Flash

Yesterday I had a flash.

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

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

I was hunting for a piece of paper.

To make a list.

Or four lists.

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

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

Control.

When I get flustered, I want control.

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

To make order.

To own and manipulate.

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

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

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

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

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

I never had control.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But so was peace.

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

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

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

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

Care to join me?

CrossFit

I think we might have a problem.

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

GAH!

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

GAH!

GAH!

That would be a double GAH!

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

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

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

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

So three cheers!

For CrossFit

For a brighter outlook

And

For the hot shower I'm about to take.

Life is looking good.

What's Bigger Than A Baby Step?

Today, my friends, today reminded me what it is like to have order in my life.

Two days ago, after a complete meltdown, I decided that even though everybody says that after a baby you should rest, give up having a routine, and just let things go until you are feeling like getting around to it, that there are a few things that I need to get in place as soon as possible to keep my emotions and a healthy sense of self in a safe place.

That was an incredibly long sentence. I will try and avoid that in the future.

Let me back up a bit.

After Jack (albeit, a year after) I was in the best shape I have ever been. Since having Joey, and assessing the "damage" my body sustained through pregnancy, I have been more self conscious and spiteful toward my body than I have in a very long time.

It got to the point that I actually canceled a few get-togethers and have dreaded social gatherings (usually my lifeblood!) because I haven't wanted to be seen. I fear scrutiny and feel as if I have failed the universe because I am not back in my single-digit size six weeks postpartum.

Besides feeling disappointed in my body, I struggle with disappointment in my parenting. I loose my patience a lot more often. I forget to feed Jack meals and instead let him survive on spoonfuls of peanut butter and pretzels. I criticize myself each time I have to make a choice of which child's needs to attend to first. At several points in each day, somebody just has to cry for a little bit because I can only do so many things at once.

Combine a crushing sense of discouragement when I look in the mirror, with the brutal realization that I am not as "good" at parenting two kids as I imagined I would be. And you have a recipe for disaster.

In a wave of emotion, Andy sat on the bed with me and listened to me lament all the things I disliked about myself in this season. The way I summed up my emotions to him was to say, "I miss feeling like I have it all together." His response was so insightful and honest and wise that it totally redirected those dark emotions. He said, "You never feel like that. You think you did, but let's be honest, you never do."

Deep Breath.

True.

I look back and paint a picture of myself and my life and the timeline of Jack's infancy with bright and cheery colors. I remember the good and even add a little shimmer to make it sound better... but the reality is, there is and always has been something I am adjusting or fearing or looking forward to.

That truth released me from the trap of all the things that I am not, or thought I should be, or thought that I was. It moved me to look at the things that are draining me and decide which of those things are simple realities of this season that I will wait out, and which of those things I can change.

My first step was to get back to the gym.

This morning I took both boys to the gym. I felt so accomplished! After a few hiccups with getting the boys settled, I ran on the treadmill and then did some ab work and lunges and all those work-outy things.

I did it.

I made it to the gym... in the morning even.

And tomorrow I will go again.

And the day after that, I will go again.

Over the past several years I have learned a few things about myself. And one of those things is that my physical health has an enormous impact on my emotional self, and my emotional self has a profound impact on my spiritual health, and then it circles back to my physical self...

So, after a day of working out, I was motivated to try a few other things that I have been trying to figure out how to mange with two kids. Tonight Jack and Joey had their first bath together! It was terrifying and I was afraid Jack was going to dump water all over his wee brother, but he didn't! We made it!

And THEN, after both boys were bathed, they were both IN BED at the same time. Understandably, Joey will wake up in a few hours and need to be fed again, but still, both boys are in bed at the same time!

Each of these moments combine to make me see that yes, indeed, at some point, either three weeks or three months, or three years from now, order will be restored.

And in three weeks or three months or three years, there will be another set of challenges that I am sorting out and fears that I am facing and accomplishments that I am celebrating.

So friends, let me end by encouraging you. Whatever you are trying to sort-out or fix, or are just wallowing in, it will end at some point. Decide what you can do to make it better and recognize what will need to be endured. Take a moment to be real with yourself and make sure you aren't looking behind and painting a picture that is a little more glittery than it was when you were living it. If you are wishing for what was or what should be, stop. Look at and enjoy and live what is right now.

You can do it.

I will celebrate each moment with you!

Fulfillment Reading

Today, I was at MOPS and the speaker, a woman who is on the other side of parenting young children and is now enjoying her grandchildren, was talking about perspective in mothering.

She made a very brief comment that she thought that she "was taking her fulfillment reading too often" as a young mother, and I was totally struck by that concept.

I get discouraged on the days when I am messy and tired and feel beyond inadequate to parent. I wonder why I am not totally in love with each day I get to be Jack's mom. Some days I struggle to show the joy and gratitude I have that I get to stay home with Jack. But I know, that despite the frustrations and disgusting things I touch, I really do love my days as a mother. 

It may be that I am just "checking my measurements" a little too often. In the same way that if I stepped on the scale every hour of the day, I could see huge fluctuations in the number based on what I've eaten, when I last used the bathroom and what I'm wearing, my mood and the filter I see my life through, is going to change daily, even hourly.  It is probably going to change based on those very things that make my weight bounce around. 

My perception of my life and myself is imperfect. While I like about myself that I am introspective and ask questions of my motives, emotions, and thoughts, I need to remember not too put too much stock in ME. I will fail.  That is a given.  I will be overcome with joy. I will get the giggles. I will cry. I will overreact. I will enjoy simple pleasures. I will make great discoveries and forget lessons I thought I had learned. 

My sense of fulfillment is going to change each moment.  It just is. So I need to learn to not gauge my life by my senses. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever. Where I am fickle, he is steady.  Where I am ignorant, he is wise.  Where I am overwhelmed, he has overcome. 

I know that I am emotional and erratic and illogical on occasion.  Thank goodness I serve a Savior who is steady and solid and trustworthy. 

So today, I look at my fulfillment reading and instead of saying "full" or "empty" it says:

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

...neither weight gain nor weight loss...

...neither feelings of inadequacy nor feelings of self-importance...

...neither repetitive tasks nor great adventures...

...neither financial fears nor great wealth...

...neither obscurity nor fame...

 Nothing in all creation, will be able to separate me from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus. 

Pleasant Learning and Three Side Notes

I'm learning.

This morning could have been disastrous. The door to one of my kitchen cupboards maliciously jumped from its hinges and attacked me.  It now lays (lies?) peacefully on my stove, waiting for Andy or the landlady to return it to its home.  I am out of chai, my morning kick start. The baby I watch on Fridays came over in a grouchy mood. Our car appears to be on its last leg.

I could have sent Andy a text message telling him that the cupboard broke, but what can he do about it at work?  I've learned that if he can't do anything about it from where he is, then it just frustrates him, and I don't get the compassionate response I'm looking for.  So, the door news can wait a few hours. 

I'm out of chai.  I have been for three days. For the first two hours of the morning I pined away.  Hoping that miraculously someone would offer to bring me a Starbucks.  I even considered getting annoyed that nobody had offered.  After all, I posted my plight on FB, shouldn't all my friends come running with caffeinated beverages? No? I'm really not that self-inflated, but don't even try to tell me that you have never found your mind wandering down that path. So, instead of becoming irritated, I whipped up a pretty good imitation of an iced latte to satisfy my need for a sweet, cold, creamy, caffeinated start to my morning. 

The cranky baby (who I love dearly and am glad to have come over once a week) finally went to bed and Jack found his rhythm

Side Story:

That is the first time,

I think in my whole life,

that I have typed or written

the word RHYTHM

without needing spell check.

I love the word,

but for some reason I can

never

ever

remember how to spell it.

I always want to use a

U.

What?

Spelling is not my strong suit.

Obviously.

for the morning.  He is now playing peacefully in the corner with some blocks. My house is quiet except for the sound of worship playing in the background and my fingers clicking on the keyboard. [Amendment: Before I finished this, the cranky baby woke up still cranky, so my house is quiet except for the music and shrill whining and intermittent crying and Jack talking to the other baby asking him why he is so cranky.]

Also,

Jack has his first scraped knee.

He is officially a boy!

He didn't even cry.

What a tough guy!

Our car, our car. A few days ago it started overheating if I drove it more than, say ten minutes. I drive a pretty impressive beater.  I am actually still driving my first car. Since this anyway. It has been a trooper of a car. No real repairs needed.  Or maybe just one.  I can't remember exactly. But it really has just kept going and going and going. But now we are at a place where we need to decide, do we spend our money on fixing our junker or do we spend a little bit more and get our vehicle for the next few years? 

While all of these decisions could have been an opportunity for marital strife or "I'm right, you're wrong" attitudes to settle into our conversations, it hasn't been that at all. I am learning more and more how to trust my husband and his process for making decisions. I know when his strengths are not my strengths and I think he is learning the same. We're learning to show each other courtesy and respect and we are learning together to trust God for his best. 

When our car started overheating I asked Andy if he was worried and he simply said, "No. It's God's car." Oh wise husband of mine. 

I'm learning how to worship and study God's word as a wife and mom (sheesh, how 'bout it takes me a year of motherhood to even start to get this figured out). I'm learning how to love. I'm learning how to make space in my life to hear the Holy Spirit and space to enjoy the life I am living today.

I feel like I say the same thing over and over.  But I am a slow learner I guess. Each day it feels fresh. Each day feels like a new chance to see God's faithfulness or see my own attempts at a "good life" fall short. 

I hope that I am always learning.  I hope that my character is being refined and than my attitudes are becoming more and more in line with the attitudes of Christ. I hope that I don't measure the quality of my life by "happy" but rather by joy, contentment, peace, obedience and love. 

I hope that I remember this all tomorrow when I wake up.

I give you permission to remind me if I start sounding a little cranky or forgetful or selfish. 

Third and final Side Note:

I was talking to a sweet friend

earlier this week.

I think I was complaining.

I was processing.

Asking questions.

You know how girly conversations go.

And she,

with no apology,

no preamble,

told me I was being selfish.

That is what real friendship looks like I think.

Thank you Allison.

Deep Breath

Let's have an honest conversation, shall we?

Being a mom is hard. 

Being a wife is hard.

Being a woman is hard.

Being a Christian is hard.

Every day is full of a bombardment of lies masquerading as truth, relationships and their perils, emotions that come from nowhere.

It would be untrue if I told you that I am always happy, always put together, always godly, always tactful, always loving, always healthy.

It would be much more accurate to tell you that I ate a brownie for breakfast (again) and immediately felt guilty, or that I ran three miles last week and felt on top of the world only to remind myself that it really isn't that far, or that I want to write and make things beautiful but I'm scared that the things I create don't matter. 

It would be painfully transparent to confess that I daily have to remind myself to keep realistic expectations about my marriage, that I struggle to be inspired as I read my bible, and that I feel so small in this world. 

But there is beauty in struggle.  I can see it.  I can see the sun coming through the windows. I can see rain feeding the desert.  I can hear Jack laughing at some small pleasure that I have missed because of my grown-up responsibilities. 

This morning I was talking with a friend who has been processing difficult emotions and struggling to see where truth is in the midst of pain.  And I was reminded of how big God is.  Of how wise.  Of how compassionate.  

He is not caught unaware by my emotional surges or my questions or my confusion.  He is not ruffled by my anger or indifference or forgetfulness.  

He loves me, not just in spite of it, but through it.  He is present and active and attentive.  He is not distant, just giving a passing grade.  He is near.  Teaching, holding, laughing, weeping.  My Jesus.  My Friend.  My Companion and King.  

I can't say that I know where to go from here.  Or that I have a plan of how to love Jesus more, or make things easier.  I sort of wish I knew those things.  I like the feeling of control that a plan of action gives me.  

But I don't need one.

I know that Jesus has a clear vision for me, for my days, weeks and years.  He sees where I intersect with other lives, how I influence decisions or the development of a precious child.  He sees so much beyond what I can even imagine or comprehend, that for today, I am not even going to try.

I am simply going to trust him and love him.  

Let him lead.

Let him love me.

I am going to be still and know that he is God. 

Ahh. *big breath in*

It feels so good. 

Gym Fail

I just got back home from my most lame gym visit ever.

Last night I coordinated with a friend and we both agreed to meet at the gym this morning. Usually I forego Fridays because I have my neighbor's baby who is younger than Jack.  Getting two non-walkers out of the house at the same time is just a whole lot of work.

Side note:

How do mums of two kids do it?

I get it when they are like three

and up, but what about

those moms who have their

babies two years apart?

Sigh.

I guess I will just have to wait and see

how its done when my time comes.

And for extreme clarification,

this side-note has not been an announcement.

When I posted this mystery surrounding 

Baby Broccoli,

a close friend of mine sent me an excited text

asking if my surprise was that

I was going to tell Andy I was pregnant.

So now, I feel paranoid about any comments

that could potentially be interpreted as

"I'm pregnant!"

I'm not. 

But I decided that even if it was a whole lot of work, I would feel so glad that I got there and snuck in a run.  I wish I could say it was an extra run for the week, but alas, it is not so, this week was lots of...well... lots of not going to the gym, that's for sure!

So I fed and packed up both babes and made it successfully to the car.  I was feeling quite smug and optimistic about the day. I was running on time, which is pretty much a miracle, and I remembered everything.  

The drama started when I arrived at the child watch center at the gym.  Mind you, this will not sound in the least bit troublesome to you, especially if you don't have kids, but for some reason, the combination of all the following just blackened my mood.

I'm still trying to rub away the scowl that has settled on my eyebrows from it.

First: There were too many babies (you know that whole ratio thing) and I had to wait 15 minutes to drop one baby off.

Second: I got a little hand slap (figuratively people... and kindly... but it was still embarrassing) for bringing in a baby who was not a member.  I can have up to five kids on my membership so I assumed it would be okay, only it wasn't.  They still let the extra baby in, and still smiled at me, but I felt so stupid.

Third: There were no treadmills open when I finally dropped off both wee ones.

Fourth: I don't really like ellipticals

Fifth: I got on one anyway and thought I would just stay busy until a treadmill opened up. One did just a few minutes later and I jumped at it.  But before I even got situated another woman came up and said she had been waiting for it (okay, my gym just got fancy new equipment and the last few times I've been the sign-up sheets have been a mystery, so I just assumed they were still not in order and it was first come first serve.  They aren't.).  Hand slap #2.

Sixth:  I took the walk of shame back to my elliptical.  As I was getting situated my ipod some how flew away from me and my machine and I had to take a second walk of shame to retrieve it from the middle of the floor.  Boy do I  know how to cause a scene!

Seventh: Two treadmills opened up about 15 minutes later and I waited a few minutes to see if they would be claimed.  I got off my machine and SIGNED UP and then hopped on.  About half a mile into my run I realized that in my rush I forgot to wipe down my other machine.  Rude.  I felt like everyone was just watching me and scorning me for my bad gym manners.  

Eighth:  I don't really like the word eighth.  It looks weird and I feel like I have a lisp when I try and say it.

Ninth: In the weights circuit I got stuck behind a very, very smelly man.  Perhaps it was my punishment for my bad manners.

Tenth: I quit early.  I wasn't in the mood.  So I picked up my boys and headed to Starbucks for some caffeine and then home for some lunch.

That is the end of my pathetic attempt at a Friday workout.  I don't think I'll bother next week.  

But here is the thing. 

Why did it faze me so much?  Why did it make my outlook so bleak?

I don't want to be that controlled by external happenings.  But some days I just am.  

Did I not get enough sleep?  Did I get my caffeine too late in the day?  Was I mentally weakened by the revolt being staged by my face that has resulted in an unattractive complexion? 

Who knows.

What I do know is that "This is the day the Lord has made."  Regardless of hand-slaps  or embarrassment or "waking up on the wrong side of the bed," I need to learn to rejoice.

I firmly believe that Jesus wants me to live joyfully.  Joy is fruit in my life that grows when I am in community with my God.  

Today, weeds of frustration and irritability started to take root around my precious joy.  I want to be proactive to rip them out before they affect the growth of the fruit that I crave.  

So I put on my gardening gloves and start pulling.  All the way down to the roots.  As I pull, I remember that this day is just as important to God's creative plan as yesterday, and as tomorrow.  I want to live it the way He intends.  I have no way of knowing what work He is doing in me as I choose to sacrifice the weeds and nourish the fruit. 

This is the day the Lord has made.  I will rejoice and be glad in it. 

Going Out With A Bang

I bet you are wondering how I spent the last few hours of 2008.

Reflecting on the highs and lows of the year?

Writing out my resolutions?

Stuffing my face with party snacks?

No. No. And no.

I spent my precious time taking care of this mess:

In case you can't quite tell, that is poop smudged all over Jack's face.  And yes, there is a vast quantity quite near his mouth.

The picture doesn't reveal that there was also copious amounts of excrement smeared up and down his legs and arms.

Oh yes, and my bedroom carpet, the dining room floor, my duvet cover and me.

How did this happen?

It is tempting to assume that I am an unfit mother and incapable of diapering my child, but don't think that.  I am pretty sure that gross and traumatic things like this happen to a lot, if not most, moms.

Somebody please tell me I'm right about that.

Moving on...

The Story:

Jack had been cranky all day.  Nothing calmed him down.  He didn't want to eat (which he usually loves to do) or play.  He took lots of naps.

By five o'clock he was just pitiful.  One thing that always works to cheer my boy up is a bath.  Usually it is part of our bedtime routine.  Bath, baby massage, bottle, bed.

In the recent months we've also added "naked time" to the mix.

  

I love naked time.  I love his squishy little bum and his rolly arms and legs.  So yummy!

I also think it is good for his little bottom to air out occasionally. You know?

So he crawls around for a few minutes, exposed, then I diaper him and we continue with bedtime rituals.  

Back to tonight, I decided to give him his bath early to see if I could calm him down for the evening.  We had a nice long bath.  I brought in extra toys.  He laughed and splashed. It worked like a charm.

When he was done I brought him out in his towel and let him crawl around.  As I've already explained to you, that is normal in our house.

While he was playing, I got sidetracked with FB, blogs, e-mail... you know how the web just sucks you in.  I could hear Jack playing, then saw him crawl into my bedroom.  That also is a totally normal occurrence in my house. My bedroom is super child-proof and I often let him explore there.

I was listening to him talk to himself and kind of guessing what he was doing.  Then it became very quiet.  I told myself, "just check this one last thing, then go get him."

Before I even navigated to my next cyber destination I heard it. I little grunt.  Then another. 

I bound from my chair and dashed to the bedroom.  Two steps away I smelled it!

OH NO!

Before I was even to the doorway I could see the smears on the carpet.  I found Jack standing, as pleased as could be, by my bed.  Brown, sticky lump in hand.  

I immediately scooped him up and brought him out to the smooth floor in the dining room, then called my sister (who lives in a condo below us).  I ran a second bath and once she arrived she put Jack in the tub while I took care of one of the most disgusting messes I have cleaned up in a long time.

Don't worry, for your benefit we made sure to get the photo-op before we washed his face.  We also made a sisterly-pact to repeat the story to his first girlfriend.  A mission which Andy heartily agreed to.

My Final Lessons of 2008:

1. Be on friendly terms with at least one neighbor.  You never know when you will need a second set of hands.
   
2. Naked time may be cute, but it is not without danger.
   
3. Don't check e-mail during naked time.
   
4. Baby poop may be littler, but it is no less stinky than an adult's.
   
5. NOTHING is truly baby proof.
   
6. If Jack is cranky all day, maybe he just needs a good BM.
   
7. I am a good mom.  If I can handle a poop disaster and live to laugh at the tale, I can handle anything!

Okay, now that we have that mess cleaned up, on to the party snacks!

Yeeessss!

Red Shoe Revelations

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

Gross.

Very gross.

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

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

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

Exhibit B: Shiny ruby heels ($12).

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

Is that terrible?

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

Maybe he is saving that for another day. 

I hope not.

Anyway....

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

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

My house to the car.  Fine.

My car to the store. Fine.

Inside the store, waltzing around.  Dazzling.

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

Great!  More visiting time!

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

EWWWW!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned for Red Shoe Revelations: Part Two.  

Tomorrow.

I promise.

What They Don't Tell You...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also, no matter what anyone says,

Pampers really are the best diapers.

There is a reason they are twice as expensive.

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

better quality.

Pampers, I love you.

But I can't afford you.

What is a mother to do?

Moving on.

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

But we are past that now.

Or so I thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Three

I know you have been waiting.  I'm sorry to delay your curiosity.  

After the haircut yesterday I went grocery shopping and came home to make a bunch of batches of food for Jack and some dinner for the grown ups.  After all that cooking (and cleaning of the kitchen) I was really tired.

Our guest ended up falling asleep early (as is wont to happen after many days of traveling) so Andy and I had a nice evening snuggling on the couch.  We watched a fascinating documentary on modern day Geishas, had root beer floats, and teased ourselves about being such a nerdy couple.  

It was delightful.

But now Andy is at work and the rest of the house is asleep, so I am free to tell you about my hair.

Exciting!

Here is my new hair.  Please excuse the ridiculous face I am making as I have never been good at taking my own picture.  Just look at the hair. Please.

I think I learned something about getting a good cut from my current stylist.  Or perhaps I just lucked out this time.  But here is what I did differently for a great haircut day:

1. Before I left the house I read 1 Peter 3:4.  You know, "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment... but a gentle and quiet spirit..."  I needed the reminder that my attitude is more important than my hair.  Can I be at peace with lame hair?  Yes.  Will I? With God's strength, yes.

By the way, I have always avoided this verse because I really like outward adornment.  I didn't want to be convicted of "adorning myself." But I noticed that outward adornment is not forbidden, it is just that those things are not the source of my beauty.  They become a problem when they are what I rely on to make me lovely, instead of challenging myself to be gentle and quiet.  So adorn away, just don't let the accouterments own you. 

2. I made the whole outing a treat.  My mother-in-law hung out with Jack, so I took my time. I browsed a magazine, I bought a coffee.  I relaxed.  That way, even if the hair was bad, the day was good.  

3. I scheduled my appointment right before my hairstylist's lunch and on her slowest day.  That way she didn't have to rush to finish my hair before someone else's appointment.  I think that made the biggest difference.  I had time to explain what I wanted and she had time to fuss over the tiny details.  

So ladies, glean from my experience and enjoy your next coiffing experience.