Redeeming the Time

It's been all of 3 weeks since I decided on My One Word for 2013. Just a few short weeks since I've begun this process of trimming certain areas of my life and growing others. Isn't it interesting how a subtle shift in perspective can alter your view entirely? Like I'm standing in the same place, looking towards the same thing, but the picture looks suddenly different.

The things I'm looking towards- those that are of the utmost importance to me- my faith, my marriage, my children, my health- what am I doing to build them up? I mean daily? What portion of my time spent is a reflection of where my heart lies? When I look at my life through this lens, it suddenly snaps everything into focus.

 If what they say is true, that the grass is only greener where you water it, then why waste a single precious drop?

The truth is, I have been wasting a lot of time. Drops of time, they seem to slip through my fingers and disappear.   It's easy to SAY I'm going to grab hold of the time and make the most of each moment- you know, seize the day and all that.
  But the truth of the matter is that it's just like every other thing in life. It boils down to one fact.
 YOU'VE GOT TO DO THE WORK!
 Whether it be physically, spiritually, or relationally, you can't neglect to put in the effort and then be surprised to find it's not thriving.  If you're building a wall, you've got to lay the bricks. One by one.

What is your wall?
What has God called you to?

I have been asking myself- asking God- this question a lot lately. And while there are a few different things I feel led to pursue at the moment, investing in my husband and my children will always be towards the top of that list.
 When raising small kids it's very easy to be swallowed up in the minutiae of the day. There are hundreds of little tasks that must be done. But all the little things, they add up to something very big. Life happens in the home. Values and relationships and attitudes and habits are all formed in the home. The lessons learned in the home, last the longest.

While every household has it's own rhythm, I long for ours to slow down. I want to redeem the time. My kids are only this age once. They are young for such a brief period of time. All I have is now. I don't get a do-over. Those tiny, tender hearts are only mine for the blink of an eye.

Ephesians 5:15-16
"See then that you walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil."

I have been praying for opportunities to maximize the time. For chances to peel back the layers and dig deeper into our children's hearts. For enough wisdom to stop hurrying and to create a rhythm in our home that makes time for such things.

The thing about opportunity is that it often comes masked as inopportunity. What feels like a nuisance or an interruption might just be the exact moment I've been searching for and asking for.
Communication comes at a cost. Bricklaying takes work.

In the middle of a recent (and somewhat routine) display of dramatic emotion from our 6 year old, something in my gut told me not to rush through this one. Some undefinable check in my heart that kept me from indulging the temptation to speed through the steps of discipline and correction and teaching so I could move on with my day. Had I rushed, I would have missed an opportunity to communicate on a deeper, vitally important level. Her little eyes brimmed with tears in such a way that I knew it wasn't just drama unfolding, but a hurting heart. So I sat on the edge of her bed and scooped her onto my lap and started asking questions as she sobbed into my shirt. After weeks of feeling heavy hearted and somewhat disconnected from my daughter, here was a precious opportunity to discover what was at the real root of the problem. After all, the heart of the matter is almost always a matter of the heart, yes? What ended up being a wonderful, productive conversation almost didn't happen, because I almost didn't do the work by drawing it out of her.  Opportunity can be very easy to miss. I know, because I do it all the time.

So here I am, 3 weeks later, just barely getting my sleeves rolled up. There are a hundred other ways I want to redeem the time. There are books I am reading, friendships I am growing, weight I am losing,  recipes I want to try, new ways to discover of building up my marriage, and time of solitude to take- to just steal away with my coffee and my bible and my God.
 And while it can all start to feel like It's just too much to fit into 24 short hours, I think it's really... not.
It's more a matter of first things first. It's choosing to redeem the time and not just to spend it.
You've got to seize the moment before you can seize the day.

Tales From the Trenches: On Staying Home and Staying Positive

Im not going to lie. Im going a little bit crazy. Not to mention stir crazy. Winter has set in, the days are shorter and darker, and Husband has recently been otherwise occupied by the teeny tiny project of a new home, which has often left the kids and I filling our time at home. The weather has turned cold and wet which rules out most outside play. Park days have dwindled, and confession: so have playing-in-the-backyard-days because of Buster's land mines that Husband normally picks up, but now have become my area of responsibility. Along with taking out the trash and raking leaves and other silently agreed upon "man jobs" in our house. And while I officially can (and do!- points there) get these tasks done, lets all be real here. Where Husband would do them bi-weekly, I've done them bi-monthly. Atrocious, I know.

So we've spent many a day indoors. Trying to keep two kids busy and happy and out of trouble. This takes an exorbitant amount of effort some days! Puzzles are ruined by little brother. So are all endeavors to draw, paint, color, or cut/glue. And since Im making a genuine effort to minimize screen time (sidenote: this is a real effort at improvement on my part, because both my kids will happily sit in front of the tv and watch movies together in blissful quiet harmony. While there is nothing wrong with this, and we do it often, I am trying to engage them more.) Be present, right?! Do the work! Make deposits in their little hearts! All the stuff that they dont tell you is the actual hard part of parenting.

SO. Its been interesting. In fact, this very minute, my two pajama clad tinies have gotten into the art cupboard and there are markers, paint brushes, color books, and the like all over my kitchen counter. There have been no altercations, no tears, and no damage to clothing, person, or surface, so Im allowing it to go on unsupervised. For now. I think this has actually been good for me in terms of loosening up. As a person who is perpetually tidying and cleaning I have gotten better at living life and allowing messes. (Kids will do that to you.) Sure! Get out the playhouse! And the barbies and the play food, and the hot wheels, and the baby dolls, and the airplanes, and the books. And ok fine, the toy microphone. And sure! We can play with it all at once! Mix it all up together! Go for it.

 Its good for me and its good for them. The 2 year old is learning to play and use his imagination and share and get along. The 4 year old is learning that if you're big enough to get it out, you're big enough to clean it all up. She's also learning patience with the 2 year old because he reeks havoc on all of her best laid plans. She's learning to lead by example and do the right thing even when its not always "fair". 

 I'M learning that I have a lot to learn. Some days I finish with a sense of pride and joy and fullness.  For the quality time spent reading books and snuggling. For getting down on the floor with them and pretending. For diffusing arguments and drawing the right responses out of them.  For being Fun Mommy! Which, if Im being totally honest, is usually Daddy's area of expertise. (I say this fondly and begrudgingly at the same time.) I love that Husband comes home, changes out of his work clothes and then wrestles on the floor with the kids while I cook dinner. I love that they squeal with delight when they hear the garage door open. It only makes me a little bit sad that Im not the first one they run to, to be silly with. But really, that's my own doing. Some days Im pleased with myself for turning off the tv, and turning on the music and dancing around the living room with the kids- AND managing to be productive at the same time. In the way that it really counts, and in the practical, getting-the-floors-mopped kind of way.

 And then some days I feel utterly defeated. Some days I forget to play and have fun because Im too busy taking care of life. Some days the kids have fought, the house is a mess, and I have lost my patience (after the 17th time little brother has climbed on the counter and emptied the entire contents of my purse, then ruined his sister's art project and thrown every single crayon in every single direction.) Some days big sister has been excessively whiny and contrary. Some days I have a hard time controlling THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE! Its true. Go ahead and judge. Some days I let them watch too much tv. (Cringe) Eeek. I know.

But we are living life. Life is messy and complicated and full of mistakes. But God is faithful. Lessons have been learned. Important lessons. Like, positive reinforcement and encouragement and praise are every bit as important as discipline. Like, if I want my kids to practice  kindness, gentleness, patience, self control, etc.- then I ought to be practicing them myself. Like, thankfulness for simplicity. Sometimes when raising small children, its easy to get swallowed up in the minutiae of the day. But the day is made up of hundreds of moments. Busy, loud, hectic,  moments of rushing our the door or getting dinner on the table. Quiet, still, midnight moments spent rocking, feeding, and comforting. Precious bedtime prayer moments where you are touched and surprised by the peek into your 4 year old's heart and concerns. Moments of mundane, vitally important opportunities to teach and mold and love and grow. And those moments are SIMPLE. They are easy to miss.  It's taken me two babies to learn to appreciate THOSE moments. They're what I end up remembering. They're what I end up cherishing. A tiny sweaty head with cherub cheeks and curly lashes, nestled on my chest in the rocking chair when I can hardly keep my eyes open and I feel like the only person in the dark universe who is awake. Giggles and squeals in the bathtub. Hurdles of pride and tears followed by hugs and forgiviness. It can be a lot of work but it's still SIMPLE. And it fills my heart with a simple kind of joy. Kids are funny like that. Like I always say, they completely fill you up and completely empty you at the same time.

So, I am putting this on an index card -

 Galations 5:22-23 "But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control; against such things, there is no law."

Then Im going to put it on the fridge as a reminder to my tiny tenders... And I'll put it on my bathroom mirror as a reminder to myself.  And then Im going to pray a lot. :)

Well Would'nt You Know...

Hello dear readers! I've missed you. Its been a busy month here at the Maxi Pad (my home) I know. Its a terrible thing to name a home. But like most jokes that stick, its slightly inapropriate and equally catchy. Im not even sure how it got started actually, considering there are an equal number of males and females living in our house. I think it traces back to Ladies Night. Not "going out" like most savvy chicks in their twenties probably do. No, we'd get in our sweats, eat desserts, and watch the Batchelor. Terribly wild of us, isnt it? Anyway, long story short, that's how nicknaming my home "the Maxi Pad" got started and this is where talking about it ends.

So life has been very busy this month, but I cant quite pinpoint why. Just business as usual I suppose. Big One is finishing her first year of preschool (single tear) and getting ready for her first ballet recital- all very grownup things for her little self. Im torn between pride and helplessness as I watch her turn into this independant little person. Little One is turning into quite the livewire and requiring much more of my attention as of late. The minute it gets quiet, is one minute too late to start looking for him. He's all dimples and innocence until he makes up his mind to be naughty. The closer we get to 2, the more I savor the days of sweetness and simplicity with him. I know they are numbered. Husband and I managed to sneak in a mini-break away together last weekend, which was lovely. There's nothing like waking up and realizing that I can shamelessly lie in bed for twenty minutes before getting up because no one needs me! Glorious. We enjoyed peaceful, leisurely meals, staying up late and sleeping in, and hours of bonding time in the car. We've been mulling over some decisions lately, and we were able to make some real progress towards that end. We always seem to get some of our best talking done in the car. Dont know why, something about the open road I guess.

In other news: I FINALLY, lost a few pounds! I recently shared my descent into fatness with you all (because you're the gracious and encouraging type) in my "For Realsies" post. I got myself into a funk and I've spent the past month spinning my wheels. I have been working out, eating clean, and that stupid scale was not budging. It could have something to do with the fact that (TMI alert) I started taking birth control pills again this month. Hopefully that's not an overshare. And if it is...too late! Im pretty sure it's contributed to at least 5 of my "extra" pounds. Blurg. 

So one whole month of these shenanigans and no real progress! So frustrating. Then my dvd player broke so I havent been able to do my P90X videos for a little over a week. Well would'nt you know, one week of not working out and even cheating a little with my diet, and I lost FIVE pounds! In one week! What the what?! I dont get it, but I am just going to be thankful and keep plugging away. Its tempting to test this theory further and see if I can do it again for another week, but something tells me that's not wise. It probably would just end up with me indulging my way back to the number I started from. The number that shall forever remain shrouded in mystery, rather than ever be spoken aloud.
Would'nt you know.

"We've Got a Bleeder!"

Its my ears. Are they bleeding? Is there actual blood dripping out of them yet? The problem is that Husband has been gone for three days and so I've suffered the brunt of it alone. All alone. The mind-numbing barrage of words. The sheer relentlessnes of the rapid-fire questions, one after another after another with hardly a pause for breath, seering into my brain like intruding bullets.

The car is the hardest. Its like you're trapped. Yesterday I was in the car with the kids for about 2 hours altogether. 7 minutes of that time was quiet. I am not exaggerating. I've tried turning on music but that doesnt work. My ipod is no match for her. She just talks over it.

"Do I have to take a nap when I get home?" "If I do have to take a nap, can I watch a half of a cartoon first?" "Can you put Jaxon asleep before me?" "Why do I have to take a nap?" "Can I sleep on my princess couch instead of my bed?" "Why not?" "Im hungry, I think I need a snack first" "Can I have a chococlate granola bar?" "Why not?!" "Is it healthy?" "If I dont have a granola bar, what can I have?" "Can I have gum?" "Are coyotes mean?" "Do they bite?" "I think bears and coyotes and lions and sharks and turkeys are all mean and they bite but dogs and cats are nice." (2 seconds to catch breath) "Actually some dogs and cats are not nice?" "We always be careful about dogs and cats that we dont know because they might be mean." "How do you know if they're mean?" "Remember Grannie Annie's cat?" "What was his name?" "I fed him a treat and he was nice." "But Aunt Cyndee's cat was not nice. Rango. No, wait, Ringo."(Incidentally Aunt Cyndee does not have a cat named Ringo or Rango. Im sure someone we know does. Aunt Cyndee has a dog. Named Blue. But that's all besides the point- much like her whole train of thought) "So mommy, how is your day?" "Where are we going?" "I dont think you're going the right way." "Do we need gas?" "Can a car pop if you put too much gas in it?" "What if the guy just kept putting more and more and more gas in and the whole car literry (literally) just popped?" "Has that ever happened to you when you were little mom?" "Was I in your tummy when I was 2?" "Remember when I was a baby and I used to eat baby food?" "Remember that?" (half a second to catch breath) "Do pandas live in China or Africa?" "Do the kids in Africa not even have new toys mommy?" "When you were little did you go to the North Pole?" "Do ocutopus' sting?"
All of that literally takes only about 75 seconds for her to say. I can hardly keep up. While she is just finding her rythm, Im starting to go crosseyed!  I have learned to pick and choose my answers carefully because often one simple answer leads into 79 more questions, about half of which I will have a good answer for.

 *Pause*

...I get it....I am not the first person to ever have a child that talks them into a tailspin. Am I complaining? No, not really. I can appreciate it for what it is and see the cuteness factor in it. I suppose I find it to be equal parts endearing and exasperating. And Im glad I have a daughter with an ever-inquisitive, precocious mind. Really. But SOME DAYS, the dull ache behind my eyes starts even before I've brushed my teeth in the morning. Do I wish she was anything other than who she is? No, of course not. Do I wish I had more patience? More resiliance? More answers? YES! It makes me chuckle, because she's always been this way. She was talking well before she was 1, and talking WELL by the time she was 2. In fact, even in the delivery room and during our whole stay in the hospital there was no peace, no quiet. Spitfire from birth. Ah, I suppose its only fitting. In this very blog (Dont Fight The Funk post) I have said that I, myself, often worry that I've said too much. That Im a blurter.That I will never be one of those peripheral people who quietly take it all in and never let it out. I did say all that, didnt I. Oh dear.

 So it's a fine line I walk every day (and sometimes zigzag back and forth across)- trying to cultivate her little mind, and engage her in coversation, trying to make her feel heard and not disregarded. All the while trying to reign it in and guide it, otherwise, whatever the conversation, she's going to take that bull by the horns and steer it in whatever direction she fancies! Knowing when to really listen and when to shoosh (because lets all be real here, shooshing is fully necessary sometimes)  Its like she's a derailed caboose and we have to keep circling back around and re-attaching her to the train of thought. (pun intended) (And by the way, when is pun ever NOT intended? Whenever people say "no pun intended" there most definitely IS almost always "pun intended")
 We're trying to teach her not to interrupt, or to talk over people. Thats a big one we're working on at the moment. She's figured out that if she just talks louder that she can still get it all out regardless of whomever else might be attempting to get a word in edgewise. Moment of Honesty?: I keep catching myself getting in these climactic conversations with her where she is talking louder, then Im talking louder trying to be heard, then she's a notch higher trying to be heard, and then next thing I know Im practically shrieking "PLEASE TALK QUIETER OR YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE UP THE BABY!"...Right. Oops. I forgot to mention aside from the amount of talking, she has one volume. And its loud.

 Then I  have one of those smacking-your-palm-to-your-forehead moments, and remember that I am the boss. This small little person is 4 and I am 29. And granted, she may be a force to be reckoned with, but I do not need to get sucked into a 20 minute volley of words that leaves me in frenzied state! She's good at it too, because its not usually direct defiance, or even ornoriness in general, but more like a subtle sidestepping of the point (my point). She is quite old enough to grasp the concept of being quiet when need be. Of listening to me when I am talking. Of simply doing what I ask of her without voicing and re-voicing multiple opinions about it. Ah, getting tricky now, isnt it? Balancing the requirement  of obedience and respect (WITH a good attitude! minor yet huge clause), while nurturing and guiding, AND teaching? What is the best way to let them be who they are and yet mold them into what they should be?- (civilized and polite human beings) Because really, isnt that basically our whole job as parents?  I do think a kid is allowed to be a kid- and sometimes that means they are loud, and sometimes they cause a ruckus, and sometimes they have lots of questions. And that's okay!
But My Lanta! What's a lady gotta do to get some peace and quiet?

I Think Ace Ventura Put it Best When He Said "Find a Happy Place!"

Its all fun and games until one of them starts flinging poo. Oh yes. Welcome to my day. Come join me. Bask with me in the mayhem. "Give in to the power of the tea" if you will. (bonus points for readers who can name that movie). (Actually, double bonus points. Because Name That Movie is my favorite game ever. Second only to "Remember When...")

I think I felt it coming before I even opened my eyes this morning. Trouble. As if the only word I could clearly see forming on the foggy horizon of my brain was already going to be "BLURG".  Do you ever wake up so early that you feel nauseous? Like your body is so tired its literally rejecting wakefulness? Happens to me all the time. I think this might be part of why I hate breakfast so much. Its the only time of day you will catch me wishing for sleep over food.

I think I had a bad dream too. I've been reading a lot lately and both the books Im reading melded into one bizarre dream involving a heap of dead wolves with yellow eyes, (shudder), a rugged Scotsman (yes please),  and a troubling impression that I was grinding my teeth into gravel inside my own head (I actually do grind my teeth so this wasnt too far off). Suffice it to say, that I had a furrow in my brow before I even made it off of my pillow this morning. Both of my little darlings seemed to wake up on the wrong side of the bed as well, because before breakfast was over, there were two altercations between siblings,  one spill, followed by tears, followed by whining, followed by me snapping at my daughter over her highly dramatic display. Dangit. Not even 8:00 yet and I've already lost my cool. Deep breath. Apologize for being snappy, while trying to simultaneously squeeze in a lesson about attitudes of the heart. Only semi succesful in getting point across. She was pretty busy with her Cinnamon Toast Crunch and he just grins blankly at me every time I talk anyways, regardless of what Im saying. (which I secretly love).

And so it went for the next few hours. Rushing to get us all showered, dressed, fed, teeth brushed, hair combed, and out the door.(With no lack of battles over each one of those things)  Drop off at school, run errands, pick up from school, try to keep 1 year old happy and quiet as I try to be productive... Fail. Decide its a good idea to bundle up and head outside in the backyard for some good old fashioned fun. Enjoy approximately 4.5 minutes of delight, playing with my children, blowing and popping bubbles until Littler One spills Bigger One's bubbles. While I console Bigger One over the loss of her new bubbles and remind her to be gracious and forgiving with Littler One, and grab a towel to start mopping up  the sticky mess, I turn around just in time to see it. Littler One. Holding a poop. My dog's poop. Oh dear God.

After I shrieked, scolded Buster the dog (not that it was his fault. Hey, everybody poops), disinfected, scoured, and scrubbed up my son, called it quits with the bubbles, tried to make dinner amid seventeen interruptions regarding snacks, barbie shoes, a half eaten chapstick, and a completely emptied trash can on my kitchen floor, - after  that I decided to give it up.  It was one of those days where everything was harder than I thought it should have been. You know those days you have, as a parent, where you honestly get tired of hearing your own voice? I decided to abandon my efforts (however valiant they may be!) to force my day into something it wasnt going to be. So  I opened a diet Dr. Pepper, allowed myself one hearty eye-roll before I shooshed the "What the what?!" train of thought I felt forming in the back of my head, had a good chuckle, and  acquiesced to the funk. Sometimes ya gotta just let it be. So I took my remaining shreds of peace of mind and my diet Dr. Pepper into my daughters playhouse and let her pretend to be my mommy while Jaxon banged toy pots over my head for 20 minutes. And I daresay that 20 minutes was the highlight of the day for all three of us.

The Weight of Worry

In my recent post "An Anchor for the soul ", I shared a bit of how I've been struggling with fear. Fear of something terrible. Fear of the unknown. Fear of, I dont even know what! As if I dont have enough legitimate concerns to deal with in a day, I'm now conjuring up newly invented, undefinable concerns as well. Perfect. At least Im thorough.

While I recognize the existance of this inner struggle as of late, I feel that I have not exactly conquered it yet. Or if I have, its been only rarely and briefly. Fear is a beast! A vicious beast with its finger on my pulse, and a chokehold on my neck. (Figuratively, of course.) Its with a smirk, and a tongue-in-cheek attitude that I speak so dramatically in reference to something that actually is a bit dramatic for me. Its how I cope. So bear with me.

It just so happens that Im one week deep into a two week wait to find out if I have skin cancer. On the whole, I know that Im young and there's a good chance that I dont have melanoma. I also know there's a good chance that I do. My mom has had skin cancer more than once, and more recently, my sister was diagnosed with melanoma.  We were not blessed with porcelain skin. Its more like alabaster. The color of blue iced milk. I accepted my inability to be tan long ago, but the smattering of freckles and moles I get instead is hardly a consolation prize. So I've had a bad gut feeling about a couple of moles for over a year now, but have put off going to the dermatologist on the flimsy basis of not having the time, or not wanting to spend the money, but truthfully its been because Im just too chicken. But after my sister was diagnosed with melanoma, my cage was sufficiently rattled. It was time to quit mucking about and just grow a pair (again, figuratively, of course) and go get on a doctor's radar. So I rallied my courage and went.

After spending 30-some-odd minutes sitting alone in a room with my anxious thoughts and working up a nice cold sweat in my paper gown, the doctor didnt have much to say to ease my mind. I heard lots of  "Hmmm"s and "Tsk"s and "I dont like the look of that"s. Ultimately she cut out 3 moles to send to the lab and told me to come back in ten days to get stitches out and hold tight for two weeks until we know the results. Right. Hold tight. This is highly inconvenient to a person who's two chief weaknesses are impatience and worry.
I left the doctors office, started my car, and tried very hard to ignore the panic that I felt rising in my chest. Or at least keep it at bay. My first thought was, "Who can love my kids as fiercely as I do if I die?" I don't want to be a drama queen. I'm not a hypochondriac. Im fairly confident that the rational side of my brain in still in tact. But I do think God has a knack for pinpointing these weaknesses/fears in our hearts and drawing them to the surface every now and then. Like bile, rising up, whether you like it or not. Yet however uncomfortable it feels, and however much it makes me squirm and want to plug my ears like a little kid who actually thinks that works in warding off unpleasant news, I do believe these fears being brought to the surface and dealt with is ultimately for my own greater good.
I keep using the word "fears" in a vague sense. I suppose it boils down to a fundamental fear that something bad will happen to my children. Or that some terrible, unforseen accident will befall my husband and I, and how this will ultimately affect my tiny tenders. The thought alone makes my chest tighten, my vision blur with tears, and gives me a mild urge to dry heave.  Ironically enough though, I've found that the most theraputic way to deal with this fear is to face it head on rather than run screaming for the hills. I've thought a lot this week about what would happen if my biopsy came back positive for cancer. Odds are they'd go back in, cut it all out, stitch me up, and I'd carry on perfectly fine with only another scar to add to my collection. But what if that werent the case? What if I actually died? (hey, I warned you to bear with me!) What if I actually died of skin cancer? What then? Do I still believe that God is good? Do I still believe that He loves me and has a more perfect plan for my life? A plan that trumps my own? Do I believe that He loves my husband and each of my children infinitely more than I even could? Well,yes... I guess I do. I couldnt abandon any of those beliefs even if I wanted to. "I just know in my knower"(as my mom used to say), that He does. So whaddayagonnado? Im still "in it". I dont have a nicely packaged little antecdote to come out the other side of my head trip with. I do know one thing though: Fear is a beast I need not wrestle with. Because if I truly trust in my God, if I have a big enough measure of faith, then I can have a real peace that passes understanding. I heard once that the single most repeated instruction from God in the bible is "Fear not." 2 Timothy 1:7 "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind". God is never the source of my inner turbulence. We are imperfect people living in an imperfect world. His grace and peace are intensified not in spite of, but because of my personal trials. Every verse I've read in the past week has said things like "Take courage", "Be still, be calm" "Dont be afraid" "Find solitude" and "Recognize my hand in this"...

I read about David and Goliath. David slew the lion and the bear, and having thus developed courage, he moved unflinchingly to confront the giant Philistine. It was in this area of courage that he was above his fellows. Quiet faith had its moment of open revelation. Building faith in the lesser challenges will be a delivering angel in the most calamitous moment.
SO. Skin cancer or no skin cancer, I'll be okay.  The weight of worry can rob me of peace and joy just as easily as any hardship I may face. So why bother with it, really?

Confessions: Second Edition

So here's the real truth of the matter, however unsettling it may be. I think Im getting lazy. When I used to work, I was so good at compartmentalizing my time. Work time, check. Family time, check. Cleaning/ grocery shopping time, check. Free time, check. I was so much better at focusing wholly on each particular thing and then moving on to the next.  I know life isnt always so "compartmentalized" and tidy like that, especially when juggling multiple roles in one day. We are a generation of multi-taskers. And we wear this badge as if its an honor. Maybe it is, to a degree. I can brush my teeth, put my daughter's hair in pigtails, talk on the phone, and keep my 12 month old out of the toilet (almost a full time job in itself) all the same time. Great. Grand. Getting things done.

Except...I think somewhere in the middle of all that, I tend to get swallowed up in the minutiae of my day. All those small tasks that maybe dont feel so groundbreakingly important, but on some level, they really are.  I cherish the time Im able to spend at home with my two kids. But...do I really? I know in my heart of hearts, that answer is a resounding yes. But Im thinking that a little bit of the importance of my 'job' ( Ewe. I dont like the way that sounds. Lets say mission) has been lost on me lately.  The tricky part, is that often some of the most mundane parental tasks- the ones we really dont love doing, if we're honest, can wind up being unexpectedly the sweetest moments. Goodnight prayers and kisses, early morning pre-coffee breakfast making, diaper changes that turn into tickle fights. But if Im always rushing through these things to get them done, instead of being actively present during them, I miss SO much. Its one thing to keep my children alive, fed, bathed, clothed, loved, safe, etc. That's the easy part. Its making the deposits in their hearts that requires so much more of me. And the scary part? Its easy not to do. Ooh. Just got REAL!  (chuckle)  It is though. Its easy to coast some days. To do the basic minimum requirement.

So I am personally (publicly) challenging myself. To rise to the occasion. To do my real and true best. And dont worry, its not some noble, grandiose proclamation to strike the perfect balance. Life is life. Whatever. Just putting myself in check.

In fact, this very moment, Jaxon is literally biting my ankles. Literally.  And Bella is running circles through the kitchen and dining room like a wild banshee. So this is me, closing my computer, turning off the tv, and being present. Otherwise, good Lord, the house might burn down.

Confessions of an Honest Mom

October 9, 2010

Ok. Moms out there: have we all been in that situation where you're having pleasant, small-talk-y conversation with another mom-acquaintance (which generally means talk about your kids. Story swapping, anticdote sharing, general inadvertant gushing)...and said mom keeps slipping in comments about how she "really just can't believe what a wonderful personality little Billy has". Or, "how truly, truly lucky she feels, and SO honored" to be little Suzy's mother. And you feel yourself smile and graciously agree, saying something along the lines of "Yes, they really are so charming, and yes you really should feel lucky". - When inwardly you stifle a hearty eye-roll. I mean, seriously? Let's all be real here. Dont ALL moms EVERYWHERE feel this way? Don't we all, deep in our hearts, feel that our kids are somehow spectacular?
Now,...(pause)...I get it. Im treading lightly here. I am not some cold, cynical, eye-rolling monster who doesn't wanna hear about your cute kid. On the contrary, I think its important to share the positive sentiments as much or probably more than sharing the negative ones. After all, its a mixed bag, is it not? I do, however, have a low tolerance for that subtle, passive-aggressive-my-life-is-ever-so-slightly-better-than-yours-THING that women can be so good at. There. I said it.
Does anyone know what Im talking about? That shift, however subterranean it might be, that feels like these pleasantries have suddenly taken on an ugly, slightly competitive edge? ...WHY?! What's the point?
I consider myself lucky to have a close circle of family and freinds, -moms themselves- who I can say this is not ever the case with. We all know and love each other and our subsequent children, and we can just go ahead and be real with each other. How refreshing! To be able to just come right out and admit that we, (or one of our little darlings) are having an 'off'day.  A bad day. A naughty day, even. (Gasp) It happens. Its true. No judgements. No clicking tongues or raised eyebrows. Because, as parents, aren't we ALL climbing that same, daily, uphill battle?
Now, at the risk of sounding like a negative nellie- I will ammend that I do not mean to sound, nor do I feel, that parenting is a drag. Not at all. As I've said before, there is nothing else I'd rather be doing. Nothing that can empty you, yet gloriously fill you up at the same time, quite like parenting. So let's all be chums, eh? Comrades. Let's all be real here.