Look At Me! Or Don't.

I hate it when I can't sleep.

There are some nights that sleep doesn't come because I've napped too long the day before or I drank too much coffee, but then there are other nights that sleep evades me because I'm being thinky.

And if I'm being thinky about something, the something is probably not good.

So goes last night.

I was being thinky.  And praying a lot. 

Because I'm realizing that vanity has not only taken root, but is sprouting buds of flowers that are not pretty. Not pretty at all.

Here's where the saying "Confession is good for the soul," might come into play.  I don't know if it will be good or not, but I'm feeling compelled to continue.  So continue we shall.....

I'm a very vain person.

Not vain in the Must.Be.Put.Together.Every.Second.Of.The.Day. kinda way, because goodness knows I have no trouble tromping through Walmart's rush-hour traffic sporting greasy hair, yesterday's clothes, and a freshly popped pimple on my chin. 

BUT.  I am vain in the Look.At.Me./Look.At.My.Family./We.Have.It.All.Together. kinda way. 

Odd for one who will quickly point out to you that my house is never clean and that my children only eat processed, highly over-antibioticated, very un-organic food?  Um...yes.  I'm the first to see the irony.

But what I want you to believe, and where the root of all my vanity stems, is that I'm so comfortable in my own skin and the way our family rolls, I really want people to want to be like us.  Weird?  Yes.  Twisted?  Absolutely.  Should I seek therapy?  Sign me up.

Because you know what?  It sucks.

Because I've noticed myself having more and more thoughts about what people think, and I can see that if I don't let the Father check me (and fast!), I could begin to spiral headfirst into a place I'm pretty surely positive I don't want to go.

Here are two things that have been creeping around and rearing their ugly heads:

1)  Most of you are aware of Sawyer's neck injury that took place about a month or so ago.  (If not, you can you read briefly about it here.)  You may also recall that the orders from the doctor state "No Sports. Ever." but that he did go on to leave that to the discretion of Kirk and I as his parents. 

Well, we made the decision to go on and allow him to play baseball and other low-impact/contact sports right now, and just monitor as the years progress.  Because we felt/still feel like living in fear or anticipation of bad things to come is no way to live.  That a kid should be allowed to be a kid.  Doesn't mean that we're going to be knowingly foolish in our choices for him and sign him up for motocross racing or tackle football, but we are not going to chain him to the couch for the rest of his life either. 

Sounds very wise on our part, doesn't it?
We're very brave, aren't we?
You wish you could be that trusting of Jesus to protect your baby?

What if I told you that a huge part of me fought for Sawyer to be able to play sports because I like being a sports' mom?  That I love being the mother of the kid that people brag about at the baseball field?  That part of my thoughts in the doctor's office that day drifted to Oh no. But Sawyer is good. We HAVE to play baseball.  That I adore hearing new people sitting behind me in the bleachers say, "Whoa, who's that red-headed kid?!" 

Vanity can take your mind to ugly places.  Places that aren't so much about coiffed hair and tan legs, but places that stroke the ego.  And it ain't pretty.

2)  Summer's fast approaching, and we've busted out the shorts at our house.  And as much as I adore summer and bare legs and flip flops, I also despise seeing fall and winter fall by the wayside. 

Because it means that Keaton starts wearing shorts again.

(Keaton has a skin-disorder that you can read about here.)

And people are already starting to stare.  And look.  And wonder.  And it makes Keaton squirm.  And it makes me squirm, too.

Yes, because he's squirming, but also because I don't want my kid to have an imperfection.  I don't want people to think that something is wrong with US. 

I hate that I debate now about whether he should wear jeans or shorts somewhere, and that most of the time it depends on who will be there to see us.  I hate that I'm happy that his baseball uniform covers his legs so that it's not an issue, but that I despised soccer and basketball season because his legs were showing.

I mean, really?  This is the kind of mom that I am?  That I spend more time worrying about who's looking at his legs during a family outing than just enjoying the family?

Ridiculous.

But it's how it's going with me right now.  And I'm taking it to our Precious Jesus and asking Him to deliver me.  But I know it won't be overnight.  It'll be a process that could potentially last my entire life.  A process that will require constant plucking and pruning, and that will probably hurt.  A lot.

So I just ask that you pray for me if I come to your mind.  Because in all of my The.Same.Load.of.Laundry.Is.Going.On.Four.Days.In.The.Washer.But.I.Don't.Care.To.Tell.You.All.About.It. glory, my heart is really a tangle of emotions and thoughts that I constantly have to battle.

Vanity isn't pretty.
No matter how you look at it.


***I understand that this post probably has offended many of you.  It is inconceivable for some of you to ever understand how a mother's heart could feel this way towards her children.  Please let me assure you that my babies are my passion.  I love them UNCONDITIONALLY.  I love Sawyer whether he ever lifts a baseball bat again, and I love Keaton regardless of those spots.  This post is just an expression of my heart's journey. 

Because being human sucks.  And I'm very good at being human.