Monday, October 1, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
On Sleepwalking
Most of the time, I am very present in my life. I am there for my husband and my kids and my friends. I appreciate the things I have and the things I can do. I feel incredibly blessed to be who I am and where I am in the time I have here on earth. Most of the time, I pay attention.
But. And it's a big "but". There are times when I can go days or even weeks without really noticing the things that are going on around me. I am making lunches and walking through my neighborhood and having dinner with friends and helping my kids with their homework without ever really paying attention to lunches and my neighborhood and dinner with friends and my kids with their homework.
This past Friday, we packed the kids up as soon as they all got home from school and drove just an hour north to camp in a state park on a small lake. We don't usually camp once the kids are back in school, but we had a free weekend and decided to go for it.
That's how I got to wake up at 7:30 Saturday morning, step outside the door of the camper, and see this:
The lake, with steam rising off the top, the sun orange in the sky and, though I didn't snap the photo in time, two colorful hot air balloons floating off into the blue distance. And I noticed. I noticed the way the sun was warm on my face but the breeze was cold on my arms. I noticed the way the seagulls were soaring over the lake and their reflection was on the water. I saw the clouds and the ducks and the leaves on the trees. I noticed.
And the further into the weekend we got, the more I noticed, and the more I thought. My sweet A. catching his biggest fish ever, a large-mouth bass.
The sight of my three adventurous kids hiking in front of me on the trail.
A beautiful flower that I don't know the name of, but that was the only flower growing in a patch of green, some of which was Poison Ivy.
A still, quiet lake and the sounds around it: tree frogs and bird calls and my children laughing with each other.
My oldest son, E., walking out onto this fallen log, pushing the envelope as usual and loving every second of it. This could be our last camping trip with E., as next summer he'll be working and getting ready for college and who knows what else and might not have time to go camping with his family.
And conversations around the campfire, with the fire hot on my face but my arms and legs trembling from the cold. Talking about our favorite meals ever and funny jokes we've heard and how the Halloween Ghost Peeps we roasted over the fire tasted a little like Frosted Flakes. And the laughter. Always, the laughter.
I am not the kind of mom whose life is made up of only my children, all the time. I love them, and I enjoy them, but we are meant to raise them to be independent and to be able to, when the time is right, go off on their own. I think that D. and I will do fine someday when our children are grown and living their lives. I will not miss making school lunches or helping with homework or breaking up fights every single morning over breakfast.
But this. The laughing and the hiking and the conversations across a campfire. These are the things I will miss. That's why on weekends like these, I take special care not to sleepwalk through the days. Instead, I notice.
But. And it's a big "but". There are times when I can go days or even weeks without really noticing the things that are going on around me. I am making lunches and walking through my neighborhood and having dinner with friends and helping my kids with their homework without ever really paying attention to lunches and my neighborhood and dinner with friends and my kids with their homework.
This past Friday, we packed the kids up as soon as they all got home from school and drove just an hour north to camp in a state park on a small lake. We don't usually camp once the kids are back in school, but we had a free weekend and decided to go for it.
That's how I got to wake up at 7:30 Saturday morning, step outside the door of the camper, and see this:
The lake, with steam rising off the top, the sun orange in the sky and, though I didn't snap the photo in time, two colorful hot air balloons floating off into the blue distance. And I noticed. I noticed the way the sun was warm on my face but the breeze was cold on my arms. I noticed the way the seagulls were soaring over the lake and their reflection was on the water. I saw the clouds and the ducks and the leaves on the trees. I noticed.
And the further into the weekend we got, the more I noticed, and the more I thought. My sweet A. catching his biggest fish ever, a large-mouth bass.
The sight of my three adventurous kids hiking in front of me on the trail.
A beautiful flower that I don't know the name of, but that was the only flower growing in a patch of green, some of which was Poison Ivy.
A still, quiet lake and the sounds around it: tree frogs and bird calls and my children laughing with each other.
My oldest son, E., walking out onto this fallen log, pushing the envelope as usual and loving every second of it. This could be our last camping trip with E., as next summer he'll be working and getting ready for college and who knows what else and might not have time to go camping with his family.
And conversations around the campfire, with the fire hot on my face but my arms and legs trembling from the cold. Talking about our favorite meals ever and funny jokes we've heard and how the Halloween Ghost Peeps we roasted over the fire tasted a little like Frosted Flakes. And the laughter. Always, the laughter.
I am not the kind of mom whose life is made up of only my children, all the time. I love them, and I enjoy them, but we are meant to raise them to be independent and to be able to, when the time is right, go off on their own. I think that D. and I will do fine someday when our children are grown and living their lives. I will not miss making school lunches or helping with homework or breaking up fights every single morning over breakfast.
But this. The laughing and the hiking and the conversations across a campfire. These are the things I will miss. That's why on weekends like these, I take special care not to sleepwalk through the days. Instead, I notice.
Friday, September 7, 2012
On Waiting
I have actually been wanting to post for a while, but there has only been one thing on my mind, and until now I haven't been able to write about it. Now, however, the word is out and everyone involved has been told, and I can officially write about the fact that I just left my job. Well, am leaving my job, I guess. I have six more days there, only four of them actual workdays.
I'm not leaving because of anything horrible that happened, or any hard feelings or difficulties. I love my job, actually. And while I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is the right decision, I still have mixed feelings about the actual leaving. I will miss being part of the amazing team with which I work. I will miss our Tuesday staff lunches and our birthday breakfasts out. I will miss the busy-ness that comes up before a big project or transition, all of us working together to be on the same page and meet a deadline and laughing together along the way. I will miss focusing on a big task so hard that I lose all track of time. I will also miss my paycheck, but I'm not going to worry about that quite yet. But my job...yes, I will definitely miss it.
But there's another part of me...the biggest part of me, right now, I guess...that is feeling tremendous relief. I am excited to be a stay-at-home mom and wife right now. I'm excited to get to the gym three days a week and to cook healthy meals. I'm excited to organize some closets and have lunch with my best friend. I'm thrilled to be able to volunteer in my son's classroom and keep up with what the school board is doing. And most of all, I'm excited to go to church on Sundays with my husband and just sit among the congregation, worshipping with my church family and hearing the message.
You see, my job is church. Not really....my job is running a ministry at my church, part of the children's ministry, actually. And while I loved meeting new families and making the children feel welcome and training new classroom volunteers and being "on" all Sunday morning, every Sunday, I have grown so weary. It wasn't my weekday job...I loved that part of it, and I still do. I love editing the curriculum and working on the budget and poring over spreadsheets and all of those weekday tasks that had me toiling away behind the scenes. And Sunday church was just another part of my job, one that was hard some days and fun some days, and always interesting and exhausting. But for the past couple of months, as I have watched my friends and family go into the worship center, and come out talking about the service, I have been a bit resentful. Church, lately, has felt like work. And work, in turn, has felt like God. And that's not okay. I am more than ready for church to feel like church again. I need for God to just be God, in all his glory. He always was, of course. It was me that changed. It was me that stopped seeing it.
I feel so in-between right now. I have a few more days at my job but I'm not doing any of my normal stuff. I'm just preparing things to be able to easily pass on my tasks to whoever comes next in this position. So I'm sort of gone, but not really. Not yet. And what I wonder is, what comes next? Where will I be in a few months? In a year? Five years from now? I really have no idea. And for the first time in my whole life, I'm not working hard at trying to figure it out. I'm waiting to be shown. I'm waiting to see what God has in store for me. I'm just doing the "next right thing."
So that's what's going on with me. That's why I haven't written. The decision, and the resignation, and the process of moving on has been all that's on my mind lately. I'm so glad to finally get to share it all. And I guess we'll find out together what's next on my journey. Thank you so much for reading.
I'm not leaving because of anything horrible that happened, or any hard feelings or difficulties. I love my job, actually. And while I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is the right decision, I still have mixed feelings about the actual leaving. I will miss being part of the amazing team with which I work. I will miss our Tuesday staff lunches and our birthday breakfasts out. I will miss the busy-ness that comes up before a big project or transition, all of us working together to be on the same page and meet a deadline and laughing together along the way. I will miss focusing on a big task so hard that I lose all track of time. I will also miss my paycheck, but I'm not going to worry about that quite yet. But my job...yes, I will definitely miss it.
But there's another part of me...the biggest part of me, right now, I guess...that is feeling tremendous relief. I am excited to be a stay-at-home mom and wife right now. I'm excited to get to the gym three days a week and to cook healthy meals. I'm excited to organize some closets and have lunch with my best friend. I'm thrilled to be able to volunteer in my son's classroom and keep up with what the school board is doing. And most of all, I'm excited to go to church on Sundays with my husband and just sit among the congregation, worshipping with my church family and hearing the message.
You see, my job is church. Not really....my job is running a ministry at my church, part of the children's ministry, actually. And while I loved meeting new families and making the children feel welcome and training new classroom volunteers and being "on" all Sunday morning, every Sunday, I have grown so weary. It wasn't my weekday job...I loved that part of it, and I still do. I love editing the curriculum and working on the budget and poring over spreadsheets and all of those weekday tasks that had me toiling away behind the scenes. And Sunday church was just another part of my job, one that was hard some days and fun some days, and always interesting and exhausting. But for the past couple of months, as I have watched my friends and family go into the worship center, and come out talking about the service, I have been a bit resentful. Church, lately, has felt like work. And work, in turn, has felt like God. And that's not okay. I am more than ready for church to feel like church again. I need for God to just be God, in all his glory. He always was, of course. It was me that changed. It was me that stopped seeing it.
I feel so in-between right now. I have a few more days at my job but I'm not doing any of my normal stuff. I'm just preparing things to be able to easily pass on my tasks to whoever comes next in this position. So I'm sort of gone, but not really. Not yet. And what I wonder is, what comes next? Where will I be in a few months? In a year? Five years from now? I really have no idea. And for the first time in my whole life, I'm not working hard at trying to figure it out. I'm waiting to be shown. I'm waiting to see what God has in store for me. I'm just doing the "next right thing."
So that's what's going on with me. That's why I haven't written. The decision, and the resignation, and the process of moving on has been all that's on my mind lately. I'm so glad to finally get to share it all. And I guess we'll find out together what's next on my journey. Thank you so much for reading.
Monday, August 13, 2012
On Having Time
A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to an acquaintance and mentioned a book I was in the middle of reading. And she said, "Oh, I wish I had time to read!" For the rest of the day, I let those few words, that small comment, make me feel like a terrible person. I'm sure she didn't mean it that way. I'm sure it wasn't intentional. And I didn't really think it in the most alive parts of my brain, in there with "It's so cold in here" and "These shoes are really hurting my feet". It was deep down in the less active part of my brain, waiting to spring up at me when I least expected it. And for hours, way down deep, I thought that if I have time to read, and she doesn't, it must mean that she's more important than I am. It must mean that her house is cleaner, and her children are happier, and her social life is much more exciting than mine. Maybe, just maybe, having time to read means that I'm a failure.
That night, I sat in my favorite chair and finished a great novel, slapping the book closed with a satisfying sigh. And I realized: I love to read. I have time to read because I make time. I have time to read because it makes me feel relaxed, and sane, and like I'm broadening my horizons. Reading gives me a few minutes of time to myself, when I can learn about things in the world outside my own realm of experience. Reading helps me understand people and places and experiences and feelings that are different and that I might not understand otherwise. It makes me use my imagination, and wonder how I would handle certain situations. Reading makes me think outside the box, and it makes me see life in a way that I usually don't. Those things are important to me, so yes, I make time to read.
That acquaintance of mine? I'm sure she feels like she doesn't have time to read. And come to think of it, I can pretty much guarantee that her house is cleaner than mine. But I'm sure that she makes time for whatever it is that makes her feel a little more sane. Maybe it's knitting, or gardening, or baking. Maybe it's watching The Real Housewives of Wherever.
And if she doesn't make time for that something, for a little margin in her life, for something that isn't laundry and cooking and housework and spreadsheets, then I think she must be stressed out and unhappy. I think she must have forgotten who she is as a person, and that she is more than a mother and a wife and an employee. And if that's true, if she's forgotten how to be her, I'm thinking that her house might be clean, but her husband and her children can't possibly be happier than mine.
This can apply to lots of things, actually. It's not just reading. It's that old friend that I run into every few months that, every time, says she has been meaning to call me, or email me, or text me about having lunch together one of these days. But she's so busy!! There's just no time!! It's the same thing, all over again.
Hey, I get it. I know that schedules get crazy and that people really are busy. I'm busy, too, with three kids and a job and a husband that needs me when he's in town, and maybe needs me even more when he's not in town. I have laundry, and dishes, and dirty bathrooms, and bills to pay, and errands to do, and a sticky, lemonade-covered kitchen floor that needs mopping. Those are things that have to get done. I get it.
But there are also amazing paintings that need to be seen, and moments with my children not to be missed. There are epic movies to watch, and cities to explore. There are friends who want to spend time with me, and a husband who has been off to war twice and can be called to go again. And yes, there are great books to read.
I hope that next time I start to say that I don't have time for something, I will catch myself, and edit my words. I hope that I will realize that it must not be something that's important enough to me that I make time for it. It's not on my list of things that I value right now. And that's okay. Those things are different for everyone. If you don't want to read, don't read. If you don't want to travel, don't travel. But call it what it is. It's not that you don't have time, it's that it's not important enough to you to make the time. And it's okay.
Darn. There goes my excuse for not exercising.
That night, I sat in my favorite chair and finished a great novel, slapping the book closed with a satisfying sigh. And I realized: I love to read. I have time to read because I make time. I have time to read because it makes me feel relaxed, and sane, and like I'm broadening my horizons. Reading gives me a few minutes of time to myself, when I can learn about things in the world outside my own realm of experience. Reading helps me understand people and places and experiences and feelings that are different and that I might not understand otherwise. It makes me use my imagination, and wonder how I would handle certain situations. Reading makes me think outside the box, and it makes me see life in a way that I usually don't. Those things are important to me, so yes, I make time to read.
That acquaintance of mine? I'm sure she feels like she doesn't have time to read. And come to think of it, I can pretty much guarantee that her house is cleaner than mine. But I'm sure that she makes time for whatever it is that makes her feel a little more sane. Maybe it's knitting, or gardening, or baking. Maybe it's watching The Real Housewives of Wherever.
And if she doesn't make time for that something, for a little margin in her life, for something that isn't laundry and cooking and housework and spreadsheets, then I think she must be stressed out and unhappy. I think she must have forgotten who she is as a person, and that she is more than a mother and a wife and an employee. And if that's true, if she's forgotten how to be her, I'm thinking that her house might be clean, but her husband and her children can't possibly be happier than mine.
This can apply to lots of things, actually. It's not just reading. It's that old friend that I run into every few months that, every time, says she has been meaning to call me, or email me, or text me about having lunch together one of these days. But she's so busy!! There's just no time!! It's the same thing, all over again.
Hey, I get it. I know that schedules get crazy and that people really are busy. I'm busy, too, with three kids and a job and a husband that needs me when he's in town, and maybe needs me even more when he's not in town. I have laundry, and dishes, and dirty bathrooms, and bills to pay, and errands to do, and a sticky, lemonade-covered kitchen floor that needs mopping. Those are things that have to get done. I get it.
But there are also amazing paintings that need to be seen, and moments with my children not to be missed. There are epic movies to watch, and cities to explore. There are friends who want to spend time with me, and a husband who has been off to war twice and can be called to go again. And yes, there are great books to read.
I hope that next time I start to say that I don't have time for something, I will catch myself, and edit my words. I hope that I will realize that it must not be something that's important enough to me that I make time for it. It's not on my list of things that I value right now. And that's okay. Those things are different for everyone. If you don't want to read, don't read. If you don't want to travel, don't travel. But call it what it is. It's not that you don't have time, it's that it's not important enough to you to make the time. And it's okay.
Darn. There goes my excuse for not exercising.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
On Dinner Out
I've had a stressful few days, so D. decided to take us all to dinner tonight, before heading to my parents' house. We are here doing laundry and watching the Olympics since my dryer is still very broken.
My youngest, A., is the least adventurous eater of all of us. I celebrate every time I manage to get something green in that kid. Actually, I celebrate every time I get something in him that is not a hot dog or pizza. Imagine my surprise when D. ordered this, and A. actually ate it!
Alligator! I found it to be a bit too chewy and rubbery for my taste, and J. wasn't sure at all! But A. liked it! There's hope yet!
My youngest, A., is the least adventurous eater of all of us. I celebrate every time I manage to get something green in that kid. Actually, I celebrate every time I get something in him that is not a hot dog or pizza. Imagine my surprise when D. ordered this, and A. actually ate it!
Saturday, July 28, 2012
On Dutch Pancakes
There is a restaurant nearby that is THE breakfast place for most of the people I know. They serve many, many things I like, but one of my favorites is a fluffy, baked "pancake" thing. A few years ago, I searched the internet for hours until I found a recipe for this favorite, and I had to try a couple of different things to make it "just right", but I finally did it.
So tonight, D. is out of town again, or still, or something, and I'm in the mood for something easy to make for dinner. I love making breakfast for dinner, but this doesn't even seem like breakfast...it seems more like dessert. There is actually very little nutritional value, after all. But it's one night, and my kids will live. Besides, it's delicious!
Here's what you do:
Preheat your oven to 425 degrees (F). In a mixing bowl, combine 4 eggs, 1/4 teaspoon of salt, 1 cup all-purpose flour, and 1 cup of milk. You may use a blender if you wish.
Put 2 Tablespoons of butter in each of two pie plates. Stick those in the oven to melt the butter. Once it's melted, divide the batter you made evenly into the pie plates. Do not mix!
Bake for 15-20 minutes until the mixture rises and browns on the edges. Serve immediately.
There are two ways I love to eat this. One is to squeeze some fresh lemon slices all over it and sprinkle it with powdered sugar.
The other is to fill it with fresh strawberries and some whipped cream, which is how my kids are opting to eat it tonight. (Told you it was dessert-ish!)
I can eat one pancake all by myself, and my younger kids are usually happy to split one. The great thing is, it's very easy to double or even triple the recipe when needed. These are also so easy but impressive if you decide to invite someone over for breakfast or brunch.
Enjoy!
So tonight, D. is out of town again, or still, or something, and I'm in the mood for something easy to make for dinner. I love making breakfast for dinner, but this doesn't even seem like breakfast...it seems more like dessert. There is actually very little nutritional value, after all. But it's one night, and my kids will live. Besides, it's delicious!
Here's what you do:
Preheat your oven to 425 degrees (F). In a mixing bowl, combine 4 eggs, 1/4 teaspoon of salt, 1 cup all-purpose flour, and 1 cup of milk. You may use a blender if you wish.
Put 2 Tablespoons of butter in each of two pie plates. Stick those in the oven to melt the butter. Once it's melted, divide the batter you made evenly into the pie plates. Do not mix!
Bake for 15-20 minutes until the mixture rises and browns on the edges. Serve immediately.
There are two ways I love to eat this. One is to squeeze some fresh lemon slices all over it and sprinkle it with powdered sugar.
Enjoy!
Friday, July 27, 2012
On Dreams
I'm not really a sports fan. In high school and college I was crazy about ice hockey and watched every game. My husband is a fan of baseball and I'll watch that with him sometimes. But mostly, I can take it or leave it.
But then, every couple of years, the Olympics come along, and I am hooked. It's not about the sports, actually. I am, after all, possibly the least competitive person in the world.
But here's the thing: each person there has trained and dreamed and prepared and worked their butts off for that moment. They have woken up while it's still dark, they have practiced until they hurt, they have given up sleep and plans and friends, and they have done it all for this very opportunity. This is it....their chance. Their moment. And we get to watch it all.
My family makes fun of me often. While I don't watch sports, I do like to watch the Stanley Cup finals, the World Series, the Super Bowl. These moments are the pinnacle. They're the big moment. The dream. And when it's over, I cheer for the winner but I cry tears for the loser, as well. It was their dream, too. They worked hard, they dreamed, they lost sleep and blood. And while they got to play and show their talent and just have the amazing experience of being there, it didn't end how they hoped. It breaks my heart.
So tonight is the Opening Ceremony. And you can bet I will be watching. For the next couple of weeks, I will ignore the dishes and the laundry and maybe even my books (gasp!!)as I am glued to the television watching some amazing athletes experiencing their Moments. I will cheer for many of them, and I will cry for some of them. But most of all, I will allow myself to be incredibly inspired....not because I want to be a gymnast or a diver or a triathlete, but because I have dreams of my own. And while my Big Moment will not be clutching a gold medal and crying along to the National Anthem, they are still big dreams that often feel impossible to reach. And in that moment, while I watch others have their gold medal/National Anthem moments, I will believe for a heartbeat that maybe, someday, if I stretch and work and lean on the One who makes all things possible, my dreams will come true, too.
But then, every couple of years, the Olympics come along, and I am hooked. It's not about the sports, actually. I am, after all, possibly the least competitive person in the world.
But here's the thing: each person there has trained and dreamed and prepared and worked their butts off for that moment. They have woken up while it's still dark, they have practiced until they hurt, they have given up sleep and plans and friends, and they have done it all for this very opportunity. This is it....their chance. Their moment. And we get to watch it all.
My family makes fun of me often. While I don't watch sports, I do like to watch the Stanley Cup finals, the World Series, the Super Bowl. These moments are the pinnacle. They're the big moment. The dream. And when it's over, I cheer for the winner but I cry tears for the loser, as well. It was their dream, too. They worked hard, they dreamed, they lost sleep and blood. And while they got to play and show their talent and just have the amazing experience of being there, it didn't end how they hoped. It breaks my heart.
So tonight is the Opening Ceremony. And you can bet I will be watching. For the next couple of weeks, I will ignore the dishes and the laundry and maybe even my books (gasp!!)as I am glued to the television watching some amazing athletes experiencing their Moments. I will cheer for many of them, and I will cry for some of them. But most of all, I will allow myself to be incredibly inspired....not because I want to be a gymnast or a diver or a triathlete, but because I have dreams of my own. And while my Big Moment will not be clutching a gold medal and crying along to the National Anthem, they are still big dreams that often feel impossible to reach. And in that moment, while I watch others have their gold medal/National Anthem moments, I will believe for a heartbeat that maybe, someday, if I stretch and work and lean on the One who makes all things possible, my dreams will come true, too.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
On Being Saved
A fellow blogger recently asked us to write our own little version of her post, in which she talks about what is saving her life right now. You know what I mean...sometimes it's a book that you read over and over again because, somehow, it just speaks to you. Sometimes, it's a new flavor of coffee creamer that gets you up in the morning just because you're looking forward to that first hot, sweet cup. I don't know, it could anything....cute-butt jeans or comfortable shoes, a new friend at work or old episodes of Gilmore Girls, your new grandchild or a weekly massage. Whatever it is, it's yours, and it makes you feel happy and comforted no matter what else is going on in your world.
What's saving me right now? That's easy. It's my best friend, C.
I have always wanted a best friend...since I was four years old and lived down the street from Tricia, who pouted and stomped off every time we wouldn't play what she wanted to play and whose little brother Darryl bit me and broke the skin at least once a month. I've been through years of calling different people my best friend....J. in middle school and A. in college. M. in my first years of marriage and then later H. and J., both who betrayed the friendship due to their own broken-ness and in the process, broke my heart. And then, for a while, I gave up. I decided I didn't need a girlfriend. I would stick to my husband and my kids and I would keep friends at a distance.
Then I met C. Well, I actually stalked her, if you want to know the truth. I saw something in her that I knew would make us friends. It was a God thing, really. I was supposed to meet her. So we got together one day, and then we got close, and now I know what a best friend really is. It's having someone that I can sit around with all day and do nothing, and have the best time of my life. It's having someone I can call at midnight when there's something on my mind and she'll listen to me whine until the wee hours of the morning. With C., I can complain about my husband or my kids and she'll get it that I'm just having a bad day. I can try on the dress or the jeans and she'll tell me that they make my butt look big, and I don't get insulted. She can screw up, and I can tell her, and she doesn't get mad. She knows that I don't clean and I know that she doesn't cook, and we still love each other.
Here's the deal with best friends. They make you feel better about who you are, because you think they're so great, and they're hanging out with you! And someone who you can tell all your problems and all your flaws and all the ugly parts of you to, and they love you anyway? Well, that's pretty life-saving, isn't it?
What's saving me right now? That's easy. It's my best friend, C.
I have always wanted a best friend...since I was four years old and lived down the street from Tricia, who pouted and stomped off every time we wouldn't play what she wanted to play and whose little brother Darryl bit me and broke the skin at least once a month. I've been through years of calling different people my best friend....J. in middle school and A. in college. M. in my first years of marriage and then later H. and J., both who betrayed the friendship due to their own broken-ness and in the process, broke my heart. And then, for a while, I gave up. I decided I didn't need a girlfriend. I would stick to my husband and my kids and I would keep friends at a distance.
Then I met C. Well, I actually stalked her, if you want to know the truth. I saw something in her that I knew would make us friends. It was a God thing, really. I was supposed to meet her. So we got together one day, and then we got close, and now I know what a best friend really is. It's having someone that I can sit around with all day and do nothing, and have the best time of my life. It's having someone I can call at midnight when there's something on my mind and she'll listen to me whine until the wee hours of the morning. With C., I can complain about my husband or my kids and she'll get it that I'm just having a bad day. I can try on the dress or the jeans and she'll tell me that they make my butt look big, and I don't get insulted. She can screw up, and I can tell her, and she doesn't get mad. She knows that I don't clean and I know that she doesn't cook, and we still love each other.
Here's the deal with best friends. They make you feel better about who you are, because you think they're so great, and they're hanging out with you! And someone who you can tell all your problems and all your flaws and all the ugly parts of you to, and they love you anyway? Well, that's pretty life-saving, isn't it?
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
On Broken
Suddenly, my dryer no longer puts out hot air, and none of my laundry will dry.
Why do things always seem to break when D. is out of town??
Why do things always seem to break when D. is out of town??
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
On Making Room
My husband D. is a soldier in the Army, a fact that has defined many aspects of our lives. One thing all of us are accustomed to, or as accustomed to as we can be, is that D. is out of town. A lot. I'm not just talking deployments. It's true he was gone for 15 months ending in December of 2005, and again for 12 months ending last fall. But beyond that, we rarely have a month go by that D. is not away for at least a few days. In May, he was gone for three weeks. This month, he is away for another three weeks. Next month, he'll have to leave for five days or so. Those are just the ones we know about. There are also last-minute trips popping up.
We have our ways of coping. I use my evenings well while D. is away, watching chick flicks and reading until late into the night. The kids and I eat simply, relying on hot dogs, burgers on the grill, and pizza delivery. I lie around all day long on Saturdays, reading, catching up on all the shows I've DVR'd, and chatting on the phone with my best friend, then I stay up late watching "Friends" and folding all the laundry I should have been doing all day. I've gotten to the point that when D. is gone, it's a recipe for more "me-time".
The problem with this, sometimes, is that it's difficult to adjust again when D. comes home. I go back to cooking dinners made up primarily of meat and potatoes. I give up the remote control and watch The History Channel and "Pawn Stars" with my husband instead of The Food Network and "Project Runway" on my own. I go to bed by 11:30.
Don't get me wrong...I don't mind it. I would rather make these small adjustments than never have him around. I wouldn't want to stay up late every night watching "Friends" reruns all by myself. I would get very tired of grilling and pizza and hot dogs. Those year-long deployments have taught me that while I make the best of his short trips away, I don't want to "do life" on my own. I like having the love of my life by my side every day.
D. has been gone for over 2 weeks, and will be home four or five days from now. It will be nice to carry on a conversation with him without being interrupted by the ringing of his office phone or the bad service where he is dropping the call. It's time for me to start making room for him again. I'll do some grocery shopping so I can make him a home-cooked meal. I'll make sure all the laundry is done so that the washer is empty and we can start his laundry when he gets home. I'll change the sheets on the bed so that he can have clean, soft sheets after sleeping in an Army bunk for so long. I'm making room.
Oh. The bed. Right. Maybe I should start making room by cleaning off his side of the bed!!
We have our ways of coping. I use my evenings well while D. is away, watching chick flicks and reading until late into the night. The kids and I eat simply, relying on hot dogs, burgers on the grill, and pizza delivery. I lie around all day long on Saturdays, reading, catching up on all the shows I've DVR'd, and chatting on the phone with my best friend, then I stay up late watching "Friends" and folding all the laundry I should have been doing all day. I've gotten to the point that when D. is gone, it's a recipe for more "me-time".
The problem with this, sometimes, is that it's difficult to adjust again when D. comes home. I go back to cooking dinners made up primarily of meat and potatoes. I give up the remote control and watch The History Channel and "Pawn Stars" with my husband instead of The Food Network and "Project Runway" on my own. I go to bed by 11:30.
Don't get me wrong...I don't mind it. I would rather make these small adjustments than never have him around. I wouldn't want to stay up late every night watching "Friends" reruns all by myself. I would get very tired of grilling and pizza and hot dogs. Those year-long deployments have taught me that while I make the best of his short trips away, I don't want to "do life" on my own. I like having the love of my life by my side every day.
D. has been gone for over 2 weeks, and will be home four or five days from now. It will be nice to carry on a conversation with him without being interrupted by the ringing of his office phone or the bad service where he is dropping the call. It's time for me to start making room for him again. I'll do some grocery shopping so I can make him a home-cooked meal. I'll make sure all the laundry is done so that the washer is empty and we can start his laundry when he gets home. I'll change the sheets on the bed so that he can have clean, soft sheets after sleeping in an Army bunk for so long. I'm making room.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
On Parenting
This whole parenting thing? It's hard. Really hard. I have three completely different children, who are completely different ages, and have completely different personalities. How do I stay consistent, and yet treat them each special? How do I give them each what they need when they need it, without completely losing myself and my sanity in the process? Especially when my parenting partner, my wonderful husband, is out of town so often and I do this by myself a lot?
Perhaps this is a good time to introduce my three children. My oldest son, E., is 17 and truly a pretty good kid. Sure, he plays video games too much, he rolls his eyes at me too often, and he hates school. But his two favorite places to be are out in nature, and in church. He is a loyal friend and a gentleman. He's almost an adult, and while there are things I worry about for him, I also think he's going to be an incredible man someday.
My only daughter, J., just turned 13 and is stuck somewhere between a little girl and a teenager. It's such a crazy time for a girl, that age where she still enjoys dressing her American Girl doll, but is also trying to fit in with the girls wearing makeup and tight jeans. She's got a heart of gold, though....she is usually thinking of others and gets along with everyone. My favorite thing about J. is that she knows who she is, and she doesn't make apologies for it. She loves herself. I adore that about her.
My youngest son, A., was our surprise child, and has been such a tremendous blessing to us. His just turned 9 and is our little comedian. He is funny without even trying, and has no problem being the center of attention. I wonder if he may be an actor someday. He's got that kind of personality. But he's also very intuitive, and very cerebral. He is not embarrassed to hug and kiss me and he still likes to have a little snuggle-time. A. will suddenly come out with a very random question and I can always tell he's been thinking it through for a long time.
So here are these three children, one of them nearly an adult. They don't like the same things or feel the same way about anything. Often, I say something to all of them and one of them laughs, one of them cries, and one of them looks at me like an alien just emerged from the top of my head. One of them listens to reason. One of them needs to just be told how it is with no reason involved. One of them uses sarcasm way too often and needs to be told over and over again to be respectful.
We are strict parents. I am very careful about what movies my children watch, what books they read, and who they hang out with. I often explain my reasoning to them, but they also know that I don't HAVE to give them a reason. They have to obey me even if they don't understand why. I raise my voice sometimes. I walk away sometimes so I don't say something I will regret. I, like most parents, try the best I can to do the best I can.
Parenting is so hard. It's so frustrating sometimes. But I look at my children today, sitting around the table at lunchtime and laughing as I tell them about a conversation I had with my friend, and I think, "How am I so blessed?" I see them helping each other (once in a while) and I have hope that they will make a difference in the world. I see how they treat their friends and I have the hope for good relationships for them in the future. I see them making good decisions and the right choices and I think that maybe they will be able to make it someday out there in the world on their own.
And some days, like today, I can't wait until that day comes!!! :)
Perhaps this is a good time to introduce my three children. My oldest son, E., is 17 and truly a pretty good kid. Sure, he plays video games too much, he rolls his eyes at me too often, and he hates school. But his two favorite places to be are out in nature, and in church. He is a loyal friend and a gentleman. He's almost an adult, and while there are things I worry about for him, I also think he's going to be an incredible man someday.
My only daughter, J., just turned 13 and is stuck somewhere between a little girl and a teenager. It's such a crazy time for a girl, that age where she still enjoys dressing her American Girl doll, but is also trying to fit in with the girls wearing makeup and tight jeans. She's got a heart of gold, though....she is usually thinking of others and gets along with everyone. My favorite thing about J. is that she knows who she is, and she doesn't make apologies for it. She loves herself. I adore that about her.
My youngest son, A., was our surprise child, and has been such a tremendous blessing to us. His just turned 9 and is our little comedian. He is funny without even trying, and has no problem being the center of attention. I wonder if he may be an actor someday. He's got that kind of personality. But he's also very intuitive, and very cerebral. He is not embarrassed to hug and kiss me and he still likes to have a little snuggle-time. A. will suddenly come out with a very random question and I can always tell he's been thinking it through for a long time.
So here are these three children, one of them nearly an adult. They don't like the same things or feel the same way about anything. Often, I say something to all of them and one of them laughs, one of them cries, and one of them looks at me like an alien just emerged from the top of my head. One of them listens to reason. One of them needs to just be told how it is with no reason involved. One of them uses sarcasm way too often and needs to be told over and over again to be respectful.
We are strict parents. I am very careful about what movies my children watch, what books they read, and who they hang out with. I often explain my reasoning to them, but they also know that I don't HAVE to give them a reason. They have to obey me even if they don't understand why. I raise my voice sometimes. I walk away sometimes so I don't say something I will regret. I, like most parents, try the best I can to do the best I can.
Parenting is so hard. It's so frustrating sometimes. But I look at my children today, sitting around the table at lunchtime and laughing as I tell them about a conversation I had with my friend, and I think, "How am I so blessed?" I see them helping each other (once in a while) and I have hope that they will make a difference in the world. I see how they treat their friends and I have the hope for good relationships for them in the future. I see them making good decisions and the right choices and I think that maybe they will be able to make it someday out there in the world on their own.
And some days, like today, I can't wait until that day comes!!! :)
Friday, July 20, 2012
On Tragedy
When I woke up this morning, I had a text from my best friend C. that told me to turn on the news. I went to CNN and watched the coverage of last night's mass shooting at a movie theater in Colorado. Insane. Horrible.
And what it reminds me is this: say what I need to say. Hug my kids often. Tell my friends how much I love them. Say "I love you" before I hang up the phone when talking to my parents and sister. Don't assume that my husband knows how much I love and appreciate him. Say the things that need to be said. We never know if we'll have tomorrow.
I should know this. The death of my 42-year-old sister three years ago from breast cancer should have taught me that we need to take the opportunities we have to say what we feel. And I have gotten better at this. I am more likely to say "I love you" to my family and even my friends. Before my sister died, I'm not sure I had ever told a friend that I loved them. Why is it so hard to say? The answer: it's not. You just say it. Because we'll never know if we'll have the chance to say it again.
My prayers are with the family members of the victims and the suspect in Colorado. What a tragedy.
And what it reminds me is this: say what I need to say. Hug my kids often. Tell my friends how much I love them. Say "I love you" before I hang up the phone when talking to my parents and sister. Don't assume that my husband knows how much I love and appreciate him. Say the things that need to be said. We never know if we'll have tomorrow.
I should know this. The death of my 42-year-old sister three years ago from breast cancer should have taught me that we need to take the opportunities we have to say what we feel. And I have gotten better at this. I am more likely to say "I love you" to my family and even my friends. Before my sister died, I'm not sure I had ever told a friend that I loved them. Why is it so hard to say? The answer: it's not. You just say it. Because we'll never know if we'll have the chance to say it again.
My prayers are with the family members of the victims and the suspect in Colorado. What a tragedy.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
On Wild
I read a lot of books, but rarely is there one that makes me want to talk about it to all my friends and family. When a friend recommended "Wild", by Cheryl Strayed, I thought it sounded interesting but didn't think it would keep me awake reading until 2am. But it did. It tells the true story of a young woman who basically lost everything in her life: her mother, her marriage, her money, her family. She was at the bottom. So she decided to spend her summer hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, a wilderness trail that runs from Mexico to Canada, all along the mountains in California, Oregon, and Washington. She started her journey with very little preparation. She hadn't really trained, or researched much, or even broken in her hiking boots! Along the way, she learned a lot about herself and what life was about.
I have believed for some time that every person...especially every young woman...needs at the very least a weekend to go somewhere all by herself and figure out the world on her own. In Australia, they call it a Walkabout, and I think it's a good idea.
I got married when I was not quite 20, so I moved from my parents' house into my husband's apartment without really ever experiencing much life on my own. By the time I was 30, I had three children and a mortgage and while I didn't feel trapped exactly, I did feel like my life no longer belonged to me, and maybe it never really had.
When my husband D. went to the Middle East for his first year-long deployment, I left my 10-year-old, 6-year-old, and 2-year-old in the care of my mom and dad for a week while I visited my oldest sister in Europe. I took a flight from my city to London all by myself, took the train to the correct stop all by myself, and met my sister in a train station halfway across the world. It was scary, and wonderful. We spent a couple of days, including my 32nd birthday, in London before missing our flight, then catching a different flight to my sister's home in Spain. We spent a few days there, seeing amazing things that I never thought I would get to see. Then I went through customs--in Spanish!!--by myself, flew back to London, and spent a day and a half in London all by myself before flying home. While I was in London all alone, I just kept thinking about how I didn't know anyone else in the whole country. It was just me...I had nobody else to count on. I took a taxi to Harrod's and shopped a bit, picking up garlic naan and Spanish olives for my dinner, which I took back to the park near my hotel and ate while watching the ducks on the pond. For the first time maybe ever I was all on my own. It felt amazing, and it was life-changing, really, to know that I could do that and be okay. That I could think my own thoughts and make my own decisions and just be me, all by myself, and it was fine.
That trip inspired another trip during D.'s second deployment to Middle East. My kids were all at summer camp for the week, so I flew to New York City all by myself and spent four days endlessly walking the streets and seeing Broadway shows and shopping and eating amazing food. People thought I was crazy at the time, for doing it alone, but I loved it, and it's one of the things I'm most proud of now. It's okay to be by myself. It's okay to spend time doing things I want to do, all by myself. I love my friends. I love my family. And I do a lot of things with them. But it's also okay if I go to a movie or a restaurant or New York City by myself. I know myself better now than I ever did, and I feel strong, and brave, and able to conquer anything.
I'm sure that's how Cheryl Strayed felt, too, after she hiked for months all by herself and lived to write the book about it. Like she could face the world, no matter what. "If I can do this, I can do anything!"
I have believed for some time that every person...especially every young woman...needs at the very least a weekend to go somewhere all by herself and figure out the world on her own. In Australia, they call it a Walkabout, and I think it's a good idea.
I got married when I was not quite 20, so I moved from my parents' house into my husband's apartment without really ever experiencing much life on my own. By the time I was 30, I had three children and a mortgage and while I didn't feel trapped exactly, I did feel like my life no longer belonged to me, and maybe it never really had.
When my husband D. went to the Middle East for his first year-long deployment, I left my 10-year-old, 6-year-old, and 2-year-old in the care of my mom and dad for a week while I visited my oldest sister in Europe. I took a flight from my city to London all by myself, took the train to the correct stop all by myself, and met my sister in a train station halfway across the world. It was scary, and wonderful. We spent a couple of days, including my 32nd birthday, in London before missing our flight, then catching a different flight to my sister's home in Spain. We spent a few days there, seeing amazing things that I never thought I would get to see. Then I went through customs--in Spanish!!--by myself, flew back to London, and spent a day and a half in London all by myself before flying home. While I was in London all alone, I just kept thinking about how I didn't know anyone else in the whole country. It was just me...I had nobody else to count on. I took a taxi to Harrod's and shopped a bit, picking up garlic naan and Spanish olives for my dinner, which I took back to the park near my hotel and ate while watching the ducks on the pond. For the first time maybe ever I was all on my own. It felt amazing, and it was life-changing, really, to know that I could do that and be okay. That I could think my own thoughts and make my own decisions and just be me, all by myself, and it was fine.
That trip inspired another trip during D.'s second deployment to Middle East. My kids were all at summer camp for the week, so I flew to New York City all by myself and spent four days endlessly walking the streets and seeing Broadway shows and shopping and eating amazing food. People thought I was crazy at the time, for doing it alone, but I loved it, and it's one of the things I'm most proud of now. It's okay to be by myself. It's okay to spend time doing things I want to do, all by myself. I love my friends. I love my family. And I do a lot of things with them. But it's also okay if I go to a movie or a restaurant or New York City by myself. I know myself better now than I ever did, and I feel strong, and brave, and able to conquer anything.
I'm sure that's how Cheryl Strayed felt, too, after she hiked for months all by herself and lived to write the book about it. Like she could face the world, no matter what. "If I can do this, I can do anything!"
On Passion
There are many things I’m passionate about:
Of course, my family.
My relationship with Jesus Christ.
Food. I adore food. More to come on that later, I’m sure!
I love to travel. And I don’t mean just the “being on vacation” part of travel. I like all of it. I like going through security at the airport. I love hours in the car on a road trip. I love 9 hour flights. I like it when the flight attendant asks me if I want beef or chicken, and I get to open up that little package of airline food to see what surprise item awaits me. I love sitting in the airport people-watching during a long layover. Of course, I also love the other parts of travel. I live in the amazing USA, which I’ve experienced quite a bit of and adore, but I’ve also traveled to the UK, and Spain, and the Caribbean, and Morocco. And I love to see things I thought I would only ever see in books. I love meeting people who were so different than me, but still so much the same. I love to read the history behind centuries-old buildings and to see things that I don’t always understand but that are fascinating to discover. I love to travel.
I’m also passionate about books. I love to read. Novels, biographies, classics, poetry, magazines, whatever. I just love to read. I love to fill my mind with stories that aren’t my own. The more I learn about how others think and live and thrive, the more I learn about myself and the world around me. The more I get to know others’ stories, even if they’re just made-up stories, the more I appreciate my own. The more I understand about the struggles of others, the less I feel by myself. Books give me this. I have a bookshelf as my nightstand, and it is currently full of close to a hundred books just waiting to be read by me. My friends call me a book hoarder. True, but I’m not ashamed.
And among all these things about which I’m passionate, I have to say that writing is one, for sure. I have been a self-proclaimed writer for as long as I can remember. In Middle and High School I wrote a lot of really cheesy poetry. In college, I took a couple of creative writing courses and wrote some short stories, though there was really only one that I was really proud of. I also wrote some poetry then that was a little more free-form and not as cheesy. And in my adulthood, I’ve written a little here and there. The thing that was most fulfilling was my first real blog. I blogged almost every day, and I made friends through blogging that I’m still in contact with today. I had followers and heaps of comments, and I felt…well, like I could do this. Like I was finally a writer, even if it wasn’t a book. Even if I wasn’t getting paid. I was writing what I thought and what I felt, and people actually wanted to read it! It felt like what I was meant to do.
Somehow, it fell away. I got busier and it felt less important. I had a couple of tough blogging experiences and I got discouraged. So I saved some of my favorite blog posts, and deleted my blog. And I’ve regretted it almost since the moment I did. I miss blogging. I miss putting my thoughts out there into the world and seeing what others have to say about them. I miss it.
So here I am, for what it’s worth. We’ll see where it takes me.
Of course, my family.
My relationship with Jesus Christ.
Food. I adore food. More to come on that later, I’m sure!
I love to travel. And I don’t mean just the “being on vacation” part of travel. I like all of it. I like going through security at the airport. I love hours in the car on a road trip. I love 9 hour flights. I like it when the flight attendant asks me if I want beef or chicken, and I get to open up that little package of airline food to see what surprise item awaits me. I love sitting in the airport people-watching during a long layover. Of course, I also love the other parts of travel. I live in the amazing USA, which I’ve experienced quite a bit of and adore, but I’ve also traveled to the UK, and Spain, and the Caribbean, and Morocco. And I love to see things I thought I would only ever see in books. I love meeting people who were so different than me, but still so much the same. I love to read the history behind centuries-old buildings and to see things that I don’t always understand but that are fascinating to discover. I love to travel.
I’m also passionate about books. I love to read. Novels, biographies, classics, poetry, magazines, whatever. I just love to read. I love to fill my mind with stories that aren’t my own. The more I learn about how others think and live and thrive, the more I learn about myself and the world around me. The more I get to know others’ stories, even if they’re just made-up stories, the more I appreciate my own. The more I understand about the struggles of others, the less I feel by myself. Books give me this. I have a bookshelf as my nightstand, and it is currently full of close to a hundred books just waiting to be read by me. My friends call me a book hoarder. True, but I’m not ashamed.
And among all these things about which I’m passionate, I have to say that writing is one, for sure. I have been a self-proclaimed writer for as long as I can remember. In Middle and High School I wrote a lot of really cheesy poetry. In college, I took a couple of creative writing courses and wrote some short stories, though there was really only one that I was really proud of. I also wrote some poetry then that was a little more free-form and not as cheesy. And in my adulthood, I’ve written a little here and there. The thing that was most fulfilling was my first real blog. I blogged almost every day, and I made friends through blogging that I’m still in contact with today. I had followers and heaps of comments, and I felt…well, like I could do this. Like I was finally a writer, even if it wasn’t a book. Even if I wasn’t getting paid. I was writing what I thought and what I felt, and people actually wanted to read it! It felt like what I was meant to do.
Somehow, it fell away. I got busier and it felt less important. I had a couple of tough blogging experiences and I got discouraged. So I saved some of my favorite blog posts, and deleted my blog. And I’ve regretted it almost since the moment I did. I miss blogging. I miss putting my thoughts out there into the world and seeing what others have to say about them. I miss it.
So here I am, for what it’s worth. We’ll see where it takes me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)