Looking for life and my big questions

this day

2010-05-10T06:16:00.000-07:00

I will be patient.

I will open my windows, even if that means I have to wear a sweater.

I will go for a walk.

I will read my bible.

I will pray.

I will be thankful for spending the day with the kids.

I will listen to soothing music.

I will drink lots of water.

I will pick up my new book at the library.

I will take a shower and brush my teeth.

I will make my bed.

I will lay down for 20 minutes of quiet.

I will do all the laundry with a joyful heart.

I will visit all four rooms of my house.

beloved

2010-04-25T11:38:00.001-07:00

I have been aching to write again. I wish I was a writer. I would love to have something interesting and captivating to write about. Instead, all I can do is nestle in to my keyboard and screen and pour my guts out. I don't know if anyone will read it, but maybe that's safer.

The last months have been up and down. Life has picked up the pace and I can't see around the next corner. In times of great uncertainty, I tend to be very, very hard on myself. And the cycle begins: I have no control in my life so my thoughts turn inward, my insecurity manifests itself as anger and my temper boils over. And I think it all comes down to fear. Fear that takes hold of my heart and hardens it. My patience wears thin too quickly, my mouth opens and my kids take the brunt of my rage and feelings of instability. And I clean. And I clean. And I clean. And I make my kids clean. And clean. And clean.

The voice in my head tells me how unworthy I am. How unloved. My eyes remind me how fat I am. My back and feet ache from a thankless job. I feel lonely for the fireman. I need his arms around me more often and his warm body next to mine when I wake up. I need my friends to have more time to be together for no reason. I need laughter.

I need to know I am loved.

As I am.

Unconditionally.

I came across a new song. It's been playing in a loop now for about 2 hours. I hope to know it by heart by hour 3. The lyrics caught me and I choked with tears.

Your Beloved.

(chorus)

Because I'm your beloved,

Your creation,

And you love me as I am.

You've called me,

Chosen for your Kingdom;

Unashamed to call me your own.

I'm your beloved.

I think the ongoing struggle in my heart is this: feelings of insecurity about being loved. I think I am one of those people who is easy to be friends with, and then easy to leave. I am interesting and funny and creative and fun-loving, and also ordinary in so many ways that the newness quickly wears off and all that's left is me. just me.

And I don't know that I deserve love. I'm selfish. Quick to anger. I don't love myself well.

And here's the irony...

My name, AMY, means beloved.

How crazy is that?

Be-lov-ed

1. greatly loved; dear to the heart 2. a person who is greatly loved.

God is laughing now.

I smile just thinking that He has quite the sense of humor. My biggest insecurity and He has power over it. Power to cause my parents to name me, while still in the womb. A name for this moment. Waited for me to put two and two together. A reminder of how great He is. How He knows my heart and my thoughts, my fears, my struggles. My days were written before even ONE came to be. That means He knew today and every day before that I have cried over feelings of being unloved. My name, Amy, is in His book. He is listening to me because I am His beloved. I am dear to His heart. I am a person who is not just a little bit loved, but GREATLY loved. I am chosen. He isn't ashamed of me. He hasn't disowned me.

He loved me.

He loves me.

As I am.

Thank you God.

goodness

2010-02-21T19:17:00.000-08:00

so here's the scoop.

big stuff first...

Jack and daddy returned from a two day trip to Shriner's Children's Hospital in St Louis this last Friday night. The report was good. The doctors were pleased with his joints and range of motion. They didn't see any inflammation in the knees or feet and this is good, good news. Although I was hoping to be given the ok to take Jack completely off of meds, we were told to lose only one of the last two. I am definitely pleased about this, but secretly was a little disappointed. Because JRA can move into the eyes, Jack is checked regularly by an opthamologist. Surprisingly, they did find inflammation in Jack's right eye. We were given a prescription for eye drops and must check in with a local eye doctor within a week to check for progress. My momma heart broke just a little when Daddy called with the news, but he was very encouraging and feels, after speaking with the doctors, that this is going to be completely healed.

Overall good.

Fireman status: as of a few weeks ago we thought he was going to lose his fireman job. bummer. The negotiations between Mayor and Union had been going on for some time and we knew it was a possibility. However, when it comes down to it... it's a different story. I know we would be fine. I know our God is mighty and faithful to us. But with all that was going on that week, I felt my ankles being pulled into a quicksand of gloom. That same week, we were burglarized. Perhaps the most violating experience of my life. Someone was in my house. Uninvited. Stole my stuff. Rummaged through my cabinets and drawers. Left mud and glass all over the house. Left my back door open all day. And I have to say, I was mad. I was ready for them to come back and let me take the crowbar they so thougthfully left behind, to their knees and other precious bits. They took my computer, aka my lifeline, and my new guitar the fireman gave me for Christmas. I lost a lot of sleep and cried for days. bitterness. unease. broken. frustration. frightened. desperation. All good words to describe my feelings. Yes, they stole my joy and my security (and my photos and music library).

But here's the goodness...

My mother stepped in to show her love and offered us a computer.

My friend gave me her old, beautiful guitar.

I got a random check in the mail for a 401K I had been paying into all year at the Gap (unknowingly) and it covered the replacement of the computer.

And Calvin still has his job.

How good is that?

Good.

very, very good.

So we are living out life in Tulsa, OK. Still trying to discern what's next for us. But in the meantime, life is sweet and good.

valentine's gift for my fireman

2010-02-21T19:08:00.001-08:00

please wipe the drool from your face. I know. I know. It is gorgeous. And more importantly, it was delicious.

He's a lucky, lucky man, isn't he?

at it again

2010-02-21T18:57:00.000-08:00

I am home.
I am cooking again.
I am doing laundry on a regular basis.
I am making granola and baking bread again.

I am also going a little stir crazy with the cold, wet weather forcing us indoors for days at a time.

I am needing a way to explode NOT on the kids.

I am going to pick up my pen, or rather, my cordless keyboard, and start writing again.

I need it.

The kids need it too.

Hi everyone. I'm back!

hookin' it up

2009-07-15T11:34:00.000-07:00

I am going to try to move my blog to my new website...
www.teaguenest.com

follow me there

morning at Philbrook

2009-06-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

things to come

2009-06-15T15:30:00.001-07:00

I think I might officially become "high tech" here soon!

I am investing in a new computer (should arrive this week) and I recently bought a new camera. What that means is I can share pictures and family news more easily!!

So stay tuned for Teague Scoop... I can't wait to get started.

day off

2009-06-08T18:33:00.000-07:00

today I woke to thunder. the coolness of the early morning rolled my curtains and I breathed in the wetness of rain. I rolled over to find soft baby skin and the rough, over-washed, ever-loved, slightly smelly blankie. I heard "funder" and "scary". I fell back to sleep spooning baby boy.

I ground coffee beans this morning and drank deeply of the milky sweetness from my favorite mugs.

I dashed around town and came to rest at a park over looking a river. I sat with a friend. The breeze was soft and cool and the sun made a beautiful day. I watched my boy splash and laugh and climb.

I ate chocolate and bought more for later.

I smelled all the dish soaps and chose just the one.

I crunched ice.

I sat on the edge of a swimming pool and finally got in. It was cold and nice. I listened to giggles. I watched the girls be brave and try new things.

I reconnected with a friend.

I went to the fire station and got a kiss.

I wondered when Poppy grew so tall.

I ate black beans with goat cheese and spring greens.

I made a double batch of granola and the warmth of the oven made my AC kick on. My water fountain gurgled the whole time. The house smells like cinnamon and toasted oats.

I checked my tomatoe plants and planted squash. I weeded and had to scrub my nails.

I read books to the kids and fell asleep while Maggie read to me.

I see fire flies outside my window tonight.

My babies are tucked in and smell like sweat and sunscreen and sunshine. They are sun-kissed and soft.

They are beautiful.

I am listening to a favorite song and wishing I had a good book waiting for me beside my bed.

I work tomorrow.

Tonight I am home.

the latest

2009-05-26T20:42:00.000-07:00

ok. working full time is exhausting.

can I say that again? working full time is exhausting!!

I think I need to exercise more or eat more carrots and apples, but to be honest, working full time makes me (I repeat, MAKES me) eat crap. I crave cheez-its, m&m's, and fizzy drinks. And then I feel worse. And fat. And working full time in a clothing store and eating crap is bad combo- then I just look fat in my new clothes.

So here's the news in a nutshell.
Maggie lost her third tooth this week. This was the first time I witnessed the trauma. She is so cute with the huge hole- and her sweet, precious sister's first words were, "Sister, you look beautiful with a gap." If you don't know it, Poppy has the cutest little gap in her front teeth. I hope she never, ever grows out of it. It would break my heart. Oh, and we are not allowed to call her "cute" anymore. She can be called beautiful, gorgeous, and pretty, but absolutely not CUTE. That's for babies, or didn't you know?

Our house is back on the market. I feel the anxiety of a dirty house creeping into my shoulder blades as I sit here frittering away time I could be vacuuming. The fireman is in the kitchen laying tile and it's looking really, really good. I think our biggest drawback is the missing fence in the back yard... what an eyesore a highway can be!

Our tomatoe plants are looking fabulous. And my zinnias and cosmos are all peeking their heads out too. My sunflowers are about 4 inches tall and we have tadpoles with legs too.

Jack is growing like crazy and actually told me I looked gorgeous this afternoon when I got home from work. Does it get sweeter than that? I'm just not sure.

Poppy decided to share the thoughts that spin around in her head this week. She thinks a lot, but when probed she always responds the same way.... "what are you thinking about, Poppy?" and she will brightly respond, "pizza". It never fails. But this week she approached the fireman and asked, "Dad, if Jesus loves everyone, then why do bad things happen to them?" OK, could she be the next John Calvin or Martin Luther? Maybe St. Augustine? Wow. So all the times we have thought pizza was the only thing on her mind, she is trying to resolve the long standing questions of the some of the greatest minds of all time.... shocker.

I am feeling a bit disconnected from friends and family.
I rarely talk on the phone.
I am not a letter writer.
I don't have time for email.

I have a few faithful friends that check in on a regular basis and aren't offended when they don't hear back from me for a day or two.
Some have given up I think.

I have been harboring secret feelings of jealousy lately... jealous that other people get to hang out with people. For fun. For leisure. What is wrong with me?

I picked up a book this week. One of my most favorite authors claims this as her favorite, favorite, desert island book- Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. It is good. I don't know that I would put it up there as a top 10, but it is an enjoyable read. I am only 1/3 through so it may improve and blow my mind.

Speaking of reading, Maggie is reading everything she can get her hands on. Hard to believe coming from a girl who cried through her phonics lessons. What a difference a year can make.

Off to read Hemingway.

Holy is the Lord

2009-03-30T07:13:00.001-07:00

In the world there is so much joy and sorrow it feels crushing sometimes. How do you grieve over tragedy and celebrate new life all at once? It is overwhelming to have your heart split down the middle. Don't get me wrong... I need a good cry, a purge of sorts, every so often. It feels so good to cry it all out. It cleanses and frees me. And God knows I love to laugh. I love the gut-wrenching, head ache-inducing, hysterical laugh and I don't have enough of those. It's the mix of crazy laughing and uncontrollable weeping that brings me to my knees and catches me off guard- when suddenly I don't know what I am feeling or why I am curled up in a ball.
In many ways, my life has slowed down- or rather paced itself lately. I get up and know what my day will look like and although I don't have enough time for everything, I at least have a plan. It feels good to be out of limbo land and into goal setting mode.
I have a new job. It is so nice to be able to go into work and do something I feel successful at and that I enjoy the people I am with 9 hours of the day. I wish I was making music instead of building walls, but the newness makes me excited. I feel valued and it satisfies a part of me that needs a sense of accomplishment.

I have come to a peace with God lately. I am dwelling on scripture more often and raising my hands over his goodness. My baby is healthy and well. My husband is happy and loving. My bills are paid and I am content. I am slowly letting go of things that need to go and trying to focus more on what's slipping away that needs to be taken hold of.

I am one of "those people" who often flip to the end of a book to read the last paragraph to know that all the characters are still alive... and I am the same with my own life. How often do I say and think, "if I could just see us a year from now, 5 years from now!" But it's in the looking over your shoulder that you see the obvious footprint of God and the powerful hand that carries. He has listened to me rant and scream and weep until I was silenced.
I look back over the last year and realize with certainty that I was deeply depressed. I had sunk into a pit and with my fingernails, clawed my way out. There were moments on the way up that a hand of a friend would give me loving push. I think those friends would actually qualify as angels- small bits of light that kept me moving up and out. I have been humbled as I bargained. My eyes were veiled as I tried to see the future. God allowed what I could handle. Jesus comforted and gave grace to cover my hopelessness. I am walking with my head up, my eyes opened, marveling at the mercies, however small, in my every day.
I marvel over the bodies of my babies. They are beautiful. Their skin is sweet and soft. Their eyes clear and bright. Their minds are brilliant sponges, soaking up our world and seeing their maker in the dandelions. Their hearts are pure and forgiving. Thank you God for my precious ones that remind me of your love and call.
And now I dance in the rain and sing Your praises. Holy is the Lord, Holy is the Lord! The Lord I will obey. Help me. I don't know the way. Holy is the Lord!

soccer ball

2009-02-26T07:47:00.001-08:00

come for me

2009-02-04T07:52:00.000-08:00

Jesus come take me away, I long to see Your face
This world is broken yet beautifully made,
Jesus come take me away
Jesus I’ll patiently wait, till like a vapor I’ll fade
Help me fulfill all your dreams for these days,
Jesus I’ll patiently wait

You’ll come again with a shout,
like a thief in the night you’ll come riding on clouds
Finally the voice I have followed for life
has a glorious face that is lit up with light
And you’ll come for me, no more pain, peace,
No more fear, release
just lost and consumed with my glorious King,

And you’ll come for me

Jesus today I am tired, I need your music to come and inspire
I give myself to be refined in this fire,
but Jesus today I’m so tired

Come for me

By Charlie Hall

These lyrics are ringing through me these exhausting days. Jesus, I am so tired. Fill me with music and melody and song and life. Send joy and relief my way.
Come and let me fly.

where to start

2009-02-02T19:52:00.000-08:00

I guess I need to be depressed to blog. I have to have something in my guts to spew forth onto the paper, or rather, the keyboard. As it is, I am swimming through each day at an incomprehensible speed and have very little to consider outside of family and work obligations. I have lost touch with almost everyone and I feel lonely. I am in an in-between spot and it's squeezing me just enough to make me edgy and a little apprehensive. I feel like I am verging on panic some days and I have no idea why except that my days are running through my fingers like sand and I want to bottle it up but can't find a container.

I am back to the old question of "what am I doing with my life?" I think I was dwelling on this same subject a year ago and that's how this blog was born. And a year later I am still wondering and wandering through my life with unresolved feelings and a map without a destination. I am hopeless and hopeful all at once. I am squished in this life- like I am wearing a shoe that's squeezing my toes too tight. Obligations and expectations pull and push and weigh heavy on my mind and heart. I listen for God's voice, wishing it were easier to hear- like tuning to a radio station or reaching for the volume knob.

I am exsisting in a precarious balance of joy and sadness, of contentment and yearning, of warm and cold, light and dark. I ache to get my feet muddy and feel the sun on my back. I need time with friends and I need to laugh more. Days are turning into months and I look back and see nothing has changed and everything is changing. My children shoot up inches and gray hairs keep sprouting. My checking account is still empty and all I have is pipe dreams.

I was talking to a friend tonight... someone who always grounds me and pulls me back to the little core I have. I think her eyes see my heart easier than I do most days. She was talking about the rhythm of the seasons and how winter pulls us in and calms us. It makes us slow down and fatten up. We drink more hot chocolate and listen to fires crackle and dance. We hunker down and wait for the darkness to turn magically into a spring day... suddenly and fresh. It's a cycle to enjoy and relax in to. To anticipate. This time of year stirs and shakes me. It stares me in the face. I rise in the darkness and the darkness and hopelessness makes itself at home inside of me. I am stagnant and stale. Tired and restless. Busy and detached. I am raw. I am cold. I am directionless.

I guess this is how I cycle through the dark winter season.

I ask:

Who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing with this life of mine?

time has been whizzing

2008-12-16T11:21:00.000-08:00

and I mean WHIZZING by! I can't believe Christmas is around the corner! aaahhhh!

Besides all the normal things going on in this crazy house, I have been working a part time job at American Eagle, just down the street from our house. It is so convenient and if the weather was a tad warmer and I had a bike, I would totally be cycling to work. This job is to supplement our family income and allow me to finish paying for my sewing machine- that glorious machine I use every week. My list of "want to buy" items grows with each paycheck so I have to keep my head on.

This working thing though is tough. I am totally tired when I come home, even if it's only a four hour shift. It sucks the energy out of my very bones and when 6pm rolls around I am ready to hit the sack. The fireman seems to be coping well and enjoying hanging with the kids. They love their daddy and our situation seems to working quite well.

Our house is decorated for Christmas and now I am wondering how to create the magic. I remember Christmas in our house as kids and it seemed to be magical. Was mom baking all the time? Did we watch non stop Christmas movies? Was it the LP records spinning of Nat King Cole Christmas or Elvis?? Was it constant company and long lost relatives stopping by? What was the trick and am I creating magic for my kids?

This time of year can really bog me down. I realize that a love language for me is giving and receiving gifts. And with very little money set aside for giving, the magic isn't there for me. Instead I am worried and stressed. I am trying to figure out ways to make our little money spread. But we are paying for toilet guts and light bulbs, car repairs and medical bills instead of stocking stuffers. I am working on contentment and thankfulness.

I am also toying with starting up a business- a website for selling my crafty items. There are a few very big things I need in order to launch this business, so I am biding time and trying to work out logistics.

Nap time is here and now I am off to shower and get my home in some semblance of order.
Hope your day is warm and full of magic... whatever that is.

Photo Op

2008-11-04T17:55:00.000-08:00

We totally took advantage of our friend, Holly, when she came to visit us in Nowheresville. It was so lovely and the weather couldn't have been nicer. And what's even better, she's a professional photographer. So here are some recent family photos of us.
Unbelievable, isn't it?
Thanks Holly.

sweet Poppy

Maggie

Jack-Jack

last day

2008-10-29T14:50:00.000-07:00

last day here in nowheresville. I am so happy to be packing up to head home, although I know we will have so much to do this weekend. It's Halloween and we are partying with friends. It's also school day on Friday... big day. Calvin works on Saturday and we have an Open House on Sunday.
I can just see the house explosion about to happen. Bags everywhere, kids excited to pull out every toy they haven't seen in 3 weeks, no food to speak of. But I have packed clean clothes to go home with and we have a few left overs I think we will take along for the ride.

We have so many cool friends who are totally on the ball. I look and listen to their lives and feel like I have missed something along the way. People are so pulled together, financially stable, active, pursuing dreams and having fun. I feel like we are stuck in a rut so much of the time. Trying to get ahead and stay afloat in the meantime.

While pondering all of these things, I bake cookies. I have a new favorite recipe, Dark Chocolate Oatmeal. They are divine and I can hardly wait for them to cool before shovelling them into my mouth. I am an eater. I eat to feel happy or just better. I love chocolate and I love underbaked cookies. So today I am self-medicating.

Funny, how I am confessing this today of all days. This morning I had a long conversation (long in 4 year-old terms) with Poppy about "nervous eating". She had recently seen a preview for Chicken Little and she and her sister had been quoting two lines out of the trailer for days, cracking themselves up. I wondered if she understood what she was saying. And no, of course not. We talked about what it means to be a nervous eater, or drinker, or shopper, or anything that might replace God as our sustainer and comforter. She seems to get it more than I do (as I take another bite of chocolate deliciousness...)

Oh- and news flash**** Jack said four words together! A whole sentence!! Wow!!! I thought I would never hear the words!!!!! I quote him, "I saw a truck." Excellent. We are moving forward finally.

more cookies coming out, must run.

Middle of Nowheresville

2008-10-28T07:21:00.000-07:00

I am going on day 15 out here in seclusion. The outside world is still jostling along at a very fast pace, and our days are drifting. Time seems to slow here. I look out the window at the water and leaves falling and I feel relaxed and quieted.

I am also ready to crawl back into my nest and settle in. It is difficult to be displaced with small children. We have had a few casualties while here: a broken picture frame, some lamps falling over, drinks spilling, and I feel more anxious than normal since these are not my things.

The stillness and solitude is startling. I realize how loud life can be and it brings me back to my core to have nothing to do and no one to talk to. My cell phone doesn't work out here and I feel bad to make long distance calls. So aside from emergencies, my social life, however small it is, is put on hold.

Could I live out here permanently? I don't know. If I had a cottage to do as I wanted and a girlfriend nearby to visit with and hang with, craft with and school with, I think I could. But I am a talker and with no one over 6 years old, days can become quite lonely. However, I have enjoyed the escape and retreat from normal life and feel ready to tackle the chaos when we return home.

I feel very out of touch with almost everyone. It's been a strange and busy Fall season for our family. My trip to Scotland, homeschooling, teaching art classes, and preparing for craft shows has eaten spare time and sucked away my usual visiting hours and time set aside for hospitality. We rarely make it to church, don't meet with our small group, sleep very little, and still, have a to do list a mile long.

I am looking for ways to simplify, to scale down, to organize my time and build routine. We are a family of sponteneaty and I think that's why I feel out of control so much of the time which leads to feelings of anxiety and being overwhelmed. I am trying to be better at cutting myself some slack. I am working on realizing I do a lot of unnecessary things. So now I need to move into days of structure where I feel a sense of accomplishment, having found time for things that are important.

ideas anyone??

Nashville Star

2008-10-17T06:35:00.000-07:00

Here is a huge shout out to my awesome sister, Brooke, who was just named "Best of Nashville" in the children's cake division. She is an incredibly talented artist, extremely hard worker, and devoted mother to a fiesty two-year old, who is teaching snotty-nosed three year olds by day and slaving in the kitchen at night, whipping out amazing and delicious creations unlike any I've seen before.
I always make the mistake of calling her the night before one of the kid's birthdays and asking her for ideas for their cake. She easily tosses out 5 million suggestions and I always end up crying. It is so interesting how some things come naturally to some and so totally disastrous to others.... My kids all beg for Aunt Brooke's cakes and it's difficult to explain why she just can't swing by the party, cake in hand. Oh how I wish she could!

I copied the review/article written about her cakes in the Nashville Scene Magazine:

Best Kids' Birthday-Cake Designer
Brooke O'Dell, Ice This
If you ever have a child in school with Brooke O'Dell's kid, heed this warning: Never, ever go head-to-head with Brooke over a homemade birthday cake. No matter what double-chocolate Diego or red velvet Spiderman you bake, it will not be as delicious or as creative as hers, and will just waste time and egg yolks on something that comes so naturally and happily to Brooke that you should have asked her to make your cake in the first place. Buttercream, fondant and whimsy are the tools of her decadent trade, and the end result is an edible work of art. —CARRINGTON FOX

I can't find the picture of the cake, but you'll know it when you see it. It's a Matisse... yea, that Matisse. The famous French artist who's works sell for millions. Too bad Brooke's cakes aren't selling for millions.... yet.

I love you little sis. Proud of you! Remember me when you are famous!

http://www.nashvillescene.com/bestof/2008/award/best-kids-birthday-cake-designer-87630/

homemade

2008-10-16T12:10:00.000-07:00

I am queen of homemade gifts. I enjoy giving gifts and when I can delight someone with something made by my own hands, it is extremely satisfying.
I recently read a friend's blog who was pushing for a "$100 Holiday", or something similar. It gave me the idea to blog about what I make, or have made, for friends and family through the years. God knows we live on a tight budget. Our gifts are simple and inexpensive, more out of necessity than desire. God also knows the tantrums I have when I wait until the last minute to make everyone in the family a tree skirt... it's not pretty.

So here are a few ideas to "cheap out" your Christmas giving. I hand over these ideas a bit unwillingly. Selfishly, I like to think I am the only one who has had these great ideas. I also like the illusion that I came up with all of them alone. But my good friends know that I am a follower of Martha, an avid reader of craft books and magazines (so much that I actually take photos of pictures in books), a lover of retro things, and shameless copier.
most of these ideas are relatively inexpensive, but require time. I will try to give a ROUGH estimated cost for materials... assuming you have to buy everything.

$2-3 love sacs (9x7 fabric bags filled with rice, rosemary, and lavendar and sown closed. You can freeze them or heat them in the microwave to warm toes or beds.)
$.50 mini love sacs (same as above except much smaller to fit inside coat pockets to warm up little hands)
$4 bean bag game (fabric bag holding 10 small bean bags- 5 in one fabric and 5 in another)
$3 crayon holders (fabric rolls or aprons to keep crayons organized)
$6 Tutus- little tulle ballerina skirts
$1-2.50 magic wands- dowel rod with a decoration on top or even ribbon attached- decorated however you choose
$10-12 tree skirts- I have done patchwork (great use offabric scraps or felt)
$5-6 table runners- felt with holiday scene- my sister gave me one and I love it!
$2-10 (make a bunch at a time) hair clips, bows, neclaces
$3-12 Books read aloud and burn to cd- give them both. I buy a bunch of books for not much at our local goodwill. Most of them are near perfect shape.
$4-7 paper mache or wooden boxes from hobby lobby- paint them or modge podge them.
$2-3 recycled formula, pringles, peanut cardboard tins... get three coordinating papers, but them to fit three diffent size tins, hot glue them on and label them as "save, spend, and share", cut a small slit in the lid and voila! a great money management lesson for small chldren.
picture blocks- no details on this one as many will get them this year. I will take pictures later of the finished products
$.50 tooth fairy pillows
$2 embroidered tea towels
varies homemade jams, salsas, breads, treats, cookies, breads... anything!
$3-4 bookmarks- pretty ribbons with a silver charm attached.
$5-6 aprons- choose a fabulous fabric and get to cutting. attache ribbon for neck and waist ties.
$2 snow globes- recycled glass jars, small ornaments, water, glycerin, and glitter...

that's all I can think of for now... I know the list sounds overwhelming for those of you who are none-sewers. But, I rarely use anything other than a straight stitch and have never installed a zipper or button hole. More people than you think have a sewing machine sitting idle somewhere in their catch-all rooms and probably wouldn't mind your borrowing it. And most of us have someone in our lives who sews or quilts... raid their fabric scraps and save even more money.
If you don't paint, don't sew, don't worry. You can still use a glue gun and that will allow you to do a ton!

I will try to upload pics of some of these soon. Until then, please share your ideas too. I love a good craft. Felt is my friend- and chocolate too.

update

2008-10-16T11:52:00.000-07:00

so many things have happened in the last month. Back from Scotland. wonderful.
completed my first craft show. exhausting. and now I am out at my in-laws house as they have left the country and we are the hired house sitters. very official.

I have been crafting and crafting and as I work, my mind spins. lots to say. my spirit is weary, but in a good way. I have been creating and working and while my fingers are busy, my back aching, I am thinking through what my spirit is whispering in my heart.

I have been brought to my knees many times this last month, over joy and sadness. There is a lot of both out there, swirling and sloshing about. I think of my own sorrows and how it is rooted itself in my thoughts and moods. There are many dark days, filled with unknowns and doubts. I think of what prayers have been offered and what tears have spilled down my cheeks and I wonder where God is when I need Him. So many people have so many opinions: foods to avoid, supplements to take, scriptures to post all through my house and say aloud over Jack; prayers to pray and saints to hang in his room. Thanks for all the advice. But really, I am weary of it. It just adds to my frustration and feelings of guilt. What have I done or not done that would have brought healing to my baby? I know people mean well, but it seems absurd to me to offer advice like this to a mother who has prayed the prayers and read the scriptures and already wonders why I don't hear answers and see wholeness. There are times I wonder if his troubles and God's lack of intervention in the way I request is a test for me, or a punishment. My sins have fallen on my child, unfairly.
This situation recalls the feelings I had growing up. I heard that that my salvation isn't a result of my good works, yet I lived in mortal fear of damnation because of my imperfections. As if my salvation would be yanked from me because I ran a stop sign or called my sister a name. That because I made a screw up, God was just waiting to pounce and throw me into the fire. That I would be punished, even today, for my sins committed yesterday. And if I could pull myself together and live blamelessly, I would be granted favor and rewards.
enough of this for now.

Jack is doing better. He is walking. He is running and he is jumping. He tires on long walks and his feet are stiff in the evenings. He is still highly medicated. He still needs prayers, reminding God of a precious, blonde-headed pistol who needs his body freed from arthritis.

day o' beauty

2008-09-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

the days have flown by...

I began the day with a drink made by my new favorite barista. Of course it helps that it is brought to me at bedside, made to order. I have been waking each morning to daylight peering through the blinds and breakfast in bed. And sweet baby Lewis to greet me with good morning romps and begs for food.

This morning we took off quite early for a bit of relaxation time. We headed north to Peterhead, Scotland, just on the northeastern coastline. We passed through acres of farmland, sprawling green landscape with ancient stone houses littering the fields. It was a wet, foggy morning and it took me by surprise when we rounded a bend and saw the North Sea rolling in. R grew up in Peterhead. I caught my breath as we pulled in and were greeted by an old, brilliant lighthouse just a stone's throw from his doorstep. It was magnificent.
We dropped off sweet Lewis with grandmother and raced back to spa we had passed on the way up. R and I each had a massage, facial, and pedicure, a quick swim in the pool and yummy lunch.

I had warned R that I always, always cry during or just following a massage. And to put if off, I had the facial first and then the massage. But, surprisingly, I lost it following the facial and before the massage...
here's how it went:
I had made it up in mind to take full advantage of this rare treat. I wanted to pay particular attention to my breathing and body. A few minutes into the treatment, I began long, deep breaths. Gradually I put a mantra with each intake and exhalation.
IN relax
OUT goodbye tension
IN relax
OUT goodbye sadness
IN peace and happiness
OUT tightness
IN joy
OUT anxiety
IN grace
OUT failure
IN thanksgiving
OUT loneliness
IN healing and wholeness
OUT regrets
IN friendship and love
OUT grief and pain
IN grace
IN peace
IN love
IN freedom
IN freedom
IN freedom

...and soon these words in my mind became like a fountain, welling from deep in my gut and bursting up out of my head and running down my face and hands. It was like I was a child joyously caught in an unexpected shower and all I could do was smile and close my eyes and live in it, spin in it, dance in it, washing me, cleansing me, filling me. With the exhale I watched from my mind's eye the banners of sadness, guilt, worry, regret, being caught in a fierce wind, pulled from the pole and blown away. I would whisper 'goodbye' to each of the words and return to the fountain.

Bless the poor therapist who walked in on the wreck I had become within a matter of 4 minutes. She left me tranquil and I hit my emotional tantrum. I think I was quick to recover though which I think she appreciated very much.

What a glorious and complex thing our mind is. I was thinking as I lay on the table how she must have thought I was in a coma... so evenly breathing, the hint of smile crossing my lips, so relaxed and still. Serene by all appearances. And yet, inside, a battle was calmly and silently raging. Opposing sides attempting to stake claim on open territory. The dirty and evil threatening a hostile take over verses the sweet and holy seedlings of life, struggling to send roots into our heart's rich, yet uncultivated soil.
I was reminded during the massage that the most relaxing massage motion is the opposing movement of two hands: moving towards tailbone and neck or outward, toward shoulder blades. Likewise, between the warring sides of the heart, in the middle, where you stand and listen or you stand and cover your ears and hum, there is clarity and stillness. There is light. There is healing.

unreachable

2008-09-16T05:04:00.000-07:00

Hey all.
my email is not working properly here so I am using an alternate address... if you want to email me directly try gingeramyteague@gmail.com and I will get it. Since I can't access my email I don't have anyone's individual addresses either. So, KATHY, email me there. OK?
love
A

take me away

2008-09-13T09:23:00.001-07:00

i'm here. i'm safe. i am warm and cozy and gaining weight by the minute.

besides a quick dash to the airport at the last minute and a minor run-in with immigration, i am here, safe and warm. To beat the arrival of Hurricane Ike in Houston, I left a day earlier than planned. Which means I left a whole lot of stuff at home. Thankfully, I made it with clean unmentionables, books, sweaters, and whatever else that didn't make it, can be borrowed from R and R.

Today I slept until 10am (which never happens, but keep in mind it was 4am to my body so it doesn't sound that indulgent, does it?) I had a leisurely breakfast of buttery crumpets and tea, showered, read, cooked, and then had a fabulous espresso and chocolate biscuit.

We are going to the movie tonight. And tomorrow, we are going to a nearby castle for a 'Festival of Pipes'- no silly, not those pipes... bag pipes. kilts. moors. friends. heaven...

I will post regularly and hopefully with pictures. miss you Mr T and wish you were here with a kilt on too.

Jack

2008-08-29T05:02:00.000-07:00

Here's the latest...
Jack and Daddy took the trip to Shriner Hospital in St. Louis last week. They hitched a ride with the sweet men from our local Shriner Temple.
Bright and early the following morning, Jack saw an opthomologist and then our team of rheumatologists. Jack's eyes checked out fine- a good thing since the inflammation that comes along with arthritis can move into the eyes and cause serious damage.
The rheumatologists were pleased with Jack's progress. Considering the state Jack was in last Christmas verses now, he almost seems normal. The steroid rounds did their job and helped knock down the swelling and inflammation in his feet and knees. But still, there is lingering stiffness and swelling. We are upping the chemo drug to combat these stubborn symptoms and if a couple of months on the higher dose doesn't work, we will begin steroid injectionis into Jack's feet and ankles.

I am very hopeful that all traces of arthritis will be gone someday soon. It is only occasionally that Jack's limp will reappear and it reminds me that he is unwell. It jolts me back and I catch my breath. I forget that he may be suffering from aches in his joints, possibly on a daily basis.
His vocabulary is slowly increasing and he is delighted when we understand him. He has a sweet, happy heart and loves to play and wrestle. He is such a boy! I love to watch his "manliness" because it is purely instinctual. He is surrounded with girls and dress up and highheels and lipgloss, yet he wants to stomp and throw and pound and make firetruck sounds. I love how his little ears perk up at the sound of the trains and how he runs to the front window to watch the garbage men load the truck. He will yell, "a choo-choo" or "a twuck" from the backseat until he is acknowledged. I love it.

Sweet, sweet boy. So beautiful. So perfect.

busy signal

2008-08-26T20:05:00.000-07:00

I remember a good friend threatening never to call me again if didn't buck it up and get call waiting. She couldn't stand ever present busy signal.

My life has spiraled into busy signal lately. Since returning from our trip, we have been on fast-forward speed.
Here's what's been going on (and excuse me, this will be a run-on):
we are in our fourth week of homeschooling;
our house is still on the market and although I fail miserably most of the time, I try very hard to keep it tidy and clean on a daily, almost moment by moment basis;
I have been canning... peach preserves, blackberry jam, pears, and applesauce and baking bread;
sewing;
preparing for our consignment sale- a HUGE, HUGE, HUGE task,
trying to pull my head together into a gameplan/lesson plan for the art class I am teaching at the end of September;
walking and running faithfully;
going to bed early because I get up at the crack;
cleaning out;
celebrating birthdays;
cooking and cleaning the kitchen, cooking and cleaning the kitchen, cooking and cleaning the kitchen;
and tackling the ever present laundry pile.

What I have not been doing:
blogging,
reading my favorite blogs,
talking on the phone and keeping touch with people,
remembering birthdays,
answering emails in a timely manner,
reading,
picking my tomatoes or watering my garden,
sudoku,
singing,
watching TV (except for Olympic gymnastics),
spending time with friends.

In 17 days I am leaving for Scotland. A trip over seas to spend 10 days with my dearest friend, Rachael. I am giddy with excitement to think I will finally see her house, her baby boy, her life. I haven't been to visit since 2002. Thank you for the gift of time and generous ticket to get away.
Thank you to my sweet fireman for being willing to let me fly away from our nest to a fairy land, far away. I will hate to see it all without you and the kids.

I will enjoy being alone.

Changing subjects now...

I laid in my bed the eve of my last birthday. I cried myself to sleep, swearing to myself, that I would not let another birthday come and go and I would still feel miserable in my skin.
My neighbor and sweet friend and hairdresser, fellow canner and baker, sharer of groceries and garden tips, also became my walking partner, my alarm clock, and in a way, my conscience and accountability partner on this quest for health and contentment with my body. We have been kicking each other out of bed for the last 4 months at all hours of the early morning. Pardon my crass-ness, but as my cousin would say, "it's not the crack of dawn, it's the butt crack of dawn!" And I would have to agree. I am not always Miss Sunshine when we are negotiating wake up times. I try to squeeze every last minute out of her.
Together we have pushed our bodies and helped kick the habit of over-eating and over-indulgence. (OK, as I was writing this I realized what time it was and just called and made our appointment- AND and loser friend that I am, I woke her up. Poor D. I am so sorry for waking you! please don't leave without me!!)
So thank you friend, for working with me. I push and shove and you tell me to buck up when I whine too much. Thank you for giving me a hard time when I eat the bad stuff and for being honest when I ask if my pants are too tight.
So my birthday is still four months away and I have definitely made changes. I am 20 lbs lighter. I am wearing clothes I haven't been able to fit my big fat toe into in over six years. I am a cup size smaller... that's huge. I still have chronic back pain but I think that has nothing to do with weight- more with three back-labor babies.
The scale is stuck for now. I am hovering on the dreaded plateau. But I know I will break through and out of it soon. I can. I will. I must. I want to revel in this new body- and I will.... when 5 more pounds melt away.

I have been thinking of the disconnect I allow myself. The disconnect happens in my heart and creeps into my mind. I push away the hurts and eat myself through them. I shove down the feelings and buy bigger sizes. I stuff my mouth and tummy to take away the emptiness. And I feel relieved for a moment.
I think we all struggle with areas of disconnect. What I mean is this: We go numb. We beat ourselves up over stuff. We live in a state of perpetual regret until we just take the phone off the hook and walk away from our lives. We stop thinking and stop living in the teeny, tiny, private moments.
Don't lose yourself over things. Don't disconnect. BUT don't put yourself out there in situations that influence you to make a big mistake of the whole weekend, the whole whole night, the whole meal. If you are having an issue with saying no to something then just back off and don't go until you feel like you are confident in your ability to say it out loud.
As for the waking up and feeling stupid and regretful, move on. There is something to say for repentance, sure. I think you need to think of life as one series of choices.... and to grow in wisdom you must begin using the beautiful, extraordinary brain that God gave you to make right choices about stuff- ONE choice at a time. Just because you made a bad choice last night, or the night before, or a year ago doesn't mean that you are destined to be screwed up. What is that fabulous thing my friend always says? "your mistakes don't define you" (I will amend that with "unless you allow them to".) I am in control and need to make healthy choices- but just one at a time. If I choose to flagrantly and knowingly, living in the moment, make a wrong or unhealthy choice, so be it... just so that I am making that choice from my gut. Then why regret it? I am making the decision knowing the consequences. I know I am making a wrong or unhealthy choice. This is living. This is staying connected. This is knowing myself- with all of my flaws and ticks and shadows and beauty spots. It's the coasting through the days, the seasons, my life- allowing myself to just "get by". These are the days. Don't shut off your thinking brain, your conscience, your heart. Don't disconnect and allow yours mind and heart to flat line with a busy signal of regret. That is a terrible and tragic waste of beauty and truth.

Thank you friends, who push me to stay connected. Thank you for being persistent and seeing through my excuses. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for telling me to quit being a baby and buck it up. Thank you.

fresh air

2008-08-12T05:27:00.000-07:00

Thank You Jesus for the cool breeze and much needed rain. I have had my windows open for 2 days now and it's August in Oklahoma. The temperature is twenty degrees below average. This is a little unsettling, but I won't dwell on global warming right now... only that for moments, here and there in my day, I can pretend that I am at home in Seattle.

Speaking of Seattle I have not taken the time to write about our trip to the Northwest last month. I haven't for a variety of reasons. I miss Seattle and things Northwest so much that I can hardly wrap my words around my feelings without starting a crying a jag... and since that has been my mode of operation lately, I just couldn't risk it.

But with the fresh breeze and break in Oklahoma weather, I am feeling a change in mood. We have many things going on in our house. School began two weeks ago and my creative projects have picked up as well. I am trying to carve out time for certain crafts that will be put in a show in October (pictures of finished products will come later.)

Today I need to write about home.
One of the most precious and spectacular blessings we have received this year (or ever, for that matter) was the gift of two plane tickets and a trip to Seattle. With great anticipation, the fireman, baby Jack, and I boarded the planes and travelled all day. As we began our initial descent we flew over the city I caught my breath at the beauty before me. The city lay beneath us, welcoming us home.

We were greeted by some of our favorite people in the whole entire world, John and Ann. I can't believe that I spent the entire week with them and didn't get a single picture of these people who love us as their own. I could write paragraphs on the love I have for J and A. Ann is a gift to our world. She is a beautiful, faithful mother of four. She is a mentor, mother, and friend to me. I miss her all the time. And John- he is gracious, loving, unimposing, and completely genuine. (Thank you J and A for the generous gift you shared with us.)
As we left Sea-Tac, Calvin and I and Ann and John visited about everyday things as if we had seen them yesterday. They pointed out new buildings re-shaping the Seattle skyline and started making plans for our week together. We stopped at a favorite pizza place just a few blocks from our sweet Queen Anne apartment- Maggie's first home. We saw some familiar faces and revelled in being back in our old neighborhood.
Ann and John were house-sitting for friends in Magnolia and after a few quick stops for diapers and necessary Trader Joe's snacks, we headed to the villa.
Did I mention that I love Seattle? I know I bore the heck out of people and I have to reign myself in when I see the glazed-eye expression creep into their faces. But this is my blog and I have the right to write all I want...

Crossing the Magnolia Bridge and looking out over Puget Sound, glancing back at Mount Ranier in his full glory, the 20 or so white sailboats in the blue water and Olympic Mountains as the backdrop, the Port of Seattle with the huge, bright orange cranes, the cruise ships, the Cascades Mountains to the east, and the gorgeous downtown skyline rising in the sunset... I was delirious. I was wearing a light jacket and jeans and felt great- and it was July. I think that something I love so much about Seattle is that just by looking at it, I can pick out what part of town is what. I know where I am almost all of the time and how to get where I want to go. I have favorite hole-in-the-wall boutiques and restuarant dives. I can recall bus routes and find the hidden stairways up the CounterBalance. I love the nooks and crannies. I know my way around, even after being away for so long.

One of my favorite days while there was one of the last. The day was warm by Seattle standards- in the mid 80's with a cool sea breeze. We had eaten a late breakfast with a good friend and then walked into downtown- about 10 blocks. We strolled through Pike Place Market and wandered up to Westlake Center and took the Monorail to Seattle Center. Seattle Center is about 4 blocks from our little apartment so is especially familiar. We walked over to the International Fountain, built in the 60's during the World's Fair. People were everywhere, sprawled all over the grass, picnicing, sleeping, hacky-sacking, juggling, kissing, sunbathing, relaxing... the fountain is just that- a giant, silver dome that "dances" to the music being piped in and broadcast over the loudspeakers. The water spray is choreographed to the tempo. And like a living thing it seems to play games with the crowd gathered to dance in it's sprinkles. Every so often, it will stop spraying and just let the water just run down the sides. I think everyone takes the dare and runs to touch the fountain before it starts up again... and usually it blows it's top just as every last person works up the courage to run for it. I love the screaming and laughing and chaos- the pleasure of being alive and enjoying a beautiful day in a fabulous city.
We couldn't resist letting Jack run through the water- even without a spare change of clothes. Who cares? It was too lovely to let the moment go by with out living in it.
closing for now.

leftovers

2008-08-06T06:36:00.000-07:00

I am not a leftover girl. I have never liked to eat leftovers. I would just a soon let them rot or trash them. I can't explain it- it's just me.
Lately I have felt like all I have is leftovers in my life. I eat left overs all the time, forcing my palate and stomach to accept them in gratitude. But besides food and moving into life, I have what looks and feels and smells like leftovers. I snatch at crumbs in my relationships and schedule. The fireman and I pass in the hallway and often it just feels like we hardly know each other and we are amiable room mates. I get what's leftover after he spends himself at work, with the kids, in the garden, and worrying about all the things to worry about. Most of my girlfriends have kids so the little energy they have when the day is over doesn't amount to much. We all seem to run until we have run out.
I give myself leftovers. I allow my best to be sucked away from me and when the lights go down and the clock hits nine, the energy leftover from the day is spent brushing my teeth and crawling into bed. I have not been reading or writing like usual. I haven't been on the phone keeping up with friends. I haven't been trying new recipes or enjoying the way the sun feels when it hits my skin and warms my insides.
I have been crying. I have been crying a lot. I cry for myself and the mystery of who I am and am not. I have emptied my heart and eyes so often in the last month that I feel like there is nothing left to cry out or about. I have cried in frustration and anger. I have cried because of fear and feelings of abandonment. I cry because I feel taken advantage of and unappreciated and misunderstoood. I cry because I am too tired to give my best. I cry over spilled milk and grocery bills. I cry for my friends and their worries and cry because I feel helpless. I cry because I am lonely and because I am too busy. I cry because I miss seeing mountains and riding buses. I cry in anxiety and stress. I feel so overwhelmed with my to-do list that I am paralyzed to begin.

I am crying over leftovers. Leftovers are just not enough to sustain and satisfy me. I need more and want more. As one of my girlfriends says, "I am a quality-time kind of girl. If you spend quality time with me, you will know me." That's me too.
I want to be bumped up on the priority list. I am tired of leftovers. Give me some good stuff.

my love

2008-06-15T11:48:00.000-07:00

When I think about the love I feel for my children I get choked up. My heart can't help but swell so tight the overflow comes out from my eyes. I would be lost without them. I wouldn't know what true love is.

And this is the hard part.

I try to imagine what they will be like when they grow up and what I will be like when I grow up. I pray that they will make right decisions and good choices. I want their mistakes to be few and inconsequential. I want their lifestyles to be vibrant and rich and full. I don't want them to have to struggle through tough times and heartbreaks. I want to know that they will be safe, always, and completely loved. I want to put them in a bubble. I want to freeze time.

But I can't know or do any of this. I can love them and teach them and train them the best that I can and that's all. My prayers will be offered and my songs sung over them. But life will whisk them away and the only thing left will be our heartstrings and memories.

As they grow and I watch them fall, I will grieve. There is nothing that would make my heart stop loving them. Nothing. Not even for a moment. These are my babies, my gifts, my angels. I will ache when I know they hurt. When they distance themselves from me, I will hurt. I will wonder if I missed something along the way- didn't seize a moment? missed a life lesson? forgot to tell them how much I love them? Because I am human, I will internalize and feel guilt when their life doesn't go the way I had dreamed.

I hope I will be able to gracefully let go. I hope that they will never be afraid of me. I want them near me always and even closer emotionally. I want honesty and openness and acceptance and security to flow back and forth.

My precious ones. Pieces of my heart taken without reservation or choice and walking around in this world. I am amazed by their beauty and intellect. I am overwhelmed by their drama and noise. I love their innocence and creativity and energy.

My babies.

summertime

2008-06-15T08:01:00.000-07:00

The heat is rolling in earlier and earlier. My six a.m. walks are becoming increasingly more miserable as the thick blanket of humid heat silently descends, making me sweat and smell. I try to tell myself it will help me flush the toxins and yuck and that my sweatiness is a good sign that my metabolism is kicking up a notch.
But to be honest, I hate the heat. I don't like that by evening I have a headache from squinting all day. It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning and I don't want to leave my house because it's already 85.

I wish it could be spring all year- or go from spring to fall and then back to spring. Extreme weather is just not for me- especially the heat.

On a brighter note, I harvested tomatoes this morning. I hated doing it since they are from the fireman's beloved plants and he is away, but I don't want to risk the squirrels taking off with them. I got about 10 red currant tomatoes, one yellow pear, and two Cherokee Purples. Now what shall I do with them?

The fireman is working 4 days, back to back. That means in 4 days he has worked 96 hours. That also means that I have been a single mom for 96 hours straight. Thankfully, I have had some company here and there and for that, my children should be very grateful. I am just so tired today and wish I could crawl in to bed and be alone.

I was trying to think of when was the last time I did something alone for me. I will occasionally run to the grocery store alone or pick up a birthday gift for someone. But for me to take off and do whatever I want just doesn't happen. I wish I could have a few hours a week to just sit and stare at the walls- not cleaning or doing laundry. Just sit in peace. I feel bombarded and emptied out. I am spent.

I will close for now. I have so much rolling around in my head I don't even know where to begin. I need to process things, but can't really pull my thoughts together enough to form thoughts or opinions. So instead, I am going to load the kids into the 400 degree car and go for a ride.

freegan followup

2008-06-09T07:37:00.000-07:00

So here's the scoop.
We got nothin'.

I can't tell you what a weird excitement I felt all day. I was actually giddy about jumping in to garbage. And then it was such a let down! I didn't cry or anything, but I admit that I felt mildly depressed for a couple of days.
In my craziness I pictured us bringing home more food than we could possibly consume as a family. So much that I could share it with others.
We met up at my house, decked out in camouflage and rubber gloves. I brought along Lysol and wipes. We brought lots of plastic bags and a big stick with a hook on it in hopes it would save us from actually having to jump in to the dumpsters to just shift bags around. We headed straight for Whole Foods. As with all the major grocery store chains, we found that their dumpster actually backs in to their building. Whole Foods does compost all fresh produce and donates left over bread and expired canned goods (that's the good news). So from there we hit restaurant dumpsters and a few small bakeries and grocery chains.
The youngest (and most limber) of our threesome did most of the actual "diving". (If and when we do this again, she is totally on our team again!) Our fearless friend would just hop on in if there was even a hint of buried treasure. I would try to hold up the occasional lid and direct her to promising-looking bags.
We got away with very little mishap, except for a small cut and singed nose hairs. We were offered dinner by a mildly attractive male- which came to nothing since we lamely explained it was a sorority dare.
In the end, we hit close to 25 dumpsters and spent probably $1000 in gas. Our "big score" were three teeny-weeny snack bags of Keebler Pecan Sandies- the 100 calorie diet ones for goodness sake. And they were our of date. As darkness fell we began to feel desperate... so when we found a dumpster full of boxes, we took some. Boxes. Yes, boxes. I guess I can organize some closets or something.

Although the bounty of the evening turned out to be non-existent, it was surprisingly super fun. We laughed a ton and cried together as the disgusting stench hit our nostrils. It is amazing to think that people do this, not as an experiment or adrenaline rush, but out of necessity. As the night wore on and our spirits took a dive, two of us began to complain a little. I was totally hit head on when our third friend quietly said, "hey, if we were homeless and hungry we would be ecstatic about these three little bags of cookies." At that moment I felt a wave of gratitude that my existence didn't depend on regular trash digging. And you know what else? I was also hit with the realization of how many friends I have. I had many phone calls from concerned friends leading up to the evening of scavenging. Were times really this hard? Did I truly need to trash dig to provide food for our kids? Did I need money? I tried to explain that it wasn't out of need, but out of concern for all the needless waste going in to our earth. But that night, as I thought about how thankful I was, I thought of all my friends who would step in in a moment if my motive shifted and we became hungry.
So I take it back. The evening was not bounty-less. Actually, it was overflowing with gratitude and friendship and adventure.
Would I do it again? Absolutely.

freegan

2008-06-04T06:23:00.000-07:00

have I mentioned how much I love recycling? I mean, it is so cool to get super cool stuff for free or next to nothing. I love to thrift store shop and garage sale. My neighbor makes fun of me when he hears I dug something out of the trash or picked it up off the curb. Hey, it's one less thing in the landfill.
So I am beginning a new adventure this week. I have to be honest, I am a little nervous. But times are hard and desperate times... well, you know. So tomorrow night I will become a freegan. I don't know if this is the beginning of a weekly ritual or just a one time deal. Either way, I am going with two girlfriends and we are hoping to score big- and praying for safety and zero smackdown.
It makes me excited to think I could find free food- good food, for nothing. Well, not nothing. I think at first it will be a weird pride thing if I get caught and in trouble for digging in someone's dumpster. But it will also be a sweet rush of adrenaline. And a fun memory too.

I am sure I will write about it, either way. And as to my neighbor... I will try to sneak a bit of dumpster food in to our next dinner together- just to weird him out.

Chapter Four: Never Say "Never"

2008-05-23T08:39:00.001-07:00

This is huge. And simple. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it. Don't even think it. Never.

Have I mentioned we are a home-school family? This probably conjures up all sorts of images. I know for me, I thought home-schooling was ludicrous. I remember rolling my eyes when people I knew decided they were going to home-school their kids. What were they thinking? Really? With little difficulty I would pass judgement and swear that I would never, never, never, never home-school my kids. I think I actually said one time, "I have NO time for that."
In my mind, there are certain kinds of people who home-school. And I am certainly not that kind. And there are certain people who claim to home-school and do no such thing. Unfortunately, I think our media latches on to the failures all too often. So our view of kids who are learning at home is skewed. I fell for the hype and planted my feet firmly in the camp of Anti-Home-School. I mean, how could kids who learn at home have any kind of social skills or opportunities for pursuing passions their parents deem as inappropriate or unimportant? Wouldn't those kids be short-changed and too sheltered? How would they learn that the whole world doesn't revolve around them? How would they learn how to take tests and acclimate into a university environment? And what makes these parents think they are qualified to teach their children anyway? I mean, come on people.

And, I am so not in to denim skirts and buns.

So there we have it. Never.

Never, never, never, never, never.

I was not one who desired kids. Kids fell into the group of things that I also had "no time for." I had this picture of myself, married, living a downtown life, doing what I pleased when I pleased. Odd how life works out. And even more of an oddity how life shifts and spins and shakes when a little dumpling pops in to your world and makes you a family, instantly. The fireman and I ran on adrenaline and love for the first few months and our conversations were serious and deep and searching. We relied on our instincts and faith as we parented our baby. We dreamed out loud, together, about what our life should look like and how we wanted our baby girl to see and experience the world. We longed for the day we would hear her first words and the thought of actually carrying on a conversation with her made us giddy. These were days of joy and innocence and dreams and love.

And as our family has changed and grown we have continued the conversations. The difference now is that these conversations must end with decisions, however difficult and dramatic. Our choice to try schooling Maggie at home came with much debate and anxiety. I felt totally incompetent and exhausted, unsure of how I would manage one more thing in my already packed days. I know some people close to us thought we were crazy and foolish and to be honest, I thought the same thing. I dragged my feet and made all the excuses. But, in the end, we evolved into a home-school family. Once again, we are following our instincts and taking steps in faith.
And I am not too proud to admit, the first few weeks were disastrous. Every fear and suspicion was confirmed as, day after day, both Maggie and I became more miserable. I felt tense and she could feel it. I began to dread the afternoons and she knew it. Her excitement soon turned to tears. As weeks turned in to months we began to question ourselves and second-guess our decision.
The fireman would fill in as tutor every so often. But his inability to relate to her level and intolerance for her unfocused and spastic behavior only left him despairing and angry. By the end of his turns, he was questioning if she had some serious learning disability or if she was dyslexic. I couldn't imagine where we would go from here. I felt like we had killed her spirit to learn and we would never be able to create a positive learning environment again. Our good intentions were just not enough to sustain any sort of momentum and I gradually slacked off until it was over. We were done. I couldn't handle it any more. I was tired of feeling frustrated with her and tired of making her feel like a failure.

What was wrong with us? We are relatively intelligent people. We love her and want the best for her. We know what school should look like. Why is this experience so dreadful and different from what we had envisioned? What is wrong with her?

Our Thanksgiving break turned in to a four month hiatus. When someone asked how school was going, I would smile and quickly try to change the subject. There were only a select few who knew the whole truth and how seriously we had failed Maggie. These friends would gently urge us forward, encouraging us to start again, slowly. Our enthusiasm needed to outweigh the information. School time needed to be brief and fun.
Luckily, in Kindergarten, there are few benchmarks to meet. She needed to know how to read. That's it. By the time we decided to jump back in, enough time had passed that I think she had forgotten the traumatic afternoons of the previous Fall. We switched reading curriculum and rewarded her with stickers for attention spans lasting longer than five minutes. She loves nature and art, so we centered the school time around being outside and cutting and pasting. She started feeling successful and I began to see progress. First Grade is just around the corner and our curriculum should arrive this week- and, who knows? Our school year just might start next week.

There are many, many reasons we home-school. I take great delight in seeing something "click" in her head. I love hearing her sing about feudalism and Hiroshima. I think it's amazing that she can find Turkmenistan and the Adriatic Sea on the globe. I think it is so cool that I can ask her when was the Renaissance Period and who came first in the Protestant Reformation, Martin Luther or John Calvin? I hang up her art work and wish I could keep it all. But aside from all of this, I love being with her. I love that I can see how and when she learns best. I want to answer her questions about how our world works and came to be. I can talk to her about integrity and responsibility and teach her how to crack an egg while singing the sixth chapter of Ephesians. I love that she asks me to do "school" now.
I do want to shelter her. I think her innocence and purity of heart and childhood are mine to protect. I think it's my job to know who her friends are and who her friend's parents are. I want to protect her from the ugliness and dangers of our world and as she matures, give her the skills and perspective to handle difficulties she will inevitably face. I want her to be courageous and wise. I want her to love her individuality and be comfortable with who she is and what she believes to be truth. The sweetness and wonder of youth is easily stolen and replaced with boredom and apathy and stress. This is why I am a home school mom.

I know it's not for everyone and I am definitely not advocating it as an obligation of all parents. My point is this: never say "never." You can't begin to foretell what will tumble and topple the things you think you know.

I'm back

2008-05-19T10:24:00.001-07:00

in so many ways.

I am back to the blog- oh how I have missed you.

We are back from a whirlwind trip to the Shriners Children's Hospital in St Louis. Although it can be grueling to sit in the car with a cranky two year old for 16 hours over two days, every mile was worth it to receive a good report. Finally the Baby Jack is responding favorably to his medications. Finally.

We went back to church. In all honesty, the fireman and I were shamed in to it. We have been on a church hiatus for about 6 months, although mentally I checked out over a year ago. I had too much rolling inside of me that all I could do was take a break with hopes that time and distance would take away feelings. My two little girls have been asking for church for weeks, nagging at us to go back. You can only push them away so long before it gets ridiculous. So after a long conversation with them, we started back. Thankfully, I feel better now so the transition is easier.

Lately I have felt like there has been this huge hand on me, guiding me. I don't feel it in the moment, but when I lay down at night and close my eyes, I realize what's been going on. It's like I am a drunk, trying to walk the line, and a friend is beside me, pushing me back on to the line when I fumble and fall over.
I was just reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. Interesting read. I think my favorite line was, "God dwells within you, as you." She goes on to explain, "God dwells within you as you yourself, exactly the way you are. God isn't interested in watching you enact some performance of personality in order to comply with some crackpot notion you have about how a spiritual person looks or behaves. We all seem to have this idea that, in order to be sacred, we have to make some massive, dramatic change of charatcter, that we have to renounce our individuality." When the fireman and I go on road trips I always find myself reading aloud. When I got to this part, I was greatly moved. It lead us into a lengthy discussion as to why I found so much truth and meaning in these simple sentences.
For me, always grasping and comparing, measuring and coming up inadequate, I saw that God is not calling me to change my character, my weirdness, my passionate nature. God created me, as me. He asks that I remain true to my nature, living out the best within me in generousity, compassion, and love. He isn't asking me to become something totally different than who I am. Sometimes I feel like a square peg trying to fit into a circle- and it never works out... and all I feel is frustration. But this is some cooky circle I conjured up for myself. I have this list of who I think I should be: a list of the best of the best- pulling from people I know and admire. And I constantly measure myself against others and this crazy, out of control list. And guess what? I never measure up.
So reading this helped me cut myself a break. I have to believe that God takes great delight in me when I am living as me. He created me while I was in my mother's womb and set aside each day for me before even one of them came to be. He chose the angels to be birthed from my body- He chose me to be their mommy. He orchestrated my years and months and weeks and moments. He brought treasured friends to hold me up and push me on. Yes, I think He rolls His eyes at my quirks. And He has to just want to "huck me out the window" sometimes in exasperation. But, at the end of the day, He does quiet me with His love and sing over me while I sleep. Me, as me.

If God had wanted me to be everything on my perfect list, He would have made me this way. "Useful, then, might be to accept how I was made and embody myself fully therein." So as EG says, "It doesn't mean I can't improve myself as a human being, honing my virtues and working daily to minimize vices" But instead of trying to fit myself in to some hole I wasn't created to fill, I need to work on my habits and alter some aspects of who I already am for the better- working within my personality- not the personalities of everyone I know and the stupid list. God must feel insulted sometimes at my ingratitude and self importance. As the most perfect and holy artist, to have me, trying to redo His whole picture.

So I am back to reality... or so it seems.

rainbows

2008-05-07T11:08:00.000-07:00

I am in a funk.

For some reason the rain which usually refreshes my spirit and fills me up a bit is just making me feel really sad. I feel sad and lonely. I feel an emptiness, like I have been away from home for a long, long time. I am sitting here at my desk with the windows open and I can smell, hear, and see the rain. I could just reach out and let it run through my hands. It is beautiful, but in a mysteriously abandoned kind of way; like it could rain forever and wash away the world.

I feel uneasy and aimless. I don't have any real goals. I think about a lot of things but rarely make decisions. I have become a really bad decision maker. I would just rather not have to decide what to cook, when meet up, where to go. I am just too tired to care most of the time.

Have I mentioned that I am mostly grey? I have so much grey hair it's crazy. I look at my roots with dismay and wonder what is going on in my body that I don't know about. What kind of stress is manifesting itself in my bones, muscles, skin, and hair?

I have returned to the old, comfortable habit of living for tomorrows. Tomorrow things will be better, happier, shinier. Tomorrow my house will have sold, my zinnias will have bloomed, my house will be clean, I will be able to afford a break. Tomorrow I will be ready to take care of my body, lose weight, meditate, be still.

I feel like I need a good cry and a soft lap to curl up in. I need the comfort of a mom who will pet me and let me cry it out like am little kid who has just broken her favorite toy. I don't want someone to feel like they need to fix me. I want to fix myself. But I can't fix me today; I won't even try. I just need to cry like I am going to cry out every last drop.

I was thinking of a time when I felt most loved. It was a few days before my Maggie's birth. I was with my Auntie C. I stayed the night with her and woke up to the smell of blueberry buckle fresh from the oven. The windows were open and the Pacific Northwest breeze was making the curtains dance in the sunshine colored room. We ate the delicious buckle for breakfast and then walked a few blocks to her sweet friend's house. I was gently ushered upstairs to her massage room filled with soothing music and gorgeous, crazy sculptures. I quietly undressed and laid on my side surrounded by pillows. The room was dimly lit and I tried very hard to relax. I felt heavy.
My Auntie and her friend came in. They both laid their hands on me and silently poured love in to me. Then the friend began massage work. The pressure of her hands, the stillness of the room, and the quietly whispered words of encouragement and peace, the silent prayers offered for me- it was like I was breathing in pure love. I began to cry. I admitted to my fears of pain and failure. I heard their tender, compassionate groans, "yes, yes, yes", saying that they understood. They called me "brave" and "precious" and "strong". Wherever the friend stood working, my Auntie stood opposite, smoothing, caressing, holding me. They allowed me to cry it out and didn't try to change me. They weren't afraid of me and didn't ask me to stop or hush. I had permission to feel deeply and pour myself out; and I was filling up as quickly as I was emptying.
When the time came, they stood on either side of me and just laid hands on me. I felt the warmth. I knew, in their own ways and with silent words, they were fervently praying over me, interceding for me. And as quietly as they came in, they left me there. I wept. I was flooded with relief and courage and peace. I had never felt so whole and healed.

I recently finished a good book. There a was chapter that made me think of this experience. Traveling Mercies. "'Traveling Mercies,' the old people at our church said to her when she left. This is what they always say when one of us goes off for a while. Traveling mercies: love the journey, God is with you, come home safe and sound." Anne Lamott goes on to write about the death of a friend. "I walked in to their houe at nine, into this wooden palace as familiar to me as my own childhood home, the walls covered with framed photos I've been looking at for thirty-some years... Bee's eyes were red from crying, the brown irises clouded with sun damage from our tennis years. We walked hand in hand down the hallway to where Mimi lay asleep on her bed, breathing in the loud labored way that means the end is near. Bee and I talked for a moment, and then she sat in the chair beside the big bed, holding her mother's hand, and I lay down beside Mimi, because she was the most gregarious woman I've ever known, flamboyant and loving as the Broadway stars she loved, and she seemed a little lonely. Bee held Mimi's hand to her face and her chest; I stroked Mimi's shoulders and smoothed her hair. We talked to her the way you talk to a sleepy child too troubled to fall asleep. We whipsered that we loved her. We told her over and over that we would stay with her as long as she needed but that when she was ready, we were also willing to let her go. And that she was safe, with God here now on this side, and in a moment with God on the other. Traveling mercies, I whispered in her ear. We said prayers softly...and we lit candles, and held Mimi lightly so she could take off when she was ready. The space between each breath became longer and longer, until an hour later there was all space, and she died... It was just such a blessing to have been there helping Bee bathe her mother's body with beautiful soaps, smooth her skin with lotions, working as thoroughly and gently as Mimi must have done forty-three years ago, when Bee had just been born."

I wish for a bed of hands and whispers when it's my time to leave this world. Until then, I want to love deeply with my words, my hands, and my heart. This love- it's the rainbow in our gloomy, soggy world.

the unexplained: part 2

2008-05-06T06:23:00.001-07:00

so the limp has gone away.....

Not sure why or how. I have enjoyed two days of watching Baby Jack run like mad through sprinklers, fields of clover, and my back yard. He is unstoppable and maniacal. I am surprised by his energy bursts and his inevitable crashes.
He comes in waves. I guess with a disease like this, and necessary meds, I have learn to live in the peaceful moments and tirelessly tread the rough waters of the lows.

I was listening to my friend talk about her new baby, how easy and congenial he is. My spirit took a plummet as I remembered Baby Jack as an infant. There just wasn't a sweeter baby. He was content and peaceful and easy going. He was a great sleeper and eater. I don't remember ever complaining about him- maybe I did, but I really don't remember anything but sweetness. I could have just eaten him.
So listening to my friend brag on her baby made me ache. I was overwhelmed with all the feelings I have about Baby Jack. He is so frustrating and wild. He is defiant and his behavior is embarrassing. Some days I just want to get away from him. I am worn out with being rammed and pulled on. My legs are bruised. I feel layers of guilt about how I feel. I don't want to not want to be with him. I want to be patient and long suffering and loving. I want self control and tenderness. It seems the only time I can croon over him is when he is asleep. He is still. His breathing is even and rhythmical. He looks so precious and whole.

My sweet, sweet Baby Jack.

day twelve

2008-04-30T19:21:00.000-07:00

Bagels and cream cheese for breakfast.

Chicken Salad Sandwiches with celery, fresh thyme and oregano, parsley, mayo and pecans.

romaine salad with olives, hard salami, provolone, parmasan, oil and vinegar. I made my garlic toasts, bruschetta and crostinis. It was a perfect meal.

day eleven

2008-04-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

fireman away again... monotonous isn't it?

For breakfast we had oatmeal muffins again.

For lunch, neighbor D and I ran to Chipolte. I love the carnitas burrito with guacamole. And it's enough to share...

My girlfriend invited us for dinner and oh was it yummy. Soup, salad, and bread.

day ten

2008-04-30T18:53:00.000-07:00

We had peanut butter toast for breakfast with strawberries. I love strawberry season!
For luncn, we made one of our stand by, warm weather lunches... tuna pasta salad. We use penne pasta with celery, almonds, tuna, grapes, and mayo with salt and pepper.

Dinner is one of the fireman's favorites and it's also super economical.
Beans and rice with homemade pico and guacamole with chips.

day nine

2008-04-30T18:46:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning breakfast. What better way to start the day than Cracker Barrel? I know, I know. It's awful. It is carb heaven and I have to admit I love it.
I tried the Strawberry Pancakes- they were good, but would definitely go with my usual Egg Sandwich on sourdough next time.
Here's the aftermath... (and yes, it's shaky.... morning coffee had kicked in)

We didn't eat lunch today. With a huge breakfast, we were able to last until evening. We hosted our small group from church and made an Apple Crumble with Blue Bell Natural Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. Does life get any better??
No pics- it was too crazy with a million people in the house to feed.

Barn Raising

2008-04-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

"On an otherwise ordinary night at the end of September, some friends came over to watch the lunar eclipse, friends whose two-year-old daughter Olivia had been diagnosed nine months earlier with cystic fibrosis. Now, out of the blue, the family has been plunged into an alternate world, a world where everyone's kid has a life threatening illness. I know that sometimes these friends feel that they have been expelled from the ordinary world they lived in before and that they are now citizens of the Land of the F*#@ed. They must live with the fact that their younger daugher has this disease that fills its victims' lungs with thick sludge that harbors infections. Two-week hospital stays for nonstop IV antibiotics are common. Adulthood is rare.

Watching Olivia watch the eclipse of the moon, I suddenly remembered New Year's Day, seven months ago, out at Stinson Beach with Sam and Olivia and her family. It was one of those perfect northern California days when dozens of children and dogs are running on the beach and pelicans are flying overhead and the mountain and the green ridges rise up behind you, and it's so golden and balmy that you inevitably commit great acts of hubris. Olivia seemed fine- happy, blonde, tireless. Just a few days before, her parents had taken her to the doctor for lab work, because her colds were always so severe. But she didn't have a cold on New Year's Day.
Then two days later he called with the news that she had cystic fibrosis. Now, seeing her the night of the eclipse, her upward gaze of pure child wonder, I find it both hard to remember when she wasn't sick and harder to believe she is.

At first, after the diagnosis, we were almost too stunned to cry. Olivia's family has a tribe of good friends around them, and everyone wanted to help, but at first people didn't know what to do; they were immobilized by shock and sadness.
By mid January, though, I had a vision of the disaster as a gigantic canvas on which had been painted an exquisitely beautiful picture. We all wanted to take up a corner or stand side by side and lift it together so that Olivia's parents didn't have to carry the whole thing themselves. But I saw that they did in fact have to carry almost the whole heartbreaking picture alone. Then the image of a canvas changed into one wall of a barn, and I saw that the people who loved them could build a marvelous barn of sorts around the family.
So we did. We raised a lot of money; catastrophes can be expensive. We showed up. Sometimes we cleaned, we listened, some of us took care of the children, we walked their dog, and we criend and then made them laugh; we gave them a lot of privacy, then we showed up and listened and let them cry and cry and cry, and then took them for hikes.
We kept on cooking and walking the dog, taking the kids to the park, cleaning the kitchen and letting Sara and Adam hate what was going on when they needed to. Sometimes we let them resist finding any meaning or solace in anything that had to do with their daughter's diagnosis, and this was one of the hardest things to do- to stop trying to make things come out better than they were. We let them spew when they needed to; we offered the gift of no comfort when there being no comfort was where they had landed. Then we shopped for groceries. One friend gave them weekly massages, everyone gave lots of money. And that is how we built our Amish barn.
Now eight months later, things are sometimes pretty terrible for them in a lot of ways, but at the same time, they got a miracle. It wasn't the kind that comes in on a Macy's Thanksgiving Day float. And it wasn't the on they wanted, where God would rach down from the sky and touch their girl with a magic wand and restore her to perfect health. Maybe that will still happen- who knows? I wouldn't put anyting past God, because he or she is one crafty mother. Still, they did get a miracle, one of those dusty little red-wagon miracles, and they understand this.
(That night, the night of the eclipse) We stood outside for a while longer, talking out this last flare-up, how frightened Sara had felt, how tired. And I didn't know what to say at first, watching Olivia go chasing after the big kids, coughing. Except that we, their friends, all know that the rains and the wind will come, and they will be cold- oh, God, will they be cold. But then we will come too, I said; we will have been building this barn all along, and so there will always be shelter."

I wept when I read this chapter from Anne Lamott's book, Traveling Mercies. Her incredible gift of writing resonated so deeply within me. She is writing exactly how I feel when I think of the loving shelter our friends and family are giving us through these last months. Oh, that I was that gifted to be able to articulate the feelings swirling in me. I know that JRA is not life threatening. I know this. But everything has tipped and shifted and my feet haven't quite landed in a spot where I know what to expect.
So I want to say thank you, dear ones, for holding me up when my legs and my spirit give out. Thank you for extending grace when I totally flop as a person. My world has shrunk and swollen and blurred and the constant, the saving force, has been the mercy extended and love shown.

i am me

2008-04-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

I am a mother,
daughter,
sister,
friend,
wife.
I am wife to the fireman.
Wife- companion, partner, lover, helpmate.
I am a novice gardener.
I love harvesting and eating fresh herbs and tomatoes.
I am thrilled when I can cut my own flowers and have them in vases throughout the house.
I am a cook.
I am an apron-wearer in my kitchen.
I love to eat.
I start a diet almost every Monday.
I quit dieting by Tuesday.
I love to shop Farmer's Markets and eat vegetarian meals from the bounty of my garden.
I love to eat fresh peaches and feel the juice drip down my chin.
I love Rainier cherries and Honeycrisp apples.
I am a cheese and dark chocolate lover.
I love the feel of crisp sheets off the line in the summer.
I hate the intense heat of summer.
I love my bed.
I love to nap.
I rarely take a nap.
I paint my house in vibrant colors.
I love the smell and feel of newborn babies.
I wish I could relive the moment of pushing a new baby in to the world whenever I wanted.
I love shopping in office supply stores.
I am a bargain hunter.
I get a rush from getting a good deal.
I am an artist.
I sing.
I want to be in a band.
I paint.
I am a reader.
I wish I could sit and read all day.
I love used book stores.
I am a good friend to a few and acquaintance to many.
I love girlfriend time.
I love to be touched.
I wish I could have a massage every week.
I am thankful.
I wish I had lots of money to give away.
I am a hard worker.
I am hard on myself.
I am a traveller.
I want to travel all over the world.
I want to pick olives in Provence, France.
I want to smash grapes in a vineyard in Italy.
I want to go the opera in Vienna.
I want to drink a Guinness in Dublin (again).
I want to play the drums and tap dance (not simultaneously).
I am an Apple Computer kind of girl.
I want to make out with my computer.
I am a PBS junkie.
I would totally throw my underwear at Frontline. (stole that line)
I love to laugh.
I love to dance (in the privacy of my own home when no one is around).
I listen to all kinds of music.
I hate rap.
I hate local weather forcasts and their drama.
I am phobic about lots of things:
someone sneaking up and scaring me when I am in the shower
that when I vacuum, someone is going to come at me from behind and scare me
that when in a public bathroom, someone is going to reach under and slash my Achilles Tendon
that a tornado is coming after me
that baby Jack is going to break my nose or teeth
that when I shower during a thunderstorm, lightening will strike my house sending electricity through the shower head and electrify me
my car going off of a bridge and I will have to choose which child to rescue from their car seat and save
that sharks are after me- (yes, even in swimming pools)
someone is going to be hiding under my car and slash my Achilles Tendon (what is it with the Tendon??)
I am a free spirit deep down inside.
I am in bondage.
I am trying to break the bonds holding me down.
I love to shop.
I hate buying jeans and swimming suits.
I have a love/hate relationship with my body.
I finally like my curly hair.
I only wear comfortable shoes and good bras.
I love art deco jewelry.
I don't own a diamond.
I love history.
I am a writer.
I am a story teller.
I am not a joke teller.
I am a teacher.
I teach reading, writing, geography, history, music, bible, science, math, art, and Latin.
I don't touch bugs.
I love that my kids all have my same birthmark on their foreheads.
I love hearing my eldest belly laugh.
I love to hear the middle sing.
I love to see my Baby Jack asleep.
I love to go on dates.
I eat my steaks mid-rare.
I expect the best from people.
I don't like free-loaders.
I want to be disciplined.
I am a giver.
I want to live close to the ocean and the mountains.
I am an old house lover.
I love red and turquoise together.
I drive with my windows down, sunroof open, and music cranked.
I am a foreign film watcher.
I wear big jewelry.
I am hippie-esque.
I love picnics and outdoor theaters.
I am a roller coaster rider.
I am an open book.
My face turns red when I am mad.
My eyes turn dark when I am tired, sick, or sad.
I cry regularly.
I am a believer.
I am a dreamer.

I am me.

open mouth, insert foot

2008-04-28T10:41:00.000-07:00

I have this uncanny ability to say inappropriate and ill timed sentences. I kick myself for it. I feel really bad about it. I don't want to be the girl that people avoid because something ugly and hurtful pops out. And I don't want to always feel tense and unsure, fearful of the involuntary words slipping past my monitoring system. I don't remember being like this before. I always considered myself as tactful and reassuring. But recently, I feel like I need to apologize to people before I even venture in to conversation- just as a precautionary measure.

Ug, I could just wash my mouth out sometimes.

I have been feeling like a bad friend lately. I don't feel like I have enough energy to go around or time to share with the people that really matter. I can't get on the phone for more than 5 minutes without someone under 3 feet tall requiring my urgent and necessary attention. I am pulled emotionally in all directions and it is exhausting. I am afraid of what people must think of me.

I feel very distracted. I know it's normal and I should cut myself some slack. I have been up to my ears in projects and have a very needy and temperamental toddler now. He is so very demanding. I am not sure how to deal with him effectively and most nights I crawl in to bed feeling guilty and depressed. I am not equipped for this job. This child challenges what little I thought I had figured out. I am not sure how to discipline with love and grace when I am losing my mind and my patience.

I am reminded of his illness with each of his uneven steps. The sound of his labored gait is a dead give away and my heart aches to know if I am doing the right thing by him. I wake up each day saying, "today will be the day that I don't lose my temper." But more mornings than not I am crying before I leave the bed. He is crazy and out of control. He uses his body as a ram rod and his head as a sledge hammer. I feel physically abused by the way he throws his weight around. He doesn't necessarily do it out of meanness- just wildness. Oh how I wish I could tame him- if even a bit.

The limp is still there and now it's progressed in to something a bit scarier. He is dragging his foot and it's back to the odd 45 degree angle. I roll this around and around and feel the anxiety and frustration pounding in my skull. I wish he could talk and explain it all away. I want him to tell when and where exactly he feels the pain. I want him to tell me when he steps in a hole and twists his foot, just aggravating the problems that already exist. I want to be on top of his illness, one step ahead.

But instead, I am floundering around, stressing about tomorrow, wishing I could control my temper. I wish I could just close my mouth and put one foot in front of the other.

Day Eight

2008-04-28T07:29:00.000-07:00

another day of the Fireman being away. Wow these days are so long when he is gone.
So, in order to help me survive the day, I baked Oatmeal Muffins with strawberries and lots and lots of butter. I need baked goods to help me through the stressful days.

I admit, I was a bad mommy for lunch and we just skipped it all together. I think we snacked on white bean dip and carrots, grapes, animal crackers, cheese, and popcorn. We also went to visit a friend and it helped me get through the lonely day.
Which brings me to dinner. I didn't have the heart, or time, to cook. So we stopped and got Quesadillas from Taco Bueno for dinner.

Day Seven

2008-04-28T07:17:00.000-07:00

Friday mornings are our busiest. We are out the door by 8:40 to get to school on time. The kids had bowls of puffed wheat and strawberries with milk.
Lunch was a huge Mexican potluck- tacos, dips, chips, salads, and lots of desserts.

For dinner we shared a meal with our neighbors- Grilled Bratwursts with saukraut and mustard, oven roasted potato salad with bacon and rosemary, cabbage salad, cheddar cheese, and crusty bread. Oh- and a delicious blackberry crisp. This is a picture of the aftermath.

Day Six

2008-04-28T07:08:00.000-07:00

Scrambled eggs, bacon, and whole wheat toast with butter and my homemade peach preserves.

Oh my, delicious, delicious, delicious. I love Reuban Sandwiches.

I will have to come back to dinner- what did we have??? I think we just had popcorn, apples and cheese- a standby dinner.

Day Five

2008-04-28T06:56:00.000-07:00

The fireman is away today so cooking three meals from scratch is totally out the window. We started the day with puffed wheat with bananas and soymilk.

Lunch- Auntie Ann's Organic Bunny O's with red grapes.

For dinner I busted out a favorite- Lentil Loaf with bruschetta sauce and a Caesar Salad. I LOVE seeing my kids eat this up. It is power packed with lentils, bown rice, spinach, basil, corn, carrots, onions, and celery, and mozarella. YUM!

Day Four

2008-04-24T09:57:00.000-07:00

No pictures today of breakfast or lunch. My camera's batteries were completely gonners when I woke up this morning. So I will just have to record our meals- which weren't exciting since we spent almost the entire day painting, tiling, and trimming our laundry room. My, how laundry piles up if I don't do it every day.

breakfast- granola and yogurt parfaits with coffee (of course)
lunch- sandwiches at Lambruzco's, fruit salad, coleslaw, and a variety of cookies for dessert

Dinner was enjoyed in the home of our friends. We had a delicious spinach salad, soup, and crusty bread.

Chapter Three: Sowing the Seeds, Harvesting the Crop

2008-04-23T09:02:00.000-07:00

I love, love, love to garden.
We have been gardening all week. I was out broadcasting seeds and watering them in this morning. I admit I was also singing to them out of a small superstition that they will feel more loved and anxious to appear. I want to communicate how much I love these seed and hope they germinate sooner rather than later. While standing there, breathing in the fresh air and rich earth smell, I started comparing parenting to planting a garden. My mind went wild with it- so bear with me.

I begin my spring by reading books on gardening. The bookstore and library call to me. I could spend hours and hours reading through the "how to" books and looking through the garden photography in my favorite magazines. I love looking through seed catalogs and want to buy from a reputable seed company. And when my seeds arrive I imagine what this seed will look like when it grows up and what the fruit will smell and taste like. I touch them gently, talk to them, and care for them. I ensure that the soil is right for the particular plant and I find the shady or sunny spot that is recommended in the books. I consult my friends with more gardening experience when necessary. I read the directions over and over and when the time is right, I nervously plant them, with high hopes that they will produce a magnificent plant. I want this baby to have every chance I can possibly give it to ensure it survives and thrives.
And sometimes I am totally surprised, and delighted, when I plant a seed and something unexpected springs up (and this happens frequently). Or when I plant two seemingly identical seeds and they sprout and blossom in to two unique plants with colors and flowers all their own.

I water and feed the plants fertilizer when necessary and then I wait, sometimes patiently and sometimes not so patiently, to see the first green sprout push back the soil and enter the world above. And once it arrives I dance around and sing to it hoping it will feel encouraged and excited about being part of my garden. How pleased I am to see these tiny, precious seedlings arrive. I dream of the day they will flower and fruit. And if I feel the spot I originally chose is not the best for my plant, I am willing to relocate her.

But, indeed, there are things I can't control: the intense heat of the summer, the ferocious spring rains, the infestation of undesirable bugs and weeds who could easily overpower and take my plant from me. There is only so much I can do for the plant to ensure its health and then I have to leave it out there, in the world, come what may.
I think this is the hardest part. I am so unhappy when I wake up in the mornings to find the pesky squirrels have run off with the bits of fruits. (Watch out squirrels because if I catch you ravaging my plant, I will hunt you down and hurt you.)

Just like with my precious kiddos- I can't control them, I don't own them, they are mine only for a season and then I have to let go. I will tend to them with love and patience and try to shield them from harm. I will consult other parents and read endless parenting books. I can sing and dance with them and pray over them that they will grow healthy and strong and live to be the anchor in our garden, bearing beautiful and delicious fruit in abundance. I want my kids to see their world for what it is- an amazing gift to be enjoyed and shared with others, a place to contribute their best and plant a garden all their own.

Day Three

2008-04-21T17:15:00.000-07:00

Grain Cakes with fresh strawberries and maple syrup.

100% vegetarian Taco Salad- again, outside at the neighbors.

For dinner we are having leftover German Stuffed Peppers from yesterday.

(wow it feels good to be caught up!)

Day Two

2008-04-21T15:58:00.000-07:00

About once a month the fireman will splurge and bring home bagels and cream cheese from Panera Bread Company. YUM!

German Stuffed Peppers and brown rice with White Bean Dip, carrot sticks, and pita chips

Grilled Chicken Breasts and legs for the kids, oven roasted potatoes with rosemary, and fabulous salad with marinated yellow bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, red onion and goat cheese in balsamic vinagrette- enjoyed outside with our neighbors. Yes, the ones we had dinner with the night before. (See, told you they love us.)

forgive me

2008-04-20T05:57:00.000-07:00

I have returned, somewhat suddenly, to the self-loathing state. I jumped into it following a situation where I totally screwed up. I admit this- I am at fault. I messed up. I take the blame and I have been feeling ugly ever since.

I have this problem. If I feel like someone is or has been mad at me, I shut down. It's not a choice on my part- it's automatic. I can't stand it. So knowing that I disappointed someone or hurt their feelings and made them upset with me, kills me. Literally, little pieces of me die off; I think 'wither' would be the correct word. And although I know this friend says she has forgiven me, I can't forgive myself. I was stupid and thoughtless and I made an ass of myself and it's hard to get over. Our friendship will be different now, I know it. I can feel it. And our other friends who know about it- I think it will be different with them too. I feel like they are mad at me and don't trust me either. They will look at me through different eyes and see something I never wanted to be.

I may have invented this whole world of hurt, but it's the world I live in today. So I will retreat in to busyness and projects and kids. I will emerge in a few weeks and hopefully be able to do my part to restore and resume my relationships. But for now, I need space to wallow in the pit I created.

Last week I spent the day with one of my dearest friends. It was a day of celebration and a close to a perfect day. It was bright and beautiful and we ate delicious food and laughed and talked and sat on the porch swing and watched the girls giggle and bounce on the trampoline. We cooked and the smell of bread filled the house. I love any time I spend with her, but this day was particularly good. We seamlessly move from talk of tomatoes and plants to deep, life lessons. She said that she thinks I am her spirit child... and I hang on to that compliment and all it implies. I am so unconditionally loved and accepted by her and it feels so, so good. When I try to imagine the love that God has for me, I think of her love as a tangible example.

She told me a story about two little boys on an airplane. They didn't know each other, but as all kids do, they immediately started talking and playing. Near the end of the flight, one of the boys said, "Hey, I have an idea. Let's be friends." The other replied, "how do we do that?" The first boy said, "It's simple. First we spend time together and then we tell each other secrets."
I think these kids have already figured out a lot about life and relationships. I love it.

When my friend finished telling me the story of the two boys, she shared what this interaction meant to her regarding her relationship with God- the spending time together and telling God the secrets of her heart. There is a sweetness to this message, like honey after a fast. It seems simple.

I don't know how all this relates, but somewhere, in the self-inflicted gloom of my spirit, it does. I am in the process of weaving and knitting and piecing it all together. And until I figure it out, I hope my friend is patient and understands that it's just me. It's hard work to forgive myself.

Day One

2008-04-20T05:43:00.000-07:00

It's the beginning of a very revealing 30 days. I am somewhat embarrased of our first day's meals. I guess I thought we ate better than this and typically I think we do. But we are in "project mode" trying to get the house on the market some time during the next two weeks. Who wants to cook when they have been out in the garden all day or painting all afternoon? Not me... hence. two meals from restaurants.

Homemade fruity granola with yogurt and strawberries. And the morning coffee, of course.

Tuna Hoagies from Subway with Fritos and a pickle.

Senior Tequila's Steak Fajitas with sauteed onions and peppers, beans and rice, guacamole and sour cream and LOTS of chips and salsa. A fun and yummy meal shared with our neighbors (the ones that love us that pretend they don't).

lessons

2008-04-19T11:31:00.000-07:00

This morning, in the rush to get out the door to school, the house went crazy. We only "go to school" one day a week and getting there by 9 am, with everyone dressed and fed, is a monumental task. I honestly don't know how my friends do it by 7:45 am, five days a week. Since I see friends this day, I like to shower and look somewhat pulled together and I have to review the song I am teaching too.
So as every Friday morning happens, this one was nuts. At one point I was cutting up strawberries, getting my shoes on, rehearsing the song and reading the scripture lyrics, and pretending to listen to the eldest recite the first 20 Presidents and the First, Second, and Third Laws of Thermodynamics. Maggie had just finished and I was getting breakfast on the table when I heard my Poppy start screaming frantically. I ran in to the girls' room and found her hanging precariously from the top bunk on top of the ladder which had been perched along the end (to keep Baby Jack from climbing to the top). This is one of the rules of our house: Do not stand, jump, or climb around on the top bunk. It's dangerous. Poppy looked terribly frightened and honestly, the way her arms looked, I wouldn't be surprised if her shoulders had popped out of their sockets or if she had torn a rotary cuff.
I grabbed her and Maggie grabbed the ladder to avoid anyone or anything getting smooshed. I set her on the bed and explained that she had broken a rule. Didn't I tell her not to climb up there? Not to mess with the ladder on top? That she could get very hurt and mommy would be sad if she was hurt? That mommy tells her these things and makes these rules so she won't be hurt? Why don't you obey mommy when you know that I am helping to keep you safe?
As I was saying all of this, I had a different lesson spouting in my head. I was imagining God saying the same thing to me, maybe a little more gently. Don't I tell you these good things and offer up these guidelines in order to save you from hurt and harm? Don't you just wonder if He doesn't throw up His hands in exasperation and roll His eyes? I am sure He does. He must.

30 day food journal

2008-04-18T16:57:00.000-07:00

The fireman and I have been discussing our eating habits. We decided to take a look at our meals for 30 days and, when possible, take a photograph to be included. We will be completely honest- even recording the occasional fast-food slips. So starting tomorrow morning, bright and early, the adventure begins.
scary.....

Chapter Two: Let them eat cake

2008-04-17T11:30:00.000-07:00

I have heard many comments about how great my kids eat. I don't take any credit for this. Some kids are wild, spontaneous, and adventureous. Some kids aren't. I got lucky.
I have learned that through all the ups and downs of eating, ultimately, I can't control what they put in their mouths. All I can do is offer good choices. If they have a table full of good choices, why do I care if they only eat one of those items in bulk? Why stress about them pigging out on apple slices or strawberries for 2 days straight?
I have also figured out that there is no rhyme or reason as to what they will want today vs tomorrow. Baby Jack will eat 3 cups of green beans one day and the next, totally turn up his nose. And I can't help but be a little annoyed that I went to the trouble of cooking him a nutritious and delicious lunch of green beans and it's a wasted effort. I think I feel, irrationally, unappreciated and rejected. But I get over it.
I love seeing my kids enjoying a Lentil Loaf or bowl of hummus and carrot sticks. I am thrilled when my kids eat salads and praise them when they try something they don't think they will like. I am learning not to take it personally when they don't like what I have fixed. But I am not a short order cook and I refuse to cook a separate meal for them. They may eat what we are eating as a family or not eat at all.
We have a few table rules: wash your hands before sitting at the table, stay on your bottom the whole time, don't eat during the prayer, if you ask for second helpings, be prepared to eat them, you may not have dessert unless you have eaten your meal, and you must wait for everyone to finish before leaving the table.
Do we ever eat hot dogs and pizza? Do my children know what a slush is? Do we eat out? Yes. But there is a balance.
We have many conversations about our food and where it comes from. We share what we know about the meat we choose to eat and why we avoid certain things. We talk about the food chain and life cycle and chemicals and anitbiotics and high fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils. I don't expect them to understand it all, but I want them to know that I think it's important and relavant for them to be included. I want them to grow up aware of who they are, where they come from, and how their choices affect their bodies and world.
I want stress free and guilt free gatherings at the table. Life spills out of people and time stands still when sharing a meal. I don't want to my children to feel pressure or fear, rather joy and thanksgiving and adventure. And coming together only on special occasions or certain nights is shameful in my book. This is one of the few times we sit, as a family, and look one another in the eye and talk and touch and laugh. The act of sharing food connects us to one another and to our Creator. Meals are sacred. So turn off the television and pay attention to each other. Turn off the lights and light the candles. Toast to one another and to the accomplishments of the day. Invite friends and neighbors to break bread with your family and don't be afraid to have a messy kitchen and linger a bit longer than usual at the table. Your children will see this and soak it in. They will begin to understand that food not only nourishes our bodies, but nourishes hearts and relationships as well.

Meals should be fun and if they aren't something is wrong.

Include your kids in the preparation and clean up. Invite them to help you pick the perfect tomato and the right amount of herbs. Show them how to smell for the sweetness of the cantaloupe and and look for the unblemished apples. Let them knead the bread and feel the smooth texture and smell the yeast. My girls are delighted when I allow them to assist me in the kitchen. I love to watch them peruse the spices in my cabinet, smelling and giggling and talking about what they see and smell. And I think that this is where it all begins. The love affair with food.

I pray that my children will eat responsibly and with an adventurous spirit. I hope they will learn to cook and cook well. I hope that when they work hard on a new recipe and when it totally flops, they won't lose the heart to try something new again. I pray that they won't ever self medicate with food, filling the empty, lonely places in their hearts with calories. I hope they will make good choices now and when they have families of their own gathered in their kitchens. And I pray that I will be invited to dine frequently in their homes and around their tables and enjoy my family and the bounty of my life.

new at this

2008-04-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

I have never fancied myself a writer. I leave that to my fireman who has a rare and beautiful way of composing sentences. For example, I always defer the Christmas letter to him, the master of words. He actually enjoys reading books about the origin of the English language which I find totally weird. I wish he would write a book and make us rich.

Writing is empowering. I realize how much time I waste rolling around thoughts and ideas and conversations, never drawing conclusions. Stewing, unproductively, is sucking the life out of me. But writing forces me to figure out what I really think about things. Am I mad about this? Am I ready to move on? What grief stage am I in? In a way it is very freeing.

Some people keep a prayer journal. It would be nice to peruse a prayer journal over the years and take note of what prayers have been answered and how. Life would unfold from a totally different perspective if looked at through prayers. I'm just not that disciplined with journals or with prayers.

I can't say that I love to write, but it feels good- like a hot shower after I've worn tight pantyhose and high heel shoes for too long. It feels good to spit it out. Get it out. Finally. I think I feel an accountability when I blog to be honest and timely. I feel an urgency to deal with my "stuff" and move on. It's a pressure that I need. It forces me in to spill my guts out and see what the emptiness brings. Sometimes it brings nothing and for me, that's good too. I feel sorted out. I have organized my thoughts and feelings and put away the ones that do nothing for me or aren't mine to own anymore.

I feel numb now. I haven't cried in days. I don't feel sad, but not necessarily happy either. Maybe it's survival mode. I wish we had a plan. I wish I could rub the magic ball and see my future. I want to know where we will be in 2 months, 2 years.

I need some yummy food and laughter- the kinds that is so out of control it's crying and laughing at the same time. Where your head feels like it might burst from your body and your sides hurt- when even your good friends are surprised and little scared of you.

I painted today. The entry hall is now a nice model home khaki color instead of my bright green apple. The fireman hated that green from the moment the first stroke hit the wall. I loved it. I guess he thinks the house will be more appealing with subtle and normal colors through out. Maybe it will balance out the crazy kitchen. I love to paint. I love to see the colors change so dramatically and suddenly. I wish I could paint my insides and redecorate them. If it could only be that simple.

I held a newborn last night. I was reminded of the fragility of life and the lightening speed of time. Tomorrow she will look different and in a few hours, weigh several more ounces. Her eyes will open for more than 4.57 minutes a day and her world will bloom and become fragrant and colorful. Her tiny hands will reach and grasp and, with wonder, her parents will delight in each moment and milestone. It's the newness and freshness of life, unsullied and unaffected. It's the irony of life- she is totally free in spirit and mind yet, physically, completely attached and dependent.

I am tired. My brain is grinding to a halt. I am high on paint fumes.
I hope to slip into dreamless sleep and wake refreshed.

do you hear that?

2008-04-15T06:00:00.000-07:00

It's quiet. Silence is rare in this crazy house full of kids and music and life. I go into a kind of shock and start twitching- not sure what to do with myself. I feel like I should get in to a yoga position and try to meditate, but the silence is fleeting and once I am in position, I am distracted by the tightness of my pants or that I am having a difficult time breathing because my large momma boobs are up around my face, smothering me. And then I start in with the negative self talk that I should have gotten my weight under control by now and that the "I've just had a baby" excuse was tired about 20 months ago.

Silence is uncomfortable. I am intimidated by it. I feel like I should have profound and reflective thoughts. I don't. It's empty up there, just some spare change rattling around in my head.

I am easily distracted. I wonder sometimes if I have ADHD. If I try to get up early in the morning and to have quiet time, I have a million distractions, mainly in my head. I go through the to do lists and must have's and cravings and quickly spin in to a state of anything but quiet and relaxed.

Are all moms this way? Please tell me I am not alone. Please tell me that one day I will reach a place of enlightenment, of nothingness, of stillness in my head, if even for 60 seconds.

follow up

2008-04-14T09:11:00.000-07:00

I forgot to mention that the man that fell over at the Community Center a couple of Fridays ago was released from the hospital the following Monday. Wow.

side effects

2008-04-13T13:29:00.000-07:00

I am having to make a checklist now of all the meds and how often to administer them. Here's what I have so far:
Iron- 3 times daily
Folic Acid- half a pill, ground, mixed with orange juice once daily except on Methatrexate day (Thursday)
Naproxen- twice daily
Methatrexate- oral, once weekly
Enbral- injection, once weekly (I refuse to give this one. I will be running Baby Jack up to the Fire Station to see daddy on Thursdays)
Steroid- once daily

Does this sound crazy to anyone else?
On top of it, I can expect diarrhea, weight gain, aggression, appetite surge and extreme thirst, susceptibility to catching illnesses due to a compromised immune system, bloating and puffiness (aren't we trying to rid the puffiness?), sleep issues, possible hair loss, and a slew of other things I don't even want to think about.

Last night we were up for 4 hours with vomiting. And we just kept asking ourselves, "is this because of the medication?" How are we suppose to know when he is ill or it's just a side effect of this enormous medicinal cocktail?

I called St Louis this morning and spoke to our nurse. She is so nice (although she gave us a thrashing for not immunizing Jack.) I told her about his crazy behavior the last few days- tantrums like I have never seen before, fidgeting, and sleep walking. She told me that this was normal, expected behavior due to the drugs racing through his little body. But just because he is ill and medicated, doesn't mean I shouldn't and can't still set boundaries for him. When he screams for 30 minutes, turning red and sweaty, thrashing around on the floor and coming close to vomiting and hyperventilating, it's just the medicine "talking" and to keep that in mind. At the same time, I can put him in time out and explain that this is inappropriate behavior. Yeah, right. Sounds like a plan.
She did ask me if I was seeing any improvements and I have to admit that we really are. So there's the catch.

It's going to be a long summer, I think. I am kind of feeling sorry for myself today. Can you tell? I think any friends we have might not want to be around us unless we can hire a babysitter- and that might be short-lived since one tantrum could make them decline any more evenings alone with Baby Jack.
In fact, I would like to decline evenings alone with Baby Jack. He is exhausting to be around. I had to send out an S.O.S. to the fireman yesterday that if he wanted to see his son alive he needed to meet me at the car and take over while I went inside and locked myself in the bathroom. (Have I mentioned that I love this man? He understands. He doesn't make me feel bad for chickening out on the injection or occasionally wanting to huck Baby Jack out the window. And he does all the clean up when the vomit monster emerges from one of our children- I sit in the corner, rocking back and forth, paralyzed at the sight and smell.)

I am tired of cleaning up nasty, smelly diapers- the kind that make me choke and throw up a little in my mouth. Jack isn't afraid any more when I come in the room with a bandanna tied around the lower half of my face. I think he thinks we are playing "Cowboys and Indians" when all I am trying to do is not lose my morning coffee. There is something absolutely sickening about "iron" poops.
I'm tired of being irrationally mad at people. Like at the friend who told me when Jack broke his foot that everything would be fine. "Just wait and see. Before long, he will be up and around and better than ever." Still waiting on that one. And. although I KNOW it doesn't makes sense, I feel cheated and that it's her fault for setting me up for this huge disappointment.
I am tired of hearing my girls being terrorized. I hate that I have to explain to them that Baby Brother can't help it if he tries to bulldoze them and that they have my permission to lock their bedroom door to escape him. (Anyone want to come over for a play date?)
I realize that I am suffering side effects- like second guessing everytime he doesn't eat or eats too much, is constipated or has diarrhea, has fever, sleeps a lot or not at all, if I should spat his bottom or not. Do I discipline him differently since he is ill? Absolutely. Should I? Absolutely no idea. Can I help it? Absolutely not. It is always in the back of my mind.

I wonder if I will come to a point when I don't look at him and see the disease. Will I be able to see Jack and not 'Jack with JRA '? Will I ever feel like this is normal? Will I get used to this?

I take it back....

2008-04-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

I feel really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really sorry for my friend who has to shuffle her kids all over town.

Happy now, M?

needle and thread lyrics

2008-04-08T21:39:00.000-07:00

When the world welcomes us in,
We’re closer to Heaven than we’ll ever know.
They say this place has changed,
But strip away all of the technology
And you will see
That we all are hunters,
Hunting for something that will make us okay.

Here we lay alone in hospital beds,
Tracing life in our heads;
But all that is left
Is that this was our entrance and now it’s our exit,
As we find our way home.

All the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved
Follows us into our end,
Where we begin to understand

That we are made of love,
And all the beauty stemming from it.
We are made of love,
And every fracture caused by the lack of it.

“You were a million years of work,”
Said God and His angels, with needle and thread.
They kissed your head and said,
“You’re a good kid and you make us proud.
So just give your best and the rest will come,
And we’ll see you soon.”

All the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved
Follows us into our end,
Where we begin to understand

That maybe Hollywood was right:
When the credits have rolled and the tears have dried,
The answers that we have been dying to find
Are all pieced together and, somehow,
Made perfectly mine.

We are made of love,
And all the beauty stemming from it.
We are made of love,
And every fracture caused by the lack of love

Identity Crisis

2008-04-08T16:09:00.000-07:00

the fog is lifting.
I have been in a funk- for a very, very long time.
I have no idea when it started.
I feel better everyday.

So what does that mean about me? If I let the sunshine in to my soul, where does that take me? It could turn me inside out and I don't know if I am ready for that. I have this space, this private place, that is hurt and hidden away. It's a part of me- it's who I am at the core. So how do I move on from who I am?
I am a victim, people. So what does it mean about me if start feeling better and don't feel victimized anymore? It's like starting over and that's scary. Would I be one of those "happy people" that are one step from the "happy place", AKA the insane asylum? I am processing, processing. I am hovering outside of myself, wondering what it means to be free. If I am truly moving on then I don't need to talk about the baggage anymore. I don't have to remind anyone of how hard my life has been and how mistreated and misunderstood I feel. I won't need the feelings of satisfaction and gratification I get when I see the sympathy in my listener's eyes- I won't need them to think I am pathetic and sad.

So here I am, feeling better than I have felt in a really, really long time and I don't know what that means. My bubble has burst and I am standing at a bus stop in my underwear. Which clothes will I choose to put on? And what bus am I going to take- and to where?

I do understand that tomorrow I might wake up and feel the weight again. But right now I am in nesting-mode, hoping to park myself and make myself comfortable for a while. And yet there is an uneasiness, a waiting for the bomb to go off again.

Who am I and where am I going?

If I am free, why am I so confused? Why do I feel so naked and vulnerable?

I started this post 2 days ago and didn't quite feel I had drawn any conclusions. So I have been sitting on it
.
Well, the bottom did drop out again, the bomb went off.
The call came through and Baby Jack has had a second diagnosis- the confirmation that he is indeed ill and suffering from JRA. I was waiting, hopeful, that this had all been a misunderstanding- that our doctor had been presumptuous and hasty. But he was right. Am I saying this finally? He was right.

I am in denial. I don't want a sick baby. I don't deserve this. Jack doesn't deserve this. He is innocent.

I called my girlfriend this morning to share the news and her question was, "how is your heart?" My, what an insightful (and rarely asked) question. She knows. She knows because she has a baby that suffers. Even over the phone I knew she was holding on to me. I am in fetal position today and she wrapped herself around me, protecting me from the elements and flying debris- sheilding me for a moment from life and letting me just rest in this new realization. She helped my world stand still for 5 minutes and allowed me to lose it. Thanks, M.
So how am I? How is my heart? It feels broken. Today, it's in pieces.

I have to be honest, it's really, really hard for me to give the meds to Baby Jack. I have a dread and resistance. It's a feeling I can't explain or control. I am reluctant to pump his body full of synthetic chemicals. It goes against my conscience. And now we will add on two additional drugs- injections. I am going to have to get over myself. Six medications. We have been on a four drug regiment for months now and with little results.
I dread this.

blame

2008-04-07T21:19:00.000-07:00

Blame is an ugly thing. It steals and destroys. It hurts and divides.

And why do we feel like we must place blame? Is it part of the healing or problem? What satisfaction do we glean from pointing the finger? Is it a morale or self esteem booster? Does it help me to look in the mirror and feel better about myself if I can place the blame somewhere else?

Blame is a slippery thing. I can point the blame finger as quickly as someone else points the finger back at me. It's my word against hers. So how do we know who is right and where the blame should land? And does it really matter in the end? And just because I say blame is hers doesn't mean she has to accept and carry it.

Blame is a time-waster. I can stew all I want on who's fault it was, but I am still here and instead of moving forward I am spinning my wheels and going nowhere. I am not a better person for placing the blame.

Blame accomplishes nothing. When I hand over the blame, it is an empty satisfaction only. It doesn't mean reconciliation; it has nothing to do with reconciliation. Maybe I will have a temporary feeling of justification, but I can only hold on to that nothingness for so long before I am left with a pointing finger aimed at no one.

Blame makes me lonely. Blame separates. Blame embitters.
And do I want to be bitter and lonely and separated from my world, my circle?

Today is a new day and the finger is has been folded and put away. Blame is part of shame and guilt and that's not part of a healthy me.
I choose peace and happiness, friendship and love, grace and fullness of life.

say it

2008-04-06T22:10:00.000-07:00

I left my home-school co-op last Friday, had lunch with the family, and returned with the Eldest for her afternoon Art Class. When we got back to the Community Center, another home-school mom told me about a 40 year old man that fell over in the gym right after we left for home. Another one of the moms tried to do CPR for the first 10 minutes and when the Fire Dept arrived, they worked on him for another 10 minutes. Sadly, there was no pulse for those 20 minutes. I don't know what happened to the man; he was transported to the hospital. He had come to the gym to shoot hoops with a friend on his lunch break. This friend was overheard calling the wife. Can you imagine getting the call? "There's been an accident. We think your husband might have had a heart attack. The paramedics are working on him right now and they will be taking him to the hospital in a few minutes. You need to meet us in the ER."
Of course we all talked about it... who wouldn't? We hugged and chatted and cried. We spent a few minutes really looking at each other drawing comfort from one another- because a man we didn't know, but who was sharing our small space, may have just passed.
It is an interesting experience to be that close to death. People have a strong urge to share and say things they might not otherwise say. It strips us bare and lays us open to be real and honest and emotional. We are allowed to come undone. A lot of people walk around just barely holding it together, me included most days. Death comes and out go our pretenses and inhibitions and we have permission to not hold it together anymore.

One of the moms, someone I have rarely spoken to, shared that she was planning an elaborate 40th birthday party for her husband next week. "Why can't we celebrate people we love more often? Why have I been to so many funerals this year and that's when I find out how this person has touched and changed people; when I learn that they influenced friends and strangers and helped make our world a beautiful place?" It's a shame. A crying shame. Why can't we celebrate people more? Why don't we break bread with friends more often and be intimate and vulnerable and tell people how much we love them? Why does it have to be a heart-felt truth whispered over a coffin when it should have been said days, months, years ago? When it could have made a difference? When it could have been received and appreciated? When it could have healed and reconciled and encouraged?

Don't wait. Please don't wait anymore. Go say what you need to say. Open yourself up and tell them. You know who it is. Please, please, please don't live with a regret. Say more. Do more. Share more. Laugh more. Hug more. Look in to your world's eyes and speak truth and love and hope and thanks. No more excuses. No more fears. Get over yourself and say what you need to say.

the muffins

2008-04-06T21:31:00.000-07:00

The Eldest, the cruise director

The Middle, the comic relief

The Baby Jack, what can I say?

Typical Day

2008-04-05T10:12:00.000-07:00

So I was trying to figure out where my time goes. I thought, "hmmm, I will take note, clock in, log my time and see what today brings. Maybe I will have some clarification as to why my house is a wreck and my kids look like ragga-muffins (is that a word?)"
To begin, it is my fireman's day to "fight fires and save lives". His alarm goes off at 6:03am and he quietly showers, brushes his teeth, eats a quick bite of whatever he can find and leaves by 6:30am. He always kisses me good-bye. Sometimes this kiss begins my day and other mornings I can roll over and steal a few more minutes of sleep. This morning I rolled over... for 17 minutes. I heard Jack's heavy footsteps drop out of his bed and his door slam (the new skill: opening and closing doors). He ran in to my room and wanted up in my bed. Jack is not a snuggler, so once he is in my bed, I can kiss sleep good-bye. We rolled around and kissed each other and giggled- all the while I am shielding my face from his sudden, spontaneous head-butt game (the other new obsession). I have a serious phobia that he is going to break my nose or teeth.
Seven minutes later I am joined by the eldest child. She asks me to scoot over so she can snuggle on the opposite side of the bed from Jack. I think she shares my head-butt phobia. We try, unsuccessfully, to chat about her night and dreams while Jack is body slamming us. And guess who appears? My precious middle child. It's Saturday morning and they remind me that they didn't get to have our weekly Friday Night Movie Night since I shuffled them to kids-night-out at a local church. So I caved and turned on a few minutes of cartoons.
I rolled out of bed, leaving the three of them to duke it out. By now Jack has started sliding off of the bed and running to the end and climbing back in. Once on top again, he attacks the girls and I hear frustrated screams of panic and pain.
I quickly threw a nutritious breakfast of Honey-Nut Scooters (off brand Cheerios) and milk on to the table and snatched the kids out of the bed. Jack immediately started digging in and by the third spoonful had scooped the entire bowl on to his lap. I pulled off his soaking PJ pants and diaper, wiped up the sticky milk, and poured his second bowl. All the while I am hearing, "May I have orange juice? I need more milk. Mom, I don't want milk on my scooters, I want it in a cup. Do we have bananas? I wanted a bagel. Can I help make your coffee?" Oh, coffee. Good idea! So I filter water and pull out the coffee maker and load the filter... and realize, we are out of coffee beans. Not good. I debated a few minutes about running over to ask the neighbors for a coffee loan, prepared to plead on my knees, but I decide against it. After all, it is Saturday and they might, by chance, be sleeping in like the rest of the world.
Once the girls are settled in to eating their breakfasts, I realize Jack has been walking through the house with his second bowl of cheerios. So now I have little sticky-O's all over and when he sees me coming, he takes off running the opposite direction. Once I grab him, he angrily hucks the bowl on to the floor and whatever was left in the bowl goes all over the wall, floor, and nearest chair. So I get my second kitchen towel and start wiping up. By now the girls are finished and have vacated the table, leaving half-empty bowls of milk and scooters.
I start a load of laundry with the sopping towels and when I come back, the phone is ringing. My best friends is calling from Scotland and I start in to hashing out my week. Minutes pass I realize the house is too quiet so I go to look for the kids. I find the girls stripped down and dressing up as Native American Indians- loin cloths, ribbons with feathers, necklaces, and, best of all, black marker up and down each arm, leg, and all over their torsos. I ask my girlfriend to hold and explain that they have broken a rule and markers are for paper and not our bodies.
I grab the phone again and while chatting, begin to wonder where in the world Jack has gone off to. After a few minutes of looking, I spot a fresh trail of spilled milk and scooters and follow it to his room where I find him on his bed with both of sisters' empty bowls of breakfast. Third and fourth kitchen towel. Finally I kneel down to get one last bit and my foot slips in another kind of puddle left by the diaper-less dude. Fifth kitchen towel. Second diaper. It's 8:13am. (sigh)

Jack chases the girls through the house with fist fulls of trains and cars and hangers. He loves to make them squeal and aggravate them. I encourage them to go to their room and lock the door so he can't get in. Meanwhile I have a couch load of fresh laundry to be put away and I begin sorting and stacking and continue to talk to my friend. We are deep in conversation about life and love and things that matter and, being the multi-tasker that I am, I am putting clothes away and sweeping up the kitchen and dining room floors. When I come down the hall, I see Jack carrying my stack of previously folded kitchen towels, and you know by now how quickly I go through them. When he sees me coming he takes off, throwing them as he goes.
I re-fold the towels and put them away and go to find the girls in hopes that they will have the hearts to entertain him for a few minutes so I can at least complete on task today. I open their door to find a Panty Party going on. They are nude and have panties hanging from everything: pictures, light fixture, door and drawer knobs, blind pulls, bookshelves, bunk bed rungs and ladder, and each stuffed animal is dressed in a pair. My phone dies mid-conversation and I have another discussion with the girls about the broken rule of getting into their clothing drawers without permission. They begin cleaning up and I turn to find Jack.

He smells- it's his 9:35am BM, right on time. So I start a bath for him because that's the only thing to get him smelling like something other than a nursing home after the morning he has had. I hear the doorbell ring. I am still in my PJ's, all three kids are naked, the house is upside down, and it must be someone I don't know because someone I know would have just walked on in. So I hush them up and force them in to their rooms and peek around the corner and out the window. Perfect timing. It's the Jehovah's Witnesses that my fireman let in to our house the week before Thanksgiving. They stop by monthly and it's a guarantee their visit will come at the most inopportune time of the month (and my fireman always seems to conveniently be away from home). I realize I will have to turn them away (again), feeling like a mean, un-Christianlike person for denying them entrance. So instead of answering the door and explaining the illness of their timing, promising to relay their messages to my fireman once more, I admit that we hid out in the back of the house for the next 15 minutes until I was sure they were gone. Jack goes in to the bath and I find clothes for the girls. It's 9:57am.

I explain to the girls that when Jack wakes from his afternoon nap, if their room is picked up, we will go to the park. Excitedly they agree to the terms and begin straightening up. About this time I decide to write down a bit about my morning since I feel like it must be noon by now. I look at the clock on the piano- 1:45. Confused, I go to the kitchen and look at the clock- 4:15. I look at the clock on the stove and it says 10:17. What in the world? The five year old is following me around and starts giggling. I look at her and she stops giggling and innocently asks, "Momma, what time is it?" Is she trying to make me lose my mind?

I go to retrieve Jack from the bath and get him dressed. I lay him on my bed amidst another pile of clean laundry and he fusses and fights me over putting on his diaper. I turn on PBS and the Victory Garden is showing- excellent show. Jack settles down as if I had given him a tranquilizer. I wrap him in his blanket and leave to find the girls. They are organizing their dress up clothes. I feel it's a good moment to preheat the oven for lunch- another nutritious meal of frozen pizza. (I don't usually feed my kids this kind of food, but when the fireman is away for 24 hours, I have to cut corners. The way the morning was going, they were lucky to get food at all.)
After cleaning up the kitchen a bit from breakfast, I go to look for Jack and find him asleep on my bed. Hmmmm. Do I wake him or let him sleep? I opt for sleep and go back to getting lunch prepared. I take a minute to check email, return a couple of calls, and load the dishwasher. The girls filter in and out with tattling and tales of unfairness. I continue to remind them of our deal and they go back to picking up. I have no idea what time it is.

I would like to take a break now. I had a friend yesterday tell me that she can't wait for me to have older kids so I can understand how busy she is. She is a different kind of busy- running her kids around town, shuffling them from school to piano lessons, to track meets, to boyscouts, to art class. Yes, that's busy. But I have to admit that I don't feel sorry for her. (I say this in love because I know she reads this.) That sounds, honestly, a little relaxing. They can sit quietly and play their gameboys and wipe their own bottoms and noses. Wow- let's be honest, that's huge! And while in some ways I long for that kind of busyness, I am learning to enjoy what I have right now. While I was on the phone this morning, I would explain what was going on in my house and my friend would laugh at the craziness and chaos. It is laughable and I need to remember it more often. It is nuts around here and there will come a time before too long that I won't have to screech and fret over the messes- and that's kind of sad.
I need to spend more time celebrating these kids and their world and less time controlling and badgering. There are days I feel are on fast-forward and this is one of them. I haven't done much laughing today between the laundry and spills and body art. But really- could it be funnier?
So forget it. I am not going to write down any more of my day. Just reading through the first 4 hours answered my earlier questions. I am not spending any more time today cleaning up and feeling frustrated when find another sticky spot on the floor or step on another scooter, mashing it in to the carpet. I am going to the playground. And who knows? I might even bust out another nutritious meal from the freezer.

Friends Forever

2008-04-03T13:35:00.001-07:00

How many close friends can one person have? How many kindred spirits? How many soul mates?
I don't have the answer to this one. But when I try to count my friends on my hands, I run out of fingers.

I think of those who I have history with... who knew me when I had bad skin and 90's hair. I think of those who were at those milestones- recitals, graduations, marriage, births, moves. Outside of family, I am blessed to have three very close friends from as far back as high school and college days. It's good to have them to help me measure and keep perspective. I admit that I am not the best at keeping in touch. Time and distance can create a space too difficult to cover and the intimacy ebbs and flows. I thank them for tracking me and forcing me not to let go. They forgive me for forgetting their birthdays and anniversaries and I love them all the more for the grace they extend. It's the history that makes those relationships great and comfortable and safe. They have loved me through the ugly and beautiful. I can count on them when times are hard and days are dark. I can hold them in close intimacy because they are a constant. What we have is sacred.

I have friends in other parts of the country. Friends so many miles away and yet, they feel near. I know I could appear one day and all would go as if I had never left. Life creeps in and gets in the way and staying in touch and talking daily just isn't possible. And so I would like to take this opportunity to tell them now, if you think I have forgotten you and moved on, you are desperately wrong. I don't move on. I am here and aching for you and what we had. I miss our laughs and cries and joys and sorrows. I think of rainy days and junk food and Sesame Street and Sopranos. I remember job losses and miscarriages, depressions and illnesses. I miss hugs and habits and standing dates. These precious, sweet moments are held with fondness and won't be easily erased from memory.

When we moved to Tulsa, I felt a huge gap open up in my heart. I left deep running connections and I cried in earnest every day feeling overwhelming emptiness and grief. Gradually the crying spells became weekly, then monthly, and slowly I formed new connections. I am such a social person and quickly get attached. So here I am, three years later with a full plate and full heart again. My life is better because of the move. Perhaps it's in leaving that you find the realization of what you had. I can't wait to get back to Seattle. I think of it everyday, like the city itself is a good friend. It was. It is filled with unsurpassed beauty and food and coolness. And when I think of Seattle I imagine all the faces of friends and family waiting on us. It is home.

I have a confession: it would be with a heavy heart that I would move. I never wanted to love Tulsa; it was only a temporary landing place. But here are friends who have stolen my heart. Here is a fellowship and kinship unlike anything I have had before. It's an unconditional acceptance and support system.

I have definitely been hurt and learned lessons and had water run under my bridge. Although I struggle with getting over the hurt, I think I am stronger and have my eyes open wide and I am proceeding with caution. You live and learn, you fall down and get back up. I wish I could say I handle difficult situations with grace and love, but I don't. I wrestle and wrangle and stew and steam. I wonder all the time if it was me or them? I place the blame and then pick it back up and lug it around. I am not good at moving on. I am genuine and true; test me and you will know. Like I said before, I don't move on- so that means I am just left behind. There's the mystery. Sometimes I wonder if my coolness wore off? Or once she got to know me, there just wasn't enough to hold on to? Maybe I just wasn't worth it.
I digress.

I love girlfriends. There just isn't anything like having a good girlfriend. I am an open book and the book isn't always clean and it's rarely predictable. I am, what shall I say, unstable? I am like a roller coaster- sometimes I think I thrive on chaos- which is exactly NOT who I want to be. Thank God I have friends who are willing to come along for a ride with me. I am blessed beyond measure with friends who will support me, and through that support, stabilize me.

I found a friend not long ago who was just like me. I am quirky and eclectic and rarely find someone who shares my tastes. I have an turquoise ironing board for a table in my living room, for goodness sake. So when I walked in to her house and coveted everything in there, I knew I had stumbled on a kindred spirit. She was so vivacious and creative and it was a guarantee that she could pick out anything and I would want it. It was so fun to share and talk and brainstorm and exchange hilarities- until it wasn't. Isn't it funny when relationships just don't work out? And it always takes me by surprise- like a stalking cat sneaking up and attacking your leg. I was stunned and lamented over the shame and waste of it. I thought we were meant to be together.

I have three "older" friends. These women are not necessarily old enough to be my mom, but definitely not a product of my generation. They are mentors and significant contributors to who I am and who I am growing to be. I love them with a love I reserve for family. They are substitute-moms. I call them for advice and counsel and although they speak the truth at all times, it is always in love and with sincerity. They take me and love me just as I am. They hold me accountable and tell me when I am wrong. They don't ask more of me than I can give and understand I am trying my best. I am accepted, not for who they I hope I am or think I might, one day, become.
Because of their presence and influence, I am a better wife and mother, friend and sister, woman and individual. When I am in a confusing situation, I imagine what they would do if they were in my shoes. I don't always take the route I think they would choose because I am stubborn; they are infinitely more wise and generous. They extend grace and love and forgiveness more easily and quickly than I can tie my shoelaces. When I ponder who I am and what I want to be, I think of them and pray that I will be half of who they are: strong, beautiful, open, spirited, generous, wise, Godly women. Oh, I would be lost without them. They are a silent force I lean on and lean in to when the world falls in and I don't think I can take one more step. They are always ready with a pot of hot tea and time to sit at their table and listen with honesty and love. I can cry and they aren't frightened- they just hug me and stand me back up on feet, whispering blessings and encouragement over me. They know. They have been there. I feel so one-sided in these relationships- like a moocher. There is nothing I can possibly give back worthy of being called reciprocation. All I can give is myself and, as shocking as it is, they seem satisfied.

So here's to friends. Good friends. Friends that stick to you like bubble gum on the bottom of your favorite shoe. Thank you for loving and accepting me, just as I am.

Soundtrack

2008-04-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

There are a very few songs I hear that could be the soundtrack to my life. I'm talking about the kind of music that when you hear it, no matter what you are doing, you want to close your eyes and imagine what your life would be like if you could do anything at that moment... what is the perfect day? What would you want playing in your helmet if you were on a motorcycle crossing Ireland? If you were having one of those "commercial" moments- rolling in the leaves with your kids, laughing and swinging them up over your head- what would be the music playing in the background?
I remember in college my best friend and roomate would wake up to the Somewhere in Time soundtrack- that was her music, her life. I never really understood her passion for it, but I would gladly play it for her because I understood how meaningful and personal our chosen life soundtrack is.
I was recently making a playlist for my husband's morning run. I was surprised when he told me it didn't matter about the beat or tempo- that's all that matters when I am running. He wanted music that made him want to fly, to live, to breathe deeply. He wanted "soundtrack" music. It was quite a task to choose music for someone else's track- I felt a huge and holy responsibility... sounds weird, I'm sure. When he returned from his run, he said that I had done well.

I am very moved by a song called, "Needle and Thread" by Sleeping at Last. I read about this song in one of my favorite books, "Cold Tangerines" and bought it immediately. I haven't quite figured out all the lyrics yet- meaning I can't belt it out as if I am the one on stage. But when I hear it I want to squeeze my kids and feel the wind in my hair. I want to be in the car with the windows down, going somewhere and looking forward to the next day. I feel a fullness and contentment. I feel closer to heaven.
I have been struggling to know what my purpose in life is. Why am I here and what am I suppose to be doing? A good friend reassured me a couple of weeks ago with "You, my dear, are a perfect example of being "fearfully and wonderfully made." Your problem is that you've been given so many talents that you feel like you are wasting them when they go unused for a time. They are really just dormant for now while you do God's really important work, which is raising a child who loves God (3 of them!)and loving your fireman. You are doing so well with the tasks God has given to you, and any discouragement you feel is not from God. " Thanks, girlfriend.
I have to remind myself that my life is a book. And like any book, there are chapters. I am in the middle of one of those chapters all about the other characters- shall I call it Character Development? Although I would like to say it's all about my kids and thier character, I have a feeling that when I am on the other side, it will be my character that has been developed.

I have recently come to some conclusions. I am suppose to sing and make music. I need it. I want it. I long for it. I don't feel like I need the performance as much as the sweat and preparation and passion. I don't need it like I need a hobby. I need it like I need air to breathe. I am not in it for the checklist of skills and accomplishment of learning another song. No, I want to throw myself in to feeling my body and heart and spirit singing for joy and love.
With that said, I am not able to begin a new chapter right now. I have to finish up this chapter before moving forward to the next one. So I need to pray for patience and timing and the continuation of great "soundtrack" music to come and fill my speakers and my house and my heart and life.

Chapter One- Playtime

2008-04-01T14:56:00.000-07:00

My Auntie C has this incredible knack for empowering parents. She can bring the whole "parenting" thing down to my level and compress loads of information in to tiny conversations. Every time I get off the phone with her, wiping my tears of frustration, I want to squeeze my kids a little harder and jump back in to the game.
On thing she always reminds me to do is play. Play with the kids, no matter what, just play. Playing is one of the ways to see in to our kids' hearts and thoughts. Play is how children learn about the world. And when you play with them, you learn lots about them and what they are thinking and experiencing. It is also a great time to form warm connection. There is tons of research and info about play and its importance. All you have to do is google "playing with your child," and you'll find some great info.
When Auntie encouraged me to take time- 15 minutes, twice a day to be exact- to actually sit down and just play with my kids, I rolled my eyes and thought, " yeah, big deal. like this is going to make some big difference." What was most surprising was that I had a very difficult time finding those 30 minutes a day to DO it! It was pretty pathetic that I couldn't find the time, especially when I was with them all day, every day. I have the good fortune to stay home with my three muffins, but what I do most of the time is shuffle them from room to room and place to place. What did I know of their little worlds? To be honest, not much. When I did take the time to sit and play, I heard a lot of what I say to them: in a minute, quit that, be nice, please be quieter. Wow.
I also noticed that they wanted to play baby a lot- not with a pretend baby, but wanting ME to be their baby and they are the momma. I would squirm and cry and ask for food and milk and they would hop to attention at the least little whimper. They wanted me. They wanted my attention and when they had it, they couldn't do enough nice things for me. I was rocked and loved and petted and I realized how much they love me and how little time I devote to just them. They were also showing me exactly how they wanted to be treated. I got the message loud and clear that play was my way of showing them how much I love them and how much I want to know and be a part of their world- not just a traffic cop and school teacher on the periphery of their life.
Really, if I can't be a part of their world now, why do I think I will be extended the invitation when they get older? I have to make time now or it will be too late and the door will close and playtime will be over.
Thanks Auntie C.

turn, turn, turn

2008-03-26T14:10:00.000-07:00

I just finished a great book- The Secret Life of Bees. There was a line of particular interest- "It is the peculiar nature of the world to go on spinning no matter what sort of heartbreak is happening." I have been feeling unwell for days on end now and in my semi-conscious moments I would hear my family and all the chaos still going while I was under the covers, hiding, hoping I'd been forgotten. I thought about what was going on in my neighbors' houses and what my friends were doing. Life just goes on, even when it's in "pause-mode" for me.

On bad days, when I feel totally engulfed in sadness for my baby, I feel a selfishness and self-centered anger at the world for continuing when I am lost. I am mixed with jealousy and hurt that I have a sick baby and no one understands my life. I am alone on this planet and the unfairness of life steals my joy.

I was sitting in a restaurant last week and doing something I love- people watching. I saw over in the corner a man and woman deep in conversation. I felt like an intruder watching them discuss whatever it was that was so engrossing. Then I saw the woman begin to cry. It was so private and yet I couldn't look away. I feel ashamed of myself for letting curiousity take over- that I would lose all sense of decorum. I have no ideas as to what was being discussed- news of a death, the breaking of relationship, argument over money or kids... who knows. But I was getting a glimpse and reminder of this world full of life and joy and hurt. I was witnessing a sacred moment of true emotions and heart and I felt more alive when I left the table.

time to throw out the garbage

2008-03-15T19:45:00.000-07:00

I carry around a lot of garbage. Not physically- emotionally, spiritually, mentally. I feel my shoulders bending and aching under the weight of the luggage and baggage I have chosen to bear. Isn't that an interesting selection of words... "chosen to bear"? I took a moment to look up synonyms:
chosen- selected, elect, preferred, special
bear- tolerate, allow, swallow, endure, suffer, support, accept, have.
I am realizing that I choose to carry this around. Why?

Some days I am absolutely miserable with myself. I look in the mirror and all I see are the nasty messages I have stuck like bumper stickers all over the baggage... just to give bullet point references to what each suitcase contains. It's sick. Why do I believe this stuff? Why do I tolerate, allow, swallow, suffer, accept the guilt, shame, and feelings of failure?

On particularly "bad head days" I will scrub the baseboards in hopes that it will clean out some of the thoughts. Or I will do tons of laundry, painstakingly searching for every stain to "shout" out. Funny that I "shout" out the stains. That's exactly how I live. I wonder at what point I will be "all, free and clear"? When will I stop reliving conversations and broken friendships. When will I get over feelings of being abandoned and treated unfairly? When will I be able to move on instead arguing out loud with no one?

I have physical reminders of dreadful times past and I hang on to them like treasures. I accidentally put one in the trash last week and when I saw it I actually had to drag a stool outside to dig it back out of the trashcan so I could run in and file it safely back away. What's wrong with me?
It's like I am more comfortable as a pack mule. As if I enjoy tight shoulders and my aching back.

Yet I continue to prefer this life, this half-life. Is this all I know? Am more comfortable here than I would be free? Am I afraid, and if I am, why and of what? Or am I just too lazy to deal with the smelly, rotten mess?

What I do know is this: I am starting to stink from all the garbage in my life. Pieces of my soul are withering away.
I think it's time to throw out the garbage and move on.

love thy neighbor

2008-03-15T18:56:00.000-07:00

We have lived in 17 different places all over the U.S. Just about everywhere we live we form strong attachments to our neighbors. I am not sure when this habit started, but I love it! I wouldn't have it any other way.

To be honest though, I am not sure if our neighbors would say the same thing about us. Maybe our "neighborliness" gets annoying. Maybe they are tired our kids finding their way in to their garden beds and garages and riding their bikes up and down their driveway. I am not sure, but so far I haven't seen them pull the blinds when they see us coming or ignore us when we knock on the door.

We live next to some fabulously fun people and enjoy weekly dinners out on the driveway when the weather is agreeable. During the cold months I look out my bedroom window at the neglected patio furniture and tiki lights and yearn for a warm breeze and a meal straight off the grill. It's almost that time. I have opened my windows this week and left the front door open all day, much to the dismay of my concerned and cautious mother-in-law.
My garden abutts my neighbor's and we share seeds and advice- although I admit to being on the take more than she. I am new at gardening and she is a great teacher. Thankfully she is patient when I ask her for the 10th time if this particular plant is a weed or a keeper. She seems almost as delighted as I am when she spots in my garden a new bud moving the soil or a flower about to open.

My neighbors just walk in the front door; there is no need to knock. Maybe it sounds weird, and as I write this, it does strike me as a bit different. I lock the door at night and if I am going to nap or shower (although neighbor D has come in on me in the shower). When someone does knock, the girls immediately shout, "come in!" so loudly there is no pretending we're not home if we have mistaken it to be someone we know.
My neighbors threaten to lock up their garden from our pilfering hands, but I doubt they will. They love us. They threaten to sabotage us when we put our house up for sale... that can only mean they want us to stay.

Tonight I had dinner with my next door neighbor from our previous neighborhood. I think she was genuinely happy to see us, even with the little hands pulling at things and the constant nagging for snacks and drinks and movies. I miss her. I miss our visits sitting on her front porch. I miss sharing movies and books and stories. I miss grumbling about the weather and lack of produce and insanity of having to pay to recycle. I miss sharing regular meals and favorite recipes with her . I miss coming home and seeing her in her kitchen from my kitchen window. One morning at 5 am we caught each other peering in at one another and we both laughed so hard I think I could hear her from my closed up house. We are still good friends although we don't see each other quite enough.

I love my neighbors because I know they are there if I lose one of my children. I know I can find shelter in their basements if a tornado decides to come down our alley. I can borrow more than just a cup of sugar or an occasional egg. I can also call them at 3am when my house is flooding. I have called when I felt uneasy and afraid someone was hiding in my house and I have asked they ride along with me to the pharmacy so I don't have to unload all three kids just to run in and grab a prescription. I know they would jump in and help me if I needed something- even something as small as an ice cream sundae when I am in the middle of a crying jag.

I love going to bed at night, especially when I am home alone, knowing that just next door, just 20 feet away, is a safe haven, a friend....
a neighbor.

Ode to a Fireman

2008-03-14T04:50:00.000-07:00

My husband wasn't always worthy of an ode.
But I am happy and humbled to sing his praises now.

I have to admit that it wasn't always the praise-worthiness that attracted me to him. It was mainly his mysteriousness, the brooding, and if I am completely honest, the muscles. We were neurotic and passionate and desperate.

Is he perfect? No, I can't say that he is. Perhaps I don't expect him to be any more and that's why we get along so well. Not that my standards have lowered. It's just that I am realistic and fair- and in love. I love my fireman with all of my heart. I want him to know me inside and out... and I think he does. He can see through me and guess my motives and moods before I have sometimes sorted them out. I am puzzled and surprised by his understanding of me and wonder at his ability to love me through all my selfishness and moodiness and disorganization.

He gives everything to the task of providing and caring for us. He loves us with a fierce, protective love. Sometimes I forget this because he isn't exactly verbose when it comes to his feelings. But the other day when my cool neighbor decided to scare the wits out of me, my scream brought a brave and concerned man, ready to kill off whatever was attacking me. I melted.

He is brave everyday. He sees stuff at work I can't even imagine. For goodness sake, he runs in to burning buildings and rescues children and family dogs. But more importantly,he comforts me and says positive things, even though it's out of character. He worries about money and the future and about being a good father. He is a stronghold for us. He wants to know truth and live knowing he has done the right thing.

He isn't always attentive. When silence between us used to be uncomfortable, now it is normal. When he goes in to his "thinking mode", I don't feel threatened anymore. Usually I just tell myself that he is pondering how much he loves me and how irresistable I am- although in reality he is most likely trying to solve quantum physics or figure out the New York Times Crossword Puzzle. Whatever.

All I am saying is, I love this man, my husband, my friend. He can rescue me any time.

the sun will come out

2008-03-11T13:02:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow.
I woke this morning and the world seemed brighter and lighter than it did yesterday. Maybe that's because it actually IS brighter and lighter since the sun decided to bless us with a warm and shiny day. The other side of the maybe is that I have slept and snuggled and somewhat absorbed the previous day.
What did my friend tell me just yesterday? "Stay in today." Good and timely advice.
So Today is offering up it's best self... sunny, warm, refreshing, with hints of spring and life and newness- promises of hope and healing on the breeze spinning through my windows.
I think I must be moving forward, though the momentum is at a snails pace. But what would have thrown me in to my hiding place of tears and loneliness now has been handled and set in to it's proper box. I am placing one foot in front of the other instead of sitting on a stationary bike.
Thank you sun. Thank you breeze. Thank you Today.

helplessness

2008-03-10T20:23:00.000-07:00

Ever had a day when the bottom dropped out from under your feet? When your stomach rolls over and no matter how embarrassing it might be, you think you might lose your lunch all over the stranger next to you?

I had one of those mornings and now I am just exhausted from the effort it took to hold myself together the rest of the day. But what can you do when there's laundry to be done and meals to be made and children to chase after? Now they are nestled all snug in their beds and I am left with visions of helplessness dancing in my head.

My baby, sweet, sweet baby has been diagnosed with JRA. I know this is not a fatal disease, but no matter how often I remind myself of this, I am overcome with fear and dread and sadness. My mind runs like a banshee, with lists of things he won't be able to do. I wonder if and when he will pull out of this. I try to wrap my mind around the pain he must suffer from daily and I want to shut down and crawl in to bed and pull the covers up over my head and hide.

I am afraid of the side effects and of what will happen if we opt out. There is nothing I can do to heal this little, innocent person. I stand wringing my sweaty hands and wrestling with God over why MY child had to have this debilitating illness. Why?? What will be accomplished through his pain and suffering? Is this a test? Am I going to walk upright, triumphantly down this path or skulk in to the nearest closet and lose myself?
I feel worn out and a little angry. I am more sad than angry, but I know it's just lurking around the corner, waiting to devour me for a time. I wish I could sleep a deep and beautiful sleep and when I wake this would have all been a nightmare, forgotten by the close of breakfast.
Sometimes I go in to his room, ever so quietly, and watch him and smell him. I pet his glorious hair and wonder why I was given this angel and how long he will be mine. I stroke his cheek and marvel at his lashes. I kiss his lips and his nose and his ears. I weep over his misshapen feet and swollen knees and try not to choke and wake him.

Am I doing the right thing for him? Am I sensitive and compassionate? Am I aware and patient? Am I long suffering? I can't say that I am. I am impatient and angry and sinking in the quicksand of grief- gasping and grasping and fighting to find a root of deliverance for Jack and for me.

witness

2008-03-06T18:48:00.000-08:00

I was fortunate enough to witness the birth of a new life tonight. My mind is reeling and verging on collapse as I try to wrap myself around what just happened. I envisioned something completely different, yet life altering. I am moved. I feel privileged beyond expression. I wanted more. I wanted to soak it in and revel in the experience. But in the end, I was so completely and utterly awestruck, I could only gasp and cry in thanksgiving and humility. I am a witness.
Now I have given birth three times already and each of those times left me gasping. Each time I was breathless with gratitude. But this time I was on the outside peeking in- engaged, but only a bystander. This was so different. I felt like I was stealing- hoping that I would not be noticed and asked to leave.
I saw life begin as this precious, tiny person emerged in to this world of love and good and hatred and poverty. As I sit here I am praying for this new one to grasp life with both fists and hang on; to love with all his heart, strive to be good and generous in all his dealings with our earth and it's inhabitants, fight hatred, and relieve those in need. I hope his life is long and full, spilling over and infecting others- changing others. I pray he will be a witness to the birth of his own children and carry the legacy his parents have begun for him.
Thank you, my dearest friend, for allowing me to be there for this moment in time. This spinning planet has just been incredibly blessed by the life you have yielded from your body. I know our Father was smiling on this angel tonight and I count myself lucky to have been a witness.

look at that face!

2008-03-04T12:57:00.000-08:00

what beauty and
innocence!
what pure
joy!
I wish I could capture that smile in a bottle,
keep it forever, and uncork it whenever I wanted.

waiting for life

2008-03-03T19:07:00.000-08:00

waiting, waiting, waiting. I am in a holding pattern. I am currently waiting around for my close friend's baby to be born. Everyday, several times a day, I check my phone to make sure I haven't missed her call telling me to head to the hospital. I am anxious and excited- as if I am personally giving birth.
As I sit, becoming more impatient by the hour, I am acutely aware of my habit to live this way... always waiting. Waiting to live until I am thinner, until my kids are older, until I have given up sugar and white flour and caffiene. Waiting until I am debt free, until I live somewhere else, until I have my anger under control. I am waiting until I own my own business, and until my house sells. I am waiting until I can go on a vacation. In the meantime, life is swirling past me at a rate incalculable, and I am still here feeling undone.
In way I wish I could start over. I wish I could return to a time of innocence and freedom. Perhaps if I could even revisit my college days and start from there. Or what about six years ago, before I had kids? I have no idea what I was doing then, except the same thing- waiting for life to be different. Does anyone know how to live? Truly drink in life with every part and parcel of their being? It is a mystery... or is it just a habit, I can't decide? I feel that I can make the choice to try to "live" today. But then the old feelings creep in ever so stealthily until they just barge in and park at my kitchen table.

I guess I am looking for life. Where does it begin? When does it end? Is the show over already since I haven't ever learned how to cash in?
The miracle of life isn't necessarily in conception or the lungs filling with first breath. For me, the miracle of life would be figuring out how to live so that everyone, and most importantly me, would know that I am full. I am overflowing I am so full. I am infecting others with joy and laughter, with peace and prosperity. I want to make a mark on this planet and have a legacy of love and forgiveness.

I will not sit by and let my life be ordinary any longer. I want more. There must be more to life...

this is not the time

2008-02-20T15:17:00.001-08:00

I know there are so many things I should be doing... my 3 kids are busy doing no telling what, I am trying to cook dinner, do laundry, and pick up the house and all I want to do is sit down and be alone. But the constant "mama" from the other room draws me back to reality. I am tired of being a housewife and mother today. I am overwhelmed with messes and diaperchanges and tattling and silliness. I want a clean, organized house with space and time for me to be alone and do what I want to do.
I am torn between two worlds- alone and lonely and surrounded and over-stimulated.
I am exhausted.

how to be a great mom

2008-02-10T22:19:00.000-08:00

I think I am going to write a book. I am going to call it, "How to be a great mom". Now I don't want to mislead anyone with the title- I have no idea how to be a great mom. Most days I am trying to keep "scary mom" in the closet. But I do have a circle of friends who are amazing mentors and mothers and who, in times of great distress and desperation, generously share their secrets.

Have you ever thought about how unfair it is that when we deliver these bundles of joy we don't recieve a manual of any kind to go along with them? Just because I can create this little person is in no way an indicator that I am fit to care for this child. I remember the panic I felt when we were discharged from the hospital with our first baby. What was I suppose to do? Are they kidding? The only thing you are going to check is if I have my car seat installed semi-correctly? I could hardly walk, much less take care of an infant who screamed most of the time. What language was she speaking anyway- nothing I recognized!?

Although life has changed dramatically since the little miss was born, it doesn't seem to get easier. I reflect on the infant stage as easy compared to the battle of wills our little cruise director can maintain.

So here goes... I am going to work up chapter one and post it soon.

on a roll

2008-02-06T19:22:00.000-08:00

I am impressed with myself. This is day three and I am setting a personal record in my "journaling" life.
I read an article called "Confessions of a mommy blogger" and everything clicked as to why people blog. I was always baffled when I found another friend had logged on. What was the appeal and how and why do you find the time for this? But this quote caught me by surprise: "I read blogs to feel I'm a part of something larger, a whole world of other women raising children on this crazy, spinning planet." And this one, "Being a parent is so frustratingly difficult and blindingly beautiful at the same time. Blogs remind me to celebrate the beautiful and that I'm not alone in the difficult."
I have been wounded by friendships this last year and am feeling guarded. I guess it's nice to have this blog to explode on and not have to open myself in vulnerability.

Starting this journey has opened my eyes to the world around me. I feel that I am a relatively creative person. BUT when I read others' blogs and see what the world is doing- I am just pretty underwhelming! Thank you world! I feel inspired, even after an exhausting day.

2008-02-05T18:51:00.000-08:00

another day

2008-02-05T17:12:00.001-08:00

just another day in my life. I have been thinking so much lately about the misfortunes of my friends. Why do these downers always come in multiples? I do not understand all the ins and outs of their issues and trials, but I know they don't deserve this unfair fight.
I think the emptiness I feel right now is in some ways related to the issues of friends, the pain and discomfort of loved ones, and my own baggage that follows me through my days. I don't have an outlet to sweat out the small things so they become monsters lurking in dark corners, waiting for the mood to take a dive and then pounce on the downward spiral. Why these huge gaps in my personality? Where did the skeletons come from? Why do I always beat myself up and feel dissatisfied with who I am and who I am not?

My eldest has so many questions about everything. Some of them are tiring, but a lot of them astound me!
Where does Jesus live?
Dear God, Did you mean for the giraffe to look like that or was it an accident?
Dear God, Who draws the lines around the countries?
How can you be everywhere?
Why did you harden Pharoah's heart and then punish him for disobeying your commands? Will you kill me if my mommy disobeys like you killed Pharoah's boy?
Dear God, What does it mean You are a Jealous God? I thought you had everything…

Simply Jesus- what does that little catch phrase mean anyway??
Jesus- a powerful name with an even more powerful associated imagery. As I think about think this today, I imagined the heavens opening up and Jesus calling me to him. What would I say to him if I could see him face to face? Jesus… who knows me inside and out. Who knows my motivations, my thoughts, my heart aches, worries, joys, and my insecurities. He sees beneath the layers I put up to protect myself. He would strip me instantly down to the core- leaving me open and vulnerable, with no place to hide- but no need to hide either. I can be completely authentic with Him with no fear of being hurt. Surrounded by his glory, what would my heart feel? Would I dance or in awe of him be still? Would I stand in his presence or would I fall to my knees? Would I have my wits about me enough to join in with the angels and sing hallelujah- would I be able to speak at all?
I know that I have questions tucked down that I would like to whip out at the appropriate moment. I will share a few of my own thoughts and some I have borrowed… these may not apply to you at all- you might imagine this scenario completely different. You may have anger to bring to Jesus- or hurt, unbelief, failure, guilt, resentment, joy, relief. But here are a few of my thoughts and questions...

Why do so few of the millions of prayers for physical healing get answered?

Why do you allow children to be hurt? Why are they born with illnesses and physical disabilities? Why is my brother mentally disabled and not me?

Why are there so many unwanted babies when there are so many desperate people praying for pregnancies?

I’ve heard a lot of “theories” on the whole fossil thing and evolution. Did you put all this evidence here to confuse us? If so, why?

Why are so many bad people blessed financially?

Why did you give men a life-long desire for beautiful women? Is it just a test of our will and monogamy? Why do 20 year olds desire the same voluptuous women of childbearing age as 30,40,50, and 100-year-old men? Was it to ensure the propagation of the human race? But, doesn’t this cause men to stray and covet thy neighbor’s wife?

What about genocide? Why do you allow innocent people to die these horrific deaths?

Why do you let your faithful servants suffer?

What about the Hindus? The Muslims? The Buddhists? Why was I so lucky to born in America’s Bible Belt to grow up in church and know you before I even had a choice?

Where are you when I look for you? Why can’t I see you clearly when I am seeking to know you more? You promised that if I seek I will find…

How can you hear so many prayers at once? And do you really care if my car is broken down, I have lost my job, I am upset over a relationship when there is persecution and war going on in other parts of the world? My troubles must seem so insignificant to you- am I just wasting my breath?

What do you want with me? A sinner such as me?

I confess to you that I am unworthy. I am so very sinful that I am shamed. I am so often struggling with unbelief that I don’t feel like I should be allowed in your presence. Do you laugh at me as I laugh at my child's behavior? If you know the inner secrets of my heart; is your heart broken over my feelings of guilt and incompetency? Are you tired of me asking for another chance? I feel like you must be frustrated with me… I can only beg for mercy and grace- both of which I know you have granted before I thought to ask. Jesus, please allow me to see your nail scarred hands. Please let me know that you love me for who I am and not for who I might become. Thank you Lord for your forgiveness- washing before me. Jesus, you are my heartache healer, my secret keeper, my friend… shepherd, savior, pasture maker, Creator and life sustainer, comforter, healer, my redeemer, lord and king, beginning and the end.

I have to imagine that I would feel that it would be better to see the Lion, our Lord, and die than to be the King of the world and live and not to have seen Him.
I imagine that He would breathe upon me and take away the trembling from my limbs and cause me to stand upon my feet. And after that, he wouldn’t say much but that we should meet again, and I must go further up and further in….

But not today. On this day, I can only say the words and go through the motions. I am numb. I am alone. I wonder where You are and realize I have disregarded my faith and become wrapped in my own troubles and sorrows. I am going at it alone. Why do I choose this? Why can't I let myself go and believe? What would happen if I did?
I don't know. All I know is: I can't today.

first things first

2008-02-04T05:08:00.000-08:00

hmmmmm.... not sure where to begin. I think I start every journal/diary with that exact phrase. Where do I begin? I wish I knew. If only I had been better at keeping a journal of my life and then I could just pick up where I left off last time. But I haven't- so there's the predicament.

To begin with, at 33 years old, I am a mom of 3 beautiful children. It is kind of a love/exasperation relationship. Somedays I am so enraptured I can hardly make it through the day without crying with joy. Other days I cry out for deliverance from my crazy, out of control life. I have a hard time not having control. I think it must be a struggle that all moms deal with. Honestly, where is the fun in life if you are in control all the time?

OK- getting back to the basics here.... I live in Tulsa, OK and am happily married to a beautiful, beautiful man. We moved here 3 years ago from Seattle, WA and I think I left part of my heart there. I have felt a lonely ache for "home" since our departure. Life just seemed real and genuine there. That isn't to say it was perfect or easy- NO way! It was very difficult a lot of the time. But it grew us and stretched us and opened our eyes to our world.

I have been married 10 years now. Mr T says we are like bacteria- we keep multiplying. I think we have stopped that now and are so happy with our little family.

From the outside in, my life is pretty perfect. I live in the U.S. which is a big plus. I enjoy freedoms, leisure, variety, faith, and food. But from the inside out, I have lost myself along the way. Some days I just feel totally desolate, like a wanderer who can't remember home. Where did I go? Who am I? What is my life about?
I think as I have watched many of my friends enter the life of blogging, and have read their real life stories only told honestly in the world of the web, it has inspired me to take my search and blog it out. Soul search online. I am anonymous and me all at the same time.

So here it is...first things first. I have no ideas, I am stumped. BUT I am going to figure it out... this is my first step.

cheers!