Trial By Fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javelinas,

in case you are like me and

have never heard of them,

are a sort of wild pig.

Sometimes called, a skunk-pig.

They travel in packs and

are highly aggressive.

They have large, sharp canine teeth

and a gland somewhere on their body

that can produce a stench kin to a skunk.

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

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

dusk and dawn.

They terrify me.

They have taken on a mythical quality

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

scream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We love you too Jack.

We love you too!

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

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

And that Jesus loves them.

Today, I am amazed.

Bacon-Wrapped Revival

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

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

Really?

Adam Sandler?

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

...

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

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

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

I know that sounds so dreary.

But that is sort of where I've been.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I found myself again.

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

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

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

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

Thank you dear friends.

Where's The Sugar?

I love Jesus.

I love his church.

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

And a lot of times humans get things wrong.

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

Joy is holy.

Suffering is holy.

Rest is holy.

Hard work is holy.

...

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

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

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

I'm stained.

Crunched.

Not very pretty.

Not neat and tidy.

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus is bigger than hard.

Jesus is bigger than disillusioned.

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

Here I am.

I've counted the cost.

Where you lead, I will follow.

Let's go.

More Than Enough

I feel like I'm drowning in ordinary.

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

I'm blinded by the ordinary?

Stuffed too the gills with the ordinary?

Paralyzed by the ordinary?

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

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

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

I want to be a thinker.

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

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

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

But then...

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is HUGE!

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

I'm busy.

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

The Well

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

Here is my theory.

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

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

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

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

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

Today I was particularly moody.

That brings us back to my new theory.

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

A well.

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

Commitments I've made pull water up and out.

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

In and out.

The water line moves up and down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Gifts

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

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

Boy have I been proved wrong!

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

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

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

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

Blah blah blah, I'm a whiner.

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

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

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

And then I thought of who.

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

A night with a newborn is definitely an experience.

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

Do you hear the angels singing?

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

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

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

Jack is a handful.

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

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

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

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

Oh the bliss of a few hours all to myself!

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

I love my friends!

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

It is weeks like these that make me wonder, how did I get so lucky?

I may stop thinking that when I go to my first workout.

Because remember how I told you that Andy now looks like Hugh Jackman?

Side note:

Why didn't anyone tell me that

in the original post

I wrote "Huge" Jackman

instead of Hugh?

I wonder what other horrible

mistakes I will find when I go

back to the posts from my pregnancy and

these first few months.

I shudder at the thought!

It is all thanks to a workout theory... system... I don't even know what to call it. But it's name is CrossFit.

So when he arranged for childcare, he also signed me up for an introductory CrossFit class.

I will be doing this.

Be careful on YouTube.

I just got sucked into

like 40 minutes of looking at

people doing CrossFit.

Craziness!

Am I insane?

Yes.

Do I really wish I could look like one of those girls?

Yes.

Enough to workout like I live on the Biggest Loser Ranch?

Perhaps.

We shall see.

I hope I don't puke the first class.

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!

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!

A New Experience

Today I had my very first facial.

I have always thought it sounded so luxurious to have someone take care of your skin for an hour, and I confess that my complexion is something that I often wish was more... hmm... perfect. So for Christmas Andy got me a gift certificate and today I redeemed it.

Side note:

I've been getting myself

all dolled up for

labor.

I realize that my due date is still

three weeks off,

but it would be a shame to be caught off guard

and go into labor with shaggy hair

or chipped toenail polish.

Actually, that wouldn't be a shame at all

since it would mean Joey was coming

and as I've already said, I'm eagerly waiting

that day...

All that to say, I've had a pampering

couple of weekends: haircut, pedicure,

new hair color and now

a facial!

The experience was slightly different than I anticipated.

It was odd.

But what may have been odd was not that the actual facial was different from my expectations, it was that it was so close to something I think I may have seen in a movie, that it felt totally staged. Like I was part of a comedy show or like there was a surprising plot twist awaiting me as I left the spa.

For starters, the woman who greeted me had a very heavy accent. I couldn't place it, but do you remember the heavy-set woman from The Fifth Element that was supposed to accompany Bruce Willis on his adventure to save the world? She sounded like that.

Actually, I don't think that woman had any lines in the movie, but she sounded exactly like you would think the Major would sound.

At least she sounded like that until she started poking at my face.

Then she started to sound like a gypsy fortune teller.

After getting me comfortably situated on the warmed table and wrapping my hair in a terry cloth turban, all the lights went out. I closed my eyes and I prepared to relax as Marie (the name of my esthetician) began massaging my face. She gently began in circular motions and I thought, "Oh! This is nice."

Then all of a sudden Marie switched into her gypsy voice. My eyes were closed, so I couldn't see her face, but the lights were all off, so I can't imagine how much of my skin she could see. I also couldn't tell if she was talking to herself or to me. Her voice was so soft and low.

"Hmmm... yesssss..." *Imagine a trance-like voice please*

"I feel the bumps." *Flattering, no?*

"I feel the blackheads." *Gah! You can feel blackheads?!*

Silence.

After those mystic-voiced comments the next few minutes proceeded in silence. She took off my make-up and kept smoothing my skin so gently. I started to relax again. She placed warm cotton pads over my eyes and then...

BLAST!

With no warning, the brightest light I have ever had pointed at my face was flipped on and felt like it was mere inches from my forehead.

Marie switched from mystic voice back to Major Fifth Element and said, "Are you ready to begin the extraction?"

"Uh, yep." *I hope that is the right answer!*

It is exactly what you think it is. She started to prod my face and attend to all those bothersome bumps and blackheads. I knew I had a few. But my goodness! People! I lost count.

I probably lost count because I was distracted by the return of the are-you-talking-to-me-or-to-yourself voice that kept making me think of crystal balls and hoop earrings.

"Oh, yes."

"Mmmhhmmm"

"There is more there." Push, pinch. "Ah, yes."

Each mumble was so satisfied. Like it was a true delight to see the little dirt particles make their way out of my dermis. At one point, after a particularly pleased grunt, she pealed the cotton from my eye and held up a mirror so that I could admire her handiwork. Oh dear.

We are teetering on the edge of way too much information, so I will spare you continued details of what apparently came from my face.

After many other pinches and minutes more of her muttering to herself, the lights went back out and she slathered a series of unknown products over my face.

After she had cleaned me up, she several times reminded me that "the redness" would be gone by tomorrow. She mentioned it so many times that I was a little frightened to look in the mirror. I anticipated a lobster-red face and disheveled hair... but instead, I was pleased to discover, that I mostly just looked like I do every morning before putting on my make up.

She advised a clay masque twice a week to maintain her hard work, and I obediently purchased it.

The experience may have been different than I had imagined (or exactly like I imagined - it is hard to tell which) but whatever it was, it has sure made me smile.

Merry Christmas to me!

And come on baby Joey, I'm all fresh faced and newly coiffed, so you can make your appearance ANY TIME!

And really, has anyone had a facial before? Was that normal?

30 Weeks

You may have noticed that I have been a bit sporadic in my blogging the last few months. Being pregnant with a toddler is tough work!

I find myself either totally dragging and fearing the addition of another little baby to our family or completely energized and eager to take on every task that comes with being a wife and mom.

Unfortunately blogging is neither a mom or a wife task so it has fallen by the wayside.

But there is good news for you... I am now 30 weeks pregnant!

Gah!

That is 30 out of 40. Just a short 10 weeks to go!

Once the baby actually arrives I can go about the business of collecting myself and figuring out what to do with a house of three men. I am quite sure that I will find it nowhere near as daunting as I keep thinking it will be.

Anyway, 30 weeks.

Yesterday I looked at my calendar and realized how close I am to the end of being pregnant. Somehow, having that nice round number in my head made me feel so secure. Instead of feeling like a giant balloon, or like I had let my pregnancy weight gain spiral out of control, I felt totally reasonable and like I looked just right for being 30 weeks pregnant.

To celebrate a day of not feeling disgusted with my shape I dressed up cute for church. I recently acquired a pair of brown, suede, slouchy boots and a pair of maternity leggings (the best $20 I've spent this pregnancy... they are SO COMFORTABLE!). I donned them last night with a sweet little dress and looked every bit the part of a maternity magazine model.

At least I thought I did.

Andy hates the boots and legging look (which I knew when I purchased them and was not expecting fireworks from him when I put them on) and told me that I looked like Robin Hood.

I told him that he would have to deal with it and that I would probably wear them every day for the next two and a half months, so there.

He laughed at me and said that he was quite sure every woman I encountered would probably tell me how cute I looked in them and the he knew he was the minority opinion, but he still thought it looked like a Robin Hood costume.

Then to make up for the teasing he told me my hair looked really great.

Which it did.

Regardless of his opinion of the latest trend, I still felt awfully cute as we headed out the door and prepared to parade myself around all of our friends.

Which I did, with great gusto.

Until...

Until I was talking to a grandma and she was making friendly conversation which included the, "When are you due?" question. I felt so smug to be able to say, "Oh, I'm about 30 weeks." And I tossed my hair to imply, "And don't I look just stunning?!"

Except she didn't catch the hair toss and replied, "Hmm..."

I don't like where this is going...

"You're kind of big for 30 weeks aren't you?"

And the tumbleweeds roll.

And my balloon bursts.

And I plaster a smile on my face and brush it off.

And make a quick exit from the conversation to find someone who can appreciate that even if I am HUGE, at least I still have fashion sense.

I hope.

Can I please pass on a word of advice? If you are talking to a pregnant woman, don't make any comment about her size except that she looks great. That is it. We all know we are getting bigger by the minute, but we can't do much about it now can we?

So.

No. Matter. What.

Don't tell a pregnant woman she is big.

Ever.

Ever.

Ever.

On Guard!

"Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life."

Proverbs 4:23

The past few weeks I've spent a lot of time in my own head. Thinking, asking questions, reading, recognizing themes in my life.

I am always seeking to find balance in my life. On one hand it feels like a never-ending chase and on the other, it feels like a worthy goal and admirable lifetime pursuit.

All of this introspection and meditation has led me to the Proverbs and to other well-known scriptures. It has been a refreshing few weeks of re-learning to love God's word and ingest it, so that it slowly becomes part of my person.

Proverbs 4:23 is one that was really "popular" when I was in high school. In a lot of scenarios it felt like it could be interpreted as "Above all, guard your virginity..." But now I'm a married woman and sex is good and right and wonderful- and this verse is still in the bible! It didn't disappear, so it must still have value for those of us who aren't guarding our lady-gardens.

I've been pondering and praying and hoping that I could understand what it means. The wellspring of life sounds like a pretty crucial part of living, so I figure it would be worth some contemplation.

And here is what I've discovered in my life: I need to guard my heart.

Are you amazed?

Brilliant, I know.

Rather than guarding my heart from a premature relationship or romantic infatuation I need to guard my heart from:

Unrealistic Expectations

Fear

Jealousy

Self-obsession

Greed

Dissatisfaction

Flippancy

Hard-heartedness

...

These things creep in so quietly, and are so culturally approved, that I don't even notice that they have taken up residence in my thoughts and emotions until I am in the midst of a melt-down or am thinking cruel thoughts toward someone I am supposed to love.

When I am obsessed with my own expectations of how an event should work, or how Jack should behave, the life drains out of me. When I focus on what I don't have rather than what I do, my days feel long, lifeless and always wanting.

So, if I want the wellspring of my life to be overflowing and fresh and sweet, I need to be actively guarding against those things that would strangle my heart. When I am disappointed because Andy didn't say just thing I wanted to hear, I need to guard my heart from bitterness. When I look at a friend who seems to have it all together, I need to guard my heart from self-criticizing. When I make my Christmas list, I need to guard my heart from greed and envy.

At each turn of the day I have to be on the lookout. It is so much easier to stop something from taking hold of me than to loosen a thing that already has a grip. But at whatever point, it needs to be done. I want to be a woman who overflows, whose spring produces clear, refreshing water. Water that revives, nourishes and heals the lives around me. And to be that, I need to guard my heart.

Lord, please teach us to be on guard. To be active in filtering out those things that want to gain access to our heart, but don't bring us life. Shine your light on the righteous and reveal the things that carry death. You are good.

It's REAL

Just so you know,

In case you have been wondering,

Pregnancy brain is a REAL thing.

Earlier this week I discovered that instead of throwing Jack's cloth diaper in the diaper bin, I had thrown it in the garbage. Only I didn't know I did it. It wasn't like one of those putting your keys in the fridge kind of things where as you close the door you are like, "What am I doing?"

No, I really had no idea I had done it until I went to throw away a paper towel and low and behold, there is one of Jack's cute bottom covers in the trash.

Sheesh.

However, that is nothing compared to today.

Today I met a gorgeous and interesting woman.

She captured my attention immediately. She moved with grace and poise. I just HAD to talk to her! We were at church and so it was easy to sit next to her, hear bits of her story and enjoy her easy smile.

I hope that doesn't sound stalker-ish. It wasn't really. Some people just exude that "I'm interesting and your life would be better if you knew me" quality, and she did for sure!

This is an author edit.

Apparently I also have difficulty

telling stories when I am with child.

Because the previous paragraphs

sound really creepy.

Even with the "I'm not a stalker" disclaimer.

I didn't sit in her vicinity and listen to her talk to

other people. I sat next to her and

struck up a friendly conversation.

Please don't think I'm an eavesdropper.

Anyway, after the meeting she ended up staying until everyone had left except for me and the other leader (I may not have mentioned that I'm helping with a mom's group at my church, but I am... today was our first meeting). Anyhow, I asked this terribly fascinating woman if she was waiting for someone and discovered that her husband is away on business and she wasn't looking forward to going home.

So I did the only thing I could do. I invited her to my house for coffee.

And she accepted!

That meant that she walked into my house with the random garbage smell (not usual, and a surprise to me when we walked in, oh yay!), laundry all over the couch (usual), stains on my carpet(permanent) and all other manner of mess.

But hospitality doesn't wait for laundry!

We had a wonderful visit.

I was able to offer lemonade with fresh slivers of ginger, which I hope compensated for half the pile of laundry. And I was granted the distinct privilege of making the "best nachos" she had ever had. Yahoo!

I wonder why I put "best nachos" in quotes.

An hour and a half into our very pleasant and easy conversation my doorbell rang.

?

It was Lizzie, my sister. She had the phone to her ear and almost immediately I realized my mistake.

For those of you who don't know,

My sister Liz lives two floors below me

in our condo complex.

I had a dentist appointment scheduled at 2:00 and Liz was at my door at 1:50. OH MY GOSH! How did I totally and completely forget that?! How?

Here is how the whole thing went:

The previous day I had called my mom

and arranged to call her at 1:00ish to see if Jack

was asleep or awake.

If he was napping she was going to come to me

and if he was awake I was going to bring him to her.

When she didn't hear from me

she called Lizzie.

Lizzie in turn came up and knocked on my back door.

Which I also didn't hear.

So she came to my front door and rang the doorbell.

And that is when I realized that I hadn't called my mom.

Does it make more sense now?

So I called my mom, who was supposed to be watching Jack and she headed over. This wonderful woman who I just met today offered to stay with Jack until my mom arrived. And I accepted!

I dashed out the door without a proper goodbye just as my mom was walking in.

How embarrassing! What a confusing, sloppy first impression I must have made.

But the day is done. My teeth are clean and hopefully my potential new friend won't write me off as a nutcase after this encounter.

So seriously. Pregnancy brain. It is REAL.

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.