Lent -- Not Just For BellyButtons Anymore

I've been asked about my choosing to fast certain things for Lent, and though I do maintain that it is something that is fairly private between me and the Lord, I decided to go ahead and share, because I do think this season will prove to be a very drastic turning point for my relationship with the Father.

I've never observed Lent before.  Ever.

I actually never really knew what it was until just a few years ago when some of my nontraditional Baptist friends began discussing giving up strongholds for Lent, for up until that time "lint" was the stuff that stuck in my bellybutton and the stuff that I had to clean out of my dryer trap.  You see, growing up in a strict conservative Southern Baptist home, we didn't observe Lent or other so-called "legalistic" Christian holidays.  I don't think my parents necessarily frowned upon them, we just weren't taught about them, and they weren't observed.

Last Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, I was reading through some Twitter and Facebook statuses and kept seeing people refer to Lent.  And so I was intrigued.  I hopped online and began researching, trying to figure out if this was just a fad or if it was, in fact, something that could be proved to be legit.  I certainly did not want to play into the game of Everyone Else Is Doing It, but wanted to discern whether observing Lent was something that could bring me into a higher dependence upon the Lord.

After reading several good (and several bad) articles and commentaries on Lent, I decided to just fore-go all the theological mumbo-jumbo and go with my gut.  I have no idea if I'm observing Lent in all the "right" ways or not, but I decided to put my very simple mind's view on the matter and just go with it.

From what I have read, Lent is a period in which a person is called to give-up an item or more that has proved to be a stronghold for them. The idea being that if it is given up for the period of Lent, then a higher devotion to the Lord to fill the void will take place.  Thus leading, hopefully, to pattern changes and our dependency on the Lord increases.  (DISCLAIMER:  Again I will say...I'm no theologian and don't want to be.  I'll leave that to the folks that like that kind of thing.  I may have it all wrong, but I'm pretty confident that Christ will be happy with my effort even if I'm calling it "Lent" even if it's really not.  Basically, I don't really know what I'm talking about...but this is working for me and Jesus right now...so I'm going with it.)

A lot of my friends who observe Lent have given up Facebook, Twitter, and/or other types of social media.  Some have given up television, or at least certain television shows that they are locked into religiously.  Some have disconnected their internet for the 40 day period, and others have given up blogging.  I wasn't really feeling led down those certain ways, because although they would definitely have been my stronghold last year at this time, I've kind of grown past that a bit.  Don't get me wrong...I still LOVE the computer and all of its connectedness, but I can go for days without it and feel just fine.  So that didn't seem like the route to go.  I also recently gave up some "bad" television shows (ahem...Jersey Shore) that had me entirely way too hooked into their ridiculousness, but wasn't really feeling like giving tv up was the right path for me either.  Because at this point, I could take it or leave it.

So I examined.

And what I discovered is that I spend entirely way too much time thinking about how hungry I am.  I'm a nervous eater.  I'm an emotional eater.  I'm a restless eater.  I'm a bored eater.  And I'm a social eater.  I.Love.Food.  It can be a bowl of cereal before bed or a full-on gluttonous display of pasta devouring.  Doesn't matter.  I love to eat. 

So I decided that FOOD was an obvious stronghold for me.  I knew that if I channeled as much energy into my relationship with Christ as I did my refrigerator, then big things could change within me.

So, just like that, with no real pondering, I gave up food.  On Ash Wednesday.  In a matter of 10 minutes.  No planning.  No weaning myself off of food the week prior.  Just a cold turkey fast.  (Because I tend to be a little quick on the trigger!)

Then I remembered that Lent was for 40 days.  And I realized that although this was going to be a momentous occasion for my spiritual life, I was also still a human... And I didn't really want to die of starvation.

So I tweaked my fasting plan.

To fruits and vegetables only.  No sugar.  No coffee.  No pasta.  No bread.  No meat. 

For two reasons:  1...I had to eat something in 40 days.  And 2...I despise fruits and vegetables, so it seemed a perfect fit for my dependency issues.  Because the only way I was actually going to make it on a diet of broccoli and green apples was by the Grace of God.

(Please don't lecture me on the neccessity of certain nutrients, etc.  I've studied up on that, too, and have just decided that with my heart and mind in the right place, that God will see my very human body through the period.)

And so, here I am, 10 days in, and nothing has passed my lips that isn't a veggie or a fruit.  I'm eating my baked potatoes without butter, cheese, and sour cream, and I'm foregoing dumping cream cheese and cool-whip on my grapes. 

And it's hard.

But it is easier than I ever thought it would be.  Because I'm learning that I have the diligence to stick to something that seems totally far-fetched and crazy for me to manage, and because I have a whole lot of extra time on my hands to focus on the things that really matter. 

Another disclaimer...
This is totally just my deal.  I don't think anyone should do it, unless they feel called to do so.  It's not a diet plan or a time-management strategy.  It's hard and it makes you cranky and it makes people think that you have lost your ever-loving mind.  So please don't turn all vegan or disconnect your television because you read this post.  It really needs to be something between you and the Lord.  This isn't a self-help commercial by any means.  Because if I was trying to help MYSELF then I'd be in my car and at the nearest Olive Garden in the next 20 minutes. 

I have no doubt that after Easter, I will return to eating meat and pasta and cupcakes and bread and all my other favorite foods.  But I hope and desire that I will do so without the attachment and dependence on the food that I used to have.  Hopefully, food will just be food, and not my crutch. 

So...that's my Lent story. 

Do you have one?  I'd love to hear it!

Raw

I'm raw.

My emotions have been scraped so far down to the bone that one word mistakenly said or a slight unfortunate tone in a voice is like hot bleach searing through my flesh.

My status on facebook yesterday was that I felt like I was doing all that I could do to just dig my nails in and claw my way through the day.  I think some people thought I just needed a cup of coffee or that my fast that I've taken on for Lent has finally made me walk on the wrong side of the crazy track.  But, really, I have just reached a plateau of really really hard days.

I'm trying to reexamine myself and really dig deep to discover who it is that I'm called to be. 

I've always been a lively personality, but it wasn't until very recently that I've become confident and secure enough in myself that I have been able to throw off the worrying-what-everyone-thinks jacket and really step into the this-is-me-take-it-or-leave-it arena.  It was a hard, scary transition, but a very liberating one.  I felt free to be my inner sarcastic, fun-loving, live-on-the-edge self. 

But I'm struggling with whether that is who I'm called to be.

Am I called to put aside that inner drive to be blatantly honest about myself and who I am, choosing to not hide behind any curtains, and just let-it-all-hang-out (so to speak) in the name of authenticity and transparency?  Or is that actually, in fact, the woman God wants me to be, so that I might be an encourager to others?  Or am I really just a stumbling block?  Am I being a true friend, or a hindrance?

It's been a hard pill to swallow realizing that I perhaps have been driving wedges in God's will and plan.  But, I'm also so unconfident in my discernment that I can't tell if I'm just being deceived by raw emotions and feelings that are so hard to categorize and verbalize.

And so I have reached this plateau of not knowing which way to go.

And so I pray.  And I wait.  And I approach the Throne of Grace with pleading....

And until discerment comes, I will do so quietly.....

Empty

Y'all, I'm spent.

I'm running on fumes now, and I'm having a hard time finding the time and energy and even the want-to to refill the tank.  When it gets like this, it is easier to just retreat and hide.  In my bed.  On the couch.  Anywhere it is dark and quiet.  Away from phones ringing.  And children talking. 

Today I've hid.

And I'm fighting the urge to not hide tomorrow.  And the next day.  And the day after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so glad that even in the rough days of weepiness and exhaustion, there are some giggle-worthy moments.  Like this pajama clad Super Spy who has taken over my home....

Definitely graduation slide show worthy.....

Swirly

I'm airing a smidge on the swirly side tonight.

I was slapped in the face tonight with the fact that I'm very very blessed.  Yet at the same time punched in the gut with the knowledge that I've been failing. 

I have a gorgeous family that other people brag on.  I'm still stumped at times when people brag on the behavior of my hellions or compliment their manners, but I'm so incredibly humbled.  Yet so extremely proud.  All in the same exhale.

I have beautiful friends that love me in spite of myself.  My besties have chosen to look past the garbage that floods these flesh and bones and have decided that, for whatever reason, I'm worth their time and energy.  And I'm mortified that I've been taking them for granted.  Not anymore.  I'm resolving to make sure that they know that they are loved and appreciated and needed.  Love you, friendies.

I have a church family that is like none I've ever experienced before in my life.  I just came tonight from a gathering of believers that was honest and humble and authentic.  People laughed and cried and were mellow.  And then we loved on eachother.  It was the church of Acts.  In 2011.  And I'm in awe that the Lord saw fit to allow me to be a part of such wholeness. 

I attended a meeting today that kicked off a very very busy upcoming season of tournament baseball for Sawyer.  To people outside of the baseball world, tournament ball and Little League is like Neptune.  A world that is so far from anything understandable in the normal realm, that it is hard to even associate with.  I know because I used to be that person.  But tournament baseball can easily consume a family.  It can consume every inch of time, money, energy, and effort that you allow it to, and it can very easily become an idol.  My prayer for this season is that we can maintain healthy balance.  It is very tempting for Kirk and me (I'm equally at fault here...) to allow baseball to control and dictate our lives.  Balance.  Healthy balance.  It's a necessity.

I'm still reeling with the fight that our dear sister, Joanne Heim, is punching her way through.  Right now things are not looking good.  She's taken a turn for the worse, and a miracle is her only hope.  (Her husband Toben's updates on her blog are the most accurate information on her status...)  It is impossible not to reflect on life as I know it right now and go through "what ifs" and "what would happens."  PERSPECTIVE has become the mantra for this week, but I'm also struggling with how to pray.  I know all the churchy Sunday School answers about how God's will is perfect, but right now I really just want Him to heal Joanne.  It would be so much easier if we could just boss God around....




I was made painfully aware tonight that I haven't been doing enough to further God's Kingdom.  I've been pretty complacent about my position in Kingdom work, because it is easy to claim that raising up my boys as Godly men is enough right now.  Not that raising my boys to be Godly men isn't important...it is MORE than important.  It is my main and primary goal and focus.  But, I haven't been making myself available to the unchurched.  To the hurting.  To the broken.  I haven't been being who we were called to be.  I've stayed comfortable in my South Arkansas Bible Belt bubble.  But it's time to venture out.  And bring my boys with me.  It's definitely time....

And in other ridiculous swirly news, I'm way behind on my DVR, but I have read 3 books in the past 2 days. 

I've also learned to make a fire in my fireplace.

Swirly, indeed. 

There's a lot that's been whirling around the ole' gray matter, and though I'm still trying to make sense of it all, I think I've come to a conclusion...

Do less.
Be more.
Focus on Him.

And the rest all falls into place....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2011: Hit Me With Your Best Shot

New Years.

I've rang in 33 of these bad boys in my lifetime, and although I get the stink eye from folks when I talk about how old I feel, I think being able to say that I really don't know where time has gone constitutes me as being old enough to call myself old.  (And before any of you nice people hurl whips and daggers in my direction, no, I'm not saying anything or implying anything about your own age and youth deprivation.  Y'all are very young.  It's me who's old.)

2010 was a wild ride of a year.  I traveled places that I'd never been before.  I almost died.  I was scared out of my mind, and more excited than I've ever been.  I gained 20 pounds, lost it, then gained it back again.  I hired a personal trainer, went to boot camp, and then resorted to just sticking out my tongue at the gym as I slurped ice cream cones at the coldstone place across the street...all within 3 months.  I watched lots of movies that haunted my thoughts for months on end, and watched lots that I will never remember again.  I watched one of my sons come within a baseball bat's length of being part of a State Championship Little League team.  And I spent more hours at football fields and baseball fields cheering on all three of my rascals than I did at home.  We finished up our first year of homeschooling and started our second, and I'm still floundering in a sea of What-Have-I-Done about it.  I witnessed Broadway magic with my bestie when we went and saw WICKED.  And I was exposed to true friendship by three of the most amazing women I've ever met in my life (wink.wink.and.another.wink...you know who you are).

And I could go on and on.

But 2010 is over.

Calendars have been flipped to 2011, and clean slates are laid before us.  But I don't know if I want a clean slate.  2010 was pretty great....and 2011 has huge shoes to fill.

But I suppose it's up the challenge.

I don't like resolutions for the New Year, because I have commitment issues, and I realize that I'm just setting myself up for failure...

BUT....

I do have a few goals.

• I want to draw closer to my Jesus, so that if 2011 happens to thrill my socks off, I know exactly who to praise for it.  But even more than that, I want to draw closer to the One who made me, so that if 2011 holds tragedy and heartbreak or just days that stink like socks....I will recognize the One who will carry me through.
• I want to spend time building relationships that matter.  That have faces.  That will go the distance.  I want to leave soured laundry in the washing machine and sit with a friend to drink coffee instead.  I want to put down my cell phone's texting plan and call someone.  I want to turn the tv off and listen to my children talk about nothing and everything all at the same time.
• I want to dive into the Word.  Not to finish reading it, but to glean life's blood from it.
• I want to journal more.  Because in my journaling, I find recollection and memories and therapy.

I also have a goal for this World O'Blog of which I breathe its air from time to time.  And it's going to help me meet my journaling goal, too.  A two birds with one stone kinda deal.... 

My goal is this:

• Take a picture every day.  Maybe 2.  Or 6.  Or 348.  But at least one.  And cell phone cameras are totally legit.  I know this because I made the rules.
• Then I'm going to post AT LEAST that picture everyday.  Hopefully, my writing mojo will flood back to me in this year of newness, but if not, at least there will be something for me to attach my thoughts and reactions and memories to.
• Just one picture.
• I can totally rock that.

And if I fall off the wagon....

Well, then my January 1st post of 2012 will tell you about how 2011 was the year that I could not even keep one measly goal of snapping one measly picture a day.

We shall see.
We shall see.

Happy New Year, friends.  May God rain down so much pureness in joy onto your 2011.

~~~~~~~~~~

It would only be fair to start this year off right.  And wouldn't you know it, I'm going to start it off as a big ole' cheater.  Because my picture for today wasn't even taken today.  It was actually taken about 4 days ago, but I'm so impressed that we could get all 5 of us gene-sharers to look at the camera at the same time, that it would be simply criminal to not post it....

PROJECT PHOTO #1:


December 29, 2010



One Day....

I'm almost embarrassed to show my face around here...

Every day that drifts by without logging onto Blogger makes it that much harder to try to attempt the next day.  I have no idea why seasons come and go like they do, but I'm definitely in a season right now that has dropped blogging down a few notches on my whittling log of priorities. 

It is definitely not because I don't miss the people, relationships, and bonds that I've made through this medium.  In fact, that's what I miss the most.  I miss "seeing" my blogeeps every day.  Seeing their beautiful children, hearing their funny stories, and feeling like I am sitting on the couch having a good little chat with kindred spirits, coffee and giggles in hand.  I feel detached from that world right now.  Like I'm losing that neighborhood of friends.  And I don't like it.  Actually, those bonds are the only things that draw me back to my own site over and over....begging myself to check in and regain that luster. 

It's also definitely not because I've found another way to record my family's daily history.  I most certainly haven't done that.  I have many a megabyte of photos that are just hibernating until a time when I'll do something with them...most likely when it's so far in the future that I will have totally forgotten everything that was going on during the moment.  My boys are growing every day.  They're saying witty and hilarious things. They're just looking cute.  And I'm not recording any of it.  And I will regret that one day...or 5 seconds from now.

It's also not because I've decided that writing isn't my thing anymore.  It's still my thing.  And even writing this post about not writing has made me remember that I really do like writing.  Writing is therapy for me.  And it relieves a lot of tension.  Hmmmm......come to think of it, I'm not sure why the husband hasn't begged me to resume my regularly scheduled programming just for sanity's sake (his..not mine).

I honestly have no idea what it is.  Just a season, I suppose.  Because looking over this post, I can't really find one reason as to why I find it so hard to log on and do what I used to do as naturally as breathing....

One day, I'll get it back.

Because I'm not ready to say goodbye for good.

One day...
One fine bloggy day....

Until then...

There's Manna in Numbers

EIGHT -- the number on the clock that the little hand points to when I'm sitting at the soccer field on a Saturday morning.  On a Saturday morning.  Wait...did you hear me?  On a Saturday morning.  Whoever had that brainchild must be one of those weird morning people, and they probably do other stuff before the roosters like eat dinner...or...laundry.

ONE -- the number of tattoos that my cherub-faced stinker installed on himself while I wasn't looking.  Our family is all about some ink, but choosing to mimic thugists...not so much.  And I'll show you the picture...as long as you promise not to say, "Aw...he's so cute."  Because, y'all...he put the stinkin' thing on his neck.  The thing that holds his head on.  Which he obviously wasn't using when he inked himself.

SEVEN -- the number of nights that I've slept with the windows open.  Keep in mind that 3 of those nights were with the husband 239,382,392,823 miles away....and the beauty of sleeping chilled to the bone in the crisp fall air beat out the fear of the BoogieMan.  That's some amazing fall air, I tell ya.

EIGHT -- the number of months that it took our walls to get all dinged up from one too many hallway soccer games and swashbuckling pirate attacks.  We remodeled in February.  Today, I spent the afternoon repainting what we just painted.  

NEVER  -- the time in which the husband and I will finally be able to have nice things (and walls that don't get dinged up).  Dadgum boys.

SEVENTY-THREE -- the number of minutes that the offspring member of the red headed persuasion stared at his language book the other day.   He had to write four sentences about what he did this summer.  That's it.  Four.  And you would have thought that I asked him to translate the Gilgamesh epic into Latin.  On minute seventy-four, he caved.  Score = Mom: 1, Kid: goose egg.

FORTY-ONE  --  the number of Pez Dispensers in the oldest rascal's collection.  He wants to make sure that I clarify that the forty-one does include one giant talking Yoda Pez Dispenser and a box set of 8 Star Trek members, which leaves 32 individual Pez Dispensers.  You think I'm kidding.  I'm so not kidding.  I'm also not kidding about the Excel spreadsheet that is worked up on these said 41 Pez Dispensers.  Because we're wild and crazy like that....

SIXTEEN -- the number of days that I've eaten nothing but junk.  With the husband in and out of the country and baseball/football/soccer seven nights/afternoon a week, I've been ingesting mad amounts of fast food and frozen-food aisle edibles.  My innards screamed out for vegetables the other day, and I managed to wolf down a can of cold mixed veggies before heading out to the ballfield.  Go ahead...judge.  I'm sixteen steps ahead of you. 

TWENTY-FOUR -- the number of Words With Friends games that I have going on right now.  Because I have an infinitesimal amount of spare time on my hands.  What?  I'm not playing with you?  My user name is RascalRaiserAmb.  C'mon..you know you want to feed my Scrabbalized habit.

ONE -- the number of precious husbands that I have.  It looks strange to me that I just wrote the word "husbands"...plural.  Speaking of plural...have you seen that new TLC show, "Sister Wives"??  Bizarro.  I'll keep my one man all to my self, thank you very kindly. 

ENDLESS -- the amount of blessings that I feel and have felt from the onslaught of prayers, support, and love showered on us by our friends and family.  We've had some issues that have sneaked their way into the crevices of our lives and have pitched tents in some very uncertain deserts and valleys.  We've dealt with confusion, misunderstanding, and the unknown.  And yet, we remain remarkably at peace.  Because prayer is manna in the desert.  Support is manna.  A "just checking on ya" email is manna.  A facebooked "how ya doing?" is manna. 

And manna is FOREVER, friends.

Seasons

Seasons are funny.

Some seasons come in gently.  Easing their way in.  Changing things gradually. 

Other seasons waltz in and slap you square in the jaw.  Leaving no mercy in their wake.

I prefer gradual.  Because I'm not a big change kinda gal.  I prefer to look around one day and say, "Whoa...something's different here, but I have no earthly idea what it is." That's much better than the alternative of waking up one day and your entire world has flipped itself.  Yes...Gradual is much better.  And easier on the nerves.

Fall has finally shown its face here in South Arkansas, and I'm loving the open-window, fleecy pajama kinda weather.  I even slept with 3 quilts on my bed last night and didn't sweat one time....it was magical.

But this post isn't really about the newfound crispness in the air.

A new season has sneaked in and rearranged all the furniture in my mind.  Facets of my life have been uprooted and tossed around like nothing I've ever seen before, and other pieces have remained untouched in this bizarre twist of seasonal irony.  Some parts are better.  Some are devastated.  Some are still whirling around.  And I'm stuck somewhere in the middle trying to make sense of it all.

Priorities are shifting.  Conversations are being had that I never thought would have to be.  Time spent on things that used to be so important are now fleeting thoughts.  Interests have moved.  Definitions of words like "quality" and "contentment" are rewriting themselves. 

And I'm still reeling with the shift in equilibrium.

But I suppose that's what seasons are all about.  Some seasons are for deadening, so that new growth can spring forth.  Some seasons are for blooming and flowering and conquering the bleakness.  Some seasons are for transition.  And others are for preparation.

But whatever the season......

"We take the good days from God—why not also the bad days?"  -- Job 2:10 (the Message)

I just prefer more good days than bad....

NORMAL...A Foreign Word

I don't even know what NORMAL is anymore.  But I know that I'm ready to get back to it. 

These last few months have been some of the most consuming, yet glorious, months of our lives. 

We've spent more minutes and hours away from home than we have in it, but yet, we've felt at home everywhere we've been.  Our bodies have run a gamut of emotions from extreme elatedness to intense pain to inconceivable stress to pure joy.  And we'd do it all over again a million times if given the chance.  I've cried a lot.  And I've laughed a lot.  I've felt as though I was breathing my last breath, and I've been so happy that I've felt as though I was breathing for the first time.  I've uncontrollably wept for friendships that haven't been nurtured the way that they need to be, and snort-giggled with glee over friendships that have bloomed in ways I never thought possible.  I've been extremely disappointed, and I've beamed with pride.

It's been hard.  Yet glorious.  All at the same bizarre time.

But I'm ready for normalcy.  For the mundane.  The routine.  The expected.

I'm ready.

For whatever that is.

~~~~~~~~

It's been awhile since I've hovered around the worldwide web waters.  I won't lie to you and tell you that the break hasn't been somewhat refreshing.  It has.  But I'm ready to get back.  I'm ready to "see" my friends again.  To peek into the lives that I'm so attached to.  To journal again.  To connect.  

Over the next few days, I'll be posting about the consumption of our lives.  About the ironic way that "America's favorite pastime", baseball, can become work.  About the glories of a week spent under the shade of a palm tree.  And about things that could only happen to me...like breaking a Walmart register and emptying the entire contents of a tube of blue shoe polish all over a pair of white shorts and my car. 

I've missed you, friends.

It's good to be back.

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.

Roots and Seeds. And I Hate To Garden.

I have never viewed myself as a grudge holder.

I'm usually very good about moving past hurtful issues and chalking painful situations up to bad days or hormones or misunderstandings.  And I'm not one that will be outwardly rude or mean to someone that has wronged me.  I may avoid, but I'm not vocal.  And I only avoid because I'm a coward and despise confrontation...not because I think I'm paining the other person in anyway.

But yesterday I was slapped in the face with the fact that I've been holding a grudge for awhile now that has really begun to eat away at the outskirts of my heart.  And most probably the inskirts. I have become more guarded with my emotions.  I am turning more inward.  And I don't like it.  Because that isn't the me that I know.  And it isn't the me that my friends know either.

A situation came up in my personal life some time back that presented choices that had to be made.  Choices that were wrong to have ever been an issue.  Choices that forced my family to go in a direction that we shouldn't have been forced to go.  Feelings were hurt.  Horrendously hurtful things were said.  And confidences and trusts were placed in jeopardy.

And it made my heart ache.

Countless tears were used up on the whole scenario, and thoughts and feelings confounded my body.  Thoughts and feelings that were so foreign to me.

And then I moved on.

Or so I thought.

But I realized yesterday that I so had not moved on. In fact, I had moved back.

The mention of a name or a word spoken makes my stomach turn.  A picture or a reference to something familiar makes me tremble.

And why?

Because I feel betrayed. 

And betrayal, I've found, is most usually a one-sided ordeal.  The person who does the betraying doesn't even realize it half of the time and is somehow able to move on without so much as a look back.  And the person who has been injured is left wallowing in a whirlwind of still just trying to process what all exactly happened.

My bestie, Tiffani, relayed an amazing piece of wisdom to me just today as I was discussing my feelings over with her.  She said that she had heard someone say once that "allowing a root of bitterness to grow is like drinking poison and hoping that the other person would die."

Now, I'm not going all Juliet and drinking poison, so hold your hotline calls.

But, I do think that that is an astounding image of what it feels like. 

I am bitter.  I know that I am. 

And I also know that I'm the one that is suffering from it. 

I'm hurt.  And I'm angry.  And I'm tired.

But I know that I have to let it go.  To move on.  To trust the Lord to dig deep in my heart and weed out that root that has taken a strong hold.

I could tell you that I've done it.  That I'm starting today knowing that it will be different.  That my heart is healed and that there is no looking back.

But it isn't going to happen like that.

I can tell you that Jesus and I are going to struggle a little bit with this one.  I'm going to fight him tooth and nail to hold on to the bitterness.  Not because I want it.  But because it's hard.  I can tell you that things are going to probably happen that are going to make this release journey worse.  The Evil One is going to pop up and use things to try to get me to yank the gardening tools away from My Jesus; to try to get me to hang on to my seeds and roots with full force.  And most probably, he'll succeed a time or two.

But I'm going to try.

I'm going to trust the Lord with the journey.  Even though it is going to hurt.  A lot.

The betrayal didn't happen in a day.  So I know that the healing won't either.

But it's time.

Definitely time.

Guilty As Charged

Guilty.
Just plain ole' no-way-around-it guilty.

See...I have a problem.  And it's a big problem.

The problem is that I have good kids.

Whatchu' talkin' 'bout, Willis? 

No, I'm serious.  I have good kids.  Actually really good kids.  And it has become a problem.  Because I've started to become highly proud of them and have become actually very pompous.  I might as well smear Grey Poupon on their cheeks and serve them with silver platters. 

We know people whose children run their households.  Whose children aren't required to say their Yes, Ma'am's and meet their mamas in the kitchen with pleases and thank yous.  Children who are bullies.  And children who are disrespectful.  And mamas and daddies that turn their heads and call it a phase.

And Kirk and I lie in bed at night and discuss them. 

Oh, our kids would NEVER act like that.  
Our children are at least respectful of the rules.
At least our kids are good in public.
Can you believe so-and-so let their kid say such-and-such?
If one of ours said what so-and-so said, we'd tear them up until next Tuesday.

And then we'd go on our merry way pompously being so proud of our offspring.  Proud of their manners and their respect for other adults.  VERY proud of our ability to make them mind.  And maybe more proud of the fact that if we had issues at home with us, that our kids were labeled as the "good ones" in most social scenarios.  It feels good to have your kids bragged on....and we soaked up.

Um. Well.

And then the children came home from their weekend at grandma's.  And Kirk delivered the news that they were nothing short of hellions while there.  Bossing grandma around.  Being rude.  Not a "Yes, Ma'am" or "No, Ma'am" in sight. 

The husband was out in the deer woods.....leaving the children on their own to maintain their manners.

AND THEY COULDN'T HANDLE IT.

And I was horrified.  Mortified, really.  Because I thought we had it all together.  I have spent hours mulling over the perfection of my children's abilities to obey and be respectful. 

And to find out that they really can't and aren't...is, well, devastating.

Because I thought we were getting to a point where we had them trained.  That being respectful was just part of who they were. 

But I realize that we have so far to go.  That becoming lax isn't an option. 

One of the many prayers that I've prayed over my little boys is that they would grow to be respectful men.  That manners and love for other people would just ooze from their pores.

But they aren't going to become Godly men by me just sitting back and being proud.  And haughty.  And judgmental of others' parenting styles.

Now.  Do I think that my kids are now suddenly bad?

No.

But I do think that the Lord used this weekend where the boys were away from their parents constant hovering and reminding them of the right things to say and do, to shock me back into reality. 

Kirk and I do NOT have it all figured out. 

I fell to my knees begging the Lord to forgive me for my prideful nature.  And had a conversation with Him about the seriousness of my commitments.

Because from this day forward, I'm committing to do my part to raise my little people to be respectful.  All the time.  Not just when they feel like it.  Or when I'm around.  But all the time.

And from this day forward, I'm committing myself also.  To be proud to be their mom.  To be proud of their achievements. 

But not to be prideful.

Because those two things are different.  Very.Very.Different.

Self-Diagnosis. And Way Too Much Internet Reading.

So...I've been researching.  GASP.  I know.  I know.  I find it shocking as well.

But I decided that it was high-time to do some self-diagnosis.

Because I have a problem.  Well, lots of problems.  But this one bugs the snot out of me.

I think I have A.D.D.  You know, the attention problem that all the "bad" kids at school have. 

No. Seriously.  I do.

See...look.  This is what I found:

Individuals with ADHD essentially have problems with self-regulation and self-motivation, predominantly due to problems with distractibility, procrastination, organization, and prioritization.

Uh.Huh.  That's me.  Seriously.

I also found this:

In adults, these [symptoms] evolve into:

Procrastination
Indecision, difficulty recalling and organizing details required for a task
Poor time management, losing track of time
Avoiding tasks or jobs that require sustained attention
Difficulty initiating tasks
Difficulty completing and following through on tasks
Difficulty multitasking
Difficulty shifting attention from one task to another

This is me, y'all.  To a T.

Procrastination?  Check.  Like every day that I clean up the bar in my kitchen (these aren't consecutive days, mind you) I find a stack of the boys' sports pictures.  Like packets and packets.  Basketball.  Baseball.  Soccer.  And every day that I find those pictures, I think, Man, I really need to sit down and send these to grandparents and get these in frames in their rooms.  Um...I have pictures from 2008 in that stack.  And laundry that has been in my laundry room for a year now.  And closets that need to be cleaned out.  But they aren't.  Because....I have decided to do it tomorrow.

Indecision?  Check.  I couldn't make a decision to save my life.  Unless it is about which brand of macaroni and cheese to buy.  That I can do.  Past that...no dice.

Poor time management?  Check.  Evidenced by the millions of minutes that I can tick away reading blogs and facebooking and tweeting and instant messaging all of the same people.  And the millions of minutes that I do not spend on my laundry.  I have, however, mastered the art of computering and watching tv.  But I have a feeling that that doesn't really count.  Although it makes perfect sense to me.

Avoiding tasks or jobs that require sustained attention?  Uh. Double check.  Sustained attention like scrapbooking.  And journaling.  And, very shamefully, quiet times.  Because I know that I'll get "bored" easily and won't follow through...so why bother?

Difficulty initiating tasks?  Check.  I don't initiate.  Because I'm scared I won't follow through.  Because nine times out of ten, I won't.  It's not that I don't want to...I just know better.  Like my jewelry business that I started last year.  Um...ask me when the last time was that I made a piece of jewelry. 

Difficulty completing and following through on tasks?  Check.  Just read what I just wrote up there.  Follow through?  What's that?  In fact, this blog is the ONLY thing that I've actually been able to follow through on with any kind of consistency.  And I'm nervous everyday that it will go away.

Difficulty multitasking?  Triple check.  I can chew gum and walk at the same time but that is the extent of my multitasking.  Oh.  And that whole computer and tv thing.  I can't even keep the washer and dryer running while we do school every morning.  Can't talk on the phone and do anything but pace.  Can't maintain a conversation and fold laundry.  I just can't. 

Difficulty shifting attention from one task to another? Check.  And most of the time it is because I forgot what the next task is that I'm supposed to be doing. 

In all seriousness, I really believe I have some issues.  I can't remember anything; go through extreme periods of complacency; and will lose a train of though mid-sentence.

So, I'm going to go to the doctor.  And I'm going to ask them to test me. 

And if it comes back that I'm not what I've diagnosed myself with....well.....then.....

I guess I'm pretty much tanked.

If I can remember that I'm supposed to be tanked, that is.



*quotations found here*

Wheelin' and Dealin'

Unstable.
Shaky.
Not altogether.

Just how I've been feeling lately.

And not like going-to-do-something-crazy-like-chop-up-my-bathtub-and-sell-it-for-necklaces unstable.  Just not feeling all there unstable.  Kinda haphazard.  Wondering around in a stupor.  Just weird.

And I'm not sure why.

I'm happy. 

I'm blessed with an amazing hardworking husband.  And our marriage is at the best place it's ever been. 

I have great kids.  Like amazing terrific wonderful kids.  They bug the snot out of my sometimes, but there is no place I'd rather be then home with them every day.  So incredibly blessed.

I have a roof over my family's head.  We have electricity.  And water.  And toys.  And clothes.  And food in our fridge.  And a dishwasher.  And a washing machine.  And a shower that works.  And vehicles that run. And. And. And.

I'm healthy.  Excluding this whole poison ivy ordeal, our family has been crazily healthy.  This time of year we usually frequent the doctor's office more often than we do Walmart, so that we have even been able to escape the wrath of all the pig flues, cow flues, and every other flu is really a miracle. 

I have amazing friends.  An amazing church.  An amazing extended family and in-law family. 

I'm really super blessed.

But, yet, I still feel blah.

It frustrates me when I get like this.  When I'd rather sleep the days away than get up long enough to cook my kids a hot breakfast.  When I'd rather watch reruns of Dr. Phil than do the laundry. 

It bothers me.

Because I KNOW that I'm just flitting from one thing to the next, not really doing anything well.  I KNOW that I'm letting the ball drop on some things.  I KNOW that I'm trading joy for blahness.

So if I KNOW it, why can't I get out of the rut?  Why don't I just MAKE myself?

Well...this is what I've discovered....

I HAVE NO IDEA!

So, I decided that it was bigger than me.  That if I KNEW it was a problem and was still making a choice to not do anything about it, then it was bigger than me and my very small brain.  So I did something about it.

I had me a little chat.

With Jesus.

And He and I made a deal this morning. 

That I was just going to let Him handle me, and I was going to let Him. 

So.  What does that look like?  I don't really know.  But, I do know that I'm just going to trust Him to hold up His end of the deal.

And I'm going to hold up mine.

Band-Aides

I'm a fixer.  And a peacemaker.

And I usually handle the job well.  I'm swift with an emotional band-aide and quick on my feet to become the center of attention (not in a weird way) to divert a tense or potentially awkward situation.  I will put myself out there to lighten the mood or take the heat....just for the sake of NO CONFRONTATION.

Confrontation terrifies me.

Like break out in cold sweat, throw up in my mouth a little, and shake like the dickens -- terrify me.  And I will go to great lengths to avoid it. 

And it isn't just about me.  I go to the same lengths for those around me.  All for the sake of peace.

But what I've discovered is that though I felt I was being the hero of a group by constantly bringing peace and cordiality to the whole, I might have actually been harming it.  Because there are times that people just need to be honest.  And open.  And not hide behind silly stories and funny anecdotes.  No matter how much squirmage ensues.

My disdain for confrontation in all shapes and sizes has reached a new level this week.  I've squirmed in my chair more times this week than I have in my entire life.  I've tried to be a band-aide.  And a fixer.  And a peacemaker.  But it didn't work.

And though I am trying to talk myself into believing that I'm a failure, I'm also beginning to realize that it isn't me.  That sometimes situations come that aren't fixable.  That some people aren't willing to allow peace.  That band-aides sometimes are useless.

So though I'm hurting for my own feelings that have been hurt, as well as those of my dear friends, I'm trying to count it all as joy.

Because sometimes peace doesn't mean everyone stays together.

Sometimes peace means walking away.  And sometimes peace means staying put and letting the other party walk away.  Sometimes fixing a problem means choosing to act like a mature adult and not involve yourself in tactics and scenarios that are adolescent in nature.  

And sometimes being the glue that tends to hold people together means to sometimes allow the two pieces to go. 

And know that it is time to just walk away. 

And allow God to do His job.  Because He is the ultimate fixer.  And peace-giver.  And his love and provision is greater than any bandaide.

Up. Down.

I love roller coasters.

Like the huge, twisty, make you want to throw up your slurpee, roller coasters.

In fact, if I could live at an amusement park...I just might do it. I wouldn't necessarily want to keep up with my kids around an amusement park all day every day...but me? By myself? You betcha.

What I don't like is the roller coaster that my emotions go on somedays.

Like today.

I went from laughing till I cried to crying till I laughed. And then crying till I cried some more.

I giggled with my girlfriends, and then cried because I felt like I disappointed one.

I played games with my boys and chuckled at their silly sayings, and then cried because I feel like I could be a better mother.

I smiled at the thought of my life and how blessed I am, and then sat in my chair and sobbed because I feel like I've let myself down.

These roller coasters are tough.

But, I guess I'm grateful for the high parts. The loops that send me soaring in the breezes before flinging me down into the pits....because at least then I know, at some point, I'll head back up.

Good day? Yes.
Rough day? Yes.

Better day tomorrow? Guaranteed.

Normal I Am

I've been called a lot of things in my life, but one that strikes me as kind of funny is when I'm called...

NORMAL.

Because I don't tend to view myself as normal. At all.

In fact, I feel a lot of pressure at times because I feel like I'm not living up to what normal should be. Exactly who gets to decided what normal is, I'm not sure. But I've never felt like I quite fit into that mold.

I still don't know if normal is the right word, but I'm beginning to believe that my life is pretty indicative of the truth that lies behind a lot of doors. And I'm coming to realize that the perception of perfection is one that is just that...a perception. That we tend to struggle with putting our best faces forward, with coming off as having it all figured out, and with having life figured out.

I struggled with issues of authenticity a few months ago. Specifically related to the blog world. I'm not going to rehash all I hashed out then, but I did make a promise to myself after that season. I promised that I would keep it real. Because to pretend that I don't have koolaide stains all over my living room carpet is lieing to you. Truth is....not only are there stains, but I haven't even bothered to dig out the Resolve to try and get them out. Just keepin' it real.

So back to normal.

If koolaide stains are normal, then normal I am.

If not really caring about the processed cheese out of a blue box with a big orange dinosaur on the front that I feed my children is normal, then normal I am.

If spending too much money on really cute orange wedgey shoes only for them to rub blisters all over my feet is normal, then normal I am.

If leaving half empty bottles of antibiotic in the fridge because I forget to give the boys their meds once they start "feeling better" is normal, then normal I am.

If digging out the beach towels for the family to use as bath towels because every.single.bath.towel.we.own. is dirty is normal, then normal I am.

If reading blogs instead of washing bath towels is normal, then normal I am.

If feeding the children cereal for dinner because I don't want to stop reading blogs is normal, then normal I am.

If forgetting to reapply sunscreen on the red head at the pool because I'm too busy chatting with my friends is normal, then normal I am.

If I sometimes wish the husband would go fishing with his buddies just so that I can watch what I want to on tv and have some alone time is normal, then normal I am.

If I'm actually looking forward to sending the kids to their grandparents for a few days just so that I can have a break is normal, then normal I am.

If I don't change the sheets on the beds as often as Martha Stewart says I should is normal, then normal I am.

If hating to clean toilets is normal, then normal I am.

If being guilty of hitting the snooze button through my alone time with Jesus is normal, then normal I am.

If knowing that sun is bad for my skin but am vain enough that I tan anyway just for the sake of tanning is normal, then normal I am.

If not answering the phone just because I don't feel like talking is normal, then normal I am.

If not planting flowers in the pots on my sidewalk just because I don't feel like it and know that they will die anyway is normal, then normal I am.

If only buying apples, bananas, and potatoes out of the produce section is normal, then normal I am.

One thing in my quest for authenticity was to stop trying to pretend like I had it altogether. I don't. My house is usually messy. My laundry is usually not caught up. I spend way too much time on the computer. I am an impulse shopper. I hire the television as a babysitter more often than not. I hate to take my kids outside to play because I hate bugs and weeds. I have cellulite. There is garbage in my yard on most days because my dog gets in our trash at least once a week. I run my car out of gas. I bite my nails. And there is a spiderweb in the corner of my dining room that has been there for a month.

I'm happier since I've come to terms with admitting that I don't have it all figured out. I envy those of you that truly do. And pray for those of you that still feel like pretense is key.

And about normal...I guess, the more I think about it...we're all pretty normal.

Because I don't really think normal hinges on whether asparagus bundles or mac-n-cheese is served at dinner. Or whether we homeschool or public school. Or whether we devote our days to mops and brooms or books and blogs.

For I think if loving our Jesus more than anything, adoring our husbands more than life, and holding our children as precious treasures is normal, then normal we are.

Myself and I Had a Little Chat

I spent most of the day today talking to myself.

A couple of times it was out loud which is relatively normal for me, but mostly myself and I conversated in my brain.

Because I was trying to talk myself out of a pity party. Myself attempted several times today to invite myself to one, but I worked very hard to renig the invitation.

Because today I felt invisible.

And though I don't like being the center of attention, I do want to feel needed. And wanted. And appreciated.

And today I really didn't.

There is one particular person that I work with that tends to forget that other people exist. Everything that they are involved in is always more important than anyone else's projects or lives. Everything is highly dramatized (and this is usually my expertise), and everything tends to lean towards the traumatic. This person forgets details that are important to me, and I end up feeling invisible. Like I need to wave my arms in front of this person and scream, "Hello. I'm here. Last time I checked we are sharing the same air here. World.Not.Revolving.Around.You."

But I don't.

Instead, I sit. And pout. And talk to myself in my head.

And then I check my face in the mirror (to examine how large my mascara raccoon eyes have grown during the day...I hate that, by the way.), and I have to stop.

And think.

And examine myself.

How many times am I totally wrapped up in my own agendas and schedules that I forget to see people? That I forget to ask someone how their sick child is? That I forget to wish someone a "Happy Birthday"? Or I simply forget to smile?

Because no one wants to feel forgotten.

Or unappreciated.

Or invisible.

So, my goal for the rest of today and tomorrow (baby steps, y'all) is to try and see people. To try and make them feel loved. And appreciated. And needed. I'm going to try and smile even when I don't feel like it. I'm going to try and befriend because people need friends. And I'm going to try and not make everything about me.

I'm starting with you, friends.

I'm smilin' at you.
I'm lovin' you.
I'm listenin' to you.

Because I think you are swell and groovy and happenin'.

This Blog Post Is Not So Pretty....

I took the day for myself. I needed it.

I've not been myself lately, and I made a deal with myself last night, while the rest of my house was sleeping, that I can't fix it on my own.

I've cried way too many tears and lost way too many hours of sleep. I've had mood swings that are painful for not only me, but the precious men in my family. I've said things I don't mean, and acted in ways that are totally out of character for me. I've been ridden with guilt over things that I can't even pinpoint and have lived with a racing pulse for longer than I can remember.

I went to work and talked to my trusted friend about taking the day off to get some help. I really was at the point this morning that I felt like I couldn't go another day. I dropped the boys off at their classes and called for an appointment with my doctor. The appointment wasn't for a couple of hours, but I decided to do something that I've never done before.

I went to the park.

I decided that going home to laundry and scattered toys would make me all the more exhausted, so I chose to spend the few hours before my appointment just doing something for myself. In my past life (read: yesterday), I would have gone shopping and spent money that I don't have. Today I decided to go sit at the park and read my book. It was too cold to sit on a bench a read, so I stayed in the car, but still....it was the most peaceful that I have been in a long time.

When it was time for my appointment, I made the short trip to the clinic from my haven at the park. It wasn't that long of a wait, and my doctor was in the room. I struggle with admitting inadequacy, and the actual conversation with her about what was going was much harder than the one I had had with myself last night and this morning in the shower. But, I couldn't have asked for a better support system at that second. I don't really know her personally, but we know the same people, but sitting there talking to her....I felt like I was talking to my best friend. She looked me in the eye. She listened until I was finished. And she never once made me feel like I was crazy or a bad mom. Then she offered me help.

And I took it.

I left her office and headed to the pharmacy to have my prescription filled. I've been on anti-depressants/anti-anxiety meds before, when I suffered from a short-term bout of postpartum after I had Tate. The meds made a world of difference, and I have been an advocate for them since then....if you are in real need of them. There are people out there (and I totally get that some of you may not be in agreement with me here, and I'm okay with that) who believe that they can get through it on their own. I've tried that route.....and I easily admit that I'm not strong enough for it. I end up compounding my depression issues by heaping on failure.

When I got back to my car with that bottle of little pills inside, I lost it. I cried because I felt relief. Like I held my lifeline in my hand. I had been told that it would take a few weeks for the meds to take total effect, but just knowing that help had arrived relieved so many emotions that I'd been clinging to. My prayers had been answered, and I knew that God had sent the help that I needed.

I called and asked Kirk if he wanted to take me lunch, and he agreed. But, it would be about an hour before he could get away from work....so I went back to my haven to wait. I snuggled back up and read at the park. I think it is my new favorite place to go when I'm alone....it truly was excellent therapy for me.

I ate a great lunch and shared the events of the day with my sweetie. He is so super supportive and was glad that I had found some help. He probably is grateful that my crazy mood swings are about to be taken care of! *wink*

After lunch, I had a few hours before I needed to wait in the carpool line at school. I was so very tempted to go back to the park and hang out with Edward and Bella (just typing that makes me smile!), but I was drained. So I headed to the house and took the best nap I've had in a very long time. Talk about great medicine!

This evening has been okay. I'm frustrated with all the housework I need to do, but I'm trying really hard to keep myself in check. I want so badly to give my kids their mom back and be the wife to Kirk that he deserves. I'm tired of pretending that I have it all together when I don't, and I'm ready to just be me again.

I'm on my way back.

More Realness

Remember what I said about being a real person in a real marriage?

Real marriage happened to Kirk and I this week. Last night, in fact.

It was one of those long nights that included lots of words and a few tears. We hashed some stuff out. He talked and I let him.

We went to bed last night rather silent, but we were okay. We woke up this morning the same way.

Tonight was better. We ate dinner and smiled at each other. We watched American Idol and laughed together. Every once in awhile he winked at me. Every once in awhile I winked back.

Real marriage happens. It isn't always pretty. But it is always beautiful. Because we promised to love each other through the good and the bad.

That's beautiful.