Why I Write: The In-Between of Jesus and Chocolate

I don't drink.  I write.  It is my own personal form of escape.  My nightcap.  My outlet to quiet the demands of the day, the helps and hugs and holds of little girls and bigger girls and changing girls.  Writing stills my mind and quiets my soul and takes me to a euphoric place that a small glass of fermented grapes or malt or grains never will.  Or even a large glass.  In my world, writing can only be matched by Jesus.  And chocolate.  Jesus and writing and chocolate.  In that order.

And some days the blessed escape of blogging and writing and grammatically vomiting on paper is necessary.  Some days the need for escape is great.  It is not needed because my reality is so lacking.  It is needed because my reality is so full.  My mind is overwhelmed by little voices and crazy needs and endless opinions and extravagant love.  And that is just at home.  Before I walk down the staircase in the morning.  And a thousand times before I climb it to go to bed at night.

A life so full requires a place to lay it all down.  The Cross.  Paper and pen.  A place to thank my Jesus for a life so blessed, so undeserved.  A place to ask Him for his grace.  A place to beg Him for his help.

I write because there is no other way to articulate the love I have for the four lives entrusted to me, the pressure that exists to transform small, innocent girls into strong, fierce, Kingdom-warring women. And such a short couple of decades to do it in.  Days count, minutes count, words count.

That is why I need Jesus so desperately.

But the days of growing them, of raising them, are often so compounded by the frustrations and arguments and desperate need to make it to bedtime, the need for one solitary hour of silence which of course is never silent, but filled with a hundred things of washing and sorting and scrubbing and doing.  And then to close my eyes for not long enough only to wake up and do my blessed crazy all over again.  The life I wouldn't trade for a thousand others, but the life that exhausts me every second of every day.

That is why I write.

I write because the small people that fill my mind and take my breath away from the first moment that the sun rises are the same tiny creatures that make me want to hide away by midday and resign by nighttime.  They are the reason that I begin the day so full and end it so completely and utterly empty.  They are the depiction of God's grace being new every morning.  The grace of mothers is much the same, but not nearly as great.  The ebb and flow, the training and scolding, the loving and fighting.

That is why I need chocolate.

But writing is my in-between.  It is what fills the middle of my need for Jesus, who fills my soul, and my need for chocolate, which fills my craving for escape.  It dulls the senses of stress and strain and struggle.  It documents it.  Stores if for history.  Reminds me of the Jesus who hears me, the One who sustains me, the Love that fills me back up so that I can pour out once again.  When the sun rises.

That is why I write.



    

Heart-Floaty, Twitterpated and Legacy Changish

Every once in a great while, our house quiets down just enough for The Hubs and I to have an entire conversation from beginning to end (the children go outside, we bribe them with tv, put their mouths in timeout, pawn them off on the grandparents...you get the idea).  It's rare.  I can actually count on my two hands the number of uninterrupted conversations we've had in the last 9 years.  These conversations usually involve the honey-do list I am reciting from memory (often the same list I recited the week before) or what we have going on for the weekend, a quick rundown of who said what this week or who needs us where.  But every once in a while, the stars align and Heaven itself shines down on us and we can have a conversation about what the Lord has been showing us in His Word.  I'd love to say we have these conversations after our quite times every single day, but let's be honest, my quiet time usually involves hiding with my devotional in my closet while I'm supposed to be getting dressed, my prayer time is most often done in the parent pick-up line of the elementary school, and I get the best praise on while listening to my iPod and scrubbing my dishes.  Don't judge.  It is what it is right now.

So this past week The Hubs and I spent some time in the book of Ruth.  We actually never made it past the first half of the first chapter.  There is just so much to be learned from this book.  So many important lessons. We talked and shared and insighted and got some serious God-revelation…all while our children were awake, not in trouble and playing peacefully outside.  (The little one may or may not have had clothes on…but that's beside the point.)  Needless to say, this conversation just felt anointed.

 There was one lesson that stuck out to me in particular.  Well, there were actually three, but we'll start with one.  My whole life I've heard the story of Ruth and admired her, gleaned from her story, but this particular day it was Naomi's story that struck me…that really made me think.  Naomi endured some crazy tragedies, y’all!  

Mini-recap…Jaci style: Naomi's husband moved her away from her home to a foreign land where she eventually watched him die.  Then after some time passed, this widow lost, not one of her sons, but both of them.  It would be at this point that I would tell the Lord to just go ahead and take me home.  And I don’t mean back to Bethlehem.  I mean I’d be ready to see some pearly gates!  This momma would be ready to throw in the towel!

Naomi packed up what little she had left on this Earth and decided to return to her homeland…to the one thing that was still familiar to her.  And her amazing daughter-in-law, Ruth, selflessly followed her.  

Here's where we usually follow Ruth's story as she works in the field and eventually catches the eye of Boaz.  Butterflies flutter in bellies, hearts float out of heads, everybody gets all twitterpated and lovey-dovey.  Boaz thinks Ruth is hot.  Ruth falls head over heals for Boaz.  "Will you take this kinsman redeemer to be your husband for as long as you both shall live?" "Yes!" (Batting eyelashes)  And they live happily ever after.  The end.  And all the good 'ol Christian single ladies sigh and say, "Lord, bring me my Boaz…"

But the love story isn't where I went that day.  Because we didn't get out of the first chapter, remember?  And because I was getting all this Jesus goodness with The Hubs which means none of that mooshy-gooshy nonsense!  So here’s what I want you to see.  To remember.  

Naomi was being watched. (Not is a creepy way, just go with me here!) 

Ruth had watched Naomi go through the hardest trials that any mother should ever have to experience.  She watched as Naomi lost her husband.  She grieved alongside her when Naomi's sons died.  She stood by while Naomi decided that she had had enough of Moab and was going back home, packing up and hauling butt back to Bethlehem.  Through all of that.  Through the worst that life can throw at a woman, Ruth watched Naomi.  And after watching her, Ruth was willing to leave everything for whatever it was that Naomi possessed that got her through Hell on Earth.  Ruth wanted the God that Naomi had.

Here’s where I get super excited.  If you know the story of Ruth (and you may need to know it better than my snazzy little recap above) you know that marrying Boaz put Ruth in the ancestry of Christ Himself.  Because of the way Naomi reacted to trials, to tragedy, the course of history shifted for Ruth.  Ruth’s present didn’t just change.  Her LEGACY changed. One more time, now: by following Naomi, Ruth became an ancestor of Christ.  The way Naomi handled adversity affected the course of history for all mankind.  Are y'all getting this?  Ruth could have gone back to her people, to her gods,  but she was watching Naomi.  And history shifted.

Ruth has a squishy little baby, and she named him Obed.

Obed grew up, and his wife had Jesse.

Jesse grew up, and his wife had David.

God loved David. 

Goliath died.

David gets a crown.  

Lots of scandal.

More twitterpatedness.

Lots more weddings.

Lots more babies.
A virgin.
An angel.
A barn.

Jesus.

"So where are you going with all of this?  Jesus was already born so no matter how many squishy babies I have, the Savior of the world isn't gonna be in my family line."  You're right.  But that's not where I'm going with this.  The point I'm trying to make in my very long-winded way is this:

You're being watched. (Quit imagining a stalker!) 

Lord willing, none of us will ever have to endure “Naomi sized” trails.  But I promise you there are those who are watching you, watching your faith.  They may be watching your world fall apart.  They may be watching you as you lose loved ones.  They may be watching you as you deal with health scares and challenges.  Rebellious teenagers.  Moral dilemmas.  Financial struggle.  Whether or not your going to leave your screaming toddler in the candy aisle at the grocery store and pretend she isn't yours.  Ahem.

There are people that are watching you because they know that you believe in a God that they aren't familiar with.  You believe in a God that created the heavens and the Earth and all of humanity with a  word.  There are people watching your faith.  YOU COULD BE THE TOOL THAT WILL SHIFT A LEGACY.  Your reaction to trials can shift history not just for you and your family, but for people that you may not even know yet.  So my challenge to you, God's challenge to me: Be a legacy changer.  (And don't leave your toddler in the candy aisle of the store.  They have security cameras.  They will find you.  Just sayin'.)

Momsense

Let's talk for a moment about the 5 senses, shall we?  These are a human being's God-given abilities to perceive information.  That's my very own definition.  I could practically be wikipedia, but let's keep my brilliance to ourselves for now.

The 5 senses include:

Sight
Hearing
Smell
Taste
Touch

I will even go so far as to say that I have a favorite.  My sense of smell.  Not to brag, but it's acute.  It's very, very perceptive.  I can associate all kinds of things with smell.  Smells warp me back in time to happy memories or sad ones.  A certain smell can trigger a wide range of emotions for me.  For example, I love the smell of Scotch tape.  I love it.  My friends and I call this one of my quarks.  The smell of Scotch tape reminds me of teenage Christmases and staying up into the wee hours of the morning wrapping presents with my family.  (Realness Alert: I may or may not have been known to stick a piece to the end of my nose while wrapping presents just because it makes me so darn happy.  It's like my little Christmassy drug.) Example #2: I once burned a particular Scentsy fragrance for the first time on the same day that Hubs and I got into an argument.  Now every time I smell that particular scent, I get a little knot in my stomach, not because the fight was so terrible (and it was long ago resolved), but because it takes me back to a not so happy day.  Which is a bummer…because it's a great scent!  #3: It makes me thankful for Hubs' addiction to cologne.  We were obviously meant to be.  Smell is my favorite, and he smells GOOD! ;)

Moving on.

Then came children.  And I was a mom.  And low and behold, THE super-power sense was born.  I now have Momsense.  If I may become your personal, imaginary wikipedia again, Momsense is a mother's God-given ability to perceive information with a heightened sense of awareness.  It is almost supernatural and has the potential to cause awe and fear from children and husbands alike.  Momsense is a super power.  Momsense is awesome.  (Sidenote: Momsense is one of the many reasons that all mothers should be allowed to wear their superhero capes in public.  Because it gets annoying stuffing them under our shirts.)

Momsense applies to all of the 5 senses.  It is technically not a 6th sense.  It is more like a component that puts all of the 5 senses into hyperdrive.  Let me offer some examples:

Sight: We've all heard the phrase "moms have eyes in the back of their heads."  Enter Momsense.  This is the ability to see your kids with freakish peripheral vision that may possibly wrap around your entire body.  It is the ability to see who stuck who's tongue out at who and who pulled who's hair from the driver's seat while driving down I35 at 75 mph.  It is the ability to see the 386th drawing on a  piece of notebook paper without even looking up from the dinner you're preparing.  It's the ability to see your child fall down the stairs 3 steps before it happens (and you may or may not actually do anything about it.)

Hearing: This Momsense is particularly awesome as it can be turned on or off at will.  This super power occurs when 4 voices are speaking, whining, crying and/or laughing, a dog is barking and the phone is ringing all at the same time, and you're still able to read a book or take a nap.  It is the ability to hear even the faintest whisper of evil scheming going on upstairs and can often be amplified with a properly placed baby monitor (that's not actually part of Momsense…it's just smart.)  It is the ability to hear the faintest "clicking whirry" sound coming from the engine of the mini-van (too bad Momsense doesn't come with a Mechanics degree!) and the ability to know if your child is the one crying in a park full of children from 30 yards away.  This Momsense also includes the ability to hear tiny tipping toes sneaking down the carpeted hallway in the middle of the night while dead asleep.  It can hear an infant cry 5 seconds before it actually happens and can pick up exactly when lack of noise = disaster.

*Sidenote to husbands: if your wife is juggling 12 tasks and you're trying to tell her something, she is probably taking in every single word you're saying and could repeat it to you verbatim even though she hasn't glanced up at you yet.  Wives: stop what you're doing and look at the man.  He doesn't understand this super power and most likely never will.  And don't look annoyed when you do it.

Smell: This Momsense may be most commonly employed in the diaper years.  It is the ability to know if a diaper needs to be changed, when baby is actually finished and how many wipes will be needed.  It is the sense that takes away the embarrassment that SHOULD accompany the fact that you just picked your child up by the leg and sniffed an area that should not EVER have such close contact with your nose.  It is the ability to recognize when a flat iron has been left on upstairs or dirty socks are SOMEWHERE IN THIS ROOM!  It is the ability to overlook the smell of the mom-mobile, otherwise known as the Minivan Funk, and the ability to recognize when your child has eaten one more Skittle after she's already brushed her teeth.  It is the ability to overlook morning breath when they're little and demand better dental hygiene when they're older.  It is the gift you get when you're still using Baby Magic or Johnsons and Johnsons, because oh they just smell so yummy!

*Sidenote: the lack of this particular Momsense can occur when you are dealing with allergies…let's say Cedar allergies.  Be aware that this can be a fairly life-threatening Momsense to lose if you depend on it regularly as it may cause you to leave your gas stove burner on for 4 or 5 hours.  Since the Momsense is diminished, you may not notice the food permanently bonding to your saucepan until it's time to make dinner at which time you thank the Lord up in Heaven that you have not all died from carbon monoxide poisoning or just plain fire.

Taste: This Momsense gives you the ability to tolerate years worth of eating at McDonalds for the sake of the playground.  Although you do not personally consider the meat-like products at this establishment to be actual food, you are willing to defile your body and choke down soy something for the peace and diminished whining that may accompany it.  It is the ability to overlook the fact that your child's runny nose may or may not have left residue on your fork and the ability to realize that food no longer needs to be hot or your own as every meal of every day will be shared with at least one other mouth.  It's the ability to sample anything to test it's temperature or level of spiciness no matter how odd or unappetizing it may look.  It's the ability to be satisfied even though your breakfast, lunch and/or dinner may consist solely of the leftovers on your children's plates.

Touch:  This Momsense is the ability to recognize the mere touch of your own child's skin when you're not looking versus that of a child that does not belong to you.  It is the ability to realize that you have picked up the wrong baby tugging at your pant leg in the church nursery before your actually nurse him but not before you've done everything in preparation to. (Yeah, this actually happened.)  It is the ability to feel pain when your child falls down and scrapes his or her knee and the indescribable ability to feel peace in an embrace.  It is the ability to be the ONLY one who's "cushiness" is just right for snuggling and who's mommy sway is just what the doctor ordered on sick nights.  It's the ability to take a temperature with your lips on a forehead and know exactly which child just walked up next to you simply by feeling a hand on your arm.

Although every mother is aware of Momsense, I felt it was my duty to educate the rest of humanity.  So the next time you see a mom using her super powers, just let her know that her cape is showing.  And, Dad's, download a theme song…she should have one of those too!

A TINY Glimpse of Hell

We all have fears.  Fear of heights.  Fear of death.  Fear of public speaking.  Fear of spiders.  Fear of small, enclosed spaces.  The list goes on.

As a mother, I have my own set of "mommy fears." They almost all involve harm to my children in some form or another.  Some of my fears involve harm to me or my husband which would then result in emotional harm to my children.  Some of my fears are worse than others.  Some are terrible, unspeakable tragedies that befall thousands of families every year.  Some are nonsense, but fears nonetheless.

This week one of my greatest, nonsensical fears came to pass.

This week my family got...LICE.

I am tempted to stop my blog right here because there are just no words for this.  No.  Words.  But I'll do my best because it's important that I continue my quest at keeping it real.  

This was no ordinary weekend.  This was the weekend after the 4th of July.  This was a weekend in which we had company...dear friends of ours who come every year for the 4th of July.  The same dear friends who were here in February when my oldest daughter got the flu...the only time in the existence of our family that we have dealt with the flu.  These wonderful friends came back...again...even though the most ridiculous things happen when they come.  Somehow they still love us enough to enter crazy.  

We had had a great weekend.  A longer than usual visit with them as the 4th fell on a Thursday and they took Friday off of work.  We got 4 whole days with them!  Such fun!  We don't see each other for months at a time, so 4 days with them was something I had eagerly anticipated!  We had a picnic in the park.  We watched fireworks.  We swam.  The kids slept all over the floor in sleeping bags.  We grilled.  We watched movies.  We talked and chatted and laughed until Saturday night.

Saturday night.  When I got a tiny glimpse of Hell.  Saturday night.  When my nonsensical fear was no longer a fear, but a reality.  Saturday night.  When the "itching" of the last two days suddenly made perfect sense.  Saturday night.  Loathe.  

My friend, Terri, and I were marching the littles off to bed that night discussing the movie we were going to watch and plans for the next day after church.  As I was brushing the last head of kid hair after bath time, I started noticing some strange bite marks on the back of Daughter #1's neck.  "Do those itch?" I asked.  "Yes.  And so does my head," she said.  My mind quickly jogged back in time to my own shower earlier in the day when I scrubbed my hair, not once, but twice, because my scalp seemed so...itchy.  My neck had been itchy as well.  I attributed all of this to lots of ponytails, time in the sun, sweat, water.  Whatever.  Because I was NOT going to let my mind go there...to a nonsensical fear.  No way.  But here I was standing in the bathroom with #1 at 10:30 on Saturday night, holding my breath as I parted the top of her hair.  And there they were.  Those demon bugs.  The ones that have met me only in my nightmares.  #1 had lice.  Horror.  

I rushed to get Terri to confirm this tragedy.  She did.  I then burst into the bedroom where Daughter #2, Daughter #3 and their friend (we'll call her F1 for simplicity's sake) were tucked away in sleeping bags.  "WHOSE HEAD ITCHES?!?!"  One hand after another lifted high in the air while other hands scratched away making me wonder if there would be any flesh left on any of their scalps come morning.  "Everyone to the bathroom NOW!"  If I thought #1 having lice was horror, I'm not sure what word I can use to describe my feelings when I found Satan's little helpers crawling around on #2 and F1.  Panic?  Terror?  Disgust?  Dread?  Fear?  I can't really conjure up a word at this point.  Let's just say I was FREAKING OUT!

Out the door I went, thankful that we have a 24 hour pharmacy within a mile of our house.  For all I knew these bugs could have been living with us for a week, but now that I knew they were here they had to be decimated.  Immediately.  After spending a small fortune at Walgreens (keep in mind we had 10 heads to treat.  Ten Heads!  Tragic.) I came home to begin a very long night of hair combing and scalp examination.  In my absence, the very helpful children had gathered every pillow, blanket, sleeping bag, comforter, sheet, hat, scarf, outfit, towel, etc. they could find.  If hair had touched it, if hair was capable of touching it, I demanded it be added to the pile.

We will now take a moment to discuss Lice Laundry as it deserves it's own segment.  It's own paragraph.  It's own zip code!  Lice Laundry will be in Hell.  There will be a special room in Hell where people will be required, by Satan himself, to do Lice Laundry.  I can't begin to get you to wrap your brain around the sheer AMOUNT of laundry I am talking about.  We had 10 people who had been living in this house for 3 days.  We had used EVERY towel we own for bathing.  We had used EVERY beach towel we own for swimming.  We had used EVERY bed for sleeping.  EVERY pillow for lounging.  Extra linens from the closet for picnicking, throw blankets for snuggling, you name it, our heads had been on it.  We own 9 comforters (don't even ask me why...this is a problem in excess that I will now be looking further into) and 4 sleeping bags.  We had used them.  ALL.  

And then there are the unlaunderable (just go with it), inanimate objects that overflow from every nook and cranny of this not-so-little house.  These would be the stuffed animals.  I don't know if my children have an strange, over-abundance of affection to offer, but apparently we own EVERY stuffed animal EVER created for them to love on and fawn over.  They were coming down the stairs in the hundreds, possibly thousands.  I am sure of it.  Black trash bags filled with potential lice-carrying hellions everywhere.  

And the lice treating began.  One little head at a time.  We started with Daughter #4 who is only 1 year old.  Bless her, she didn't have a clue what was going on.  It was 11 PM.  She was still out of bed.  There was a pile of clothes (ideal for jumping in!) spread out over the entire downstairs.  And mommy was yelling.  A lot.  #4 was being dowsed in some kind of stink that she wasn't allowed to eat or touch.  Confusion ensued.

Daughter #3 next.  Then #2.  F1.  Each sent to bed as we were now well into tomorrow.  As we sat #1 down to begin the combing process, it became apparent that this is where the havoc began.  Surely.  As I was wiping out each combful of these demon thieves who were stealing my sleep, my joy, my daughter's blood, I was freaking out.  Silently.  Behind her where she couldn't see my silent screaming.  And where my friend was trying to silent reason with me, reminding me that my freaking out was not helpful for an 8 year old at 2 am.  Noted.

We went to bed at 4 am.  After 10 heads had been treated.  After I had put a tiny, minuscule dent in the Lice Laundry (Yes, it will continue to be capitalized out of sheer respect for it's magnitude...think national monument, mountain, small country...you get the idea.)  We curled up on beds of nothing.  No sheets, no blankets, no pillows.  Go ahead, shed a tear for us.  It was a sad, sad 3.5 seconds of sleep after which we woke to do the very tasks that would consume my next 5 days: head checking and Lice Laundry.

I will spare you the details of the next 5 days, the monotonous torture that was my life.  I started to slip into the depths of lice-covered despair with every head check, every nit pulled out and flushed down the toilet.  5 days of what felt like prison, trapped in my own house with nowhere to go, not wanting to chance sending Satan's little minions to the heads of other unsuspecting hosts.  5 days of misery with tiny glimpses of light and love.  My glimpses of light and love came in the form of people. 

This brings us to the more uplifting portion of our segment.  This is where we will give thanks to the brave men and women who sacrificed time and chanced personal head-hygiene to help this desperate mother of 4 in her hour of need.  This goes out to my heroes.

Terri: Had I been you, visiting friends when lice chaos ensued with a myriad of daughters and more hair than humanly imaginable, I would have packed up our belongings in black trash bags, given you an air hug from the door and bid you adieu.  But you stayed.  You survived on lack of sleep and very little nourishment (did we even eat?) to help me comb and comb and comb.  You solidified your position (as if it needed any more solidity) as one of the dearest friends a girl could ask for as you even combed through my hair at 3 am.  You have endured more text messages this week than AT&T should allow and listened to my endless hours of whining.  You are an amazing friend.

George (Terri's husband): Thank you for vacuuming carpet, spraying cars and furniture with lice spray, dashing to Walgreens at a moment's notice for more spray and bobby pins and milk and baby butt cream (Note: Baby butt cream was completely unrelated to lice...so was milk.)  Thank you for being at my beck and call even though I'm not your wife.  Thank you for enduring my freaking out and the craziness that comes with a house full of lice-covered females.

Suzanne (my neighbor / 24 hour on-call school nurse who was on a trip with family this week): Thank you for letting me use your washing machine/dryer to wash pillows and comforters while you were away.  Thank you for responding to the 2,417 phone calls and text messages, the endless lice questions, and being yet another source reminding me that it'll be ok and that we aren't the dirtiest people on the face of the earth for having lice.  Thank you for all of your reassuring words and your endless knowledge of all things medical.  I wish I had a 1/16 of your brain...it's so smart.

Patricia (our women's leader at church):  Thank you for coming to my rescue after my 18th freakout on Monday night.  Thank you for going to the store for Cetaphil and chocolate (the Twix bars you brought served as two of my meals this week.  No judging.)  Thank you for helping me treat heads even though the method was...weird...and rock a baby and entertain my children as I...wait for it...combed through hair and did Lice Laundry.

Donna (a sweet woman from church):  Thank you for taking our friendship to a new level as you sat in my kitchen at midnight and went through my hair since I can't see the top of my own head.  There are few "church people" that have been on this level of real with me.  Congratulations.  I will now call you every time disaster strikes.  

Lisa D. (another sweet woman from church): Thank you for moving the Tuesday night gathering at my house to your house on very short notice.  Exposing a houseful of women to lice was not my intention when these meetings began.  It's interesting that our study is on the book "Unglued."  Coincidence?  I think not.  

Lisa F. (we have a lot of sweet women at church):  You know why I love you.  That's all I'm gonna say.  

Thank you to a kind friend who reminded me that lice don't care about our SocioEconomic Status.  This helped keep my vanity in check.

The Hubs: Thank you for staying in Estrogenville + Lice this week.  Thank you for continuing to hug me and for not shaving the childrens' heads.  Thank you for helping with late night vacuuming and stripping/remaking beds.  Thank you for coming home early to help with dishes and cleaning and letting me take a shower in peace and quiet.  Thank you for helping with bedtime while I...combed through hair.  Thank you for living in crazy awesome with me.  You're my favorite.

Well there you have it folks.  This was my week.  I learned how much laundry can actually be done in 5 days if you skip meals, sleep and interaction with the other human beings in your house.  I learned how many hairs are on each of my childrens' heads.  I learned that I can conquer my nonsensical fears.  Here's to hoping that I am not forced to overcome anymore anytime soon (i.e. driving across bridges over large bodies of water, finding/drinking a fly in my coffee, shopping without coupons.)

Oh and if you think lice are no longer on my Nonsensical Fears list, you are right.  They have moved up a notch and now hold a position on my Actual Fears list as they are truly a tiny glimpse into Hell...where there will be lice.  Just one more reason not to go there.    

My Failure At Awesomeness

I love Facebook, and I hate Facebook.  It is a source of constant addiction for me.  But I have decided that it is also the 21st Century version of "keeping up with the Jones'..." (which is ironic since that's the name of my husband's maternal side of the family...sigh.)  I realized this when a friend of mine called and commented on how clean my house always is.  My thought: Have you seen my house lately?  Are you losing eyesight?  Should we contact an Optometrist?  Who is this?  Do you even have the right number?  I went on to explain the great lengths I go to to only publish pictures where you can't see the PILES of clothes, toys, dishes, bills, trash, etc. in the background.  Most of the time I angle the camera in such a way just so you can't see all of that.  I have even been known to shove the pile to the other end of the table just to give the illusion that my table is clean.  I think most people do that...maybe not to the extremes I go to, but to some degree.  We don't want anyone to see our mess.  We want to "publish" a perfect life.  We want the world to see our awesomeness.  Plain and simple.  If my 707 Facebook "friends" think I'm awesome, it must be true.  Right?  Wrong.

Since this whole blog is dedicated to laying it out there, to being real, let's do it.  It's my life in a fishbowl.  And let me tell you, I need a plecostomus!  Ya know, a sucker fish.  The ones that thrive in the murky water of a fishbowl.  The ones that you put in with your goldfish whose tank you never clean in hopes that they will eat all the algae and other freakish nastiness that has grown on the sides of the tank.  I need one of those.  Because...

I am FAILING at awesomeness.  I mean, I am miserably failing.

Let's start with the house.  Ok, seriously people, how many times can I step over the exact same stuff and not just bend down and pick it up?  Apparently for weeks.  I have been standing on the same Baby Animals book while I brush my teeth and do my makeup for at least a week.  Unless my toes learn to read, I don't think it's going to do me much good down there.  

About a month ago I brought our basket of cleaning supplies up to our bathroom....because, well, the bathroom should be cleaned at least twice a year.  That particular day I put the basket in the bathtub to keep the chemicals out of a one year old's reach.  They are still there.  It's been a month.  A MONTH.  I know The Hubs is wondering if this is the new designated cleaning supply spot.  And has the bathroom been cleaned?  Nope.  I guess the cleaning supplies don't do it themselves.  Dang!   

We can go right on from the bathroom to our bedroom.  Why did I EVER think I needed that many pillows on the bed.  Honestly.  There must be 42 of them, and they are everywhere.  And do you think they ever make it to the bed?  Nope.  Unless company is coming.  And the cedar chest at the end of the bed is intended to be decorative.  Maybe my laziness didn't get the memo.  The top of the cedar chest now serves as a dresser, a shoe stand, a coat rack, and a holder of anything left on my bed when I crawl into it at night.   

Downstairs we go.  The only reason my dishes get done is because my husband usually does them.  I live in a constant state of 367 loads of laundry.  I can't get my act together enough to make it to the grocery store for everything I need, so I usually end up going at least four times in any given week. 

I have weeds in my backyard that are taller than my children.  One of said children is almost 9 (and her mother is 6 feet tall) so you can figure out how tall the weeds are.  I found my mother and my next door neighbor back there pulling some of the weeds the other day.  My neighbors are pulling my weeds.  For real.  It's bad.

I have taken my crabby baby to the store two days in a row now in a shirt and a diaper.  Why?  Because I get so busy running errands that I forget that occasionally her diaper needs to be changed.  So eventually the soaking wet pants have to come off.  And then there is the "bruise" that is covering her entire thigh.  It's actually a stain from frozen blueberries that got past her mouth and melted next to her leg, but to get it off would require a bath and who has time for that?!?!  

I live in workout clothes and a ponytail because I figure if I put them on my body I may just magically appear at the gym.  On the days that I do make it there, it's really just to watch tv while I saunter on the treadmill, because thank you, Jesus, it is so peaceful with my headphones in my ears!  And there is childcare.  Can I get an AMEN??

I have been sneaking dark chocolate for the past week...until my husband found the wrapper.  I "nicely" explained that every 28 days or so I get chocolate in celebration that we are NOT having another baby.  So. Back. Off.

I have piles of books that would help me improve my life or something but I don't read any of them because every time I do I wake up with the book on my face.  And speaking of reading, I can't finish a book to save my life.  Not always because I fall asleep but sometimes because I get 2 chapters in and then start another one.  I used to finish things.  Is ADD contagious?  I'm pretty sure I caught it.


We had to give our goldfish to the neighbors because we never fed them and that seemed mean.  Now we have 2 hermit crabs.  Did you know that you can actually go 2 weeks without feeding them and they will still live?  It's fascinating.  Our dog and cat on the other hand like to be fed on occasion.  It usually happens every 2nd or 3rd day when I realize that I can see their ribs through their fur and the dog is whining to get into the shower to drink the water left on the floor.  The worst part is that when I tell the kids to feed them, their response is usually, "we already fed them this week!"  That is what I have actually instilled in my children about taking care of living creatures, you guys.  The awesomeness continues to another generation.

I found my baby sucking on a tube of toothpaste today.  

I fed my 4 year old Target popcorn and an Icee for lunch.

And the climax of my awesomeness demise happened this morning.  When I forgot to pick up my friend's daughter for school.  Yep.  She's a Senior in High School.  It's kind of an important week to be there.  I forgot her.  Left her sitting by her front door wondering if the preacher's wife has any brain cells left at all.  Her fiancé left work to come get her for Heaven's sake.  Awesomeness Fail.

As I was lamenting today about how bad I am at life right now, the Lord reminded me of 2 Corinthians 12:9 which says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

All I have to say is the next Marvel movie better be about me and Jesus because if my weakness gives Him more power, The Avengers better watch out!  Jesus' got my back!

So there you have it.  From one awesomeless mom to another, tomorrow is another day to let Jesus do His thang!  Cause I sure can't pull it off myself!    










     

  

I AM Right Here

School has begun...again.  Back to early mornings, quick breakfasts, lunch boxes, and getting dressed before noon.  Back to backpacks, homework, projects and lots of time in the car.  Sigh...time is going too fast!   

I was reminded this week of how quickly the last year has flown by.  It seems like I just took Hailee to her first day of Kindergarten...but that was a year ago.  She struggled last year.  The adjustment was so hard.  My sweet baby girl in a great big public school.  She was scared and we dealt with day after day, week after week, of fear.  Terrible fear that would bring her to tears at bedtime, dreading the next day.  Fear that would bring on immediate tummy aches and panic the moment her precious, hazel eyes opened in the mornings.  It broke my mommy heart.  So I would find myself bribing, hugging, yelling, worrying, ignoring, praying, comforting...trying anything I could think of to get her through the day, praying the next day would be better.  

One particularly bad morning as I pried her fingers off of my arm and unwrapped her ankles from my leg (I had seriously begun to wonder if she was turning into a monkey!) in a pointless attempt to leave her in her classroom, I made a terrible promise.  A bribe really.  The kind that you regret immediately.  I told her that if she would just stay in her classroom I would come back and have lunch with her in a couple of hours.  She thought about it for a moment, and I thought about it for a moment (Are you crazy?  Why did you tell her that?  Now you're going to have to come back and listen to her carry on like a dying hyena AGAIN when you leave after lunch!  Mental note: drop her off and LEAVE!  Don't come back until 2:45.  The teacher is a professional...she's a brilliant woman who has magical powers to make Hailee endure the day.  What have you done???)  Once I was through with my mental lecture, I found my 5 year old nodding her head, conceding that this plan (bribe!) would work.

I came back at lunch.  Having me there was at least enough comfort for the child to eat 3 or 4 bites of food since most days she'd bring her entire lunch home (the fear was so great that it apparently paralyzed her teeth and they could no longer chew food!)  Then the bell rang.  Lunch was over.  Now I was supposed to kiss her goodbye, get a hug and a sweet smile as she followed her classmates out to the playground.  Yeah right!  Instead, the tears began again.  Oh the tears, the pure Kindergarten terror.  It was at this moment that I looked at her teacher hoping she could read the apology written on my face since we both knew I would be leaving her with a basket case for the 2nd time that day!  So so sorry!

I smiled and waved as I walked out of the cafeteria hoping my fake good attitude would trick her into some positivity!  No such luck!  I headed out toward my car and turned the corner of the building just in time to see my sweet Hailee crossing the street holding the teacher's hand.  I couldn't see her face, but I could tell by watching her shoulders that she was still crying...HARD!  I stood there and watched her, wishing with all my might that she would believe me when I told her it would be alright.  Wishing with all my might that she knew I would never purposely put her in harm's way.  I stood by the corner of that building, watching my little girl, thinking,  It's ok, Hailee.  Mommy's right here.  You don't see me, but I see you.  I would never hurt you. You're safe.  I'm right here.  Please don't be afraid.

And there it was.  The still, small voice I hadn't heard in awhile.  The still, small voice that I had been missing in that season of my life filled with lunchboxes and homework and car rides.  That still, small voice was calling out to ME!  It's ok, Jaci.  I AM right here.  You don't see me, but I see you.  I would never hurt you.  You're safe.  I'm right here.  Please don't be afraid.

I was having a God moment at the most unexpected time.  A God moment that brought me to tears.  Because in all my effort to be strong for my child, to be the rock that she needed to run to when she was afraid, I wasn't leaning on my Rock.  And that day, after weeks and weeks of tears and drama, I desperately needed my Father to wrap me up in His arms and remind me that He was right there and that He could see me.  That I was safe...that my babies were safe.  The only difference was, He didn't have to drop me off for 8 hours.  I could keep my fingers wrapped around His arm and hold on with all my might (and show Hailee what it really looked like to be a monkey!)  I didn't have to let go or accept a bribe for lunch.  He was with me all the time.  

He IS with me all the time.  He is with each of my little girls at their great big school.  Through each season, through each school year, that is a constant I can hold onto.  He's right here, with me, with them, with you.  We don't see Him, but He sees us.  He would never hurt us.  We're safe.  We don't have to be afraid.  We just have to quiet down and remember to listen for the still, small voice...our Father's voice.

       

If Today Were My Last...

Someone posed the question today, “what would you do if today was your last day on Earth.”  For whatever reason, this question struck me, and I really began to think about it.  I would not be so concerned about my to-do list, my grocery shopping or that last load of laundry waiting to be folded.  I would want every last second I had to be with my family…the family that, on any given day, can get on my nerves or bring me insane joy! 

I would want to take Ethnee somewhere quiet.  I would swing on a hammock with her and listen as she talked endlessly about her day…conversations that I may or may not pay attention to on other days.  I would hold her in my arms and tell her that I think she’s smart and beautiful and that she’s going to be able to accomplish anything that she sets her mind to.  I would make sure she knows how proud I am of her.  I would talk to her about how old she wants to be when she gets married and how many children she thinks she’ll have and what her greatest dreams are.  Then I would tell her again that she could do ANYTHING she sets her mind to.  I would hold her hand and then show her how her fingers look just like mine.  I would tell silly jokes that make her laugh, knock-knock jokes that she would continue to tell for months to come.  I would remind her that becoming her mommy was one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.  I would tell her 1,000 times how much I loved her until I was sure she would never forget.

I would take Hailee and sit with her in front of a mirror.  Criss-cross applesauce…with her on my lap.  I would point out each tiny thing about her that I think is beautiful.  I would tell her how I love the way her eyes sparkle when she’s happy.  I would talk about her sweet little nose and her chubby cheeks.  I would tell her that I love it when she smiles so big that I can see her gums.  I would tell her that I remember when each little freckle appeared on her body, particularly the one in her armpit.  I would tell her that her giggle is one of my favorite sounds in the whole world…a sound I could listen to forever and ever.  I would tickle-rub her belly and back…and laugh when it makes her eyes roll back and her whole body relax.  I would tell her that she was beautiful…one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.  I would tell her that when she would smile at me as a baby, I would always think of sunshine.  Seeing her smile still fills me with warmth and joy.  I would tell her that I always wanted her to smile, no matter what.  I would tell her 1,000 times how much I loved her until I was sure she would never forget.

I would take Rhylee to a park with a big open field.  I would watch her run and play and get filthy dirty.  I would watch her explore and show me each little, curious thing.  I would push her higher on the swing than ever before just to watch her soar.  I would lay in the grass with her and talk about nothing, just to hear how she makes up words.  I would kiss her cheeks and nose and tickle her tummy until her giggling was uncontrollable.  I would play airplane and spin her around again and again and then hold her in my arms like the baby that she is to me.  I would kiss her chin and the part of her jawbone right back by her ear…the spot that makes her laugh.  I would bottle that laughter and hold onto it with everything I had.  I would tell her that she’s precious.  I would tell her that she’s beautiful and that she’s my baby, no matter how many times she reminded me that she was a “bid deal” (big girl).  I would tell her that she would always be my baby.  I would tell her 1,000 times how much I loved her until I was sure she would never forget.

I would spend my evening with Russ.  I would find a big open field out in the country…the kind where you can see all the stars at night.  We would lay in the bed of his truck and look up at the stars and have one last conversation about where we would go and what we would do if we had all the money and time in the world.  We would talk about our love and hopes and dreams for our girls.  I would tell him that I’m proud of him, so very proud.  I would tell him that I would choose him again…1,000 times everyday if I had it to do all over again.  I would tell him that he makes me happy, no matter how moody I can get.  I would tell him to dream big, no matter who tried to hold him back.  I would tell him to hold on to the promises that have been spoken over him because I KNOW they will come to pass.  I would tell him that he can do anything…he has proven that to me time and time again.  I would tell him to love our girls the way a good Texan daddy does…and to use guns if necessary when boys came around.  I would tell him 1,000 times how much I loved him until I was sure he would never forget.

That is what I would do if today was my last day on Earth.  I thought and thought about this and then realized, why don’t I?  None of us are promised tomorrow.  The dishes can wait.  The laundry will still be there.  But I want them to know 1,000 times how much I love them!