On Having It All Together

We are less than a month away from deployment #3, and if you ask me how I'm doing, I'll be all like, "We're used to this" and "We just want to get this over with" and "I'm okay, thanks."  And all of that is true.  We are used to this.  And we do want to get it over with.  And overall, I am doing okay.  But I'm noticing some little things.  I'm noticing that small struggles like not finding the right dress for J.'s homecoming this weekend, or running out of my favorite tea this morning, are throwing me off more than they should.  Yesterday I was practically in tears over a frustrating text.  Today I had a lump in my chest all afternoon because I was worried about a work thing that, really, is no big deal.

And truthfully, I'm exhausted.  The knowledge that I'm going to be doing everything I do now, and more, while D. is over in the Middle East for the next year makes everything more exhausting.  I can't focus at work, and my poor boss is so wonderfully forgiving.  But I don't want to not do well.  I want to be strong and capable, and I want to handle all this upheaval in a way that will cause people to be amazed.  I want them to admire me.  I want to excel.  I want to rock this deployment in a way that causes people to marvel at my capabilities.

We do this.  And by "we", I mean women.  Or moms.  Or Army wives.  We are constantly striving to do more, and to do it all perfectly.  I can work all day, drive my kids to their respective activities, and still have a healthy, organic, whole foods meal on the table when my husband gets home from the office.  I will make my own laundry detergent and window cleaner because it's better for the environment and for my family.  My children will be showered, dressed, and well-put-together for church on Sunday morning and I will be smiling and friendly and helpful.  My house will be perfect and my car will be clean and I will fit in yoga and book club and a night out with girlfriends.  My bills will be paid and my children will have the latest styles and I will have my hair professionally highlighted.  There's no reason we can't just do it all.

Except there is.  There is a reason.  The women we see on television or in magazines or even among our friends on Facebook?  They're not showing the whole story.  They don't have it all together.  The picture of the smiling family in front of the perfect Christmas tree?  That kid is covering the grape juice stain on the carpet and you can't see the five baskets of unfolded laundry behind the couch.  But we hide those things, even though we all have them.

So I'm calling foul.  I'm telling you that I don't have it all together.  There are dust-bunnies under my bed that are bigger than my dog.  I don't think A. had a shower last week because I forgot to tell him to take one.  We are flat broke right now.  And I have a zit on my chin that just won't go away, no matter how many essential oils I slather on there.  There are weeks and months when I take things one day at a time, and I fall into bed at night knowing that I failed again.  And it's okay.

So back to deployment.  I will survive.  My kids and I will support D. through all of it.  We will travel a little while he's away, and I will keep up with the bills and the house and car maintenance.  I will work hard at my job and I will smile and be friendly.  I will still have book club and small group and go out with my girlfriends.  But I will also tell you that things suck sometimes.  I may cry for no reason.  I might cancel our plans just because I want to sit in my bed, eat ice cream, and watch mindless reality television.  I might lie and tell you that things are okay even when they're not.  And I might even hibernate a little because I don't have the energy to be a good friend.  Because I'm strong enough to show you that I don't always have it all together.  I'm capable enough to know when I've had enough.  And I'm going to rock this deployment in such a way that is honest, and real, and completely me.  I'll ask for help when I need it.  I'll cry because I'm stressed and exhausted.  I'll cancel our plans because I  know you love me anyway.  And I'll be okay.

And maybe next time you need to fall apart, you'll know it's safe to fall apart with me.  Because I don't have it all together either.  So then?  We can NOT have it all together, together.

Meatless Mondays--Michael Symon's Fettuccine Alfredo

You guys.  This. Stuff. Is. Amazing.  I'm not even really a big fan of Fettuccine Alfredo, truth be told.  It's always too rich for me.  But this looked easy and quick, and I decided to try it, and Oh. My. Gosh.  The crazy thing is that you don't even use cream.  It's just butter and cheese, salt and pepper.  Amazing.

We're not really a "meatless" kind of family.  My husband D., especially, is a meat and potatoes kind of guy.  My daughter J. gave up meat for Lent, though, and hasn't actually eaten a real meal in weeks.  She's been surviving on salad, cottage cheese, and cereal.  I decided tonight, after track practice, she could use some carbs and an actual, you know, dinner.  

This is the first recipe I've made from my new cookbook Michael Symon's 5 in 5, and I'm impressed so far.  I used fresh pasta that I bought at the fruit market, but I forgot to buy really good quality butter and just used Land O' Lakes.  It was still really good.  Also, do yourself a favor and buy real parmesan cheese instead of the icky kind in the green shaker.  It's totally worth it.

So here's the recipe:

And here's how it turned out:

We just finished eating, and I'm already looking forward to having it for lunch tomorrow!

Thank you, Michael Symon!!

On Bread & Wine

Once in a while, I read a book that doesn't feel like a book.  Instead, it feels like a conversation with a friend.  It feels like I'm curled up in my favorite chair with a glass of wine or a cup of tea, and having some girl time with one of my favorite people.  It feels comfortable and real and effortless and life-changing all at the same time.  That's how I felt when reading Bread & Wine by Shauna Niequist. 

I've read Shauna's other two books, Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet, and both of them were amazing.  Both of them made me laugh and made me cry, and I had a sort of life epiphany while reading each of them.  Shauna has a raw, familiar way of writing that just pulls you in and doesn't make you think as much as it makes you feel.  You don't read a chapter and then think about it.  You read a chapter and it affects your soul so that you can't help but reflect. 

In Bread & Wine, Shauna (and I can call her simply Shauna because I feel like we're best friends, or should be!) adds to her usual reflections by expressing her love for good food and sharing that food with friends.  This is the best of both worlds for me as it's two of the things I love most in life:  amazing food, and good conversation.  In the introduction to this book, Shauna writes:

What's becoming clearer and clearer to me is that the most sacred moments, the ones in which I feel the goodness of the world most arrestingly, take place at the table.  The particular alchemy of celebration and food, of connecting people and serving what I've made with my own hands, comes together as more than the sum of their parts.  I love the sounds and smells and textures of life at the table, hands passing bowls and forks clinking against plates and bread being torn and the rhythm and energy of feeding and being fed.

Yes!  I often think about how life revolves around food, and yet the world tells me to place strict limits around my eating.  Holidays and outings and time with friends usually have to do with food:  we celebrate and mourn and pass time with food.  We comfort and console and congratulate with food.  The evidence of each of these shows on my hips and thighs and belly.  There has to be a balance.  And Shauna acknowledges that balance:  feast, and fast.  Eat, and play.  And love...God, friends, family, ourselves.  He made us to do all these things...to fast and to feast and to love.  He gave me my love for good conversation and He gave me my love for good food.  One line that made me burst unexpectedly into tears:  I am God's plan A. 

Shauna Niequist feeds us with this book.  She feeds us emotionally with her words, encouraging from the pages and soothing us with her real-ness and just-like-me-ness.  She feeds us spiritually by taking all that we eat and linking it back to the bread and wine of communion.  She feeds us intellectually by challenging us to change the way we think about food and friends.  And then, she feeds us.  She gives us recipes of all sorts....scrambled eggs and biscuits and turkey burgers, cookies and salad and steak and risotto.  I plan to work my way through all the recipes in this book, though I've only made three of them so far.  I love to cook and am pretty accomplished in the kitchen, and what I love is that these recipes are elegant and guest-worthy, yet easy and do-able for even a novice cook. 

Bread & Wine is a book that will often be found on my kitchen island, either because I've pulled it out to try another recipe, or because I wanted to read that one section just one more time.  It is a book that speaks truth and soothes my soul, feeds my body and challenges my heart.  It is real life at its best.  Shauna wants us to feel and think and eat and pray.  She wants us to bring our friends and family back to the dinner table and to see how many parts of us can be nourished by this simple act.  In her own words:

I want you to invest yourself wholly and deeply in friendship, God's greatest evidence of himself here on earth.  More than anything, I want you to come to the table.  In all sorts of ways, both literally and metaphorically, come to the table.

Come to the table, indeed.

On Picking Up

A couple of days ago I called my friend A.  I had heard that she was interested in joining my Book Club so I gave her a call, even though I hadn't seen her or talked to her in, oh, maybe a year or so.  But A. is one of those friends that you pick up with wherever you left off.  We were laughing and catching up and it was like we had just talked yesterday.  We laughed about our houses being a mess and our kids being obnoxious and sassy.  We remembered moments we had been together before and how great it was.  We picked up right where we left off and it was like we were the best of friends again.  I love that.

A. and I are in different seasons of life.  She has four kids aged eight and under, while I have two teenagers and an almost-ten year old.  She's still doing diapers and finger foods while I'm back to working part-time and thinking about high-school graduation. Things are different for us, and as a result it's not quite natural for us to hang out together on a regular basis. 

And yet...we've vowed to talk once in a while.  We've determined to call or get together for lunch every so often, because someday....when her kids are all in school and life is a little less, you know, Mom-ish....we will get together often.  We will be close, amazing friends.  Because it's there now, that friendship.  It's just hiding behind all the other stuff of life. 

I think it's cool how friendships morph over time.  Especially those deep, lasting friendships. There are times when you talk every day and tell each other everything.  There are weeks when you're both busy and exist only on a quick text checking up on each other.  It's life.  But if you trust the friendship...if you trust the friend...you know that someday there will be time for each other again.  And it will just pick up right where it left off. 

On Wanderlust

I love that word--wanderlust--because it so perfectly describes how I feel about travel.  It's not just that I love to travel.  It's not just that I enjoy seeing new places and experiencing new things.  It's that I lust for it.  It feels like I need it like I need air.  I value it as an important part of my life. 

D. knows that I can only go a couple of months without going somewhere.  He knows that as life gets crazy and we spend all our money on those pesky bills and food and gas and stuff, I can be content in our home for a few weeks before I start to get the itch to go somewhere else.  Of course, I would love for that somewhere else to be London or the Caribbean or Seattle or Denver.  But it doesn't have to be.  It could be as simple as an overnight trip to the other side of the state.  It could be a weekend camping.  Or, in desperate times, it could just be a day trip somewhere different.  A change of scenery, so to speak.

For the last couple of weeks, my Wanderlust has been particularly insistent.  Many of those close to me have been traveling, while I've been here plugging along in my everyday life.  My friend C. was on a cruise in the Caribbean, as were my parents.  And my husband D. was on a work trip to Africa of all places, seeing new things and having new experiences.  And I needed to get Away.  However, our finances and time being what they are right now, there was no Away in sight.  So, I asked D. if we could do something different over the weekend, and then I planned it. 

Ann Arbor is not far from us...only an hour away...but neither of us have spent much if any time there.  But it's a college town (obviously...U of M) and I knew we would find something fun and different to do.  And part of the fun is the research.  I found a Natural History Museum on campus and decided that was the thing.  I put a shout-out on Facebook looking for fun places to eat, and my fellow foodies came through as always. 

It was only a few hours, but we had a great time.  We played:

 That's A. pretending to get hit by the massive club-like tail of an ankylosaurus.

And here's D., J., and A. in a hollowed-out canoe.  Fun! 

We explored the museum and saw the planetarium, which was a surprisingly good show.  Poor D. had two little boys next to him who wrestled the entire time, but he still learned where the phrase "dog days of summer" came from along with the rest of us. 

And then, of course, we ate.  We went to a fun little restaurant called Prickly Pear Southwest Cafe, which my friend M. recommended, and it was delicious!  I had something outside the box for me:  Chicken Poblano Rellenos. 

 It was unbelievable, and I was so happy with my choice!

We even got home from our outing fairly early...by 8:00, and had time for a family viewing of this week's episode of Survivor, but my Wanderlust is temporarily satisfied.  Sometimes, all it takes is a day away doing something different than you normally do.

Oh, and eating good food.  For me, travel is almost always about the food!!

On Giving Up

I haven't always practiced the tradition of Lent.  When I was a kid, all my Catholic friends talked about it, and gave up things like chocolate or Atari, and I didn't really understand the point.  But then, I thought it was just a Catholic thing, and I didn't pay much attention.  It was only as an adult that I started to understand the concept of Lent, and it's only been for a few years that I've been practicing it myself.

Last year was pretty tragic, if you want to know the truth.  I jumped on the church staff bandwagon and decided to go with The Daniel Fast,.  While it was a great experience for many of my friends, I found myself focused more on food than ever before, leaving myself little time to focus on God.  My husband D. decided to do it with me, and he's a picky eater in some ways.  So while I could throw some refried beans in a whole wheat tortilla and eat that for lunch just about every day, I had a hard time finding enough non-meat protein for my meat-and-potatoes-loving, non-refried-bean-eating honey.  I couldn't figure out what to cook for dinner every night and it seemed like ALL I could think about.  Well, and then there's the whole thing about how it put me in the hospital.

Okay, okay.  It's entirely probable that The Daniel Fast didn't actually put me in the hospital.  That was actually the fault of my gallbladder and about 30 small gallstones that gave me gut-wrenching, cold-sweat-producing, I-can't-breathe-because-of-the-pain problems.  So really it was my gallbladder that put me in the hospital for a week and on the "nothing by mouth" diet for just as long.  It's just that my first gallbladder attacks happened to coincide with my self-proclaimed "end of The Daniel Fast", and now the two are forever connected in my brain.  So, right...no Daniel Fast for me this year.

I've been praying about what it will be for me this year...what God wants me to "give up" for Lent.  And while I don't have an answer quite yet, I do have a few ideas.  One idea that seems like a good thing for me is to give up listening to music of any kind while I'm in the car.  For me, this will be rough.  I like nothing better while I'm driving than to plug in my iPod and sing along to my music.  Some of it is secular music, but a lot of it is praise music as well, so it's not that the music itself is bad.  It's just that maybe for those six weeks, I will use that time differently.  Maybe I will use it to count my many blessings, or to pray for my family and my church and my leaders, or to think about my morning Bible reading.  Maybe giving up music in the car is an intentional way to enrich my prayer life. 

Every year, I also mention to my kids that we're coming up on the season of Lent, and I ask them if they're planning to give anything up for it.  I don't force it on them; they're all old enough to make their own decisions and make it part of their own faith.  They've done well in the past, giving up fast food or whatever.  None of them have made decisions yet as far as I know, so it will be interesting to see what they come up with. 

What about you?  Do you practice Lent?  What does it look like for you this year?

On Hospitality

Last week I read a novel for my book club.  It was a good book all the way through, but one very insignificant line in the book took me off-guard.  It was just a simple comment, but one that has stuck with me and that I've thought about over and over again since then. 

The author was contrasting a large group dinner in India with one here in the States.  She compared our Thanksgiving dinner with a family dinner in India.  When those in India get together with family, often on a weekly basis, it usually consists of huge groups of people, cousins and neighbors and in-laws numbering well into the twenties and above.  The women all get up early, gathering to cook together, laughing and talking and discussing everything while making dish after dish after dish. 

Here, when it's Thanksgiving, we all stress out about everything that needs to be done.  We get up alone at the crack of dawn, making lists and freaking out about what we're forgetting or how moist the turkey will be.  Everything has to be perfect or it will ruin the entire holiday.  Sure, we have fun eating together and watching football and playing games after the dinner, but the preparation is nothing if it's not stressful. 

What's the difference?  Why does the preparation in India tend to be full of joy and community, while for the most part Americans cook seperately in their own homes and then bring their "I hope it's good enough" dish to a dinner cooked by a sweaty, stressed-out host who is anxious for the whole thing to just be over with?

I know I'm generalizing.  I know it doesn't always happen this way.  There are many families in America who love cooking Thanksgiving dinner and who do it joyfully with friends and family.  I'm sure there are also Indian families who stress out about what they're cooking.  But something about what the author wrote rang true for me.  I want that joyful community dinner experience.  I want to gather in a kitchen with friends and cook whatever it is we're cooking while laughing and chatting.  I want there to be less stress and more fun in entertaining.  I want to invite people over even if I haven't mopped my kitchen floor in weeks, knowing that they will care more about the conversation than the cleanliness of my chaotic home.  I want to bake cookies for a friend's visit and laugh together with her about how I burned the bottoms.  Too often, I stress about the "stuff" and don't take enough joy in the "who".  I want it to be about the people, not about the food. 

I'm pretty sure that's what hospitality really is.

On Phobias

There is not much in the world that scares me.  I have traveled to other countries and New York City by myself.  I have gone after jobs that I was told I could not have, and was hired anyway.  I can talk on stage and while I may be nervous, I express myself well and get my point across.  I will tell anyone just about anything about myself.  I will zip-line or bungee-jump or skydive, if given the opportunity.  I like roller coasters and skis and flying, and when it comes to heights, the higher the better.

But put a tiny little creature with eight legs in front of me, and I turn into a screaming little girl.  I don't know what it is about spiders that terrify me.  Logically, I can think about it and realize that it's a little tiny bug and I can do way more to it than it can do to me.  I can psych myself up and grab a tissue or a paper towel and go after it as though I'm about to conquer my fear.  But as I get close to kill the spider, it will move or, I don't know....look at me wrong or something...and I run screaming and clutching my hands to my chest as though my life is in danger.

This morning as we were getting ready to go to church, I started to walk from my bedroom down the hallway to the kitchen.  As I was walking, I nearly ran into a medium-sized spider hanging from a web-string right smack dab in the middle of my hallway.  As I jumped back and squealed and did the "spider dance" as my husband calls it, the spider began making its way back up the web and onto the ceiling.  J. and A. were just waking up and heard the screaming slight gasp of surprise and ran out to see what was wrong.  J. is 13 and exactly like me, so she was terrified too and no help at all.  After a few minutes of ridiculousness such as me running ducking down the hallway covering my head, and me squealing as the spider dropped back down on its web, and me claiming that it was looking at me with its beady little eyes and daring me to pass beneath it, A. came to the rescue.  He's only 9, but apparently he did not get the "afraid of spiders" gene.  He  said "Oh my gosh, Mom", grabbed a tissue, and squished the eight-legged monster as though it was, well, a little tiny thing that couldn't hurt him.  I could breathe again. 

I may seem like I'm exaggerating, but I'm really not.  I really am serious when I say that spiders terrify me.  There have been a few instances when I could take care of them in an emergency, but most of the time, I melt into a puddle on the floor when it comes to spiders. I guess we all have our weaknesses.  I'm just a bit embarrassed that my weakness comes in the form of a tiny creature that I could kill with one finger if I really wanted to.  By the way, you will never see me kill a spider with one finger.  Just the thought of it sends me into the spider dance.  Ugh. 

On Book Clubs

Despite the fact that it has always been a dream of mine, I have never been part of a book club.  This year, in the interest of being a little bolder in pursuing some of those dreams, I have decided to simply start my own.

It's strange, putting yourself out there.  I mean,  it's just a book club.  But still there are all those thoughts about what if nobody comes, and what if I don't feel like cleaning my house that day, or what if I go to all the trouble for just my best friend and me, when the two of us can literally sit around in sweats and drink water and have a good time?  But I'm going for it.  I'm putting myself out there.

So I posted something about a book club on Facebook.  And I got a couple of responses.  And I think I'm going to have to be flexible.  What I originally envisioned was a group of 6 or 8 women who get together month after month and drink wine and read books and really get to know each other.  What I think is more likely is the possibility of a rotating group of women who sometimes come to Book Club and sometimes don't.  They sometimes read the book and sometimes they don't.  Occasionally, they come just for the wine.  And this is hard for me...I am a planner and am not great at "winging it".  But I'm stepping outside my comfort zone and I'm going with it.  We'll see how it goes.  It may never actually happen.  But I've announced my first book, and I'm hoping for the best.  I'll let you know! 

On Grief

Really missing my sister today.  Cancer sucks.

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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?

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??

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!!

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!!!  :)