly part, but I do have a line of reasoning that at one time sounded logical to me. 

I'm not sure about that now.

You can judge:

1. My last several posts have been VERY long and I was trying to practice brevity today.
2. I thought I would save this post (not all the explaining part, but what will come) for tomorrow so that I would have something to entertain you with, but it won't leave my mind so I have to do it NOW.
3. I wanted to tell you about Jack's trim, but it didn't really flow with my other thoughts.
4. I'm just like that some times.
   

So here is what I have been thinking: 

Do you have in mind a way that you find yourself asking God to use you?  Is there something that just calls to you, but you know you can't tackle with your own strength?

That might not be clear.  Let me try again.

For example.  Do you really wish you could influence high schoolers to develop a sincere and deep relationship with God?  Do you ask God to give you the gift of healing, even while at the same time you would be terrified if he actually did?  Do you long to be used to lead individuals to a place of intimacy with their Creator through worship?

I long to be used.  But I am afraid of it too.  To open myself up to be sent, to be available, to be obedient means that I relinquish control.  It means that my actions would reflect GOD's glory, not feed my own selfish ambition.  It means that I might see miracles and I honestly don't know how I would respond to signs and wonders.

I love Jesus.  I am grateful.  I pray, read my bible and journal.  At the same time I am immersed in a culture of depression, cynicism and judgment, not to mention the "I did it my way" mentality that is so forcefully promoted.  To be called by a big God means that he might actually do big things around me.  I might be "that weird Christian girl."

That is just a tiny bit scary. 

But it is what I crave.

I know that I honor God by loving my husband, by stewarding well what He has given us, by praying over my baby.  I also know that my faithfulness with the little things is essential.  I can't help but wonder though, will I ever be trusted with something bigger?

But big and little are my own definitions.  I am certain that God does not see the impact of me cheering on my husband as any less important than a pastor preaching to hundreds or a worship leader writing a beautiful song.  My scope is so limited.  God sees the ripples that go out from my obedience and, to HIM, they matter.  

If I could choose where to be sent, I would choose hurting marriages.  It feels foolish to even say.  Andy and I have been wed for two years, which is not all that long, but in those two years I have been so challenged and rewarded.  I have seen how easily bad habits form and I have experienced the deep joy that comes from being in a unified relationship.

We have all heard, "marriage takes work." No matter how much it is touted, it is still ambiguous.  What does that mean? What kind of work? 

I think, by God's infinite grace, I am starting to understand.

I hurt for husbands and wives who seem burdened by their wedding bands.  I am pained to hear sharp criticism come from the mouth of a woman toward her spouse, whether he is present or not. I am crushed to see my peers buried in busyness, obligation and performance instead of filled with life and freedom.

A sense of urgency has been growing in my spirit.  It cannot wait until I am "more experienced" or "older" or whatever.  If my spirit is stirred, it is called.  

Yet I am still afraid. 

I think that fear is good.  It reminds me that I, Emily, will not be the one to change marriages.  I, Emily, will not be the one to speak truth.  I, Emily, am simply a woman who has opened herself to Jesus Christ to be used as HE sees fit.  

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom..." Proverbs 9:10

"Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity."  1 Timothy 4:12

So I set forth today, acknowledging to you all that I have opened myself up to God's lead in a fresh way.  Until I see the next step, I will stand tall in my youth, inexperience and fear, and believe that God is my god and he is delighted to send me. 

Your prayers are greatly appreciated.