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.....

Doozey

This has been a doozey of a week on my brain and even more so...my heart....

The entrance of fall usually holds such hope for me.  It's a time that smiles can hardly be wiped from my face.  It means football has started, my closet is transitioning, and the air is a little easier to breathe. 

But this entrance of fall hasn't been so pleasant.  And this week in particular is doing a number on my soul.

For starters, the husband has been gone all week.  My only communication with him has been by email, one failed Skype attempt, and a briefer than brief phone call yesterday.  And I'm growing weary.  The boys and I have just about reached our limit of restraint with eachother, and we are about 5 minutes past time for a referee to run interference.  Without the other member of our family that is old enough to command a vehicle, it has left me doing all ball-related duties myself.  And I'm tired.  Since Sunday, we've had 2 ball games and 6 practices.  And all on different fields.  At different times.  And my baseball/football mom cute is wearing off fast.

I don't sleep well when the husband isn't home.  I hear every creak and moan that the house gives off, and I sleep with one eye open and sitting halfway up in bed.  Last night I swore I smelled smoke, which led me on a sniff parade for 45 minutes.  The bags and circles under my eyes are causing people to spread rumors...

I'm feeling some unsettling in my spirit that I can't quite put my finger on.  I've spent time in prayer and study this week, and still haven't received a clear answer.  I have no idea what the Lord is trying to tell me, and, frankly, it's frustrating.  But I'm trying to remember that His timing is not my timing.  I just wish He'd throw me a bone this week.

My heart is aching for a precious friend.  Her world was just turned upside-down this week, and there isn't anything under the sun that I can do to make it better.  I'm a fixer.  And I can't fix this.  And it sucks. 

On top of all of those big things....

I've fed my kids nothing but frozen pizza, Hot Pockets, and fish sticks for this entire week.  And I haven't felt bad about it...not even once....until now.  And now I'm crying about it....

I ruined an entire load of clothes by accidentally forgetting that I had added bleach to the water.  And last I checked, my men aren't keen on pink splotchy pieces of apparel.

The raccoons have sneaked their way into my trash bins....again.  And they never clean up after themselves.

I'm harboring bitter feelings about not getting to stay cozied up in my mama's house this week while the husband is off perusing the German countrysides.  But because of our hefty sports schedule, it just wasn't possible.  But I sure do wish I was there right now....

My favorite pair of flip flops broke.

And I could go on and on....

But really, I just am ready for my heart to settle.  And I'm sad because I don't really remember what that feels like....so I wonder if I would even recognize it if and when it happens....

Grieving

I can remember her handwriting. 

Every time she signed their assignment notebooks where I had scrawled out their night's homework assignments, she would sign it with these really loopy letters.  Almost bubble-like. 

I also have 3 or 4 Christmas ornaments that hang on my tree each year that she gave me as teacher presents.  And I still have a couple of candles that were part of the gifts. 

One of the baby outfits that was my favorite of Keaton's was given to us by her.  It's been in his baby box since he outgrew it almost 10 years ago.

And now I'm going through my house looking for the things that hold little reminders of her.  A bookmark that was signed by her.  A picture drawn by her daughter when she was in my preschool class.  A scrapbook of my teaching days which holds pictures of her at various school events.

Because last night her earthly body failed her.  And today her new and perfect body is dancing with Jesus. 

I taught at the same private Christian School for almost a decade.  And I had the privilege of teaching every one of {Sarah's} children.  Some of them multiple times.  And it was just that...a privilege.

{Sarah} was a beautiful, soft-spoken woman.  She was always laughing.  Always smiling.  It always made me giggle that even years after I had taught her children, I was still "Mrs. _____" when she saw me out in public.  Never just "Amber."  I used to joke with her that even in Heaven, when we'd meet on the Streets of Gold, she'd greet me with "Mrs."

And now she's gone.

And I'm having a strange time processing it all.  I'm grieving for that blessed woman that I used to know so well, but haven't seen in ages.  I'm grieving for those sweet angel babies who have lost their mama, but their faces are still those of the ones that used to sit in the desks of my classroom.

And I'm sad.

Very very sad.

And am looking forward to the day when I can hug her neck in Heaven, and hear her say, "Well, Mrs. ___, so glad you finally made it!"


** Please please please lift up {Sarah's} family to our Jesus.  I cannot imagine their grief and anguish at this hour, but I do know that our Lord is holding them close.

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.

Schmaltzy

Lachrymose.

Dolorous.

Fun little words to toss around the tongue.

What about bathetic?  Like pathetic...only not.

Schmaltzy.

I think that's my favorite.

Yep.  Schmaltzy.

I'm feeling especially schmaltzy today.

I've been walking through the house in a weird stupor transferring my full-blown sobs to just sniffling snippets of tears.  My pendulum swings from rage to confusion to despondency.

And I have no idea why.

There really isn't a reason for the schmaltzy today.  It's just here.

School was a disaster that left me and the middlest in tears.  I had to put myself in timeout for fear that someone would lose an eye.  And it wasn't going to be me.  Schmaltzy.

My mind is swirling with conversations that I've had that have left me confused and angry and unsure about what to do next.  Unsure how to pray.  Unsure how to react.  Schmaltzy.

My heart is breaking for a family of a little girl that I don't even know.  I've been on my knees begging my Jesus for a miracle for a precious angel baby named Faith.  (My friend, Marla, tells about Faith's story here.)  And though I'm praying for Faith, my prayers naturally shift to pleading with my Jesus to spare my own children from such torment.  Schmaltzy.

The laundry isn't finished.  And everytime I walk past the laundry room....schmaltzy.

The boys are having a hard time liking eachother today.  And in all honesty, I don't like them very much today either.  Schmaltzy.

I miss my mom and dad.  I miss my sister and her family.  I miss my Georgia Peach of a bestie.   Schmaltzy.

I don't know why the schmaltzy days come out of nowhere.  I went to bed last night giggly and lighthearted, and woke up today feeling crushed by an intangible weight.

I guess the schmaltzy days humble us.
And bring us to our knees.
And cause us to remember that we need Jesus.....on the most schmaltzy and un-schmaltzy of days.  And all the days in between.

Schmaltzy.

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.

Spots

"Stop staring at him!"

I want to scream it to the world every day. To the man in the trucker hat at the gas station. To the little black lady at the grocery store. To the lady who has perfect hair at the nail salon. To the little boy wearing Spiderman swimtrunks at the waterpark.

"Just stop staring at him!"

I haven't spoken about this before online.

So this is new territory. For most of you.

But, it is something that is frustrating me to my very core. And I feel like I need to voice my feelings, as well as just ask for prayer.

If you have been hanging around these parts very long at all, then you know this little guy.

Meet Keaton. My 9 year old (in 3 days). Counting the months I held him in my belly, I have known this little person for close to a decade. Unbelievable. A decade full of precious laughs, smiles, and tears.

And my precious Keaton is perfect to me.

So my heart breaks for him. Because of this.

You see, Keaton has Vitiligo....a skin disorder which basically boils down to the fact that some of his pigment cells don't produce pigment, therefore leaving portions of his skin white.

This disorder is not harmful; it is purely a cosmetic issue, which we praise Jesus for every day.

But.

But my heart breaks for my child. Because he has an imperfection....that is only skin deep.

I hate it when people look at him and their eyes drift immediately to his leg. I hate that people stare. I hate that kids ask him if he has a disease. I hate that sometimes adults are even more cruel than that. I hate it that in his prayers he asks his Jesus to take the spots away. I hate that his child heart is fearful that the spots will spread to his face.

I hate feeling like Keaton was cheated. Like I was cheated. Because I know that as I type this there are mothers who don't know if their children will even live through the night. And that there are mothers who are grieving the fact that their children will never live a life that will be filled with what we all call normal. And that there are mothers whose hearts are heavy because they haven't yet been blessed with a child to call their own.

But I can't not voice my feelings any longer. I feel selfish. And insensitive. And greedy. But I made a promise to always be transparent and real on this blog, and I'm lying if I say that I'm okay that Keaton lives every day with questions as to why God made him have spots. And I'm lying if I tell you that I'm okay with being the mom of a kid with spots. I'm not.

It hurts that my child is the one that others stare at.

It hurts that the doctors can't tell me what causes it.

It hurts that there is nothing we can do.

It hurts that there are kids who are cruel enough to exclude him because he is different.

I've cried many a tear over those darn spots. I hate them. I have screamed "Why?" more times than I can count.

Because those spots matter.

They matter to my baby's heart. They hurt his feelings. They hurt his esteem. They hurt his heart.

And I'm doing everything I can to reassure him of his Father's love for him so that those darn spots don't hurt his faith.

Because when you are 9, God is supposed to answer prayer.

And so far, God hasn't answered his.

Because the spots are still there. Every morning, they are still there.

My bitterness is still fresh. My tears still flow freely. And my frustration and anger is still very close to the surface. I'm doing my best to not show Keaton my hatred of his spots. To make our lives normal. To pretend like the stares at the swimming pool don't bother me. To not weep when he prays to Jesus that He won't let the spots get on his face.

But, I ask you for prayer. Prayer for healing, sure. But even more than that, prayer for Keaton's heart. That he will find himself drawing close to the One who created that perfect skin of his. To the One that knows those spots inside-and-out. And to the One that loves Keaton more than even this mama does.

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.

If I Could Just Go Back To Diapers and Spit-Up....Because Raising Big Kids Stinks

Parenting is hard, y'all.

If it could just be all about washing SpongeBob undies and making enough peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to feed China then it would be a piece of cake.

But then real stuff happens. And Kirk and I are expected to know how to handle it.

Scary, people. Not sure who gave us our parenting cards, but I'm thinking that we bit off more than we can chew.

We are going through a bit of a crisis right now. I guess I should use the word "crisis" loosely, but for us....it feels pretty crisis-y. So I'm just going to call 'em as I see 'em.

Keaton has decided that he hates baseball.

No, seriously. It's a crisis.

If you know our family personally than this is you right now:

Here's the deal.

Baseball is what we do. The boys have been playing since they were babies. Bats and balls and gloves are permanent fixtures in my house. Second Base dirt is permanently ground into my carpets from cleats and sliding pants. We spend more on baseball gear than we do on school clothes. We have a bloomin' batting cage in our backyard for gosh sakes. Kirk eats, sleeps, and breathes baseball....and so did our boys. Until.

Now this is where it gets tricky. And apparently there is some debate circling around the community about just this very issue. Because Keaton is a great pretender. But also heavy on the drama. And those two mix like me and frogs. They just don't.

Keaton has never given any indication that he disliked baseball. He has always been happy about hangin' with his dad in the backyard, and he has spent more time in the batting cage than any of the other boys. He's a good ball player, and LOVED his team last year. So when baseball sign-ups rolled around a couple of months ago, we took the boys and signed up. No complaint. No argument. Just excited conversations about wondering what team they would be on, getting cool jerseys, yada yada yada.

THEN. One day. It came out.

"I only signed up for baseball because I didn't want to hurt Daddy's feelings."

Ugh. Knife digging in my heart.

And since that fateful coming-out, our days have been full of grouchiness, whining, and tears when baseball is brought up in conversation...you can only imagine games and practices.

Now we are being accused of being too pushy of parents. Of forcing our kids to play sports that they hate. Of crushing our children's spirits.

And it hurts.

Because we would never hurt our kids. The last thing in the world that we want to happen is for our children to be unhappy or pressured...and certainly not by us!

But, we're not going to let him quit.

Because then what kind of parents would we be? What kind of lesson does that teach? That you can just walk out on your responsibilities because you changed your mind? That you can walk out on your commitments because you weren't honest or were scared from the get-go? At this point, our battle as parents has nothing to do with the baseball field. Now we are facing the lesson of follow-through and not being a quitter. Team sports are just that....TEAM sports. And if you commit to a team, then you need to keep your end of the bargain. That's just how life works.

We've assured Keaton that come the end of this season, he never has to pick up another bat and glove for the rest of his life. That we understand that all people do not have the same tastes. That we, as his parents, are supportive of all his interests and passions, and okay if he doesn't share the same ones as us. But, we just have to make it through this season. We're talking about responsibility. We're talking about good attitudes. We're talking about teamwork.

But it is hard. Because I want to say, "You got it. You're done. We don't want you to be uncomfortable."

But we can't. Because uncomfortable just comes with this fallen world.

I realize that you may not agree with our thoughts on this. You may feel like we are doing the right thing, or you may feel like we aren't. You may have just written us off as those crazy sports parents. And that's okay.

Because parenting is tough. And we're just trying to do the best we can. And instill the values we find important in our kids. And hope that one day our little boy will turn into a Godly man...one with integrity, honor, and responsibility.

This stinks, y'all.

Labor and delivery with no pain medication was a breeze compared to this.

You Just Never Know

I was reminded today of the uncertainty of our time here. Again.

It is so easy for me to get caught up in routine, schedules, and the general busyness of life. I stress over laundry, and I watch way too much tv. I am guilty of setting the boys in front of SpongeBob with a chicken nugget picnic while I retreat to the comfort of a good book under my covers. And, goodness knows, I spend way too much time on the computer.

And then reality comes and slaps me in the face. Again.

A couple of weeks ago, I heard the very tragic news that a girl I went to high school with passed away. Very suddenly. Very unexpectedly. She had 2 tiny babies that will now grow up without their mama. And she was healthy.

You just never know.

This weekend my cousin passed away. She was in her thirties, and though she had made some choices in her life that weren't the best for her body...she was still young. And she died in her sleep. And her husband found her dead when he woke up in the morning. It still doesn't even seem real. I can hear her laughing. I can hear her Kenny Chesney ringtone. And I can still see this crazy teal shirt she always wore.

You just never know.

Today I found out that a lady (that is very closely associated with the school that I work at) might possibly have had a heart attack today. She's in her thirties. She eats right. She is no bigger than my pinkie and is an exercise freak. And she almost died today. She's in the hospital right now, with her very young children around her. And I'm not sure she's out of the woods.

You just never know.

I feel like cuddling on the couch tonight with my boys. I want to watch the same episodes of iCarly and Drake & Josh that I'm guilty of walking out on so many times. I want to read books about aliens and vomit and superheroes. I want to eat popcorn and giggle when they stick it in their noses.

Because you just never know.

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.

Hard to Admit Realness

I'm debating on how honest to be right now. I feel a lot of pressure to keep this blog upbeat and fun, but I'm not feeling really upbeat and fun right now. But, I feel a real need to be authentic and genuine.

So I've started this post 14 and 1 times. I've tried to blog about something cute my kids did and deleted it. I tried blogging about me buying green M&Ms yesterday and deleted it. I tried blogging about all my dirty laundry and the monster that lives in my dryer but deleted it. I have even shut my computer and said, "Not today."

But, I'm back. Because I've decided that not all blogs have to be happy all the time. That being real people in real marriages with real jobs with real kids is, well, real. And real isn't happy all the time.

I'm a mom. A really real mom. I love my kids from the stars and back, and find myself in awe that God would find me worthy enough to entrust these angels to me. I love tickle parties, bedtime prayers, and snuggling. But I yell, I scream, and I lose my temper more than I should. In fact, I made Keaton cry night before last. Talk about a knife to the heart. I went to bed that night praying that I hadn't crushed his spirit. I woke him up to ask his forgiveness. I held him while we both cried some more.

I'm a wife. A really real wife. I love to be romanced and get aggravated when I'm not. I say things I don't mean and can make myself crazy by letting thoughts run wild in my head. I've imagined my life without my husband, but can't imagine my life without him in the very same moment. I've cried myself to sleep many a night for him, and laughed till I've cried with him.
At the end of the day, I can't believe how lucky I am. I'm certainly undeserving.

I'm a child of God. I've run and hid from my Father more times than I've run to Him. I have a strong desire to be in step with the Word, but am okay with admitting that I don't get it right most of the time. I rest easy in the knowledge that He loves me anyway. His love is the most perfect love that I've ever known.

I'm a friend. I don't return phone calls like I should and am a terrible hostess. In fact, I'm not a hostess. Hostessing makes me break out in a cold sweat. I love that I have friends that fill that role for me, but have left feeling like scum because I don't ever reciprocate. I love to laugh and love to cry with my friends. I like to know their secrets and like them to know mine. I'm so blessed to have real friends with real problems and real hurts. Because we're real....we work.

I'm guilty of being lazy. I watch way too much tv and spend way too much time on the computer. I have walked past a sticky koolaide spot on the kitchen floor to watch The Bachelor, and I have left clothes in the washer until they stink because I was busy on FaceBook. I've also rewashed that same load of clothes 2 or 3 times for that same reason. I've turned cartoons on in one room for my kids and watched my shows in another room, And then have cried myself to sleep for not spending enough time with my boys.

I'm an approval seeker. I've shopped for certain clothes with others' reactions in mind. I've bought shoes because someone else said I should. I've cut my hair to be like someone else, and I've recut my hair to be like someone else. I've said things and held my tongue all with others in mind. I've succumbed to peer pressure more times than I can count, and have made decisions in my life for people that now I can't even remember their names. I have a terrible time saying "No," but a remarkably easy time being a doormat. I've wondered what it would be like to be one who didn't care what other people think. Don't ever see myself there.


I could sit here all day. I could tell you about how I'm a non-decision maker, a hypochondriac, and a girl who lets fear rule a huge chunk of her life. But not today. This was enough soul-searching for one day.

I'm real. Very real. Pathetically real. Amazingly real.

With that off my chest, I'm ready to go start my very real day. Hoping for happy.

You're Invited....To A Pity Party

Can I tell you how tired I am?

Sawyer started throwing up last night right as I was getting the boys ready for bed. I knew something was up when he didn't want to eat anything for dinner...and it was mac-n-cheese (our favorite food!). He's been going strong every 15 or 20 minutes since about 10:30 last night. Still going this morning. Poor guy. He is by far the best one of my kids when it comes to being sick. No crying. No whining. Just puppydog eyes staring at me. So pitiful. Bless his heart. I hope he is all better soon.

Because I'm so exhausted from zero sleep, my mind is a little crazy this morning. I have also found time to throw myself a little pity party throughout the night and morning. And I thought I would invite you. Feeling lucky, aren't ya?

I had to call into work sick again. Again. I hate missing work so much. I hate it. I hate leaving people in a lurch, and I hate knowing that I'm the cause of someone else's inconvenience or stress. But, I have no idea what to do about it.

Because I'm it. I'm the only one here to stay home with the kids if they get sick. Kirk's job requires him to travel so much, and when he is in town he is tied up with meetings and phone conferences all the time. His position doesn't allow him to take off at the drop of the hat. He just can't. I came to that realization a long time ago. It isn't like it is easy to take off from my job either, but I'm a mom. I think it boils down to just that.

We also have ZERO family here to help us. None. Not even a great aunt hiding in a little house somewhere who could take a turn watching a sick baby in a pinch. Nothing. All of our parents are hours and hours away from us....way too far to drive a sick little person to and then still make it to work by 8. Not going to happen. I get so tired of people complaining about their family members that live in the same town as them. They have no idea how good they have it. I have nobody. Nobody. Let me repeat. Nobody. I would gladly put up with a nosey mother-in-law to have some help. Any day.

We have great friends. We really do. But I would NEVER ask my friends to take on another kid for the day, especially one who is throwing up or running fever. No way. Even if they told me I could....I wouldn't.

So....here I sit. Waiting on Sawyer to throw up again. Bless his heart. I know he is exhausted.
And while I'm waiting....I'm pouting. And worrying. And feeling lousy for once again feeling like I'm letting everyone else down.

I know that my kids and my family are my first priority. I do. But, it doesn't make it easier to know the headache I'm giving everyone else when I'm gone.

Now I feel bad for inviting you to my pity party. So sorry. But sometimes it is just easier to vent and talk it through.

A Message To My Friends

I'm feeling a bit blue tonight.

I have several friends that are hurting right now and it makes me sad. I feel totally helpless and can't stand that they are having such a hard time.

They are fighting feelings of unfairness. They are being misunderstood. They are feeling inadequate. They are dealing with really difficult circumstances. They are depressed. They are asking "Why?" They are having to say "No."

I've been there....so many times. And yet I have no advice. No suggestions. I even feel like my encouraging words aren't worthy of their situations.

I've read some blogs today that have made me weep and have had some conversations today that have left me aching for my friends.

All I can say is that I love you guys. You are my friends because you are something phenomenal. You inspire me because you are real. I'm hurting because you are hurting.

I know that there is nothing I can do except love you and pray.

Done. You got it.