Grace.Gets.Greater

New Blog

2011-12-29T11:05:00.000-08:00

I've got a new life, so I started a new blog. I haven't been blogging much, and I really think it's because I needed to let go of my past and start over. I know that sounds weird (I mean...seriously...it's just a blog), but this blog is tied to a lot of hard times, and whenever I came here to post anything, I felt a little to close to all of the raw emotion. (Again, I realize this is irrational. It just is what it is.)

I will always be thankful for how God worked through me and allowed me to process with Grace Gets Greater. So if you want to keep up with my life, or read more of my crazy ramblings, please join me at my new blog! Thank you to anyone who encouraged me through this blog in the last few years. God has blessed me with you all, and I hope you will enjoy The Main Squeeze!

If It Ain't Broke

2011-11-23T03:17:00.000-08:00

The Green Demon refused to start this week. It made for a very bad day.

The Green Demon is a 1995 Subaru Legacy that The Scientist has been driving for about a year. It's my parents' car. They had it laying around, and when a need came up, they were happy to share. But it's a really old car, and as most really old cars are, it's unpredictable in the whole "actually working" department.

Monday, it wouldn't start at all. We decided the time was right to get a different vehicle, even though the thought of a new payment wasn't all that appealing. We could afford it, but it would mean a much tighter budget and no more sushi. Neither of those sounded appealing. Nevertheless, we set out car shopping. Then, over the course of the day, we were hit with what my father refers to as a "gotcha." It's something that seems to come at you from left field, and Gotchas are usually game changing. They are the things that happen that you can't really plan for, and are never ready to deal with. They are your washing machine going out when your paycheck didn't electronically deposit or your savings having to be spent on a freak medical issue that you didn't realize you had. It's the kind of gut punch that leaves you trying desperately at the end of your day to count your blessings, because surely in this giant mess of crap, you still have some somewhere.

This one was most certainly a Gotcha, and it meant that buying a car would have to be put on an indefinite hold. We made our way home in silence, trying to get to somewhere in our heads that didn't involve mentally curling up in the fetal position. It was a long drive home.

The next day, my father spoke up and suggested that we just continue to fix the Green Demon. "It's bought and paid for, and as long as it's not a huge fix, you might drive this thing for another two years...or even 10 years! It's a good car if we just try to keep it running." So that's the plan, for now. We're thankful for the providence, and have mentally added it to the list of our blessings.

And then, at 5 this morning, I couldn't sleep and had a rather insane need to write. It's no secret that I've been in brokenness for the last few years. It's no secret that I've been angry at God. It's no secret that I've made mistakes and done things I wish I could take back. But something amazing has been happeneing to me in the past year. God has been moving past all of the brokenness in a healing effort. He's been using it in my career as a therapist, and I'm seeing so many ways that I am so much more effective at my calling because of my life experiences. He's right smack dab in the middle of using all of this mess for GOOD, and Praise Jesus that He has the power to make that happen.

But I was hit with something early this morning. There are some people who still only see my brokenness. I realized that it's this way with so many Christians. They look at people and see their brokenness before anything else. I spent a lot of my time with Christians like this. For many years, I was this Christian. But God has changed me, and I'm realizing that His vantage point is a bit different. Yes, he sees the brokenness. Yes, he sees the mess. Yes, he sees the long road of healing ahead. But before any of that, He sees the person's worth. He sees someone He loves, and He sees someone He sent his son to die for: the meek, the broken, the weary, the weird, and the wild.

We spend entirely too much time judging the brokenness of others, when what we are called to do is love them for their inherent worth. Christians, in my experience, are the worst at this. If you want to be judged by your actions and looked down upon by your peer group, hang out with a bunch of over zealous Christians who are trying to win favor with God.

I want to play with the people who get it, who can see WHO Christ died for before they see WHY He had to. I want to be the person who encounters someone's brokenness and is unphased by how far they have to go, because I know a God who calls them worthy of redemption along the way. I want to worship with other Christians who are redefining the societal view of Christianity by loving others in their primary language. People everywhere are broken, and people everywhere need healing. But I've learned something:

It doesn't matter that you are broken. It only matters that you are paid for.

Equipment Failure

2011-08-30T11:55:00.000-07:00

***My father might kill me for sharing this story. But I'm going to big fat do it anyway. Ask for forgiveness not permission, right? Love you, DAD!***

Over the years my father has had a lot of hobbies. He's an avid cyclist, and every year for his birthday he rides the same number of miles as he is old. He could probably give Lance Armstrong a run for his money. And years ago, he enjoyed motorcycles. But he's had one passion since I was a little girl that still sends a look of amazement and wonder across his face: flying. He has recently reignited this passion and it reminds me of a fun little story.

When I was a little girl, I'm guessing about 11 or 12 judging from the frizzy hair and pudgy awkwardness I exhibit in all of the pictures from this era, my dad had his pilot's license. He had worked hard to earn it, logged a ton of flight hours in the sky, and at the culmination of this perseverance, he purchased a green four-seater plane.

I hated it.

I was proud of my dad for getting his pilot's license, and it was super cool to "own a plane" but I HATED flying! I got motion sickness, and in a tiny plane like his, you feel every single little bump of wind, smell nothing but fuel the entire time, and experience a continuous, loud, vibrating hum that zips through your body for the duration of the flight. My father's passion was the bane of my existence for the whole of the awkward pudgy years.

Which leads me to my story.

One year my parents decided to take the family on a vacation to Gulf Shores Alabama. It's about 10 hours away by car. But we were bold and daring, and my father had new flight equipment to try out! So we crammed into the tiny cockpit of the "Green Machine of Misery" and took off into the blue sky for the FAMILY VACATION OF A LIFETIME! (Insert sarcasm and foreshadowing here.)

We flew. And we flew. And we flew. And I got dizzy, nauseous, cold, and clammy. And then we flew some more. As we neared the end of the day, there was some generally unnerving chatter occurring between my parents, and a map had appeared from the tiny glove box. From my position in the plane behind "Captain Daddy" I noticed my father doing a lot of looking outside the window at the ground, and a lot of my mother, "The Navigator" turning the map around a lot while pointing at things out the window. But because of the incessant hum of the engine, I couldn't tell what was going on. However, the back of Captain Daddy's head and the frequency and ferocity at which The Navigator was rotating the map were communicating a very clear message. Something was amiss. My sister, The Quiet Reader (AKA "Mom, Sara's Looking At Me Again"), must have noticed as well, because she had abandoned her book and was now also watching the backs of our parents' heads with a quizzical look on her face.

About the time I was getting ready to get good and scared, Captain Daddy spotted a runway and we began to come in for a landing. I relaxed as much as a pudgy awkward airsick kid could relax and took solice in the fact that we would be out of the Green Machine of Misery soon. I felt the jolt in my stomach as our altitude decreased and then the bump underneath us as the plane's wheels made contact with the precious ground....we rolled to a stop....and then blue lights started flashing and men with air traffic control sticks began making angry gestures in our general direction.

I panicked.

"Daddy, what's wrong?!?! What's happening??? Why are they sending police cars after us? Why are those men angry at us? WHAT DID YOU DO????"

It's the only time in history that I recall my father actually yelling at me to "SHUT UP!!!!"

We exited the plane, they ushered us into a lobby, and my father was taken into a back room with a bunch of angry men who looked very official. Apparently, in an effort to get us to Gulf Shores, Alabama where there is a small, private airport for small, privately owned planes, Captain Daddy had suffered an "equipment failure" and landed The Green Machine of Misery at the Pensacola National Airport...you know....the one where commercial planes land and air traffic control clearance or some sort of special authorization to land are required. Since we were not a commercial plane and we didn't have air traffic control clearance or some sort of special authorization to land, my father was in a tiny room. Possibly under arrest. Definitely in serious trouble.

My sister resumed reading. The Navigator, I'm fairly certain, was praying. But I was stewing, still indignant that my father had told me to shut up.

A little while later, Captain Daddy sheepishly walked out of the room followed by the angry man. They shook hands, exchanged forced pleasantries, and we were ushered back into the Green Machine of Misery where my father gave me explicit instructions that I was to sit back there and be quiet. No one said a word. We took off again, and were on our way, armed with very precise directions to the small private airport in Gulf Shores. I found out later that the angry man really could have had my father arrested, as he had been forced to delay large airplanes due to us puttering into their airstrip uninvited. But he was gracious and chose to look the other way.

As it turned out, we weren't that far off from the airport we were supposed to land at, and I learned, years later, that my father had been communicating with the correct control tower, he was simply at the wrong landing strip. Nevertheless, we got to Gulf Shores and went on to have the worst vacation in family history, a mere 15 Green Machine of Misery hours away from home. Ten by car.

I'm sure my father apologized for yelling at me to Shut Up, and though this was roughly 20 years ago, we are just now able to talk about this entire incident with a touch of laughter, as Captain Daddy doesn't seem to enjoy the story as much as the rest of us.

But as is the case with nearly all of my blogs, there is a moral to the story, so here it is:

Sometimes, in life, you will have an equipment failure. Sometimes you will simply lose your way. And sometimes, when it happens, someone is there, ready to give you Grace.

But no matter what, even if it's faster, even if it's cheaper, even if Jesus himself is flying the plane,

you should always, ALWAYS, DRIVE.

You Can't Go Home Again

2011-07-27T08:48:00.000-07:00

I recently attended a going away party for a friend who is moving to a tropical island so her husband can go to medical school. Her life is hard. Please pray for her. ;)

Anyway, this party consisted of a ton of people I used to go to church with a.k.a. people who have practically known me my entire life. I'm fairly certain that a small handful of people there changed my diapers at one point in time, and I know for a fact that they have all seen me at one time or another do the ugly cry. I have years of history with these people, but after my divorce from Ex, I wanted a new beginning. I moved about 30 minutes away and stopped going to this church. I now keep up with most of these people via facebook.

Because I'm from a small town, word gets around fast. When I married and divorced The Asshole That Shall No Longer Be Named, the entire community heard the news that I had obviously lost my shit and spiraled out of control. I can only imagine the thoughts and possible conversations that took place when this news came out. I mean...for a while there, I really had lost it. I was making terrible decisions. I was really unhealthy. I was kind of crazy.

But here's the thing...it was just for a little while. I made a bad decision, but I also made it right. I was acting really unhealthy, but I'm not anymore. I was kind of crazy. Now I'm using my past for God's purpose for me. But I got the distinct impression at this party that several of these people don't see that. At one point in time a conversation took place between me and someone who I have always loved and admired...and it sort of broke my heart.

When she asked me what I'm doing now, I replied that I am a counselor and building a practice in the area. Her eyes widened...she stumbled on her words...and then her husband walked up. She told him I was a counselor now. I think her exact words were, "Did you know Sara is a counselor now?" Pretty tame, right? But her tone, the widened eyes, and his expression upon hearing what I was up to these days communicated a message somewhat akin to "Sara's a counselor now?!?!?! But she's CRAZY!" And then this woman made a half hearted attempt to suggest that maybe I might be a good counselor because I've been through stuff.

But she obviously didn't believe it.

And again, it broke my heart. It's not that I need these people to approve of me. My life is just fine with or without their support. I have a network of people that love me and GET ME...and it's really not necessary for these people on the outskirts to believe in what I'm doing or the fact that I am actually good at it. What actually breaks my heart isn't that these people who I have known my whole life don't believe in me. What really gets to me is the lack of grace, the lack of compassion, and the inability to see past their misconceptions and the unwillingness to even try.

Situations like this make me thankful that it's God's grace that purposes my journey and not the perceptions of others. I made a mess of my life there for a good solid year. I got myself into hot water and made things harder that didn't have to be. But because of that same level of sickness in my life, I now know a deeper sense of security, and greater wealth of healing, a heavenly magnitude of mercy, and the white knuckle grip of grace.

People say you can't go home again, and this experience has made that phrase come to life for me. It was uncomfortable...unwelcoming...unpleasant...a place where who I used to be seemed to win over who I actually am. The people of my past may never be able to look past my mistakes. They may never be able to see the healing that has taken place in my life. And quite honestly, they may just not care. It's a hard pill to swallow, but isn't that just the case with humanity sometimes?

The truth is, I could have avoided all of that pain and hardship by simply making a better decision on the front end. Then no one would think I'm crazy. No one would raise their brows at my desire to help others. No one would have anything at all to say about anything. But that's not what happened and as a result I now know two things:

1. People still think I'm sick, crazy, or broken,

and

2. God will go to the very deepest depths of despair to meet me in my sickness, to find me in my craziness, and to accept me in my brokenness,

just so He can bring me back home again.

The Finish Line

2011-05-07T16:14:00.000-07:00

It was late 2007 when Ex and I split up, and around that same time when I began to think long and hard about what I wanted my life to look like. I was in sales at the time and hated every minute of it. I was good at it. I could build relationships quickly, people liked me, and I could put up some impressive numbers when I really wanted to put in the effort. But most of the time, I hated what I was doing, so my effort was limited. Then, in the spring of 2008, it hit me in the middle of a praise team practice that I was supposed to go back to school to get my masters and be a therapist. And just like that, I was in motion. I applied to the Master of Marriage and Family Therapy program and got accepted to begin in the fall of 2008. There were plenty of reasons not to go. It would mean taking time away from my beautiful baby boy, and it would cost a lot of money. It would take a lot of effort, and well...it would suck.

In late August, 2008, I parked my car in front of Greathouse Science, the building where I would spend A LOT of time over the next couple of years. It's an older, red brick building, and the floor mat as you walk in the basement level double doors smells like a wet dog. There was a girl walking in at the same time as me. She asked if I knew what room we were in. In a moment of sheer departure from character, I whipped out my planner and glanced at the note that I had jotted down about the room number, which happened to be on the fourth floor. It was strange for me to be so organized and on top of things. (And I learned later, that it's CRAZY out of character for her to NOT be organized and on top of things.) But we huffed our way up four flights of stairs and she seated herself at my left side.

That day, this girl and I went to lunch at Subway, because neither of us knew anyone else. Little did I know that she would become one of the greatest girlfriends that anyone could ever ask for, and I had no idea that we would walk up those stairs and sit just like that for the next 2 and a half years. But we did. Every class...every lecture...every step of the way. We are different in more ways than we are alike. She's structured and organized. I am not. She is a planner and prefers details. I am not. But we forged a friendship that I honestly don't know if I would have survived grad school without. This is partly because she became my support system, and partly because I stopped buying the books during the second year of school and she panicked about my complete lack of preparation and unfailingly made copies for me. Some might say she is an enabler. I say she's a DAMN. FINE. FRIEND.

We graduated today. And during the (really...insanely....obscenely) long commencement service, as they were calling name after name of people I'd never met, I realized she was sitting on my left side. Again. And always. And I was reminded that I am one lucky chick. She is, without question, the biggest perk of getting a Masters degree.

There were plenty of good reasons to get my Masters. I felt like God had created me with a purpose, and now, more than ever, I realize that purpose is to offer healing in the lives of other people. I knew ever so slightly what healing looked like in 2008, but PRAISE JESUS, I KNOW HEALING NOW. I know what it's like to be my own biggest stumbling block, to invite toxicity into my life, to breathe in and breathe out in order to survive and do no more, and to mess up time and time again. But I also know HEALING. I know what it's like for God to extend his Grace, for Jesus to be enough, and for the finger of God to pull back the curtain on my shame so that I might again see a glimpse of the beautiful woman he created me to be. I have both spit in His face and curled up in His lap more times than I can possibly count. And whatever I was doing, being a bratty child or a tender heart, He received me with Grace. He ALWAYS receives me with Grace. Because that's MY God. And I can say with complete peace, that I know Him now.

There were plenty of great reasons to take this path, and at various times there were plenty of pretty great reasons to step off it. But one thing kept me going. Just one, very small thing. In 2008 I woke up to a life where it was just me and E. And I knew there would never be a better time for me to embrace education so that one day I could provide a better life for him, be more available to him, and do great things that might leave my son with a living legacy. It took a lot of sacrifice. I dropped him off at a grandparent's house more times than I can count. (And by the way, if you are one of those grandparents...I owe you. 'Thank you' will never be enough.) I left work many nights only to go to class instead of home to him, and on more occasions than I care to admit, someone other than me picked him up from school. So many times I felt guilty for sacrificing my time with him, but I kept reminding myself that SOMEDAY it would be worth it all. Someday, this process would end, and I would have opportunities to create a better life for us than I could back then.

"Someday" is here. Because today, I graduated with a Masters in Marriage and Family Therapy. The irony of this is still pretty tough for me to swallow, but when I actually started working with people in my internship, I realized that I had something special to offer them. I am able to offer understanding and empathy to a degree that I would never be able to if I had not had to WALK HEALING. He really does make all things good. And I have waited two and a half years for this picture:

the one with my degree in my right hand...

and the reason for it in my left.

"Vitality shows not only in the ability to persist, but the ability to start over."

~F. Scott Fitzgerald

A Tale of Two Women

2011-04-01T09:25:00.000-07:00

For a while, God and I weren't on speaking terms as much as we just generally passed each other in the hallway and tried to avoid eye contact. Well...ok...that was just me. But you get the point. However, in the last 6 weeks or so, He's been loving on my spirit, and I've slowly been allowing it to happen, begrudgingly at first and then, lately, with abandon. But there's a price to pay for allowing God's mercies to seep back into your soul, and that price is, in my world, known as "self-awareness." And while it's ALWAYS a good thing in the end, sometimes it feels a bit like wiping your ass with damp toilet paper. Icky.

Two and a half years ago I started this blog and named it Grace Gets Greater, because at that particular moment in my life, I was surviving on absolutely nothing but the Grace of God. I had just come off a very painful divorce from Ex, and found myself each day trying to find the old pieces of my life that were scattered around and working with exhausting ferociousness to connect them to the new pieces. It didn't always work out so well...Lord, help me...but today, there's a pretty calm peace settled over me, and life is good. However...

There's been one pretty big piece from my old life that's been looming in my new life, and it doesn't fit, it doesn't feel good, and I'm tired of pretending that it's not there. I've been struggling with it for two years, and my renewed connection with God has brought this to the forefront so that I can no longer pretend it doesn't bother me. During the mess of my divorce a few years ago, someone involved in that process caused a great deal of pain and hurt in my life. Their presence in my life has continued on a limited, but unavoidable, basis, and it's become increasingly obvious to me over the last few months, that my peace and sanity, and perhaps more importantly, the peace and sanity of my son, depend on righting this wronged relationship.

I can't adequately express in a blog just HOW TALL AN ORDER THIS IS.

You see, for the last couple of years my pain has found a tiny bit of solice in the arms of karma. She's fast, loose, dependable...and known for being quite a bitch. I've kind of been counting on her. When all else fails, Karma will sweep in and right the wrongs...set the record straight...and shine light into the dark corners. In several moments of shattered weakness, she has been my only strength. And again...I HAVE BEEN COUNTING ON HER.

But in the past couple of weeks, God reintroduced me to my long lost friend...someone that had drifted from my memory like a facebook friend from grade school. Grace showed up again with her bag of tricks that, at first glance, seem benign. But as she opens the bag, they come tumbling out, an unending array of novelties, like Mary Poppins and her carpet bag of surprises. They were all there...kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, compassion, and the one that she carries so well, forgiveness.

I realized recently that while both of these women have obvious appeal, this heart isn't big enough for both of them. I've been best friends with Karma for a good long while now, only to learn that she is harsh, bitter, and selfish. And my, oh my, how I have missed Grace. The truth is that we all screw up...we all, for moments at a time, turn into people that we don't recognize...we all should have done it differently...and we all have it coming. Karma used to tell me that vengeance was my right. Grace tells me that forgiveness is my privilege.

Grace is my steadfast truth. Karma is...has always been... the other woman.

Modern Day Miracles

2011-03-04T10:18:00.000-08:00

I get to people watch a lot from behind the bar. Most of the time it's just business men drinking or an occasional bachelor party. And most of the time I tune everything out and just get through the night. Every now and then I have a good conversation. And once in a while, I make a friend. But last night something happened that blessed me in a way that I haven't experienced in a good long while.

I first met Wilbur and Karen in January. They are about my parents' age and Wilbur was mad at me before he ever knew my name. We were out of Ribeye that night, and he was simply disgusted that a hotel such as ours would run out of an entree such as Ribeye. I tried to make it better with vodka, but it only worked marginally. He was ill. I will admit to plenty of muttering under my breath and thinking about what he could do with that steak knife...until his son walked up to me and said, "I'm sorry about my dad. My brother is in the hospital and he's really stressed out. He really doesn't mean it."

Immediately my heart melted and I felt the uncontrollable need to give them free cheesecake. That always helps, right? So the next night, when Wilbur and Karen returned, without their son, I talked to them longer and learned their other son, Eric, was in the hospital with aplastic anemia. He was 34 and facing the fight of his life. His brother had come to town to see if he was a bone marrow match as finding a donor would be his best opportunity for healing. Over the next few days I watched as the couple came rolling in each night, worry on their faces, determination in their voices, and Ribeye in their bellies. (High five to my hotel for actually getting their shit together.)

They kept me up to speed with the treatment Eric was getting at the hospital. He would need to be stripped of all of his bone marrow, lots of toxic medicines, days upon days in sterile rooms hosed down with bleach, and lots of endless question marks. His brother, sadly, was not a match, so he faced an aggressive treatment with only a sliver of hope on the other side. Every night, while he was sleeping in his sterile room, I fed Wilbur and Karen calamari and steak, vodka and wine. We talked. They asked about my life, which I felt almost embarrassed to share knowing they were going through such hard times. But I got to KNOW them. They told me how Wilbur's first wife (Eric's mom) had died in a car accident and how that had made Eric angry at God. But they KNEW that God would find him again and maybe this, the sickness and the fear, would get his attention. They talked about their granddaughter, their brilliant ray of sunshine, in such a gray world. They laughed as openly as a couple that had just come from the store instead of the hospital. They smiled and encouraged one another, and at some point, the LET ME IN.

What they didn't know about me, was that I was having my own struggles with God. I hadn't felt spiritually connected in a long time, and had really begun to question just how big God's involvement in my own life really was. They had no idea that as they talked about prayer and miracles that in my own mind I was questioning whether or not God really cared...or whether or not prayer would work...or whether it mattered at all. It was a spiritually dry place that had been suffocating my soul for months. And as they talked about their faith, on the inside I ached for it. Nevertheless, I said a few prayers for them...out of respect...out of affection...out of habit.

After a while they went home to West Virginia and every few weeks I would watch as they turned the corner into the restaurant, always nervous about why they were back, and always armed with wine and vodka for the purposes of either celebration or alcohol induced sleep, as the case demanded.

Last night something special happened. I was watching American Idol with Kenny, the Coors Lite drinker for Cincinnati, when I saw Wilbur and Karen come into the restaurant. I got nervous. Why were they back? What had happened? Was Eric ok? I watched nervously as they sat down at the bar, my eyes wide with anticipation of what they were about to say.

"You're back?" I asked anxiously.

"Yep! And do we have a story for you!" Wilbur said. "Pour me a vodka and get ready for this..."

I poured a glass of Grey Goose and Karen said, "We're not even staying at this hotel. You guys didn't have any rooms. But when we found out about this we knew we had to stop by and tell you."

And they told me the story of a miracle. Actually...several miracles. Several years back, Eric had a friend that died of Leukemia, and he was so inspired by her journey with the illness that he decided to donate stem cells. The stem cells were given to a family with a young child, also suffering from Leukemia. And then they were forgotten about. Now, unbeknownst to Wilbur, Karen, and Eric, his Dr. had been searching for those stem cells only to discover that they had never been used by the young child, because miraculously, the child had gone into remission. And miraculously, the family was found. And miraculously, they were willing to relinquish the stem cells back to Eric's Dr. And miraculously, those stem cells, which Eric had donated to save a life,

WILL BE USED TO SAVE HIS OWN.

Wilbur and Karen credit prayer and give God every ounce of glory. Eric has said he's ready to talk to his pastor again. And last night, behind the bar, with a bottle of Grey Goose in my hand, my eyes welled up with tears of celebration and silently I prayed,

Ok God. You have my attention.

Walk Softly and Carry A Big Stick

2011-02-25T12:37:00.000-08:00

There's a scene in the Swiss Family Robinson where a zebra is stuck in quicksand struggling to get out. The two oldest sons and the girl that they rescued from the pirates spend a while trying to get the animal out of the muck until finally the zebra is freed. Then, because what else would you do with a zebra, they ride it home. Obviously.

This scene popped into my head this week while I was doing therapy with a client. I may not have mentioned on here, but I'm neck deep in my grad school internship at the moment, which means that several days a week I sit across from people on a one on one basis and watch as they pour out their guts, cry out their eyes, and generally make sense of their issues. I LOVE IT. For awhile I felt like all of the brokenness in my life meant that I was a failure. Now I just think God will use the brokenness by letting me watch (and hopefully using me) as he heals the brokenness of others. It's a humbling experience, to say the least, but I'm incredibly excited for this next phase of life. Anyway, I was working with a client this week and she was describing something that many describe when they are faced with struggles. She felt stuck. Her world was crashing down on her. She was sinking. And no matter what, she felt there was no way out.

I found myself during the session picturing the zebra in the quicksand, struggling to get free and sinking down even farther. And because I have also been in this stuck...world crashing down...no way out place, I knew the feeling of despair that sits on your soul when you are there. So that day, when I got home, I googled "how to get out of quicksand." The result was shockingly therapeutic. There are a couple of different lists out there with various bullet points of helpful hints. My favorite is "walk softly and carry a big stick," because really...how many things can you not solve by walking softly and carrying a big stick. Damn near nothing.

But the basics of quicksand survival are as follows:

1. Remain Calm
2. Shed excess weight
3. Keep as still as possible until your feet reach solid ground
4. Move or swim with slow, deliberate motions.
5. Work in the direction of the last known bit of solid ground.
6.Pull yourself out.

As I read through this list, it seemed so fitting for these places in life where we struggle and feel nothing but sinking dread and despair. I thought about times in my life when I didn't know the answers, couldn't hear God's guiding, felt angry or confused, and generally wanted to give up, throw in the towel, call it a day, or take my ball and go home. What would happen if I had simply:

Remained calm: reminded myself that in this moment I was breathing in and then breathing out with perfectly timed rhythm...that right here, right now, I am O.K...

Shed excess weight: cast aside the things that were weighing me down...said no to overwhelming commitments, asked for help, called a friend, or asked God to bear the burden...

Kept as still as possible: not made decisions out of fear, waited for God's timing, been patient with the possibilities, asked for understanding, or prayed for confirmation and wisdom...

Moved with slow deliberate motions: lived intentionally instead of reactively, moved forward with purpose, been driven by a spirit of direction instead of chaos...

Worked toward the last known bit of solid ground: remembered God's real presence in my life and invited that back to me instead of floundering on my own, centered my spirit instead of living in urgency, allowed God to find me instead of looking, hunting, scavenging...

Pulled myself out....by the arms of grace instead of by my own will...

What would have happened? And what might happen in the future if when I'm stuck, sinking, floundering, and the world is crashing down that I remember these tips for survival? Will the muck and the mire win?

Or, like the zebra, will I find myself safely heading home?

Peaks and Valleys and Turning 30

2011-01-26T10:36:00.000-08:00

In 14 days I turn 30. I always thought I would dread this time in my life, because isn't that what people are supposed to do to mourn the death of their twenties? But I can't wait to walk through this particular doorway. I feel like my twenties have been one giant ball of confusion, a misstep at life almost. And while I'm meeting 30 with a new bag of questions to explore, I'm excited about what's next. While life is still a question mark to me, I feel that the grit and grind of life is slowly being sifted away, like I have survived the pain and the hurdles, like I am standing on the peak of the mountain of my youth.

During the summer of 2000, I participated in a summer mission project in South Lake Tahoe, California. The summer involved a lot of spiritual growth, learning to share the gospel, and working in the area. Some of the students I was on project with had cool jobs like working at the Ponderosa Ranch where they had filmed the show Bonanza. Others got to work on the Tahoe Queen, a local riverboat.

I worked at McDonald's.

Not only did I work at McDonald's, but the location of our camp was about 6 miles from the store that I worked at. My car was in Tennessee. So I purchased a bicycle, and 5 days a week I rode 6 miles to McDonald's, took orders for burgers and fries for 5 or 6 hours, and then rode 6 miles back to camp. Now, I guess if you have to ride your bike to and from work, doing it in the beautiful city of Lake Tahoe isn't all that bad, because every day on the way home from work this was my view:

This is Mt. Tallac. It's the tallest mountain peak in Lake Tahoe at 3, 250 ft. It's known for it's "snow cross" which you can see here to the left of the mountain's summit. Even in the heat of the summer, the snow is visible in the cross shaped crevice, and all summer long I got to gaze at this beautiful creation.

However, in all the time I was gazing at this thing...I never thought I'd actually climb it.

All summer, a large portion of our group talked about climbing Tallac. The climbing rating by the United States Forest Service is "difficult" which means that it is a day's hike that should not be done alone and also should probably not be done by someone who gets winded walking up a steep flight of stairs. However, it doesn't require ropes or any kind of rock climbing experience. It's just a strenuous hike. A strenuous 5 mile, straight up the damn mountain, kind of hike. One day towards the end of the summer talking about hiking the mountain turned into actually doing it, and I found myself putting on my tennis shoes with two pairs of socks and packing a sack lunch.

Have I mentioned that I don't really enjoy hiking? There are bugs. And it is hard. And there is nothing to look at but nature. And it is hard. And after about 15 minutes, nature is boring. And...it is hard.

But I went. And after about 15 minutes, nature was boring, and I was tired of looking at my doubled socked feet. And I was getting nervous, because looking up to see how far there was left to go meant tipping your head all the way back until the bones in the back of your neck popped and being met with the sight of a 3,250 ft MOUNTAIN. But peer pressure is a funny thing, and because everyone else seemed to be enjoying hiking the big damn mountain, I put on my best "this is awesome" face and kept going. And going. And going. And going. For about 5 hours. There were bugs. It was hot. Phrases like "I can't do this" and "What was I thinking" and "I'm never going to make it" flashed through my mind on repeat. The landscape of the mountain turned from wildflowers and pebbles to evergreen and boulder. It got colder. I put on my fleece pullover and marveled at a family of deer. We stopped for a water break. And then we started climbing again. Up and up and up. And bit by bit by bit. And eventually I didn't have to tip my head so far back to see the peak of the mountain, because a little at a time, the peak of the mountain was getting closer. And closer. And closer. And then, I climbed over a giant rock, with patches of snow on the ground around me, and just like that, the peak of the mountain had come to meet me.

The top of the mountain was rocky, and our group began to snap pictures of the view below us.

It was breathtaking. Any way you turned you saw something spectacular. Emerald Bay and Fallen Leaf Lake were tiny from thousands of feet away, and I felt sorry for the people below us who were oblivious to the beauty that was escaping them from the safety of sea level. Standing on the the patch of rocky earth that formed the peak of that mountain was like being in such intimate conversation with God. Almost like he was letting me in on one of his many secrets, like he was giving me a glimpse of how big He was without ever saying a word. There was a deafening quiet on the top of that mountain, and I became so absorbed by the silence that I forgot every moment of "I can't do this" and "What was I thinking" and "I'll never make it." I forgot about the heat and the bugs and the hours that it took to get there. I forgot about the aches in my legs and the blisters on my feet, and the fact that my lunch had long ago abandoned me. All I heard was the silence of God's voice in my spirit saying "You did it. This is yours."

That single moment of peace was worth all of the pain and suffering and labor and effort it took to get there. Because for a brief moment in time, the world stood still, peace lived within me,
and God and I were on the same page of the story and the same peak of the mountain.

Turning 30 takes me back to that moment, because for all of the "What was I thinkings" and the "I'll never make its," I have found myself at the peak of my youth. Looking back, I remember the pain and the lost footing, and the longing to turn around and go back home. So many times felt like failure, and so many times felt like shame. But now that I am on the verge of living my better life, there is peace in this place. I can appreciate where I am, because I know where I have been. I can look back on the journey and say

"I did it. This is mine."

The One About Marriage....

2011-01-14T10:42:00.000-08:00

So far I'm 0 for 2 on this whole marriage thing, which is, at the least slightly irritating, and at the most unbearably heartbreaking. Most days I occupy a small bit of space somewhere between the two, because that seems to be the easiest place to fly under the radar. It's also where acceptance and new beginnings frolic exhaustively with denial and self hatred...an interesting little game of freeze tag to say the least.

In the past month or so, there has been a tugging in my spirit for some peace about my history with marriage. It probably has something to do with the fact that I'm dating whom I believe to be one of the most precious human beings on the planet. And it probably has something to do with the fact that I would someday like to have more children. And it might just have something to do with the fact that I truly believe I will be a blessing as a wife to the right person. And, while we're pinpointing...it just might have something to do with the fact that I've spent the last 2+ years studying the ins and outs of relationships and how to give and take and make things work.

But combine all of those desires with two very misguided marriages and you get a girl who is a little (VERY) gun shy when it comes to the logistics of "til death do you part." Is it really possible for two flawed human beings to stay together and do so happily for THE REST OF THEIR LIVES?

I went into both of my marriages with the best of intentions, but the worst of reasons. I was in love. Well....I was in love the first time. I don't really know what I was the second time actually. Stupid, definitely. In love? Not so much. But the first time, I married someone that I believed (and still believe in a different way) that I had a soul connection with. At the time, I would have said we were soul mates. Our journey had multiple twists and turns prior to our marriage, but there seemed to be some kind of magnetic force that kept pulling us back together. Our relationship made no sense, but at the time, I couldn't see NOT being with him. I loved him, and I don't really question that for a time in his life he really loved me. We were young and impulsive and knew nothing of shattered dreams and broken promises. Our world was filled with possibilities and plans and the naive desires of two kids who were oblivious to the harsh reality that they had everything to lose. We spent a small number of years fumbling our way through "marriage" and then a more recent number of years trying to figure out how to not be married anymore. And somewhere in the mess of it all, this person that I knit my life to, though he really hasn't changed all that much, has turned into someone that I kind of know but barely recognize. The pieces of our story don't quite fit together anymore, but our child shuffles between them as proof that at one point in time there was a story to tell. It's like when a word or a sound or a taste or a smell triggers a memory so poignant that you find yourself reliving it, and yet at the same time you somehow managed to forget that the memory was ever there at all.

And then, for some reason I can boil down only to brokenness, I remarried someone who 90% of the time I didn't even like. It's weird what pain can make you do.

So here I am at the most intense level of introspection that I think I am capable of about to dig into the history of marriage in order to learn more about what made it work, what made it fail, and historically why people got married before "love" got involved. This process involves a lot of google searches and a book that I am about to go purchase and read fervently with my highlighter poised and ready to go. I've already discovered that the concept of marriage for love is in its infancy while "hey, I'll marry her because she has a goat" is the more historically accepted measure of marital success. I figure somewhere in between those two I'll find a wealth of healthy building blocks for marriage, and hopefully a little bit of peace and healing.

Because if I'm ever to do this again and feel good about it, it can't be just about love. And lord knows there's no room in this house for a goat. So here goes nothing....

Dearly beloved, brace yourself for impact.

Mark

2011-01-09T20:52:00.000-08:00

Life has been good lately. I've had the last month or so off of school, so instead of running around crazy, I've actually had time to sit around the house and do a whole lot of nothing all that spectacular. It's been, in a word, amazing. My crazy schedule starts back next week, but I feel rejuvenated and ready to take on this last semester. I graduate in May...so the countdown is O.N. (I actually wish the word "on" had more letters in it so I could make that point even more emphatically. Two just didn't quite feel satisfying...)

Anyway, I've continued working at the bar which has been both interesting and frustrating for the past month. The bar that I work at is in a hotel that I may have mentioned before mainly caters to business travel. As you can imagine, most of our patrons head home for the holidays, so with the exception of New Year's Eve, for the last month I've been pouring drinks less often than I've been standing behind the bar and counting how many cars can drive by outside the floor to ceiling window during the amount of time it takes me to sing the chorus of "Glory of Love" in my head. The record is 13...in case you were curious.

The week after New Years brought a sigh of relief, because most of my regular guys were back. Paul got back in town and took his usual seat, drinking his usual Corona. Kenny came back from Cincinnati, Doug came back from Philly, and Mark came back from Houston.

Mark is here on business with a company that does very official IT business with a very official local corporation. He is probably in his mid to late 50's and often sports a salt and pepper 5 o'clock shadow that seems to argue "I'm masculine" while his eyes gently urge that he's kind. He always starts the night with a shot of Glenlivet on the rocks. He pays $15 a glass for the good stuff, insisting that the difference between the 12 year and the 18 year is like a prepubescent kid and John Wayne smoking a cigarette with a naked blond in the room. He carries around a quiet demeanor but exudes an aire of "get the job done." He's wealthy beyond measure, but he wears it like a man who at one point in time probably had to shovel manure in cowboy boots and 100 degree heat just to get his beat up pinto running again. I like him, because he drinks enough to come to the bar, but not enough to stop talking nice about his wife. Whenever he comes to the bar he starts by asking me how my day has been. And whenever he stands to go, he ends the night with, "Well, Sara....that's all for me."

Last week, he joined me in the bar and I poured his regular glass of scotch. A young man in a jeans and white t shirt sat beside him. I had never seen this guy before, and seeing as how he was leaving town the next day, I bothered only to get his name and the basic "What are you in town for" information. His name was Jim, and he was in town on business from Cincinnati. He was from Michigan, but his wife wanted to move to Ohio, so he did. His head was shaved, and he kept rubbing it like it itched. He drank a Bud Light and ordered a burger. When Mark sat next to him they began to chat. I brought their food and listened to them talk between moving around behind the bar refilling drinks. The talked about their wives...their kids....the game....business. For about an hour, they chit chatted like old friends, as perfect strangers in bars tend to do. I perched myself in front of them and listened to them talk about the holidays and found myself smiling. Then, as I gathered dirty plates and printed tabs for them to sign, Mark looked at me and smiled asking, "Sara, are you happy?"

And I felt my smile widen as I replied, "I really am." And Mark looked to his right at the young man sitting beside him and said, "I knew she was happy. That's why I asked that." Then he looked back at me, placed the ink pen back in the black check presenter, drank the last bit of scotch from the bottom of his glass, and said, "Well, Sara...that's all for me." And with that, he walked out of the bar.

I didn't really see it coming, but seeing as how it's visible from the other side of the bar, I must be wearing happiness well these days. It fits better than it used to....like a pair of jeans the day after you take them out of the dryer. Somehow I managed in this crazy life to make sense of motherhood, of grad school, of divorce, of work, of love. For the first time in almost 30 years, I feel that I am owning my life instead of it owning me. I feel like I have served my time in the trenches of confusion and made my peace with the demons there. And I feel like I have won....like I'm blessed....like I'm whole...like I'm doing this life thing right. Happiness used to be like a coat to put on when it was cold and take off when it wasn't. Now it's like an ember in my core, something that lights up inside of me when the wind hits it just right, and without any effort at all, suddenly I'm warm.

The journey hasn't been quite as smooth as a glass of 18 year scotch, but I'll drink in the life just the same...and well....that's all for me.

The Farting Cousin

2010-12-21T19:58:00.001-08:00

Dear Farting Cousin,

Happy belated birthday. This blog's for you. I love you!

For the past three months I've been hiding a boyfriend from you all for reasons that, if you've been keeping up, should seem kind of obvious. I am the girl who cried "love." But that's a whole other blog in itself, and I promise to get there soon. Nevertheless, I recently found myself trying to school my bf, The Scientist, on my family, as he was getting ready to be included in our annual dirty santa gift card giveaway. I explained who was who and who would be there and who would be missing, and when it came time to tell him about my cousin I couldn't help but introduce her to him as "My Farting Cousin." I went on to tell him a story about why I have dubbed her with such a nickname. It goes like this:

A handful of years ago I found myself shopping with this particular cousin who is about 6 years younger than me. She and I bare a family resemblance, except that she is blond, buxom, and shall we say bootylicious. I am none of those things. But still....we look like cousins. We were in a major department store in between two racks of clothing when she came up to me quickly and muttered under her breath, "We gotta go. Move...go. Go now. We have to go."

I was confused as to why I had to suddenly drop the clearance priced sweater in my hand and get the hell out of dodge so I asked, "Um...ok...why?"

And the blond, buxom, bootylicious one replied with, "Fart and run, Fart and run." She had, evidently, lost control of her flatulence and left a rather unpleasant cloud of toxic vapor waiting for the next unsuspecting clearance shopper.

This isn't the only reason that I have nicknamed her My Farting Cousin. It's enough of one. But it's not the only reason. She is proud of her gas. On numerous occasions I have witnessed her lift one butt cheek from her chair in order to let a slow rumble emerge. And when she does it she laughs about as heartily as E does when he farts. And he's four. Our family suspects that she has an intolerance to gluten, because no blond, buxom, bootylicious young woman should produce such excessive amounts of gas, and yet she does...every time. It's got to be because of the gluten. And maybe the dairy...

But there's another reason that My Farting Cousin is so special. She isn't just blond, buxom, and bootylicious. She isn't just gassy. She isn't just good with kids or kind or funny. My cousin has been blessed with "it." I'm sure you know "it". It's the indescribable thing that some people have that can't be categorized. It has nothing to do with kindness or smarts or intentions or purpose. It's just "that thing" that you can't put your finger on or adequately quantify with words. It's an essence or an aura that reaches out from behind a bright smile or the sparkle in the corner of an eye that digs back behind your ribs and makes friends with your dark places. My cousin has the ability to light up a room simply by walking through it. She is by far the easiest person I have ever had the honor of being around, because she has the uncanny ability to quickly find her place in the room and fill it up with joy. And she does it effortlessly and without the slightest realization that she's doing it. "It" is what happens when a genuine spirit plays tag with easy laughter, an absence of judgment, and an open heart. The result of this sweet, unassuming, friendly little game is a person who drips little drops of sunshine into the path of every soul that she briefly brushes by. Someone like that is a gift to know, and my cousin is one of them. Wherever she goes, people are certain to be blessed.

As long as she hasn't had gluten. And possibly dairy.

Two Kinds of People...

2010-11-30T08:59:00.001-08:00

The weather has turned a bit colder here in Tennessee, and last night was my first night back to work since the day before Thanksgiving. I had fallen into a very comfortable rut in the days following Thanksgiving of doing nothing but eating leftover stuffing and cream cheese apple cake, so it took slightly more momentum than I'd like to admit to get myself going again when Monday rolled around. I had spent the day at the counseling center talking to clients about depression, and boys, and boundaries, and....well....boys, and then it was time to head to the bar.

As I drove into the parking garage of the hotel, I noticed the color of the sky shifting towards the shade of gray that I associate with my pajamas and old lifetime movies. I knew that if it actually started raining it would be a busy night. So I went in, slid my key into the safe deposit box where my bank is kept, set out the half consumed bottles of scotch and red wine, and began slicing limes. SportsCenter was playing on the tv behind me, and before I knew it people started drifting over to the bar for a quick beer or a glass of whiskey and coke. I saw a few of my regulars. Paul joined me around 5pm, earlier than usual, but like always he drank a few coronas and ate a wedge salad. While he was there, Wayne came down for a glass of red, and Kenny stopped by for a quick beer before heading to the pub to watch Monday Night Football.

And then the bottom fell out of the sky, and rain pounded the pavement outside the floor to ceiling windows.

Within twenty minutes the bar and the restaurant filled with guests all asking for menus and requesting glasses of water and iced tea. As the bartender, one of my responsibilities is to answer the calls that come in for room service. I take the order, write it on a form, and then pass it off to the server on duty who puts it in the system and then delivers the order when it is ready to go up. Normally, this isn't an issue as the volume of guests is fairly manageable. However, last night was unlike anything I've ever seen. It was almost as if every guest in the hotel conspired against our dining staff, consisting of one server, one supervisor and me, and decided to descend upon the dining room all at one time.

As guests found seats wherever they could, the room service phone began ringing non stop. For the next two hours I juggled 6 dining tables of guests, 6 guests dining and drinking at the bar, and over 50 room service orders. I ran between tables refilling water glasses, grabbing silverware, filling ramekins with extra salad dressing or extra tomatoes, refilling wine glasses, making martinis, pulling beer from the refrigerator, and jotting down room service orders to hand over to the server, who was also running wild. It was pure insanity, and it was no better in the kitchen. If you were brave enough to venture to the other side of the swinging door between the dining room and the kitchen, you would find one supervising cook slinging pans and flipping steaks with a non stop ribbon of orders sprouting from the ticket printer. It didn't help that it was his line cook's first time to work at night. And it didn't help that she didn't know what the dinner plates were supposed to look like. And while we're at it, it didn't really help that she didn't speak English.

The wait time for a burger went from the normal 20 minutes to about an hour, and before long room service callers were buzzing the phone again to check on the status of their food. About an hour into the chaos, a couple walked into the lounge area and requested menus and a couple glasses of wine. I brought their wine and they, apparently having taken in the sea of heads in the dining room impatiently tapping their fingers on their tables and the sweat dripping from my forehead asked if we were having trouble in the kitchen. I acknowledged that we were a bit short staffed. They requested an appetizer and said they didn't mind waiting. Not long after I put in their order for tomato artichoke dip, I answered a room service call and wrote down the order after the woman stated this:

"I want a chocolate brownie sundae. But I want the brownie, warmed for 30 seconds in the microwave, on one plate and the ice cream on another. And I don't want the hot fudge, just the whipped cream. You can put it on the ice cream. Not the brownie. I don't like for them to touch. And don't put the walnuts on the ice cream. You can put them on the brownie. On the side. And also...a diet coke."

My response was "that will be up in 30-45 minutes."

Her response was "THIRTY TO FORTY FIVE MINUTES FOR A DAMN BROWNIE?!?!?!?"

She hung up the phone and I delivered the order to the server.....and I may or may not have made a noise of contempt in the process. Then, I returned to refilling drinks, delivering food, and apologizing to about 50 different people for their wait and thanking them for their patience. I offered a third round of drinks to the couple in the lounge who at this point had waited about 45 minutes for an appetizer, and again they were pleasant. A few more minutes went by and I was finally able to bring them their food. They complimented the dip, told me I was doing a great job, and asked for their check.

While printing their check the room service phone rang. By this time, the dining room had cleared out some and most everyone had their food, but the frustrating feeling of helplessness hadn't quite gone away. I answered. This is what I heard in a not so pleasant tone:

"This is room 808. What did I order?"

"I"m sorry, ma'am. I don't have your order in front of me, Can you refresh my memory?"

"I asked for a brownie..."

"Oh yes ma'am, you wanted the brownie on one plate and the ice cream on another."

Pissy...."YES....THAT'S RIGHT. AND WHAT ELSE DID I WANT?"

At this point, I was done. I replied that I didn't have her order in front of me but would be glad to get my supervisor to which she responded,

"YES. DO THAT. I'D LIKE TO TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT YOU."

I called Dave to the phone, feeling as if just one glass tipped over or one fork fell on the floor, that I just might cry. He took the call, and I could hear him apologizing and offering to do everything but lick the woman's big toe while I gathered plates and laid checks on tables.

In the few minutes following, the room cleared out and we were left with a heap of dirty dishes to bus and checks to close out. My tomato artichoke couple had waved goodbye to me during the chaos. They had signed their dinner to their room, so I grabbed the black presenter and held it in my hand as I asked Dave what the lady on the phone had been so upset about. He prefaced his story with "This is the most ridiculous thing ever..." and then filled me in while I rolled my eyes. Just as I was about to go off on how some people are so incredibly rude, I opened the black presenter from my tomato artichoke couple and saw their ticket. They had signed their dinner to their room credit card, and across the top of their ticket they wrote, "You did a great job!" The encouragement alone was a welcome tip, but underneath the credit slip, was a crisp $20 bill.

I breathed in a little bit of Jesus in that moment, and I was hit with the realization that there are two types of people in the world. There are those precious few who go out of their way to build up their neighbor, to offer a word of encouragement, to leave a much needed tip, and to make a difference in someone's night. Just because they can.

And then there are those who pitch a fit because their nuts fell off their brownie.

God bless the tomato artichoke couple, wherever they might be...and God have mercy on the man that the brownie lady goes home to.

I have a feeling he might need a tomato artichoke couple of his own.

Can I see your ID

2010-10-25T14:02:00.000-07:00

The other night at work, my bar was crazy busy and I was completely exhausted. I had stayed up until about 2AM for the two previous nights, then participated in consecutive hours of counseling at the counseling center where I am doing my internship (YAY!), then worked, then stayed up dreadfully late again, then got up and wrangled stuff out of my garage for a yard sale, then worked some more. The last place I wanted to be was behind a bar pouring beer and whiskey for a bunch of rowdy tourists. So when I carded the two black, British men asking for Coronas, I was less than happy when they looked at me and asked, "Seriously? What are you wanting to see?"

Apparently there is no ABC board in the UK, because these men honestly didn't realize that they needed their identification on them in order for me to serve them. I sent them up to their room to retrieve their passports in order to make sure I stayed out of trouble. When they returned and I explained that they couldn't even enter most bars in the area without getting carded they thanked me and placed their order for drinks and dinner. It wasn't until later that I learned that the younger of the two was a rising British pop star signed by Simon Cowell. I later looked him up on YouTube. Pretty talented kid. However, I still think it's funny that they were so perplexed when I asked for their ID. They really had no clue what I was asking for.

Ironically enough, another intern and I are on the schedule to lead an hour long discussion on the college campus where we are interning this week about "Your Identity as a Woman." We have had so many discussions about how to approach this topic, because there are so many things we want to say to these 21 and 22 year old women about this topic. You see, this is a conservative Christian school, and most of these young woman have grown up in conservative Christian households. The generic answer that we are anticipating is "My identity is in Christ." And that's all well and good. In fact, when I was 21 and 22, it's the same answer I would have given. But over the course of the last 8 years, with all of my life experience folded neatly into baggage, I have come to realize that "My identity is in Christ" is a complete cop out. It's all well and good to love Jesus and worship God, but WHO ARE YOU REALLY AND WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

I gave this answer all those years ago, because I grew up thinking it was who I was supposed to be. It was what was expected of me. And no one ever came right out and said it was ok to be anything else. Since I was never one to rock the boat, I never questioned it. And whether it felt right or not, it's who I said I was. And then, because I could only see this one very narrow path that started with a pretty white dress, and had me pushing a stroller around the bend, I never gave myself permission to go a different way. In all honesty, I don't think it ever occurred to me that there actually was a different way. This was, for all I could see, THE ONLY WAY.

Then life happened harshly, and there was no other option for me than to redefine who I thought I was, who I wanted to be, where I wanted my life to take me, and who I wanted to go there with. It all happened so fast, and at the same time, finding myself has been the longest road.

So in an effort to find some sort of resolution to this question of "What is My Identity As a Woman" I am writing a letter to myself at the age of 22:

Dear Sara,
First of all I want you to know that I'm proud of you for finishing your bachelor's degree. I know you are second guessing your decision to major in interior design...as well you should...bad decision, my friend...but the degree will come in handy exactly two times. Once, when you are picking out paint for your home and you chose the lighter shade because paint always looks darker at home, and then again when you decide to go to grad school. It will be useful in no other way. So just accept that. I wish you knew that you were amazing, and smart, and funny, and pretty, and valuable. But I know you don't. I wish you realized that life is much bigger and much broader than marriage and babies and living like you should. I wish you would go to a party, dance with a frat boy, drink a margarita, and have fun...because you're 22 and you really shouldn't be so worried about doing the right thing all of the time. I wish you realized that your parents were proud of you...and I wish you knew that no matter how badly you screw up they always will be. You'll figure it out one day...but I wish you got it now. I wish you could dream big dreams for your life, instead of limiting yourself the way you do. Go travel, see the world, and then come home with stories to tell! I wish you could relax just long enough to see that you are worth it. I wish you knew that God could see your hurt places and doesn't judge you for them. I wish you knew that He loves you NO MATTER WHAT...because your life will be easier once you figure this out. I wish you knew exactly what you deserved...because if you knew that, you would make different choices. I wish you realized that there are no rules, no boundaries, no limits, and no expectations...because you are the one in charge. I wish you knew what I know. Because if you did, you would love you as much as I do.

But one day you'll get there...and we'll meet up somewhere, shake hands, and have a diet coke...and then I will know that you are ok. And then you will know that I am too. You should know, Sara, that the road is going to be rough for a while...but I will not give up on you.

Whatever you do, just keep going. Because once you catch up to me you'll see that it's about to get so good.

**************************

Eight years ago, if someone had asked who I was, I wouldn't have known how to answer them. Now...there's so much to tell, I don't even know where to start.

But at least I know who is in charge of the story.

Please Advise...

2010-10-20T18:12:00.000-07:00

The other day I found myself driving behind a mobile memorial. It was a Honda Civic with a large motorcycle shaped cling'em to the back windshield that said In Memory of Robbie, who apparently died in 2006. I know a lot of people do this, but I've honestly never really understood it. Why does it make someone feel better to broadcast their pain on the rear windshield of their car? I have searched all the dusty corners of my brain for some sort of rationalization that makes sense as to why someone would feel compelled to do this, and I've always come up with "Well...it's not my car, so what do I care what they do?" But on this day, the memorial cling'em got me to thinking...and less than a mile later I had mind bloggled.

Over the years, I have been given lots of advice. Most of it I never follow, because usually one of two things happens. I'm either A. Way too stubborn to listen to anyone else, or B. people give stupid advice.

Example for Part A: "Don't get married. You deserve better." Need I say more?

Example for Part B: (After I had a miscarriage) "It's for the best. That child wouldn't have been right." Seriously? That's your pathetic attempt at consolation? Could you please not talk to me anymore? Ever.

But during the course of the last 29 years, there have been three pieces of advice that have stuck with me. The first came from the mouth of a woman that I worked with at a furniture store. She was older, overweight, and jolly. She wore her glasses on a chain around her neck, and I adored her. It was just prior to my marriage to Ex, and she pulled me aside to tell me the one thing that she had learned over the course of marriage, divorce, and marriage. She sat with me one afternoon on a viciously overpriced tufted sofa and said, "You will be in the mood to love at different times. That needs to be ok." She went on to clarify that she wasn't talking about sex, rather the mindset of loving someone. It was a simple piece of advice, but it carved out a place in my memory bank, because for the first time I processed the concept that loving wasn't about a feeling but an action. Over the years, this piece of wisdom has made more sense to me as my perspective on love has shifted and evolved. I get what she was trying to tell me now. Love fits differently from day to day. Some days it's a pair of ill fitting jeans, and some days it's a pair of flannel pajama pants. But each day you put it on one leg at a time and wear it the best way you know how.

The second piece of advice was given to me in a moment after my divorce from Ex. I was struggling with figuring out my new identity as a young, single, christian woman. It was difficult for me to mediate the bickering feud between "good christian" and "single horny female." Within the safety of friendships that left no room for judgement (which are few and far between, might I add) I bared all and shared the frustrating fact that I wanted to be a woman who could love God and have sex at the same time! For a while I navigated these muddy waters fairly easily by talking about dating with these "safe friends" and then going to church and worshipping God like a good little girl on Sunday mornings. It worked pretty well for awhile until the leader of the praise and worship team asked all of the team members to sign a "covenant." I knew as soon as he pulled out the c word I was in trouble. It was pretty much like I expected. Don't wear revealing clothing. Don't show up late to practice. Don't speak ill of church members. And then the scarlet A....Single members will not have sexual relations. Oh. Shit. I struggled for a full week about signing this covenant, because I didn't want to sign something knowing I was going against it. But I didn't want to step down either, because I loved singing on the praise team. The little angel and little devil argued loudly in my mind all week long, until finally one night I sat with my sister and my aunt at my grandmother's table and shared this struggle that had hounded me like a hungry dog for days. I expected a long drawn out discussion, something to assuage my fears or give me clarity on the issue. I needed a long intense discussion about the subject. And my aunt looked at me and said, "Just sign it and do whatever you want." Simple as that. And while many would argue that she was encouraging me to compromise my integrity, what I heard her say was "You are in charge of you." Period. It was the first time anyone had given me permission to think for myself and make my own rules. If I wanted to love God and date I could! If I wanted to worship in peace I could! And if I chose not to piss away my god given sexual peak on years of celibacy, it was MY decision and no one else's! And to this day, whenever life challenges me to own a choice that goes against my upbringing or social acceptance in general, I hear her voice in my head saying, "Just sign it and do whatever you want." And then, to the general fear and chagrin of all of those that love me....I go out and think for myself.

This last piece of advice is the oldest. It dates back to my high school days. I was struggling with feeling lonely and out of place, and as usual I poured my feelings out to my mentor who had heard all of my struggles and self doubts. And in the middle of vomiting up my emotional confusion, I realized I was pouring this grief onto a woman who was undergoing treatment for a recurrence of breast cancer. And in that moment it hit me like a ton of bricks that I was the most selfish human being on the planet. I immediately groveled at her feet for forgiveness. "Here you are dealing with cancer, and I'm whining to you because I'm lonely!?!?! I'm so sorry!" And this amazing woman took her hand and tilted my face up to look at hers, and said, "If it's a big deal to you, then it's a big deal." Her selflessness was almost as beautiful as she was, and this one sentence has made its home in my soul. It has since become part of my mission in working in the field of counseling, because no matter how trivial it sounds when it spills from your lips, if it's a big deal to you, then it's a big deal.

While driving down the street the other day, behind the mobile memorial, I was reminded of this piece of wisdom, given to my by my precious friend. Suddenly, the need for people to plaster their pain on the rear windshield of their car made perfect sense to me. Because it's not just a memorial cling'em to them. It's a reminder, every time they see their car, that there was someone in their life that took up part of their space and part of their being, and their absence has left a hole so big that it's necessary in their hearts to make other people, people driving to Wal Mart, or people on their way to the gas station, aware of the fact that yes, someone is missing.

I got it, because of a pine cone. E gave it to me in the parking lot of daycare one day. He "found" it for me. And we took great care to find the perfect home for it in my car. He gave it to me, because in that moment, he thought I was a pine cone kind of special. Much like I always did with the memorial window cling'ems, there are probably a lot of people that wander past my car, see a random pine cone baking on the dash and think "Why on earth would anyone do that?"

And about 15 years after she first said it, and 6 years after she died, I still rely on her wisdom.

If it's a big deal to you, then it's a big deal. Period.

In other words...You Matter.

Thoughts about Paul

2010-10-06T08:11:00.000-07:00

You're probably thinking this is some deep introspective blog about the guy in the Bible. I hate to disappoint you, but it's not that at all. Instead, it's about some guy in a bar.

It's safe to say that the past couple of years have worked overtime at killing the hopeless romantic within me. In fact, there is a budding skeptic trying feverishly to take her place. In recent months the skeptic has even been winning the battles. But the hopeless romantic is quietly waiting in the corner, holding her breath, with the hopes of winning the war.

For the past month, I have been working as a bartender at a local hotel that accommodates mainly business travelers. Any given night of the week, there are any number of them perched at the bar, drinking beer and scotch, and shouting at the TV behind me that is almost always broadcasting some sporting event. Through the weeks, I have gotten to know many of them as "regulars." I know their names, where they come from, what they drink, and often times, why they feel so compelled to drink it.

For example...

Kenny is the red head who drinks Coors Lite. He is quiet, but pleasant, and he cheers for the Cincinnati Reds, caring nothing at all about any other sport. Kenny is recently divorced, and no, he doesn't want to discuss it. So don't ask.

Stan is a divorced millionaire from Denver who drinks Dewars and water and looks like Gene Hackman. By his fourth glass of scotch he begins talking with an Italian accent. If I happen to talk in an Italian accent back to him, I get a $20 tip. I may or may not take advantage of this little bit of knowledge every Monday-Thursday night at 9PM.

Doug is from Philadelphia. He is loud, like a proud yankee should be, but he enjoys the quiet seduction of a good Cabernet. He hates every sport, and instead prefers Dancing with the Stars. He is very much opposed to Germans, although I have yet to understand why. However, it never fails that by the second glass of red, he has mentioned something about the "loud ass Germans" in our very strange conversations.

Sean is from Nebraska...a husker. He is here on business related to the May Flood, and is currently in his last week here. He is a skydiver, and sticks to a low carb diet. Except for liquor. Sean drinks Glenlivet, on the rocks with a side of rocks, and drinks a lot of it. He has a wife, Karen, patiently waiting for him back home, and every night at 8:30PM he gets out his iPhone to give her a call. Sweet, huh? Oh yeah....his girlfriend, Kasey, flew in from Atlanta last week to spend the week with him. She drinks Fuzzy Navels and has an affinity for Coach.

These men have done nothing to aid in the survival of the hopeless romantic.

And then there's Paul. Paul is from Texas, and his smile is as big as the state he calls home. He is a distinguished man, probably pushing 70, but his face wears the excitement of a frat boy on his 21st birthday. Paul wears neatly pressed button down shirts, nice dress pants, polished shoes, and the leftovers of a very pleasant cologne that has been working hard at professionalism since early that morning. He exudes pleasantness, and when he grins, his eyes dance and even his wrinkles smile. Paul wears joy as if it were a pair of Prada sunglasses, and I like my job better when he is on the other side of the bar. Paul's wife is an opera singer who travels frequently, but he smiles when he talks about her. When they have time, they like to go to their vacation home and drink wine and cut limbs of cedar for the fire place. He drinks Corona with a wedge of lime, and every night, he pulls up a seat at the bar, the far left one to be exact, I grab his first Corona and ask him what he would like to have for dinner that night. He always gets a lettuce wedge, and often accompanies it with a ribeye, medium, or a plate of crab cakes.

Over the weeks Paul has gotten to know me as well as I know him, and he asks to see the newest pictures of E and keeps tabs on my love life. This past week, the night before he would be flying back to Texas for the weekend, he asked what I had going on this weekend. I told him I had a few days off work and I planned to let a nice boy take me out on a date. (Stay tuned for a blog about that, I'm sure.) Upon hearing that I had romantic plans, Paul became grandfatherly protective, and he asked 10 kinds of questions about the "character of this young man." He wanted to know if he was good enough for me. I assured him that I felt positive that he was, and when he signed the tab for the evening, he looked at me and said, "I want to know all about it next week!"

Then, Sunday night, as I was putting my money in the hotel office and returning the bar keys to the front desk, I walked out of the door to see Paul checking in for the week, button down shirts on hangers in his hand. He saw me and his eyes lit up. "Sara! How was (lowering his voice) your date?" I replied that it was wonderful, and he said, "How about a date with me at the bar tomorrow night at 7PM? I want to hear all about it."

The next night, at 7PM, I pulled a Corona out of the cooler as Paul walked around the corner. He pulled up his usual seat, placed his dinner order, squeezed the lime into his beer, and leaned forward asking, "So?" I filled him in on the fun of my weekend, him smiling the entire time. And in that moment I was struck by his happiness and obvious joy. So I asked him, "Paul, why are you so happy?"

He looked at me like he was about to tell me a secret, so I leaned forward a little. "I have absolutely NOTHING to complain about. Loving my wife is the easiest thing on the planet. My world is better because of her, because everywhere she goes, she makes bright brighter. I am just damn lucky."

Silently, the hopeless romantic in me replied, "Wow. I hope someone talks about me like that someday."

And then as if Paul had heard me, he leaned in further, reached across the bar, took my hand, and met my eyes with his. "Do you know why I eat in the bar every night?"

"No...why?" I replied.

"Because you remind me of her. Some guy out there has no idea how lucky he is going to be one day."

And just like that, the hopeless romantic exhaled.

There was nothing left to do but reach for another Corona, and grab a wedge of lime.

The Other G Spot

2010-10-03T08:52:00.000-07:00

I have noticed a pattern in my life. I blog about something....post it for the world to see...and then completely abandon my blog for weeks at a time. The response to this is a deep sense of guilt, like I am an infidel to the blog gods, and my cousin posting on facebook that she is going to send the blog police after me. I wish I could blog more consistently, simply because when I gather up all of my thoughts and box them up nicely in my corner of the internet, I feel a little bit lighter. However, life, lately has not been conducive to sitting around boxing up thoughts. There's just been no time for that.

I have spent the last few weeks in the hasty throws of "I think my life might make me cry." Nothing terribly bad is happening. Nothing at all. In fact, many good things have come to light. It's just that I have been So. Terribly. Busy. I have started my internship for grad school, which means that about 15 hours a week I am getting paid absolutely nothing to sit in a counseling center and counsel mostly young woman who are also in some precarious stage of "I think my life might make me cry." And about 38 hours a week I am behind a bar making concoctions with Jack Daniels and dry vermouth that sound absolutely disgusting, but some 60 year old businessman from Denver thinks are worth $8 a pop. And another 5 or so hours are spent in supervision for my internship. And then a number of hours, which I hesitate to try and quantify for fear that the lowness of said number will make me actually want to slit my wrists, are spent mothering the most delightful little "shree year old" on the planet. Thankfully, he seems so happily distracted by the fullness of his life that he hasn't yet realized what a crap mom he has. He is too elated by the fact that he just found me an awesome shaped rock in the parking lot to care that yet again, he is getting dropped off somewhere. But I know...which is why I have numerous little treasures that E found in some parking lot somewhere in all of the little nooks and crannies of my car. And it is also exactly why they will stay there.

The past two weeks have been crammed full of busy-ness to the point that I was having to plan what time and where I would shower a couple of days ahead of time. The volcanic eruption of thoughts in my head sounded something like this: Ok...I'm leaving work now, so when I get home I need to put my clothes directly in the washer-don't forget to feed the cat while you're out there...you didn't feed her yesterday...and you won't be home tomorrow...so DON'T FORGET...-then take a shower, but don't wash your hair-your hair looks better when it's a day old-and don't forget to put the clothes in the dryer before you go to sleep because then you'll be fucked-and tomorrow you have to be in class at 8-and you were supposed to turn in that assignment, but since it didn't upload don't forget to tell your professor and leave him a copy-did you feed the cat?-Washer's not done yet, but don't forget to put your clothes in the dryer so that tomorrow you can get up and be out of the house by 7. Don't forget to put your work clothes in your car in the morning...because you'll only have 30 minutes between class and work, so you can change right before you leave. Then when you get off work go stay at your moms because E will be there and then the NEXT day you can wake up with him and take him to school. Don't forget it's Red Day at school...so make sure he has something red to wear. And he needs to take something for Show and Tell. And your mortgage is due by the end of the week, so if you don't spend any money between now and 4 days from now and you get your paycheck on Friday, you can send in your mortgage just in time. Ok...sounds good. Go to sleep. Two hours later....did you remember to put the clothes in the dryer???

My mind has been a madhouse. But this weekend, I hit a nice little spot of "good." A g-spot if you will. Everyone who needed to be counseled was counseled. E was sent off to school, items for show and tell in hand, to be picked up by his dad for the weekend. And I was OFF WORK. It was the first opportunity in two weeks to not run around bathed in my own insanity, to not feel like I was one "oh dear lord the sky is not as blue as it should be" away from tears, to not feel like I could breathe. So I spent time with my friend, slept in, did some laundry, took a long shower, cooked a nice meal, drank a bit of an adult beverage, painted my toenails, read a little of my book, went to see a movie...and blogged.

It may not sound like much...

...but I feel like God has dripped mercy, drop by precious drop into the marrow of my bones. I feel like life has paused just long enough for me to inhale and exhale deeply, and be aware again of the little benign noises of my home. I feel like normalcy has wrapped itself around me like a nice fuzzy blanket. I feel like I have been given the sweet reminder of what it feels like to sit on the couch and think long and hard about what I would like to do next...so I did it. And when the answer was "nothing" I put my book down, curled up with normalcy and took a freaking nap.

Dear Lord,
I am thankful for the direction of my life. I'm thankful for the path that I am on and that this time next year I will look back and say "it was so worth it." I'm thankful that my life has a purpose and that I am well on my way to experiencing it. I'm thankful for the busy-ness, because it means that I am going somewhere. But thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me a refreshing pocket of "good." Thank you for good company, a light movie, a tasty meal, a nice little buzz, freshly painted toes, and an updated blog. I am so very thankful for this time. Amen.

As g-spots go, this one was pretty easy to find.

Me and God

2010-09-04T10:06:00.000-07:00

My blog is where I "put it all out there." Sometimes "it" is all pretty, and respectful, and unlikely to ruffle any feathers. And then sometimes I use "God" and "fuck" in the same sentence and someone takes offense.

In this case, the someone who spoke up about my previous blog, is someone that I love and respect and no matter what, I always will. But apparently when she read my most recent post, she "cringed" at my disrespect of God. In fact, had her cell phone not died in the middle of our conversation, I think she was about to politely request that I remove that one little line. And my immediate reaction was to feel really bad about myself for disappointing her. But then I got to thinking....

A few months back, my city of Nashville was flooded with more rain than we have ever seen and will likely ever see again. Historic buildings were destroyed and an entire mall was submerged in 8 feet of e. coli ridden waters. When the waters receded, buildings all over town had to be stripped to their studs in order for repairs.

My spirituality has gone through a similar process in the last few years. Growing up I was a good little Christian girl, always dressing nicely for church, carrying my Bible to Sunday School, faithfully attending VBS, and being respectful of my parents. As I got older, I solidified my good Christian girl status by going on mission trips (ironically enough, this is where I first encountered Ex), singing solos in the youth choir, and white knuckling my virginity, even going so far as to pass judgement on "that slutty honor student who, rumor has it, gave her boyfriend a (gasp!) blow job!"

Then in college things got really interesting. I became involved in a Christian campus organization that was heavy on the evangelism. I made instant friends who, like me, had realized the importance of being a good Christian early in life. Together, we went to Bible study, had prayer group, practiced safe boy/girl interactions like group dating where no one was allowed to hold hands until they had properly defined the intentions of their relationship, and went on conferences to exotic places like Panama City Beach where I would wear my required one piece bathing suit and share the gospel with unsuspecting spring breakers who were still slightly hung over from last night's numerous shots of tequila.

Oh but wait. I haven't mentioned God in any of this. Well...that's because He wasn't really involved. At least, not for me. My life up to this point, though Christian, wasn't at all spiritual. It was a neverending row of hoops for me to jump through in order to keep up the facade of the Good Christian Girl. It was an exhaustive process of checking boxes, putting on appearances, walking the walk, and talking the talk....so that everyone else would be convinced that God and I were, in fact, in this together.

Fast forward a few years, and a few divorces, and a few grad school classes, and a few restless nights at the hands of a toddler, and I am sure of exactly two things.

1. God and I are in this together.

and

2. There is absolutely nothing I can say, do, write, or for that matter keep to myself, that will change that.

My friend who cringes at the very glimpse of me writing a phrase that puts the beautiful word "God" and the nasty word "fuck" so close together has every right to cringe if she feels led. She is a highly spiritual person, and I would never doubt her connection with God. But that's exactly what it is...HER connection with God. I can't understand how she relates to God, because I am not there. She has a healthy handful of years on me in the way of her relationship with him, and probably thousands upon thousands of prayers communicating both her needs and her praise. She is, understandably, in a different place with her Lord than I am with mine.

Because I have not so long ago, started my relationship with MY Lord from scratch. The knowledge is all still there. The experience is still firmly in place. The ability to read and study and tear apart the many intricacies of the Bible remain unscathed. But my communication with God left my many years of habit behind and started fresh with something along the lines of, "Ok God...I'm ready. Let's do this." And since then, my spirituality has been opened in such a way that I am no longer interested in putting on a show for the sake of others thinking I am a "good Christian." In all honesty, I have absolutely no interest in being a "good Christian." I have no interest in leading others in the way of the Bible. I have no desire to be anyone's spiritual compass. I simply have a desire to be REAL with God, and REAL with people about what that looks like. My friend's concern was that my quote was "disrespectful." And I'm sure that many will agree with her. It's not often that someone who proclaims to love God will be so blatantly irreverent. But I think she's missing the point.

My walk with God is MY walk with God. And sometimes it's holy and beautiful and loving, and yes, even respectful. And sometimes it is less than stellar, a mere nod of acknowledgement during my day. And then there are times when the depths of my humanity sneak up on me, and I don't understand the things in this world, and nothing feels right or makes sense or even churns inside of me with any real rhyme or reason, and the best I can do to include God in that moment of mine is to invite Him to stand by my side as I succomb to my own carnal nature and throw a big cussing fit.

But the beautiful thing about MY God, that I love and adore more than anything...more than the fact that he created the heavens and the earth, more than the fact that He calls the stars by name and counts the hairs on my head, more than the fact that He has the power in one breath to either heal or destroy this world....

...is that He loves me enough to want to be there for the good, the bad, and the ugly. He doesn't want me to put on a show, or pretend that I have it all figured out, or to try and sound respectful when really I'm just plain old angry. He just wants me to move myself aside in those moments,

just barely enough

for Him to fill in the gaps with his Grace.

So, because I respect and love this friend SO much, I did at least have a chat with God a little earlier. It sounded something like this:

Me: Ok God..I made people cringe with my brutal honesty. They think I am being disrepectful. That wasn't my intention....I don't mean anything I write to be disrespectful....it's just where I'm at. It's just that, God, sometimes I FEEL you so clearly. And everything FEELS amazing and wonderful and all I want to do is worship you. And sometimes I FEEL so strongly that I don't get you or understand what you are doing in my life, and NOTHING makes sense. And I just want to yell and cry and cuss. And I don't mean it to be disrespectful, really I don't. It's just that's where I'm at in that moment.

And God replied: I know your heart. I know you are emotional. Heck...I created you that way. You and I have a long way to go...but we will get there day by day...breath by breath. I'm not going anywhere.

Me: So you weren't caught off guard when I threw those venomous four letters into the ante of the universe?

God: Sara....we've been over this. I'm caught off guard by NOTHING. Not the things you have done or said....or the things you are GOING to do or say. I knew you were going to screw up so many times before you were ever even born. I'm not surprised by ANYTHING.

Me: Ok...so you aren't mad at me for the four letters then?

God: I will see your four letters and raise you one more...

J E S U S

Down and Dirty

2010-09-03T19:01:00.000-07:00

My schedule in the last two weeks has been C*R*A*Z*Y! I finished Bartender College, started my grad school internship, juggled a new E schedule (thanking God for the best damn Ex husband EVER!) and have been on at least 5 dentist appointments thanks to a mistake by my dental professional. In this chaos I have done the following:

left my crock pot turned on for two days
forgotten to feed the cat for nearly three...
lost my name tag for my new bartending gig at a local business travel hotel...(yay!)
and completely forgotten that I have to take my grad school comprehensive exam tomorrow morning.

And the emotional result of all of this was my pharmacist telling me that my prescription hadn't come in yet which brought me dangerously close to bursting into tears right there in front of the shelf of condoms. I've just been slightly overwhelmed.

However, there has been a nice side effect of all of this chaos. My hair. You see, I've always been a "wash your hair at least every other day" girl so as to avoid anyone thinking that I am a total skank. But my scheduled insanity lately actually led me to push the envelope on this little rule. And by day 3 of "Operation Skank Head" I realized that my hair looks A-Mazing when it's completely covered in its own filth. So my new rule is now "Be a skank...who cares?!?! My hair kicks your hair's ASS."

Also, there has been a new theme in my life in the past two weeks that could basically be summed up by saying that God has brought a healthy amount of special people into my life. Some of them are delightful reruns from years passed, but some of them are new to me entirely. I found them in strange places. But the common thread between them all is that they have set up camp in a small wooded area in my soul, and I'm damn glad they are there.

AND....I've discovered a new passion in my life. For someone who enjoys writing like I do, I've never been much of a reader. My choice of literature has always been that book with the cartoonish cover about a woman who ALWAYS has an earth shattering orgasm whenever she has sex...which any (honest) woman will admit is obviously fiction. But thanks to Elizabeth Gilbert and Eat, Pray, Love, I have discovered that I enjoy reading books by women about their lives. I'm currently on my fourth book of this kind, and every time I read one, I learn something about life, love, faith, and the question marks that often dance wildly next to each of these.

One day this week, just after reading a delightful email from one of my new treasured friends, and just after picking out my next book by a woman who loves Jesus but has been bitch slapped by life, I met up with my "rerun" friend for dinner, coffee, a chocolate cupcake with two forks, and a conversation that contained the quote "My comfort zone just isn't all that comfortable to me." I left this evening feeling overjoyed to have friends that "get me" and with a new realization that life is best lived with a down and dirty, reckless abandon.

I have many friends, most of them of the facebook variety, that have neat little lives. They got married, bought a house, picked out a dog, had a baby, and then repeated something in the sequence. Many times, I've found myself watching them post on their status update something along the lines of "I have the best husband on the planet, and my child actually just pooped a pretty little bow for me to place on top of my pretty little life." Ok...that's not true. That's my own ugliness peaking out from the corner of my blog....and possibly a little bit of that second glass of wine talking. But in all honesty, I have often wondered how these wonderful women (who I adore and mean absolutely no offense to) managed to scrape together such neatly packaged lives when mine feels like it's just an insane mess of misfires. Why did they get the house, the dog, the 2.5 kids, and the doting husband, and I got the "Best Damn Ex Husband Ever," the crazy insane "other one" and a cat that insists on chewing on my skank nasty hair and shitting in that one little pile of litter that she managed to throw from her box?

But then my friends, the new BFF and the delightful rerun, showed up without even a bit of warning and reminded me that my life is different. Like my friend, my comfort zone is anything but comfortable. I was designed to thrive on change, maybe just for this season, but maybe for life. My path, my purpose, my desires...hell....even my address....they never stay the same for long. My foundation remains the same. I always know who has my back, and I never forget who I am. My faith never waivers. I always know who my God is. But everything else shuffles like the quick feet of a skilled tap dancer. I am in constant ebb and flow, feeling out the bumps of my life as if they are braille. Even my communication with my ever faithful God oscillates wildly between "My Lord, you amaze me" and "Ok God, What the fuck?"

The conclusion that I've come to in all of this, is that life, at least MY life, like MY hair, looks its best when it's just a bit dirty. There's something beautiful that happens when you allow life to fall naturally where it will, after all of the dirt and all of the oil and all of the grime have had their way with it. My life may not ever be neatly packaged, but it's also not dulled by a daily routine of wash, rinse, repeat. In a moment of mercy, God has brought me to that place, just on the edge of my comfort zone, where the dirt, oil, and grime of an unwrapped life, a life fully flung open to its core, they win. And for just that one moment of mercy,at the end of another day, I think to myself, "I've got at least one good day left in me."

And the next day, I wake up to something beautiful.

The Good Stuff

2010-08-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

E's new favorite game is to pick things up throughout the house and deposit them into a completely different spot. He does this with everything. His toys. My shoes. The remote controls. My yankee candles. The marbles in the tray on top of my dining room table. EVERYTHING. The other night, I went to plug my phone into the charger before bed only to find that it was missing. I looked everywhere that I could possibly think that I may have put my phone charger, and then realized that I needed to be looking everywhere that my son could possibly think to put my phone charger. I found it about 30 minutes later. In the tupperware cabinet. In the deviled egg tray. Where, as any three year old full well understands, IS in fact the best possible place to put a phone charger that someone just haphazardly left plugged into the outlet beside her nightstand.

During the course of one of his trips through the house to collect all things not nailed to the wall, he picked up the yellow box from my bedroom and asked me if he could use it. I told him no, because it had all of my special stuff in it. "You can move anything else, but don't take this box. I don't want to lose the special stuff inside."

This is how I know E is my child. (Well...this, AND the fact that my weight topped 200 lbs the day they cut him from my belly...anyway...I digress...) Upon hearing that there was "special stuff" in that box, a look came across his face that plainly communicated, "I MUST KNOW WHAT IS IN THAT BOX. Like, I might possibly DIE if I don't know right this second." I know this look well. It's the same face my dog used to make when she spotted something dead that she just HAD to roll in....and it's the same face I make when someone says, "Oh, remind me to tell you about this guy I want to fix you up with..." The emotional response to any of these things can be summed up in one word: Urgency.

So I sat with E in my bedroom floor and showed him the Special Stuff. And as I opened the box, I explained that this box is where I keep the good stuff. The first picture he brought home from Mother's Day Out. An envelope of hair from his first haircut. The picture they gave us from his first trip to the dentist. A picture of me and my beloved Nana. A couple of sweet cards from my two most treasured girlfriends. You know....THE GOOD STUFF. And while I waxed nostalgic about each precious item I pulled out of the box, E looked up at me with his big blue eyes, and sweetly asked, "can you put that hair somewhere else so I can put my dinosaurs in this box?" Apparently a three year is not quite capable of sentiment. Who knew?

As I placed things back in the box and E ran off to find another home for his dinosaurs, I began thinking about the good stuff. And I realized that lately, there's not enough good stuff in my life. I am exhausted with grad school, because the end is SO CLOSE...but SO FAR AWAY. I don't enjoy my job, because it's just a way to pay my bills and not something that I actually WANT to do. And then I come home, too tired and, frankly, too boring to do anything besides take a bubble bath and watch Chopped. Add to that my recent disenchantment with dating, and you have one disgruntled chick in a really sassy sundress.

I grew up with a goal: Get Married. Make Babies. Be Traditionally Happy. It didn't seem like too much to ask of the universe, because I was THAT GIRL, the one that everyone expected to grow up and, in the words of an old high school friend, marry a pharmacist. But we all know that things didn't quite work out that way. And I've recently realized that I have wasted years (YEARS!) on pining for a dream that my life is just not set up for at the moment. I have spent a generous amount of time being sad about the fact that the Universe didn't cooperate with my ambitions to be the next Donna Reed, to the point that I am missing out on what my life IS set up for now.

So in the last two weeks, I have taken an inventory of my situation and then sifted out The Good Stuff from the bad, and have decided to rebuild my life in a way that makes the most of where God has me. This means that I have a new found focus on being "in the moment" instead of worrying so much about what may or may not happen 3, 6, or 12 months from now. Which if you know me and my neurosis, you understand is a challenge. When I asked myself the question "what do you want to do NOW" the answer kind of surprised me, because it's never been my focus before. The answer?

ENJOY LIFE.

And what, you ask, does enjoying life look like for the girl in the sassy sundress?

Bartending.

Yep. I am quitting my boring, frustrating, feast or famine day job and becoming a bartender. For the past two weeks I have been attending a Bartender training school and learning to make drinks with hilariously inappropriate names like Purple Hooter, Sloe Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, and Screaming Orgasm. My hope is that by the end of the month I will be gainfully employed slinging drinks in the city, which is to say the least, quite a departure from anything...well, EVERYTHING...that I have ever done.

It's not going to be a new career. I'm still in grad school and will begin my internship next month. But it's a giant step out of the box that I have forced my life into, and the thought of embracing life outside of the traditional parameters that I have struggled to live in for the last few years makes me SO EXCITED about where God has me. Throwing away the rules that I have always set for myself feels incredible, and for the first time, maybe ever!, I am just loving today!

The response to this change in my life has been interesting. One friend asked me if I had lost my mind. Another asked if she should have her panic attack now or could it please wait until after she had completed her stressful upcoming exam. And another said with a huge sigh of relief, "Oh good. I thought you were about to tell me you were going to be a stripper." But on the whole, the most important people in my life have heard the news and simply smiled....because they A. know that I am rather unpredictable and change my path as often as I change my nail polish, and B. they have all wanted for so long for me to just be happy with where I'm at. You know....because they love me. If I could wrap all of these people up in an envelope and shove them into my yellow box I would. But for now...

Who knew that behind the bar was where they kept the Good Stuff?!

A Bit Crabby

2010-08-05T07:18:00.000-07:00

I love crab legs. There's just nothing like pulling a piece of juicy crab meat from the shell, dipping it in hot butter, and tasting a little bit of heaven. It's just yummy.

BUT...

crab legs are a lot of work. They require an insane amount of effort...and energy...and tools. And they are messy...and frustrating....and very often disappointing.

JUST LIKE DATING.

I started dating again pretty quickly after I got my house back from the evil clutches of The One That Shall No Longer Be Named. I didn't mean to, really. In fact, I had decided that I wasn't going to get involved with anyone at all for a while. I was going to date myself. And people seemed to think that was a great idea! In fact, there was talk of binding me up in a straight jacket and forcing me into my room so I could think about what I had done. My family, in particular, felt this was the only option. They have gotten tired of watching me muck up my life in such a way that they have to swoop in and count the pieces of me that are left scattered on the floor. And in all honesty, they have earned their right to feel this exhaustion with me. They have, unfailingly, been available in all of my darkest hours, and for that I am thankful.

That said, when a nice guy who I had known through family friends, unexpectedly turned up in my life and struck up an interesting conversation, I went along with it. And soon, we were dating. I enjoyed his company, he made me laugh, and it was a bright spot in my life when everything else was shrouded in introspection and regret. Moving on with someone like him on the sidelines was a more appealing option than going to my room and thinking about what I had done. But dating him didn't stop the mental and emotional processing that needed to take place. In fact, for a good chunk of time, he was a great sounding board for the thoughts that invaded my brain. But for the last few weeks, circumstances, or life, or age, or maturity, or WHATEVER, have changed things, and we are no longer seeing each other. As endings go, it was about as low key as you can get...which, if you are going to have an "ending," that's surely the better route to choose.

And here's the "dating is like eating crab legs" part. In the past few weeks, men have come out of the woodwork like starving little cockroaches, to show some level of interest in me that extends beyond, "hey, let me get that door for you." I'm not saying this to brag. And here's why....

Three, count them...one, two THREE of them are MARRIED. Which to me means NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT AN OPTION. But there was a week in recent recollection where my phone blew up all day long, because three different men with three different unsuspecting wives, woke up thinking it was a good idea to text me all of the reasons they wished not to be married. It did absolutely nothing but PISS. ME. OFF.

One of the guys is engaged...although I think he wishes not to be engaged and is just too damn nice to say that out loud. But still...not an option that can be entertained.

One of the guys is super nice...and super old. So....no.

One guy confuses me because I think we would have a really good time, but I don't think we would have a really good future. So do I really want to waste the effort?

And then, yesterday, a guy whose facebook friend request I accepted only because we had 52 friends in common, literally out of nowhere sends me a chat message and asks me out. It turns out we went to high school together and never really interacted. I don't remember him at all. But he remembers me and would like to "take me to dinner one day next week." The verdict on this one is pending.

I'm tired of dating. It's just like eating crab legs. The plate looks all exciting. But then there is an insane amount of effort put into the process. It's next to impossible to do it with any grace or style, because, like men, crab legs are not always cooperative. It's messy and frustrating, and in the end you have spent so much time trying to get to the good parts, that by the time you get to them, they usually weren't really as good as you expected them to be.

So while I'm not going to throw in the towel completely, (because EVERY NOW AND THEN, you get a good piece of crab that was worth every ounce of effort) I am not interested in getting serious about anyone right now. If someone wants to be with me, it's their turn to do the work. My crab cracker and teeny tiny fork are taking an effing break, and I believe I will have the soup and salad.

On a happier note, I'm going to take a pottery class. I have wanted to for a long time, and since I have just finished my last night class (PRAISE JESUS!!!) and will have my evenings free again, I decided to start dating myself while learning to throw pottery! I am super excited!

At least after all of that time, effort, and mess, I will have a wobbly shaped bowl to show for it.

I Just Know

2010-08-03T06:09:00.001-07:00

E and I have a bedtime ritual. He takes a bubble bath with his sea animals, we brush his teeth with his battery powered Wall-E toothbrush and wild berry Spongebob Toothpaste, we read The Berenstein Bears and Too Much Junk Food, we say our prayers, and then every night I kiss him on the forehead and tuck him in. And if I forget any part of this ritual, or do any part of it differently than normal, E will let me know about it. The other night, I kissed his cheek, tucked him in, and began to walk out of the room only to hear,

"BUT I CAN'T GO TO SLEEP BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T KISS MY FOREHEAD."

*****************

In anticipation of the upcoming Julia Roberts film, Eat Pray Love, I have been re-reading my favorite author's memoir. If you haven't read "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert, you should do so immediately. She is kind of my hero.

While doing this, I found a quote that I liked. "Everybody has a crack (or cracks). This is how the light of God gets in." I loved it when I read it, so yesterday I posted in on my facebook page. About an hour after I posted it, the little red notification bubble showed up on my mailbox. I went to my inbox and found a message from an old high school friend. This friend found my quote funny, because he has a dirty mind. I'll let you use your imagination on that one.

This friend has also been the source of many spiritual conversations over the years. This is the case, not because he is always so deep in thought (which he is), and not because he is a student of the Bible (which he is NOT), but because he is a self-proclaimed atheist. In high school, it was my mission to convert him to Christianity and save his burning soul. In college, we went on a few friendly dates, which again led to me trying to save him from himself. And in our adult lives, we have come to respect each other as "someone I will never agree with but whom I will always adore." It's a happy place for us, and the result of this mutual respect is a lot of witty facebook banter and an occasional reminder that "you are one of my favorite people."

Our spiritual conversations were always frustrating for me. He is someone who chooses not to believe in something that he can't see. In his eyes, science in no way supports evidence of a higher power, and he obviously can't SEE God, so his question for me was always, "how do you know God exists?" And after many failed attempts at demonstrating God's connection to the miracles of life and the universe in general, the conversation always ended with me huffing, "I just KNOW."

And I did just know. There has never been a time where I questioned the existence of a higher power. Now, over the years, my particular relationship with this higher power has been pulled and stretched like a piece of silly putty, but the relationship itself has never failed. In some form or fashion, I can always see God in my life. He's in my son, and every time E smiles, I'm reminded that God loves me. He's in my school work, and every day that I get closer to finishing this master's program, I'm reminded that He has a purpose for me. He's in my life, and every day that I find peace after the storms of recent years, I'm reminded that He rebuilds the things that are broken. So yes, when it comes to the question of the existence of God, I JUST KNOW is a sufficient answer for me.

But one night, when I was an RA in McCormack Hall at the college on the hill, something happened. I had recently moved to one of the coveted rooms by the elevator. These rooms were reserved for Resident Advisers, because they had a walk in closet space that was situated behind the elevator shaft, and (insert chorus of angels here) a sink in the room. This was a HUGE perk of being an RA, because in any of the other rooms in the dorm, you had to put on your robe and shower shoes and trek a mile down the hall to brush your teeth. The only drawback to this room at all was the fact that it did sit right by the elevators, so all night long you'd here dinging and clattering as drunk sorority girls made their way home. But I didn't care. I had closet space and a convenient teeth brushing experience. It was totally worth a little drunk girl clattering.

In recent weeks in this period in my life, I had been having a hard time sleeping. A lot of this was school stress, as I had come to discover I was most definitely majoring in something that I knew I would HATE. And also at this time, there was a boy that I was losing sleep over. Imagine that. So one night, I lay awake in my bed, and for no reason at all began to cry. And after a few moments, the crying led to praying. And then, something happened to me that I will never forget.

In the midst of my scattered prayer, I felt myself lifted out of the dim funk I was in. My eyes were seemingly glued shut, and at some point the words stopped flowing from my mouth. And in that moment, the spirit of God joined me, right there, beside the elevators, in the room with a sink. It wasn't that He was just there with me. He WAS INSIDE ME. His very energy and power ran through my veins where once there had been blood. His presence washed over me in such a way, that all noise and distraction melted away like hot butter. I ceased praying, because for the first time, a deeper level of communication was taking place. I wasn't talking TO God. I was talking WITH God. There was an intimate exchange between us of hearing the heart of the other. There were no words. There were no sounds. But I heard Him speaking to me. I felt the magnitude of his majesty. I tasted the goodness of His grace. I JUST KNEW.

After a moment, the energy began to soften, and slowly I was dropped back into my bed in the room beside the elevator with a sink in it. I looked at the clock. An hour had passed. Physically, I was completely exhausted, like I had been running up hill for miles, but spiritually I was peacefully still. I drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

Before that night, I believed in my relationship with God because I had had a Christian experience. After that night, I believe in my relationship with God because I have experienced HIM.

For my friend, who asks me "How do you know God exists?" I say, I just know, because one night, at the college on the hill, in McCormack Hall, in the room beside the elevator with the sink in it,

God kissed me on the forehead, and then He tucked me in.

Clutter

2010-07-27T20:21:00.000-07:00

***In the last 5 days, I have been encouraged by two different readers of my blog to update this thing. It still amazes me, given my incredible insanity, that anyone dares to venture back to my little corner of the internet with any level of measurable interest. That said, this blog is dedicated to J and L. Thanks for coming back.***

I went to the first grade at a small country school house that was nested nicely between two cow pastures. Even without looking out of the window of the car on the morning ride, I could tell when we were almost to the school. There is nothing like the smell of a field of freshly deposited manure early in the morning to get you in the mood to do some learnin'. To this day, when the odor of a cow pasture wafts through my nostrils for even the briefest of moments, I am struck with the insatiable need to do addition in my head.

The first grade is a murky blur with the exception of two incidents. The first was the time that Mrs. Wheeler put my name on the board, because I failed to put my pencil down when she instructed the class to do so. This was emotionally scarring to me, because in all two years of my professional classroom experience I had not once gotten in trouble. For anything. And I SWEAR I DID NOT HEAR HER SAY TO PUT YOUR PENCILS DOWN. But that wasn't really a good explanation in her eyes, and the bitch went and scrawled my name on the board anyway, forever blemishing my record of excellence and thrusting me, pencil in hand, into the clutches of inadequacy. (I bet, if I try really, really hard, I can blame Big Mistake 2009 aka Divorce #2 on her. Later, in the privacy of my own head, I shall try this.)

The second incident happened in the middle of the year. Every week in the first grade, we would get back a packet of papers that she had graded. Worksheets, tests, and page upon page of wide ruled, recycled paper with sentences printed in my first grade handwriting. We were supposed to take these papers home to our parents to be relegated to either the refrigerator or the trash can, depending on the demonstrated level of achievement. However, I had a better idea. Of course. My plan was to store these packets in the bottom of my school desk chair. The goal, obviously, was to create a huge stack of old papers so that I could use them at home later when I played "office" on the piano bench. If I took them home, they would be thrown out. My mother was not one to put multiple pages of recycled, wide ruled paper on her refrigerator. I was simply saving my precious "office work" from the stinky old trash can. So I left them there in the bottom of my desk chair. For months. I was so proud. The stack piled higher and higher.

And I couldn't wait to take them home and turn them into important executive documents.

But then, Mrs. "Put Your Pencil Down" Wheeler, called me to her desk one day and told me I would have to stay in at recess and clean out my desk. "The papers have to be thrown out. Your desk is a cluttered mess."

I probably could have explained why I was saving this mess of papers. And if I had, she might have even let me take them home. But I didn't. I was 6 years old. And for what may possibly be the first time in my life, which obviously later would become one of my most damaging themes, I betrayed my own desires in order to make someone else happy. She stood over me as I sat on the floor and dug through 3 months of papers, placing them into the trash can she provided for me. Not once did I try to explain myself. Not for a single moment did I attempt to speak my mind. I just jumped through the hoop that she held out for me, and threw away something so seemingly simple that made me just as simply happy. And 23 years later, I still feel sorry for that little girl sitting on the floor by her desk, because I want so badly for her to have the courage to stand up for herself. And I know she won't.

All of this to say, that I have attempted to write multiple blogs in recent weeks, only to be stopped in my tracks by the worst case of writer's block that I have ever experienced. It took me a while to pinpoint why I was having such a hard time sharing my thoughts. Usually, they pour out of me like a steady flow of maple syrup. But lately, I have been having a hard time getting my fingers to peck out an entry that doesn't sound like I'm "trying." My writing has a distinctly different voice when I'm "trying" versus when I'm "inspired." The voice isn't real. It isn't me. And it isn't anything that deserves an infinite home in a corner of the internet.

I have realized that the reason that I haven't been able to blog is because my brain, like my school desk chair, is a cluttered mess. There are so many snippets of conversations and blogs stirring in my head all day, every day lately. The heights of introspection that I have climbed to in recent months are at nose bleed altitudes, and the swirls of issues, goals, and thoughts that have set up residency there have resulted in my ability to actually write or speak about them being undeniably crippled. The bright side to this is that I have applied for my handicapped decal, so in 4-6 weeks parking will be much easier.

In an effort to continue on in my goal of vulnerability with you all, here are some of the snippets:

How did I manage to get myself HERE. Divorced twice before my 30th birthday. My second chance wasted. How many chances do I get before God decides that I have simply wasted too much of his time? My brain knows God well enough to know that He will never give up on me. But my heart aches at the realization that deep down, I feel like if I were God I would have given up on me a long while ago. It's a good thing I'm not God. (The flip side to this is that if I WERE God...they would still be taping new episodes of FRIENDS.)

Why is love so damn disappointing? I have spent the whole of my 20's putting all of my effort and energy into men who were too childish in their emotions to put any of that effort and energy back into me. The result of this is that my best date ever has been with a pint of Ben and Jerry's. This is depressing. But it's REALLY good ice cream.

The amount of shame that makes its home on your shoulders when you find yourself in a spot like mine is HEAVY. I have discovered that it isn't so much about what I am afraid that others might think of me. The scarier truth lies within the belly of what I have come to realize I think about myself. Shame is a strange bedfellow. He takes up too much space. He hogs the covers. And He breathes foulness onto my countenance. And sadly, I feel stuck in this relationship with him. He climbs into bed with me every night, and every night I can hear him planning what we will do tomorrow.

I am confused by dating. It both excites me and nauseates me in the same instant. I do it, and I still feel naggingly unsatisfied. I think about not doing it, and I feel vaguely hopeless. Loneliness isn't a bedfellow that I care to invite into my room either. I avoid him by dating, but he always shows up like a squeaky third wheel anyway.

I'm tired of trying to make my family happy. It seems to be an impossible task that has culminated in complete emotional exhaustion. Regardless of what decision I make, someone disagrees that I should have made it. And hearing about it, or not hearing about it because I'm "in trouble," has made me tired. I want to live completely and totally for myself and E...yet I still feel the need to get my passport of approval stamped by my family of origin, and I have stood in customs waiting to enter Russia. That seemed easier...

I'm almost there. I know I'm almost there...wherever "there" is. I'm on the cusp of living God's purpose for my life. But some days "the cusp" just feels like loosing your footing and falling off the edge.

I'm not sure that "falling in love" can ever look like it did that first time. Now I know exactly how many pieces of my heart have to be picked up when it gets broken and exactly how much of my soul that requires. And once you know that, I'm not sure that you can "fall" with the same reckless abandon and the same wide eyed innocence. But how I wish you could! To allow my heart to seek out life and love the way it did before I knew just how much risk that involves is a naivety that I long for.

So there you have it, just a SMALL amount of the clutter sitting in the bottom of my brain like a stack of haphazardly collected papers. To many, it would seem time to clean house. Obviously this magnitude of clutter is screaming for some therapeutic intervention. And while this may well be true, I firmly believe that there is some value in everything firing in my brain at the moment. I am in this place for a reason, and I am experiencing these introspections because they have a purpose.

I may not have been strong enough to say it when I was 6, but to the Mrs. "Put Your Pencils Down" Wheelers of the world...

Back off Bitch...This mess is mine, and I'M DOING SOMETHING WITH IT.

The Sting of Cultural Submersion

2010-06-27T06:51:00.000-07:00

***There's no life lesson or spiritual parallel in this entry....just thought I'd lighten this thing up a bit.***

A handful of years ago, when I was an undergraduate at the college on the hill, I was Super Christian! Ok, well, that's not true. But I WAS involved in a campus organization that was evangelical in nature, and I must say, a little bit like being in a cult. I don't say that to belittle their mission or anyone who works for this ministry, because it IS a ministry, and the staff are incredibly devoted to their cause. However, after several years of involvement with this group, I learned that they had their own way of doing things that differed from pretty much everyone else on campus. They had their own "language," and, in all honesty, if you didn't act or think like them, then you were labeled "carnal" and a group of them would gather to pray for your soul. I know this, because at different points during my college career, I was both in the group doing the praying...and in the carnal lot of souls being prayed for.

In the summer of 2002, before I was engulfed by my own carnality, I took part in an extended mission trip to Russia. A group of college students from several different universities all converged on the streets of Perm, and we took up residence in the Ural Hotel. Our mission was to work with Perm University students. We were there to wrestle as many of them to Christ as possible, shrouded under the clever rouse of teaching them English. Since many of the Russian students already spoke an impressive bit of English, and almost none of the American students spoke a single syllable of Russian, our disguise was comical to say the least. I think the cat was undeniably out of the bag as soon as any of us Americans tried to order food. We would stand at the counter, look helplessly at the overhead menu, and then sort of point and grunt until the clerk realized that we were, in fact, complete Russian illiterates. She would then take mercy on us, sometimes while rolling her eyes, and give us whatever food there was a picture of. I like to call this little maneuver the "American Point and Purchase."

We spent the next few weeks building relationships with the Russians, and I learned very quickly that while our lifestyles were very different, the heart of a woman remains the same regardless of her nationality. These young women struggled with how they looked, what boys thought of them, and what their futures held. They were, in many respects, just like me. And they had such an intense desire to show us the very depths and heart of their culture. We ate their food, accompanied them to their homes, learned some of their favorite hangouts, and took part in a traditional Russian experience that I will NEVER forget.

I had heard about Russian bath houses. Our group of American students had been talking about it the entire time we were in Perm. However, this concept was somewhat similar to the city of Atlantis. It was interesting to talk about....intriguing to imagine going there even....but I was certain I would never end up there.

I was wrong.

On a hot summer day, the young Russian women decided it was time to introduce us to the bath house, the pinnacle of cultural submersion. A Russian bath house is similar to an American group of women spending a day at the spa. Only different. At a Russian bath house, the men go in one side and the women go in the other, so you are safely sequestered there with only your same sex. The first room is a changing room. And what do you change into, you ask?

NOTHING.

That's right. You walk into a room full of 60 other people. Half of them are people you know, because they are your American or Russian friends. The other half, you don't so much know, but you CAN so much see their aged, sagging breasts tickling the floor tiles. And there, in front of God and the sagging breasts, you disrobe. Every stitch of clothing that you own comes off, and you stand in this room with all of your friends, who have also removed their clothing. And everyone collectively looks for a safe place to divert their eyeballs, because when you agreed to do ministry together, you didn't realize that meant getting up close and personal with the who-whos of your ministry partners.

From there, you walk into the shower room. This is a huge room, full of open shower stalls that continuously spew cool water. In a last ditch attempt at modesty, most of the American students had one hand placed firmly on their exposed breasts, and the other hand shielding the aforementioned who-who. The Russians are not so modest. Their breasts and who-whos are right there, out in the open, for anyone and everyone to see. Because there are many more people in the shower room than there are actual showers, you take turns standing under one of the shower heads and rinsing yourself with chilly water. The purpose of the bathhouse, or bano (pronounced bon-yo), isn't to scrub with soap. In fact, I don't recall there being a bar of soap anywhere in the shower room. The purpose, I was told by my naked, cone boobed, Russian friend, is to improve your circulation.

The next stage in the Russian bath house experience is to move from chilly shower water to the small room that is heated to what felt like 200 degrees. When you walk in to this heat, from the cool of the shower, your nose hairs literally feel like they have been set aflame, and it's honestly difficult to breathe. There was a long wooden bench in the hot room. I didn't sit down. All I could think of at this point was my father, who religiously wears his shower shoes in even the fanciest of hotels for fear of the funk that might be growing on the floor. I could only imagine how much respect he would lose for me if he knew that I had sat my buck naked ass on a sweaty wooden bench in a public bath house deep in the mountains of Russia. So I declined my Russian friends offer of a seat, and stood there trying to breathe through the heat and the steam and the sweat.

And that is when the old naked lady started beating me with sticks.

Apparently this is the part of the experience that is "good for the circulation." In the heat of the sauna, an old, stark naked, Russian grandmother, with deflated balloons for breasts, takes a bunch of sticks tied into a lot, and beats you with them.

ALL. OVER. YOUR. NAKED. BODY.

And these aren't special sticks. They aren't sticks that are designed for bath house use. They are in fact, twigs of green wood that someone gathered from the grounds outside the bath house, similar to what you used to go rip from a tree when your grandmother told you to "get a switch." They are strapped together, leaves still on them, and then used to beat any naked body and every naked body that enters that hot room. And my turn had come. This old lady snuck up behind me, seemingly from nowhere, and began beating me from my feet to my head, her saggy boobs flying to and fro with every lashing and leaves leaping off the angry twigs, sticking to my damp skin. I was too stunned to even protest, although I think my hands instinctively went to my face, as I endured...

the culturally appropriate lashing of my life.

After that the rest of the bath house experience is simply "Rinse and Repeat." I did partake in the "rinsing" part, because...well....I was covered in leaves...but I left the "repeating" to the Russians. I'm all for cultural submersion. In fact, I even encourage it, as it obviously leads to an educational and memorable experience. Eat their food! Drink their ale! Speak their language!

However...I draw the line at being beaten with sticks by a wet, naked, woman. Once was enough.

But maybe that's my carnality talking. I dunno. Pray for me.

The Real Deal

2010-06-24T13:02:00.000-07:00

At 1AM in the morning, in the dorm room of my friend, in the Spring of 2002, I changed my undergraduate major. I realized, after nearly 3 years of classes, that I did not, in fact, wish to teach children how to read and write. So with all of the thought and consideration that one can muster at 1 in the morning, I hopped online and changed my major from Elementary Education to, of all things, Interior Design. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Looking back on it, I realize that this particular degree was about as useful as if I had never attended college at all.
But...well.....as we've firmly established recently, I don't always make the best decisions.

During the course of my Interior Design studies I took a class called "Fibers and Finishes." Stop laughing...I'm serious. Part of the course was to use a microscope to identify the various types of fibers, natural and man made. (Interesting Note: This skill actually came in handy a few years later when I was selling yellow pages, and working tirelessly to sell an ad to a carpet cleaner. He literally purchased a half page ad from me simply because I could intelligently speak of the differences between the fibers of a wool rug and one made of nylon. True Story.) Anyway, the most interesting part of this class was the timed test we had to take. We each had our own microscope and a sampling of fabric swatches. We had 10 minutes to use a pair of tweezers to pluck a single fiber from each swatch, place it under the microscope and identify it's origin. Rayon...nylon...wool...cotton. Then we attached the swatch to a piece of paper and wrote our answer underneath.

Do you want to know how to identify a wool fiber from a nylon fiber? WELL OF COURSE YOU DO!!!! I'm sure you have spent your whole life walking around thinking, "Wow...how long am I going to live on this earth before someone clears up this mind boggling question that nags daily at my soul?!?!" Well, good news, my friend. That day has come! A nylon fiber is perfectly smooth and round, because before it was a fiber, it was a liquid. The fibers are formed by being squeezed through a machine with tiny round holes. Therefore, under a microscope they look smooth and shiny and perfect. A wool fiber, however, looks disgusting. When you magnify a single wool fiber, you will see an abundance of tiny scales, each one wrapping itself around the next. It is not uniform. It is not smooth. It is not pretty. In fact, it looks rough, like the mangled bark of an aged tree.

What is the point?

I almost deleted my blog this week.

A lot of people use blogging to keep their families updated on the happenings of their kids, or as a general day in the life journal. My blog isn't really for that. It's my way of processing all of the things that are in my head. It's a release. It's me, being 100% transparent, behind the safety of my computer screen. And up to this point, that safety hasn't really ever been compromised. I know a lot of the people that read my blog make judgements about me. It's hard not to! But those of you that comment regularly, though I've never met some of you (and STILL owe others of you an introductory walk!) have been a real encouragement to me through this journey. If I never meet you on earth, I plan to know you in Heaven.

But this week someone, who chose to remain anonymous, left me a comment (which was not published) that basically boiled down to their judgement that I needed therapy. It was delivered in such a way that the tone didn't seem to be of a particularly helpful or encouraging nature...more of a "Good Lord You Are F****D Up!" judgement. It stung. And the result was the realization that there are mean people out there who will read some stranger's (at least I think we're strangers...) deepest heartache and feel it appropriate to point fingers, make judgements, and then share them without care or concern for others' feelings. And THEN, I realized that it's not just the mean people that do this....everyone does it. Whether they share their judgements with me or not...they are making them all the same. And suddenly, my little corner of the internet didn't feel so safe. So for about a day and a half, I decided to throw it away.

But the thought of deleting my blog made me cranky. And sad. And angry. So I didn't do it.

And here's why.

I already know I need therapy. Good lord, anyone who's ever read this thing knows I need therapy! Thank you, Captain Obvious! But I also know that my circumstances and the results of my bad decisions have absolutely no impact on the fact that God has a distinct purpose for me, and that He will use all of this....this time of rebuilding....this place of shame....this spirit of introspection....this season of confusion....for the good. Because He's just that kind of GOOD...and He's just that kind of GOD.

I have felt lately, more than ever, that I am under a microscope. Even though I'm the only one on this planet that is living my life, everyone seems to have an opinion about how I'm doing it. And granted, I've made it awfully easy for them to feel licensed to do so. I mean, honestly, I have made some REALLY BAD DECISIONS. And then I went and blogged about them.

What I've discovered during this period of intense scrutiny, is something that just doesn't look pretty. Me under a microscope looks an awful lot like a wool fiber. I'm not smooth or polished. I am rough around the edges, a scale to scale mess of imperfection. I look like something that needs to be stripped down to its core, because the appearance of what IS....just looks like it's come undone. It looks broken. It looks torn. It looks like it is in need of healing....like time and the tender hand of the seamstress have their work cut out for them.

But it's the very roughness, the very brokenness, of the wool fiber that sets it apart from it's man made nylon friend. Nylon isn't natural, which is why its fibers appear smooth and polished when held under intense magnification. Wool fibers, God made fibers, are easily identifiable...

because of their brokenness.

They are rough.

They are raw.

They are REAL.

Kind of like me.

The Bad Words

2010-06-11T08:49:00.000-07:00

Recently, I gave E a bath, and in the middle of playing with his bubble covered sea animals, he stood up, buck naked and dripping cucumber melon suds, made a very loud proclamation.

"Mama....I am going to tell you ALL OF THE BAD WORDS, and you NOT put me in time out!"

He looked determined, so I sat in front of the tub hiding a smile and told him to go for it. And this is what he said...loudly...

"Well....STUPID IS NOT GOOOOOOOD......and BUTT IS NOT GOOOOOOOD.......and (lowering his voice to a whisper) what the hell is really not good (head shaking). "

I was trying really hard not to laugh at this point, but I asked, "are there any more?"

"Ummmm......I think Cowboy is not good.....but I don't know why."

At this point, I busted out laughing. He sat back down in the foamy water while I explained to him that cowboy was a perfectly acceptable word that he could say any old time he wanted. And then he went on playing with his sea animals.

I'm not really sure what inspired him to stand up and recite all of the words that his short little history has taught him get him a good finger pointing or a lengthy time out. But whatever spurred it on, it gave me a hearty laugh on an otherwise boring evening of watching Aladdin 4 times in a row.

After this exchange, I began thinking about the bad words. There are obvious ones...ones that I was brought up never to say, yet somehow they creep into my blog from time to time. But then there are the words that you don't realize are bad until you find yourself in the depths of their clutches. Words like defeat.....shame......hopelessness....and the one that I have been held captive by recently, obligation.

And then, as I have up to this point only painfully experienced, there is Obligation's more well dressed twin: Marriage.

About 6 years ago I entered into a legally and, what I believed to be a spiritually binding contractual agreement with The One. We got married. And then, for nearly the next 4 years, we, the sickly, ill-equipped pair of us, did everything in our power to suck every ounce of joy out of marriage that we possibly could, until all that was left was Obligation. And then, not even Obligation was a strong enough glue to seal the cracks within our union. And in the space of a couple of hours, life was thrown into an empty suitcase and The One became The First One....known to you as Ex. A mistake? Hard to say. A learning experience? Definitely. Crushingly painful both before and after that suitcase filled up? Ummm....yeah.

THEN.....after dating a bunch of free dinners, a couple of really nice guys that I treated like disposable contact lenses (ahem...sorry about that Super Man), and one REALLY BIG LOSER, I fell in love again. Recklessly, and wildly in love. In love so much so that I ignored, and, might I add, even obliterated EVERY SINGLE RED FLAG (and believe me there were MANY) waving insanely in my face, because it felt

so damn good to no longer feel like my insides were dying from the weight of crushing pain.

So I did the thing that seemed the most logical in my warped brain....I stood up on a hill and legally OBLIGATED myself to The One. It seemed like the only way to ensure immunity from the crushing pain of heartbreak and failure that I had experienced from the person who had previously proclaimed love for me.

However, we all know how the story goes. It was mere months into this fresh union that I looked at The One and thought, "I don't like you." It wasn't because I can't commit. It wasn't because I am even bad at the basics of marriage. In fact, and I know this sounds somewhat insane coming from the fingertips of the woman who has been divorced twice, but I would venture to say that I am a GOOD WIFE. It wasn't any of that.

It was because I slipped out of the reckless throws of passion as easily as I slipped into them...and found myself in the death grip of obligation. And this time, I was obligated to someone who exhibited VERY FEW redeeming qualities....qualities such as mutual respect and general regard for others that make obligation livable, if not enjoyable. I stayed for many months after my family started saying things like, "How long exactly are you going to live like this?" I stayed, because of a bad word...because I was obligated to stay....obligated to give it a fair shake....to hope for the best.....to do something besides tuck tail and run.

So all of this to say, obligation has left a bad taste in my mouth. And now, like "cowboy" it has made it to the list of bad words....even if I'm not quite sure it actually is one. When we begin to do things out of obligation as opposed to a genuine desire to serve someone else, or uphold the commitments that are so important to our integrity, WHY ARE WE REALLY DOING IT? In marriage, I have learned, that the place where you begin to continually function, day in and day out, solely because you obligated yourself to do so, is also the location of a very fine line. It's the line between the dreams you allowed yourself to have with your partner, and the possibilities that you begin to see you could have without them. A scary place to find yourself, to say the least, because once you have reached this very fine line, the life on either side of the crevice seems to leave something within you vaguely unsatisfied. I know this...because I have now fallen on both sides.

So the question becomes, at what point are you free from Obligation? At what point, after being introduced to the clammy hand of Obligation grasping your life, are you allowed to walk down the path that you willingly chose, with some degree of resolve about choosing it? For months in my second marriage, I struggled with this question. But as it turns out, there is a force out there that is stronger than Obligation. And at just the right moment that force, Self Respect, came seemingly from out of nowhere.

For me, Self Respect showed up just as the chewing tobacco can was whizzing past my face, hurled at my by The One.....who henceforth will be The One Who Shall No Longer Be Named. And in that instance, just after I got chewing tobacco in my eye...but just before The One Who Shall No Longer Be Named attempted repeatedly to bar my exit from my home, Self Respect kicked Obligation's sorry little (bad word alert!) ass....and I landed solidly on the side of the fence where possibilities run rampant.

I guess if it took two failed marriages for Self Respect to finally show up, then we can call it good. However, I can't help thinking that it would have been so much more convenient if Self Respect had also practiced punctuality, but I'm clinging to the belief that lessons learned will continually cancel out mistakes made.

Regardless of the pain and the shame, and regardless of the fact that Obligation has been my bedmate for many years now, Self Respect is decidedly the companion that I wish to invite along for this journey. This journey into, what can only be described as a

very good word...

the possibilities.

(Now if something will just come along and kick the ass of Impulsivity, I think my family and friends will rest a bit easier and be less likely to kill me.)

The Way It Is

2010-05-27T08:10:00.000-07:00

I have always wanted a family. I grew up with desires to have a house full of kids...dogs...white picket fence....the whole nine. Obviously, if you have been reading ANY of my blog, you know that my life hasn't quite worked out that way. Instead, I am a single mom, who can now compare her divorce attorneys. (In case you're curious, the second one wins, hands down. He's so incredibly on the ball, AND he wears a kick-ass bow tie.) I have managed to carve out a life for myself that JUST. ISN'T. NORMAL.

But every now and then I get a teeny tiny moment that borders on "the way it was supposed to be."

Yesterday was E's first dentist appointment. Honestly, if I were a good parent, he would have gone to the dentist when he was two...but I'm merely mediocre, so I waited to make his first appointment until just before DCS got involved. And honestly, I was dreading it. I just KNEW E would clamp his mouth shut and refuse to let "the nice lady count his teeth." I just knew it. So earlier in the week I sent Ex a text letting him know I had made the appointment. Since the appointment was on one of Ex's custody days, I asked him to bring E to the dentist and meet me there. We generally try to do medical appointments together when possible, just because it keeps us on the same page, eliminates any confusion about E's health and well-being, and I think it makes us both feel a little less crappy for forcing E into such a shit situation in the first place. (Or it does for me anyway.)

When I pulled up to the dentist's office, Ex was getting E out of the car. I hugged him (E, not Ex) and took his hand as we walked in. I didn't know what kind of prep work Ex had done for this whole experience, so I tried to get E excited about what was about to happen. "Are you ready for them to count your teeth?!? It's going to be so great! They will make sure they are all healthy and then you will get a special new toothbrush and probably a sticker!!!!"

We walked in, handed over insurance cards, signed papers, and then they called us back. And then cool stuff just started happening. E was a total champ during the whole thing, only shaking one time when he saw them aim the little scraper tool at his face. Ex held his hand. I patted his leg. And he did awesome! Then they gave him two little red cars, and he played until the dentist came to do the final exam. And while he played, Ex and I chit chatted about his need to get his teeth worked on, my work, and just life in general. It was downright pleasant. In fact, until I told the dentist that E splits the week between us, she probably didn't even realize that we weren't one big happy family.

Because here's the deal. Ex and I were horrible at marriage. But we are FREAKING AWESOME at divorce. E has never seen us fight. He's never seen us be mean. He's never heard us say harsh things about the other one. We have worked really hard through the course of E's life, so that his security is affected as little as possible. We have a really important common goal of making sure that our son is happy, healthy, and loved. And, apparently that his teeth are clean.

We walked out of the dentist office, and I was very aware that although our situation isn't the happy little family that I had once envisioned, that we are very much a team. And I couldn't help but wonder if E in fact does feel secure. Does he feel safe and fulfilled even though he goes back and forth all the time? Does he know that he is loved? Does he ever feel torn between us?

Is he ok?

And then E answered my question. He put his left hand in Ex's and his right hand in mine, took a flying leap, and hollered, "Daddy, Mama, SWING ME!!!"

So Ex and I walked through the parking lot, swinging our cavity free child, who smiled and laughed, because he knew we wouldn't drop him. He knew that he could fly through the air and come back down safely...because Daddy was in one hand and Mama was in the other.

So I guess everything is just as it should be.

The One with the Blue Balloon

2010-05-21T10:51:00.001-07:00

The internet has been finicky at my house lately, which means I am spending crazy, insane amounts of time at places that offer free wi-fi. Mocha Frappe' anyone? When E was with me the other day, I decided to take him to the only place in town that has both an indoor play place AND free wi-fi, which also just happened to give me a reprieve from McDonald's. The only indoor play place, free wi-fi enabled place in town happens to be Chick-Fil-A. Yep....we're classing it up in these parts.

I needed to log some time on my work's database, and well, facebook has just MISSED me. So I loaded E into the car, we ate chicken nuggets and waffle fries, and then he headed off into the play area while I got some "work" done. He had a blast, and played hard for a solid hour...so hard in fact that little beads of sweat formed on his little forehead. On the way out, the cashier stopped him and offered him his choice of a blue balloon or an orange one. He chose the blue one.

As we walked outside I told him to hold onto his balloon tightly so it wouldn't fly away. He agreed. Ok. Good plan. I opened the car door, and while he climbed into the car, I put my laptop back in my bag, completely oblivious to the trauma that was unfolding. Apparently E was oblivious as well, because when he got situated in his seat he looked at me and said, "Will you hand me my balloon now?"

Of course, I, having never actually had a hand on the balloon, looked at him, then into the car, and then....up into the sky....where there was a blue balloon frolicking farther and farther away from its little "shree year old." Oops. There I go again, being so highly competitive for "Mom of the Year."

INSERT SECOND STORY HERE

Ok, last year I blogged about my mom's dog, Bo. Bo was old and sick, and eventually had to be put down. E loved that dog. So my mom, knowing that the inevitable was fast approaching, began to prepare E by saying, "Bo is old and sick." And then when Bo died, Mom said, "Bo was old and sick, and he died." She tried to keep it simple. But then Ex picked E up one day, and when E said, "Daddy, Bo is old and sick and he died," Ex added to it by saying, "Yes, he's up in the sky in Heaven." AND THEN, E's other grandmother heard about Bo being "old and sick and he died and he's up in Heaven" and she added "with Jesus." Ok...you with me? So all year long E has talked about Bo. And whenever you ask him where Bo is, he ALWAYS says, "Up in the sky with Jesus."

OK...BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING....

We're in the parking lot of Chick Fil A and the rebel balloon has just escaped, virtually unnoticed, until E requests that I hand it to him. I realized what had just happened, and the following conversation took place....

Me: Oh baby, I'm sorry. Your balloon flew away!

E: (confused) where did it go?

Me: It's up in the sky.

E: (complete dismay) WITH BO AND JESUS?!?!?!?!?!

Me: (thinking that maybe life just threw me a bone here...) Yes...with Bo and Jesus. They will be glad to have a balloon.

E: (again with the dismay) THAT DOES NOT MAKE ME HAPPY!

Me: (oh.) Oh. I'm sorry. We'll get you another balloon next time.

E: (alligator tears and wailing) BUT I DIDN'T WANT BO AND JESUS TO PLAY WITH MY BALLOON!

Me: I'm sorry.

****five minutes down the road****

E: Mama, next time I want an orange balloon.

Me: Ok. I think we can do that.

E: And Bo and Jesus can't play with it!

Me: Fair enough.

****The next morning****

Me: Good morning! How are you?

E: I'm mad that Bo and Jesus have my balloon. They should say they are sorry. And next time I'm going to get an orange one...and they CAN'T HAVE IT!

Me: Ummm.....Ok. (My son is STILL mad at the dead dog and the Christ for "taking" his toy.)

And THAT is why the mom should ALWAYS HOLD THE BALLOON.

Ethan

2010-05-13T09:04:00.000-07:00

To all prayer warriors out there, please say a prayer for Ethan. He is a little boy whose family is from my hometown. He has been battling brain cancer for over a year now, and this week the hospital sent him home with hospice. I only know of him, and my closest connection to this family is that I sat next to Ethan's uncle in Spanish I in 1997. But I have followed their journal, and they are in so much pain right now. Please pray for Ethan, his parents, Farris and Robin, and his older sister Lanna.

You can read his journal here:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/bibb

As a mom, there is just no greater gift than a healthy child. I am thanking God for mine...always...but especially today.

Dear E

2010-05-10T13:50:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day came and went yesterday without much fanfare. There weren't any special gatherings we had to go to, or presents to open. There wasn't breakfast in bed or flowers. You didn't tell me Happy Mother's Day or paint your hand print on a rock for me to put in the flowerbed. In fact, from an outsider's perspective, it was just another day. Another day where you woke me up with your LOUD, but still so sweet, voice proclaiming, "It's MORNING!!! The SUN is OUT so it is MOOOORRRRNING!!!!" Oh sweet child...I really can't get enough of that at 5:59 AM.

To anyone else it would seem that we had a pretty drab Mother's Day. But they don't know what I know. They don't know that it was just me and you yesterday. They don't know that at the same time that I found myself absolutely exhausted by your energy, that I was also overcome by the joy of being the one you call Mommy. They don't know that each and every day I thank God for choosing me...because it means that I'm the mom to a child that owns my heart, that in the same breath you are someone who I want to live for and would not hesitate to die for. They don't know that when they see your sweet smile, or hear your sweet voice that they are a witness to my heart. They don't know that your kind spirit and zest for life make me spill over with zealous pride. They don't know that when you learn something new I feel like I have learned it all over again. They don't know that when your heart hurts that mine just absolutely shreds to bits of nothing. They don't know that sharing the same air with you makes life exceedingly more complicated but infinitely more rewarding. They don't know that when you smile, laugh, or crinkle your eyes, that my insides come alive. Sweet boy, they just don't know.

And they never will.

I have been given the most amazing gift from God, and I'm the only one on this earth who can claim it. I'm the only one who will ever be able to look at your sweet face and say,

Thank you, Lord, for letting me call him "son," and for letting me be the only one he calls, "mommy." If there were ever a reason to praise you, he is it.

My child, no one will ever know what it's like to be your mommy. But I have the gift of knowing. And that is what made this very quiet, very uneventful Mother's Day, the most amazing gift of all.

And for that, my son, I am all shades of thankful.

Liar, Liar

2010-05-06T08:55:00.000-07:00

I am getting divorced.....again. In case anyone is keeping track, that's TWICE before I hit 30.

How do I get myself into these situations???

Years ago, before I began testing the true boundaries of social acceptance and the patience of my family and friends, I was a good kid. I hardly ever acted out. I rarely threw fits. And with the exception of that time in the second grade when I lied to my mom for a week straight about something that can only be described as S-T-O-O-P-I-D, I never really lied. The sing song mantra "Liar, Liar, pants on fire" was never really aimed at me.

And then I entered my twenties, and began lying to the worst possible person, myself. I told myself I had it all together. I told myself I was ready. I told myself I knew what I was doing. I told myself I was, ahem, stable. And now I think it's safe for the powers that be (along with my parents and the FAS) to all point their fingers and join in the chorus of....

LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE.

Because everything I once thought to be true about myself has recently been aired out as dirty laundry on the clothesline. My issues and my drama are once again a public spectacle, gossip fodder for facebook if you will. I have turned myself into a one woman "did you hear" water cooler conversation.

But truth be told, I'm ok with that.

Because I know things now. Granted, I know things that other people could probably grasp without having to actually experience it, but I've never been one for the easy route. So in honor of the new life that I'm (again) building for me and E....here's what I know for sure:

MY SON DESERVES PEACE IN HIS LIFE.

He deserves to be able to be 3 without the fear, consequences, and general wrath of someone who thinks that being 3 just isn't really good enough. So I know now, that in my home, and in the homes of all of the many that love him...He can be 3 in peace.

I DESERVE PEACE IN MY LIFE.

I deserve to be valued by anyone who enters my home. I have the right to hold onto my beliefs and the core of who I am without the criticism of someone who won't accept the core of who THEY are. My value and worth will not be compromised. Ever. Again.

IF YOU LOVE ME, PROVE IT.

Never again will I hear these words, and believe them without loving action. I believed them easily the first time I fell in love, and found myself picking up the pieces of a broken family. Because actions speak louder than words. And I believed them easily the second time I fell in love, and found myself fleeing my own home in the night out of sheer terror of staying put. Because actions speak louder than words. So to the next guy, I appreciate the sentiment...now prove it. Because actions speak louder than words.

I LIED TO MYSELF. I'M DONE NOW.

I wanted life to be a certain way, and when it wasn't, I forced the hand of the universe. To any of you out there who are contemplating doing this, IT DOESN'T EVER END WELL. I told myself that I could make it right, fix it, take it back, work hard enough, love strong enough, be good enough, fight long enough to overcome the bad stuff. And I told myself that I would be ok in the process. I LIED TO MYSELF. I'M DONE NOW. I can't make it right. I can't fix it. I can't take it back. I can't work hard enough or love strong enough, or be good enough or fight long enough to overcome the bad stuff. If the bad stuff is there, I will no longer know deep down that it is bad stuff, while I turn a blind eye and call it good. I am done now.

I AM LOVED.

There's a fairly long list of people in line to say "I told you so." They have every right. They knew I was lying to myself long before I did. So I can't blame them for pointing fingers...for being annoyed with the sheer determination I seem to have to see how many things I can possibly screw up and then blame it on "I was in my twenties." I really can't blame them for saying, "I told you so." But I JUST MUST BE LOVED. Because they haven't said it. (to me.) Instead they have said things like, "I'm here for you. I'm glad you're safe. I am proud of you for getting out. I believe in you. You deserve so much more. I understand. I LOVE YOU." So to Mom, Dad, Stace, Amy, Jenny, Kat, Lisa, Jennifer, Brandon, Steven, Jonathan, and Beth....Thanks. I love you too.

I WILL LISTEN

Dear God, I prayed for your voice. I HEARD your voice. And then I ignored your voice. Umm....sorry 'bout that. Any chance you might want to make something good out of this??? I thought you might. Knew I could count on you. And, for the record, I'm listening.

GRACE GETS GREATER

There's a pretty hefty possibility that even though I have a healthy grip on reality today, that tomorrow my fingers might slip. If history is any indication, I may let go altogether. (But I'm REALLY committed to not letting that happen, Dad! So tell the vein in your forehead to retreat.) I'm just saying, that even though I am on a better path today than I have been in a long time, I still lack the navigational skills to meander through this journey without messing up. So again, I am thankful that I intimately know THE ONE who shows up when I ask, with a REALLY GREAT MAP. And I'm thankful that He stockpiles Grace....because anyone who calls me His child....let's just be honest....He's gonna need it.

And to anyone else who may still be reading this, point fingers if you must.....

but I am moving on.

Um, yeah actually....

2010-03-13T08:44:00.000-08:00

This week I've been trying to get into an exercise routine, and since the weather has been nice I've taken this endeavor outdoors. I've been jogging the loop around our local park trying to get myself in some kind of shape that isn't categorically defined as "round." Four days this week I have either gone by myself, with OS, or with the dog.

Jogging with the dog makes me proud.

A. Because I'm not being lazy on the couch

and

B. Because we spent a TON of money trying to whip this dog into shape, and now I can take her to the park, off leash, and know that she's not going too far from me.

However, I don't have full confidence that she wouldn't run off if , say, a handsome German Shepherd or a kid carrying an ice cream cone wandered by. So she wears an electronic collar that is equipped to both "page" and/or "shock the fire out of her" if it becomes necessary. She responds well to both, but her trainers told us that if we want to make an impression that we have certain expectations, that we should turn the setting up to "OH MY GOD I THINK YOU JUST LIT MY ASS ON FIRE" and let her know that whatever behavior she is exhibiting at that time is not appropriate. It's called "marking the moment."

So far, she has done extremely well with this training method and we have a great pet on our hands. In fact, we rarely have to use the shock settings on her collar now, because she responds so well to the pager. So the other day I loaded her up in the car to go for a quick run. It was my first trip to the park since she has been out of training, so when we started to get close to passing the couple in front of us, I saw her begin to head their way for a sniff. I meant to give her only a light shock and a quiet correction, but apparently OS had marked a moment recently, because the collar setting was turned up to "SHOCK THE LIVING HELL OUT OF THE DOG." Of course, she shrieked and scared both me and the poor couple in front of us. I apologized to them and explained that she was in training. Then we passed and went on our way. However, as I got passed them I heard the guy say, "Geez...can you draw more attention to yourself?"

So I spent the rest of my jog thinking about this:

In the fall of 2000, I was a sophomore in college. During my college years I was involved in a Christian organization whose focus was on dramatic outreach. At the time I thought this was a great organization. I learned a lot about the Bible. Now, however, I think the organization is a little EXTREME for my tastes...and I kind of wish I had joined a sorority...and drank more margaritas. Oh well.

During the fall of my sophomore year, this organization did a dramatic outreach called "I Agree with Ryan." Because all of my friends were in this group, I participated. Participation consisted of wearing a canary yellow t-shirt that said "I AGREE WITH RYAN" in bold black letters on a certain day, when all the other participants were wearing their t-shirts too. On that day, any place you looked you'd see a canary yellow t-shirt, walking into a building, getting on the shuttle, eating lunch, sitting in class. And I was one of them. The goal was to get the entire campus asking "What the hell?" and when they questioned any of us, we were to instruct them of a meeting held that evening. If they wanted to learn more, they could come and hear about it. Then of course, Ryan would speak and give his testimony in hopes of converting the sinners.

While the meeting that night didn't go off entirely as planned, the first part of the outreach...the get the campus to say "What the Hell?" part, well...it worked. All day long I felt like a giant loser in my canary yellow "I Agree With Ryan" t-shirt...and all day long I wanted to crawl into a hole and drink myself silly. And then it got worse.

The day before the "I'm a loser in a canary yellow t-shirt day" I had given blood. That day I was fine, but the next day, I felt pretty crappy all day long. And I was wearing a canary yellow t-shirt. Great. So I sat in Psych 310 listening to a lecture on the Id and the Ego with 35 classmates...who weren't wearing canary yellow "I Agree With Ryan" t-shirts....because they were normal. And about 15 minutes into class...after all the students had looked at me like I was a loser...can't blame them...my crappy "I gave blood" feeling swooped in full force, and I was hit with the intense knowledge of "in about 60 seconds I"m either going to pass out or throw up." Since I didn't want to do either of these in front of 35 college kids who already thought I was about half stupid, I did the only thing I could think of. I got up in the middle of the lecture, weaved my way in and out of desks towards the door....

and passed out in the doorway...my feet in the classroom, my head in the hallway floor, and my canary yellow "I Agree With Ryan" t-shirt gleaming towards the heavens. The professor dismissed the class, and then about 10 of them stood around while two guys picked me up off the floor and sat me on a bench. Girls were handing me moist towels and water bottles, and they all just. kept. staring.

A couple of years later I was pawing through racks at Goodwill, and I came across an "I Agree With Ryan" shirt. I couldn't help but think it was a much cooler shirt when the attached story was, "dude, I totally found this shirt at the Goodwill for a quarter! What the hell?"

So to the snarky guy at Triple Creek Park....

um, yes, as a matter of fact, I can draw WAY. MORE. ATTENTION to myself.

Oh Boy.

2010-02-13T08:37:00.000-08:00

My baby boy has turned into a kid.

A rowdy one.

I blame preschool.

E goes to preschool 3 days a week, and there is a kid there who he calls his best friend. This kid's mother and I grew up in church together so we know each other pretty well. Our boys were attending a small Mother's Day Out program together and loving every minute of it. In December, we were informed that the program's funding had been cut and they were shutting it down. Because we wanted our boys to continue preschool together, we made sure to move them to the same new Mother's Day Out program on the same days.

Oh boy.

Other than being E's "best fwiend" he has taught my sweet baby boy the following:

*Candy can be shoved in your mouth up to the point that your lips no longer close and rainbow colored spit pours out the sides.

*Anything, and I mean ANYTHING, can be used to "shoot a deer." My sweet little boy now goes around aiming rolls of wrapping paper, remote controls, and dinner forks at the dog hollering, "I'm going to shoot a deer....chi, chi, BAM!"

The phrase "what the hell" is appropriate to say when the dog knocks over one of your trains. Obviously, the appropriate response after the aforementioned derailing of the train, is to pick up said train, aim it at the dog and yell "Chi, Chi, BAM!"

I guess it was too much to hope that he would simply learn to wipe himself and write his name.

I know everything he's experiencing right now is par for the course when you have a little boy. However, he's growing up WAY. TOO. FAST. While I'm excited about each new phase of development, I am finding myself missing the baby in him. He's all into wanting to help me, and he actually PLAYS now instead of just tossing toys about. He has his own little agenda, and when things don't go according to it, he responds with some form of loud protest. Everything about him now is a bit more pronounced than it once was: his love, his dismay, his frustration, his joy, his sense of humor, his sadness, his excitement, his energy, and his precious little spirit.

I miss him being a baby. I miss holding him and smelling his sweet little head. I miss rocking him to sleep at night while singing songs. I miss being able to lay him down on a blanket in the floor and leaving the room only to come back and him be in the same exact spot, smiling at me. I miss cuddling on the couch with him sleeping beside me. I miss my baby.

But I love this kid. I love grabbing him and hugging him tight as I smell the little boy smell from his hair. I love laying in bed with him and reading stories as he stops me mid sentence to count all of the bears in the picture. I love listening to him to sing songs in the car to the radio, only to get shy when he catches me looking at him in the rear view mirror. I love leaving the room with him watching tv and coming back in to an empty room and a little voice in the house hollering, "I bet you can't find me Momma!" I love laying with my son on the couch to watch cartoons while he throws the blanket over his head and says, "get under the tent wif me!"

Even if I never get to be the mommy of another baby, I get to be "Momma" to this precious kid.

Thank you, God, for picking me. Oh Boy.

A Therapy Blog

2010-02-07T15:03:00.000-08:00

This morning I saw something that caught my attention. I had just dropped E off at the gas station for the weekly swap with his dad, and on my way back, I passed a BMW. It's not that strange to pass a BMW...people do it on a daily basis, I'm sure of it. But this one was different. This wasn't just any BMW.

This was a BMW with a Pizza Hut magnetic sign perched on top. Yeah, really.

My first thought after, ok...not something you see every day, was what kind of choices did that guy make to put himself in the position of BMW owner and pizza delivery guy in the same season of his life? I can't help but think that his story must be some kind of flirtation between "sometimes life hands you lemons" and "holy, sh*t...wish I hadn't done that."

Lately I've been sorting through a pile of choices in my life, trying to distinguish the good from the bad, the lucky from the unlucky, the "sometimes life hands you lemons" and the "holy sh*t...wish I hadn't done that." I'm on a personal quest to figure out why I do the things I do....a much bigger initiative than I'm actually comfortable with, because it requires me to dive into the dark corners of my psyche and air out whatever might have set up residence there. And so far, the only conclusion that I've come to is that these aforementioned shortcomings and inadequacies have been shoved into the dark corners for a good reason...they kind of suck.

But, in the spirit of "airing out", this is what I've uncovered so far:

I live life in victim mode. It's very easy for me to take any lemons life might hand me and hurl them in someone else's direction. I try very hard to never be "at fault"....not because I'm never actually a key player in whatever heartache may be going on....but because the admission of such a role would mean that I'm not perfect. And while I KNOW I'm not perfect, I have nearly 29 years invested in getting others to believe that I'm pretty darn close....even though, rationally, I know they never do. (A realization that only serves to make me even MORE disappointed in my inability to live up to my incredibly unrealistic expectations of myself.) Wow...it was exhausting just typing that....no wonder I'm so tired all the time.

I'm never quite as happy where I'm at as I need to be. It seems that I'm always looking for the NEXT thing in life to bring excitement or happiness. It's hard for me to just. settle. in. I used to think I did this because life is supposed to one of those "the sky's the limit, take the bull by the horns, ride like the wind" kind of experiences. But in the process of airing out the dark corners, I've realized that I do this because I have an unhealthy ideal that life should be perfect, happy, rosy, uplifting, satisfying, gratifying, and splendid ALL THE TIME. Obviously, a mindset like this leads a girl to a wealth of absolutely nothing but disappointment on semi-regular basis. I haven't quite figured out WHY I do this yet...just that I do it. Stay tuned for the details...I'm sure it will be a humdinger.

There's tons more...but we'll call it a night there.

Suddenly, for some reason, being a BMW Pizza Delivery driver doesn't seem so bad.

(For anyone still reading this thing...I promise to blog about something completely comical and free of therapeutic references as soon as possible. Fart blog, anyone???)

Well, crap.

2010-02-03T18:03:00.000-08:00

Hello Blog. Remember me? I'm the girl who promised to love you forever and then just one day stopped typing. Sorry about that. I'm back now, because

A. I am a good blogger

B. I miss you.

and

C. When all this crazy is trapped in my head, life gets ugly. So I figured I'd return and release all the crazy back into the blogdom. Oh yes. You're welcome.

Here it comes...

I think I may have possibly said this before, but apparently it warrants repeating. I have issues. Not just the kind of issues that require the occasional threesome with Ben and Jerry, but REAL issues....the kind that call for serious processing and visits with my inner child and, ugh, honesty.

I wish that I could say that during my extended blog absence life has been all sunshine and roses. I wish I could say that I was the model of joy and happiness. I wish I could say that I had learned how to go all Bewitched on the things that haunt me. But I haven't. Life since marrying OS has had its ups and downs. We've done the expected laughing and crying, but recently found ourselves at a crossroads, probably the first of many, where a decision had to be made. It wasn't painless and it wasn't easy, but at the end of the day we found ourselves taking each other's hand and walking in the same direction. However, during this little journey, I looked at myself in a new light. Unfortunately, it was a cheap dressing room kind of light instead of an upscale salon light....and, well, let's just say it....all my crap was right there for the whole world to see.

The result of this experience has been me realizing that I am long overdue at dealing with my issues. So far in my life, it's been rather convenient to blame my shortcomings on others in my life. It's my parents fault, my sister's fault, my ex husband's fault, or OS's fault. Never mine though....never mine. Sadly, this isn't quite the case. I've realized that I have been experiencing the same problems over and over for years now, and this cross roads experience with OS has made me decide that it's time to tackle the things that haunt me like a ghostbuster with a new proton pack. I have a feeling it's not going to be an easy journey, but LUCKY YOU....you'll get to read about it...because guess what Blog....

I'm back.

Conversations with E

2009-11-17T06:36:00.001-08:00

My son has been quite the little conversationalist lately. Most of the time it's too stinkin' cute. Like this one:

Setting the stage: On our way to a bounce house for him to celebrate his birthday with a friend who was also having a birthday. The bounce house is in the same general direction as the place where we got his halloween costume. We had just pulled off the exit when the conversation started:

E: Mommy...are we getting costume?

Me: Not today, Buddy...we're going to a bouncy house for you to play!

E: Will there be costumes there?

Me: No baby...we only wear costumes for halloween...now it's time for your birthday, so we're going to play!

E: My dirfday? I will be shree on my dirfday!

Me: I know! You're such a big boy!

E: After my dirfday will there be costumes?

Me: No...after your dirf...BIRTHday...there will be Christmas!

E: What's Christmas?

Me: Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus' birthday! It will be fun. You will get presents and we'll read stories about Jesus!

E: How old is Jesus going to be?

Me: Ummm....I don't know...but it's going to be fun!

E: What costume will Jesus wear?

Me: Jesus doesn't have a costume...costumes are just for Halloween.

E: Jesus is going to be a bat.

Me: A bat, huh?

E: yeah (nodding head enthusiastically). A bat. And he'll say "tricky-tricky" and we'll give him candy for his dirfday. And, and, and, and, Jesus will be "shree" too.

Me: (unable to figure out how to diffuse the confusion at this point) sounds good to me baby!

E: yeah.

And then there are conversations like this one that are just downright exhausting:

Setting the stage: I'm folding laundry. And then the fun began.

E: Mommy, whatcha doin?

Me: folding clothes.

E: why?

Me: So we'll have clean clothes to wear.

E: why?

Me: because we like to wear clean clothes.

E: why do we like cwean cwothes?

Me: we just do. (walking into the laundry room)

E: Now whatcha doin?

Me: washing some more clothes for us.

E: why?

Me: (because I said so!) we just have a lot of laundry

E: why?

Me: (Oh dear Lord...we just do!) we just do, baby.

E: but why?

Me: (OH MY GOD!) we just wear a lot of clothes.

E: Why we wear a wot of cwothes?

Me: I think Tom and Jerry is on! Want to watch it?

E: Tom and Jerry?! Why is Tom and Jerry on?

Me: come on! I'll turn it on for you!

After turning on the tv, I begin to walk out of the room...

E: whatcha doin mommy?

Me: going to finish laundry.

E: why?

Me: (because you're driving me crazy!) because you're driving me crazy!

E: I'm dwiving you cwazy?

Me: yes (feeling guilty)

E: why?

and it continued until bedtime.

I love this kid. Just don't ask why.

These Boots Were Made For Walkin

2009-11-01T06:00:00.000-08:00

I had a few hours to kill yesterday since E's dad wanted to take him around to his family to show off his dalmation costume for Halloween, and since OS was at work, I made plans to meet up with my friend, The Musicmaker, at the mall. She was in search of boots and a white chocolate mocha although not necessarily in that order. We stopped by the coffee shop in the mall. She got the mocha beverage and I, since I don't like coffee, got some java chiller thing that had enough chocolate and cookie bits in it to cover up the coffee taste. These things should be illegal, by the way, because I could develop an addiction to them that may result in my appearance on that A&E show, Intervention.

Anyway, we strolled through the mall, beverages in hand, and laughed and joked, and made sideways glances at people who may or may not have been dressed up in piss poor excuses for halloween costumes. There were several people that the verdict is still out on. We wove ourselves in and out of shoe stores and she found several pairs of boots that were "almost it, but _____ is wrong." She knew exactly what she was looking for. I, also had a pair of boots in mind that I figured I would never find....a calf high, kitten healed, casual/dressy boot in a neutral shade of brown. The impossible search.

We made our way into Rack Room Shoes, and she grabbed a pair to try on. And then I spotted the perfect boot....a calf high, kitten healed, casual/dressy boot in "cognac." Impossible search over. I tried it on and it fit perfectly, and I checked the price....only $40! The store was having a "buy one get one 50% off" sale, so we tried really hard to find a pair of boots that would work for The Musicmaker, but still, nothing was quite what she wanted. So we made our way up to the counter with my perfect boots in hand, and while we waited in line behind another customer, I began to tell her the story of E's dalmation costume, complete with the sound effects of me barking like a dog.

Then something weird happened.

The guy in front of us in line turned around and said, "That was a great dog impression. I actually looked around for a dog." I responded with something casual like "yeah, I have a two year old...I do stuff like that a lot." He turned back around to finish his purchase and I went on with my story to my friend.

Then the guy turned back around and noticed the box of boots in my hand. "What are those," he asked. I was a little confused at this point about why he cared, so I said, "Boots," with a question mark on my face. He kind of nodded and then said, "Can I see them?" Again with the confusion. But I handed him the box and he took them and turned toward the counter.

At this point I look over at my friend, who looks just as confused as I do. I think I actually said out loud, "what just happened?" She shrugged and glanced around the guy to see what was taking place at the counter. "Maybe he's using your boots to get the half off thing?" she asked. I shrugged back. Then the guy turned toward me, gathered up his bags, and said "Pay it forward. Have a great day!" Then he quickly walked out of the store and disappeared.

We stood there shocked for a minute and the clerk asked, "Did you know that man?"

"No...not at all!" I said back. The clerk handed me a bag with my boots in them. "He paid for your boots." We walked out of the store, looking around for the man, but he was gone. Now I, thanks to OS, think I may have watched way too many episodes of Criminal Minds lately, because I immediately thought, "What if he's a serial killer and this is his M.O.!" But I think I just happened to encounter someone who wanted to make someones day better. And he did...with a pair of calf high, kitten healed, dressy/casual boots in the "goes with almost anything shade" of cognac and the simple request to pay it forward.

Something else happened to my while I was walking through the mall. This same time of year just a couple of years ago, I walked through the mall with the same friend. But I was a very different girl. My marriage had fallen apart literally just days before. Together, we walked, me with a broken spirit and a face still puffy from a lot of crying. I kept switching my wedding ring from finger to finger, trying to find it a new home. (It's weird how when you are faced with divorce one of the biggest dilemmas presented to you is what to do with your wedding ring. You'd think the focus would be elsewhere...but it's just there staring you in the face.) I was pretty much a zombie walking through the mall, trying to let go of the life I had been living and grasping at tiny little straws of the possibilities in front of me. I couldn't see that it would ever be better. I couldn't see that it would ever stop hurting. I couldn't see that I deserved a better life.

But she could. So she did the thing that God made best friends for, and she just walked with me that day.

And yesterday, while we walked through the mall, it hit me like a ton of bricks that we had been there before, only life looked so different then. So while we walked, her chit-chatting about work and boots and life, completely oblivious that I was having a moment, I silently thanked God for giving me a friend like her to walk with.

To the guy who asked me to pay it forward....thank you...and I will.

And to my friend, who has walked with me through the mall in the best of times and the worst of times,

I love you. Let's walk again soon.

Son Says...

2009-10-24T08:18:00.000-07:00

In the past few months E's conversational skills have revved up quite a bit. He can now engage in an intellectual exchange on the phone with Mimi or Papa regarding what he's doing or what he ate for lunch that day. Granted, this is a conversation that is only riveting to a grandparent, but they must be fascinated with it, because they call my phone specifically to talk to him. I have officially been downgraded from "daughter" to "receptionist."

He's also much more excited about the world going on around him. He's learned to spell his name, and when he mastered that one I taught him that the red sign at the end of the street spells S-T-O-P, Stop! So I guess he's put two and two together (which he does a lot more than I realized) and now understands that when letters are strung together it "thpellths" things. Now he constantly asks stuff like, "Mama, what thpellths car? What thpellths truck? What thpellths BIG truck?" It makes me smile. And then, after about twenty words, it gets a little old. The spelling bees are usually interrupted by me turning up the radio and saying "Ooh...this is a good song, E! Let's sing!" (Just being honest!) But then he starts humming or singing in the backseat. And that makes me smile too. (Until I realize that my toddler is singing all the words to an extremely inappropriate Flo-Rida song...then I just feel like a terrible mother. Again with the honesty.)

The newest development in my sons language is a very pronounced stutter. I started noticing it out of the blue a couple of weeks ago. At first it was just a sentence here or there. Now it's pretty much the first word of every sentence out of his mouth. The Village has noticed it as well. Everyone who keeps my son at some point during the week has commented on it. "Did you notice he's stuttering?" they ask. You mean did I notice my son going, "Wha-Wha-Wha-What-What-What-What's that dog doing?" Yeah...I may have picked up on it once or twice. Maybe.

At first I kind of brushed it off as something that kids just do when they are developing. No big deal, right? But as everyone else commented on it, I began to think, "maybe this isn't a normal toddler thing. Maybe I should look into this a little more."

So I did the DUMBEST thing any mother could possibly do. I googled it.

And as it turns out, my child is either experiencing a perfectly normal part of language development that a kid here and there goes through.....OR he has an incurable neurological defect that will haunt him for life and cause him much pain and suffering on the playground. As luck would have it either way, only time will tell. And here I thought the next couple of months would be stress free days of holiday fun and good eats.

Damn you, Google! Damn you AND your easily accessed, overly informing website of terror!

Brace Yourself Limb, I'm Coming Out There...

2009-10-23T13:52:00.000-07:00

The winds of change have blown in my direction again, and this time they are taking me out on my very own limb. My very own shaky, scary limb.

I'm starting my own business. Enough of this "working for everyone else, making everyone else all the money crap." If other people can go out on a limb and manage to dilly dally around out there without crashing to the ground, then by God, so can I.

This was the thought process at least when I filled out official forms at the courthouse this week and then proceeded to leave with my very own business license in hand. I'm currently in grad school to become a therapist...and I still intend to finish that journey and see where God takes me. But in the meantime....I had an idea. And what good is it to have an idea that you don't pursue? No good at all, I say. So I'm in red hot pursuit of this crazy, wacky, hair brained idea that begins with me getting a business license and ends with me being one of those women on Oprah talking about how she made millions by going out on her very own shaky, scary, limb.

Ok....so the last part's a stretch. But I'm in pursuit just the same.

I won't go into details just yet...there's still lots to be done. But if you'd like you can go visit my website. There's nothing there yet...just a little sign that proclaims that something is "coming soon"....but it's the beginning. And most of you have been around for all of the other beginnings I've blogged about...so why not this one? Check it out. http://www.shoptowntn.com.

I shared my crazy, wacky, hair brained idea with OS and asked if I had his support. His reply was simply, "Baby, with as many crazy ideas as you come up with, you're bound to hit on something sooner or later." : )

With support like that, how can I not go for it?

Stay Tuned...Something's Coming!

Worship, Interrupted

2009-09-29T06:25:00.001-07:00

We've been looking for a church lately, and the past two weeks have attended one that I think we'll probably set up camp in. It's definitely not the church I would have picked if I was the only one to please, but for now, it seems to meet all of the immediate church related needs of our little family. The style is one that OS is comfortable with, the people are incredibly warm and friendly, the average age in the congregation is well under 75, and there are a lot of kids running around that look every bit as sweet and sour as E. All in all...I think we hit a home freakin' run! AND...the church is only a couple of years old...so it meets in a local elementary school...in the gymacafetorium.

So Sunday, when the words to a worship song that I knew popped up on the overhead projector, I allowed myself a moment to worship...something I don't think I've wholeheartedly done in ages. I closed my eyes, tilted my head up toward God, and allowed myself a moment to briefly be carried away in the thick harmonies of the congregation. And very quickly I remembered why I love worship. For a split second, it was just me and God in that room staring one another in the face. I was right there in the moment with Him...and He was right there in the moment with me. We were on the same page....breathing the same air...and once again He was a very real presence, one that I didn't have to try my hardest to have faith in because I just know it to be true....this time, I could FEEL it. I began to sink deeper into this warm hollow with God...just me and him....and

tap, tap tap....

Huh? Was someone tapping me on the shoulder....no, surely not. I'm just imagining things. Ok...back to the warm hollow....

TAP, TAP, TAP...

I turned around to see the lady in the row behind me tapping me on my right shoulder. "Excuse me," she said. "I have to holler at my daughter." She then proceeded to lean forward...right into the midst of my warm hollow....and hissed with sheer venom in the direction of the red headed tweenager in the row in front of me, "DELIA, STAND UP!" and she made an "up" motion with her arm that would have sliced through my face had I not done a bouncy little hop to the side.

And just like that my warm little hollow dissipated into the far corners of the gymacafetorium.

The rest of the congregation went on singing...and for a few seconds I flipped the coin of what had just happened in my mind. Did someone really just interrupt my worship to snarl at her daughter that she should be standing up to worship? Really? And then it struck me as funny, so I began to laugh. And I laughed. The kind of laugh where you can't let yourself make any noise, so your shoulders twitch and you appear to be a Touret's patient. And I laughed, and laughed. So much for the warm hollow of worship.

But I felt light hearted just the same. Maybe I needed to be reminded that worshipping God isn't always a warm hollow. Sometimes it's shoulder twitching laughter. Maybe I just needed a good hard laugh.

And maybe...just maybe, God knew that before I did.

That Woman

2009-09-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

God has been relentlessly poking me on the shoulder lately in an attempt to get my attention about sin in my life. I always hate when God does this. I'd almost always rather just curl up in the corner with my sin and have a private little moment. But alas, God wants to go and better me in the name of Jesus. I have fought it as long as I can...and I dare say it was a valiant effort on my part. But here I am anyway...typing away about the things I need to give over to the Lord...so I can be a better version of myself...or something to that general effect.

Ugh. Personal growth. It's so much less exhausting to just be content to wallow in your own personal imperfections of character. Lord, I mean really....what do we have to do to catch a break down here?!?!

Ok...all dramasm (a little hot toddy of drama and sarcasm if you will) aside. God has been trying to get my attention. As I have put so much effort lately into the discipline of my child, God has revealed to me that He wouldn't mind seeing a little more structure in my life as well. This time, I'm the one who needs to be plopped down in a good solid time out. It's my turn to taste the bitter medicine of structure and boundaries, and EW! DISCIPLINE. It's not that I'm a horrible mess or anything. I'm not bankrupt...I'm not obese...I'm not living in squalor like those pitiful people on that show 'Hoarders' that find 35 cat skeletons in their garage upon cleaning it out (true story!). It's just that a lot of little "slackeryness" in my life has added up to me being much less neat and organized and motivated than I'd like to be. It's the sick, sad combination of not matching the tupperware tops to the tupperware bottoms and my unrelenting inability to actually throw out the lint that I scrape from the dryer's lint trap that have melded together to form a woman who is just a little less than the woman I think God would like for me to be.

It's become very clear to me that God wants me to start tidying up my life...and all the things that go with it. However, as simple as this sounds, it's not all that easy for me to do. It's just not natural for me to be one of those people that has it all together. Case in point: It's taken me a solid week to actually finish this post and hit the publish button...A WHOLE SOLID WEEK. So as fall hangs delicately outside my window, I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm putting the tupperware tops with the tupperware bottoms. I haven't left a pile of dryer lint in the laundry room in days now. DAYS! And...get this....as I type this the laundry is going, the dishes are clean, the bed is made, the checkbook is balanced, the crock pot is slow cooking, and the dog is fed. Miracles really do exist!

I know this stuff really doesn't matter and that God loves me in spite of me being a slacker on the homemaking front. But my desire is to be the best partner I can be to OS, and the best mom I can be to E. Lately, I feel like my haphazard approach to living life often serves as a toxin to that desire. I feel like God is poking and prodding me to take care of the little, mundane details so that the big, important things that actually matter.....my husband and my son....can have the wife and mother that they deserve. And it's not just for them. I want to be that woman...the one who has her shit together and whose tupperware doesn't fall out onto her head when she opens up the cabinet. I imagine that life is just a little bit easier on that woman. Maybe.

So here's to turning over a new leaf. Here's to accepting the challenges that God presents to you. Here's to turning around when He pokes and prods and relentlessly tries to get your attention and saying "I will" with a triumphant fist pump in the air instead of a sideways glance and a "Dude! What the hell?!?!"

Here's to being That Woman. That tupperware matching, lint throwing away, checkbook balancing woman.

And publish.

Parenting 101

2009-09-11T13:03:00.001-07:00

Whoever said "It takes a village to raise a child" must have been talking about my family.

On any given week, my son spends time at 4 different homes with 4 different sets of people that love him...and 4 very different sets of rules and expectations. These rules vary from the extremes of "Eat what is cooked for dinner and when I say no, I mean no," to "King E is here...roll out the red carpet and lets all sniff his bottom...it smells like roses!" (Ok...maybe that last part was a bit much...but it's not unfair to say that often times, he rules the roost.)

As E gets older, this is a more difficult set up to not get frustrated with. It's hard enough that he gets shuffled back and forth between Mommy's house and Daddy's house. For the most part, Ex and I have done a good job at staying on the same page. But I have a lot of guilt...questions...worry...and what ifs over all the stuff that E's life will be sprinkled with as a result of our situation. And as he gets older and does more and understands more, differences in parenting are becoming more common.

I think any mom who is half a mother sometimes travels through the valley of the shadow of "Hi, my name is Mom, and I have failed my child." I think it's probably just part of the package...like stretch marks or the inability to hold all of your urine when you sneeze. It's just par for the course. But add divorce to that equation (or any situation that compromises your ability to be there for your child 100% of the time for that matter) and the sickness gets so much worse.

Obviously I'm struggling at the moment. "Hi, I'm the Village Idiot, and I have failed my child."

Everyone: Hi Village Idiot!

I feel like nothing I do is good enough...and lately it seems that everyone in this little village has a strong opinion about that. Maybe they've had these opinions all along...but blame it on the full moon...this week they are sharing.

"You're too easy on him."

"You're too hard on him."
"You correct him too much."

"You let him get away with too much."

"You don't have enough fun with him."

"He needs to know you love him."

"He needs you to be more firm."

Apparently I didn't get the memo...but it seems like everyone else was notified of all of the answers, and I know none of them. What I do know...what I happen to know for sure...is that I love my son with every breath I take. I have visions of a perfect life for him that he will never have, and hopes that upon his realization that life isn't perfect that he will respect me for being a source of love and consistency in his life. My desire is that when he is 28 and leading a life of his own that he will look back and associate me with plenty of "I love you's" and "she was always there for me's." Dear God, please and thank you.

I guess no mother ever feels like she's doing it exactly right. There's probably always going to be "I wish I had..." and "It would have been better if..." and a lot of "In hindsight..." And in my situation there will probably always be the rest of the village with an opinion of what I'm doing wrong and hopefully sometimes what I'm doing right. So in that case.....

Dear Lord, If it's not too much trouble, could you please speak up? It's noisy around here. Amen.

And now, if you will excuse me, nap time is over and this particular Village Idiot promised someone a play doh date. I may not have a clue about how to raise a child...

but I make a damn fine play doh pancake.

Discipline

2009-09-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

There have been a lot of changes in my home lately, and discipline seems to be a major point of discussion. E is rapidly changing lanes from "toddler" to "kid," and the change feels like it has hit me without warning....little booger didn't even throw on a blinker or anything before he went and morphed into a big boy! It seems every week I send a certain baby boy back to his daddy's house for a few days, and without fail I get back someone who is bigger, taller, more smart-mouthed, filled with childisms, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, has smellier feet. True story.

Lately, I've noticed a lot of changes in the way E responds to discipline. I think a lot of this is due to OS's presence in E's life. OS is a former marine. Need I say more? (Like I'd stop here...)

OS is one of the first people to offer a consistent presence in E's life who doesn't talk to him like he's still a baby. E gets pretty much whatever he wants whenever he wants it...and while Ex and I have done a pretty good job at not raising a rotten brat, we have both (I think...I guess I can only speak for myself) fallen into the trap of "not wanting to a be a mean parent" and probably let him get by with more "little stuff" than we should have. Now that E is older, he's ready for some more structure. OS is offering that in fairly healthy measure. He doesn't look at E and see a baby. He looks at E and sees a smart kid who, and I quote, "if he can sit there and count to 200 then he's old enough to answer me about why he's in time out." Good point, dear. Good point.

Since I've come to the realization that E is old enough to understand and benefit from more strict discipline, I've been enforcing the "little stuff" more...kind of as a "for shits and giggles" kind of experiment and, in turn, have been getting a pretty interesting response from my kid. For example...the other day we were winding down for the evening and we were approaching E's bedtime. He was still pretty wired, so I handed him a book, we all curled up in the "tv room" and I told E there was no talking. He could look at his book, or play with a toy, but NO TALKING. E is a M-O-T-O-R-M-O-U-T-H...so I figured this would last all of two seconds. Within the first minute he began chattering. I quickly told him to go to time out because he hadn't listened to my instructions (something I would have overlooked before this.) He sat quietly in time out for about two minutes until I called him to come back into the tv room with us.

ME: "Why did you have to go to timeout?"

E: "I talked and you said no talking."

ME: "When I tell you to do something you have to listen. We are going to sit here and read without talking. Ok?"

E: "Yes ma'am."

And then what do you think happened? My two year old sat with me on the couch for 30 minutes with a Dr. Seuss book...and didn't utter another word! He pointed at pictures....looked at me to get me to notice the book...cuddled....and MINDED! I was utterly floored.

Maybe the United States Marine Corps is onto something with this discipline mumbo jumbo. Heck...for 30 minutes of peace and quiet and my smelly footed little boy cuddled up on the couch with me...I say Semper Fi baby!

Wedded Bliss

2009-09-02T10:27:00.000-07:00

Well...I'm married!

I haven't blogged in forever, because this thing called life kept getting all in the way and everything. However, things seem to be settling down to a new version of normal...and I'm absolutely loving it!

The weeks leading up to the wedding were pretty emotional. There was a lot going on in my head, and I think it's fair to say OS's head was pretty swamped with "Oh my God!" also. While we weren't the best versions of ourselves every moment during this time, I think it's pretty accurate to say we did some of our best talking and listening, and the result was a bride and groom who stood up on their wedding day and said their vows with complete and total peace.

I will post pictures of the wedding day as soon as I get them back from our photographer, but I couldn't wait to go ahead and write about how perfect the day was! It was everything we wanted it to be and absolutely nothing that we didn't.

We were married on a hillside at the back of his grandfather's farm. The weather was absolutely perfect for an outdoor wedding! The two most amazing girls ever met me at the farm at 10 that morning to do some last minute reception organizing and errand running, then we grabbed lunch at Chili's and headed to get our hair and make up done. With curls in place we headed back to the farm.

At this point E came bounding in with a dinosaur in one hand and a sandwich, courtesy of Mimi, in the other. With crumbs on his face we began draping him in his wedding outfit...he was about as adorable as you can possibly get...and I threw on my wedding dress. Then, my girls went to work again!

"We can see your underwear. Try these..." Ok. Check.

"Do you have your flowers?" NO? "Ok...we're going to find them."

"Here's your garter...(Marines camo garter as a surprise for OS.)...leg up and I'll put it on you."

"Something old, new, borrowed, blue?" Check.

Then, the photographer grabbed OS and sequestered him in the sun room so he could get his first look at his bride. I walked in, pictures snapping away, and he teared up. (Let's all assume it was joy and not overwhelming, mind numbing fear. Let's just assume.)

After that, we all headed out to the yard for family pictures...the only part during all of this wedded bliss that Bridezilla even remotely reared her ugly head! Kudos to me. Then, it was time to caravan up to the top of the hill. We bumped over the lake road, rounded a few corners, climbed the grassy hillside...and there it was. The clearing, overlooking rolling hills and tree lined valleys, was warm and inviting, a hint of shade and several well placed pockets of sunshine.

We organized ourselves, spoke with the preacher, and laughed as E gathered up wild turkey feathers, each time hollering "I FOUND A FEATHER!"

Within minutes we heard the rumble of cars climbing the hill, and we knew our guests were on their way...just on the far side of wedded bliss. They began piling out of their cars and making their way to the edge of the hill where we were standing. We milled around with our guests, greeting each of them and introducing them to each other. There were hugs and handshakes, and a lot of "Wow, this is gorgeous!" Which it was! The preacher gathered us together, and I stood across from OS who teared up as soon as the ceremony started. We listened as my father spoke about the blessings of marriage, and then we each shared a personal message to the other one. OS's message blew me away! He had been extremely stressed, because he wanted the vows to be perfect. I guess he felt like they weren't quite right, but OH MY GOD, they were IMPECCABLE! He had all of our guests tearing up, and by the time he was finished telling me exactly how and exactly why he loves me, there was a trail of snot running down my face and my Kleenex was rendered powerless.

We exchanged rings and made promises, and before I knew it, we were husband and wife! Our guests made their way back down the hill to the house for the reception, and OS and I lagged behind for some scenic photos. We joined our guests, shoved cake in each other's faces, tossed the marines garter, and then made our getaway in a Shelby 500 Mustang GT, imprinted in shoe polish with the words "Honk for Sex," courtesy of my new father in law!

It was the best day.

The past couple of years have been quite a journey, and I'm so thankful for that time of growth. I'm looking forward to the rest of the walk, now with my new partner. I am married to a man that I honestly believe loves me from the depths of his toes. He's experienced his own measure of growth over the past 2 years, and he continues to welcome transformation in his life as God works on him. I appreciate his dedication to a better life, and I accept him exactly as he is...along with all of the wonderful, terrible, funny, icky, and crazy things that come with it. He was my best friend when we were 7, and he's my best friend today. I'm blessed to have found him again, and I am so excited to walk this journey with him....perfectly imperfect, and perfectly in love.

I am, in a word, happy.

You're Invited...

2009-08-11T06:15:00.000-07:00

Hello Stress...

Let me just start out by saying that rarely do things in my life ever go according to plan. Period.

This weekend we found out that OS's brother is getting deployed in early October, and since he and OS are pretty tight, we really didn't want him and his new wife to miss the wedding, which was originally scheduled for October 10th.

We chose the date of October 10th for several reasons. First and foremost, 10/10 is easy to remember, and I figured it upped my chances of getting anniversary presents in the future. It IS all about me, after all. Also, that weekend was the break in between my two fall sessions of class, (again...me, me, me) and the weather here in October is usually pretty mild. OS has always wanted to get married on his grandfather's farm (Oh, score one for OS!), and we figured the fall foliage would be a beautiful setting....so 10/10 it was!

However, after we realized that his brother wouldn't be able to come we quickly threw the date out the window and decided to move things up a couple of weeks, so he could come. This is what happened when that ball started rolling....

OS on the phone to his mom: How about September 26th?

Mommy In Law: That sounds good. He can come then.

OS on the phone to the photographer (Who we have paid and signed a contract with.): We need to change the date for the wedding.

Photographer: No problem! When?

OS: the 26th.

Photographer: Problem. I'm booked that day. I'm also not available the 12th. Any other date is good though.

OS on the phone to MIL: 26th is a no go. How about the 19th?

MIL: The 19th is fine here. Check with your grandfather about the farm.

OS on the phone to Grandfather: We can't do the 10th...how about the 19th?

Grandfather: We can't have it here on the 19th...we're having our 50th high school reunion...been planned for months. Any other date is fine.

OS to me: Ok...October is out. The 26th, 19th, and 12th of September are out. How about the 5th?

Me: That's a month from now! And it's Labor Day....but I'll check with the photographer.

Me on the phone to the Photographer: Can you do the wedding on the 5th (crossing fingers) even though it's Labor Day?

Photographer: Sure! I'm happy to! (I love her by the way.)

Me to OS: We can do the 5th...everyone is free....RING RING RING (this is OS's phone ringing...)

MIL on the phone to OS: We can't do the 5th....that's when we're going to Florida to see the new grandbaby....

OS to me: Courthouse???

Me: That's sounding better all the time!

Sleep....Sleep....Sleep

OS the next day: Want to marry me in three weeks? On August 29th? In the sweltering heat....outside....on the farm....with my brother and the photographer there....and a bunch of bugs probably???? Wanna????

Me: HELL YES!

SO......we're getting married in less than three weeks!!!! The rest of the weekend was a blur...there was a phone call to a friend that sounded something like, "Hey...how are you...oh that's good...listen, I need about 60 wedding invitations...don't care what they look like...and by the way I need them done tonight so I can come get them and mail them out this week." And in true friend for life fashion she said, "You got it, sister!" Invitations are in the mail. Then I called the friend that is doing alterations to my dress and said, "Listen, no pressure, but the wedding is in three weeks...can you rush my dress?" And she said, "No problem. Want to come for a final fitting next weekend?" Dress, CHECK. Then, OS and I ran through Target with a scanner gun and registered. I had to restrain my future husband as we walked past the big screen tv's...."No honey, no one loves us enough to buy us a big screen for a wedding present....PUT. THE. GUN. DOWN. Towels.....Towels and tupperware...that's what people buy." And we even drove up to the farm last night at 5:30...the same time the wedding will be...and realized we'll have a nice shady spot to get married in.

We're taking bets on the number of people that suspect a pregnancy is the reason for the quick nuptials...but it's not. We just want those that we love to be around us as we begin this journey together. I honestly couldn't be happier!

And if any of you are in the Nashville area on August 29th, grab your bug spray and head to the big hill on the farm....there will be love there.

The Core

2009-08-04T07:58:00.000-07:00

There's an exercise I do with patients at work that involves "pulling your core to the floor." And yesterday at the gym, while reading an issue of "Natural Health" and kicking ass on the elliptical machine, there was an article on core exercise with pictures of petite, toned, tanned women perfectly balancing on their tailbones with their arms pointed up beyond their heads and their toes extended towards "the healthy person's heaven"...or something.

In light of my impending wedding I've gotten back into diet and exercise mode. I'm counting carbs, watching portions, and (GASP) even went back to the gym from which OS and I had taken a month long "we're in love so who gives a f**k what we look like" hiatus. While I will admit that my major motivation right now is the fact that I just dropped a lot of money on a photographer that will be taking pictures to be posted on the walls of at least 3 different living rooms that I know of...I am motivated right now to turn my health around. So I've been making changes in the diet, working the gym back into my routine, and popping vitamins and other little pellets of herbally goodness. I even sifted through the On Demand exercises to find a core workout. Apparently, it's all about "the core."

But there is a different core that I need to be paying attention to. Lately, I have been so overwhelmed with life and marriage and school and mommyhood and finances and...well you get the drift...that in all this wonderful mess of good and plenty that I have been blessed with, I have paid absolutely no attention to me...the me that God speaks to and works on and nourishes....the place where He goes to get to the bottom of things....my gut....my spirit...my core. My being over the past month or so has made quite a comfy little home being dependant on all of my surrounding circumstances for sustenance.

As long as OS and I are thriving...then I am good.

As long as E is happy...then I am good.

As long as money is plentiful...then I am good.

As long as school is manageable...then I am good.

As long as THINGS are good...then I am good.

But somewhere in the midst of all of this, I wasn't good anymore. And I have gotten frustrated with myself for it....for not feeling as good as I SHOULD....because look at all of my blessings! I should be walking on sunshine...and instead I have felt a dark cloud hanging overhead.

Over the past few days of focusing on getting my physical health in balance, I have come to realize that my spiritual health is in need of an overhaul. Very quickly and very easily, I began to rely on the wrong things to bring health and balance to my spirit. This is a dangerous place for me to stagnate, because right on the heels of the superficial happiness that is dependant on other people and other things is a mighty paralyzing depression that I know all too well. It's a sickness that creeps it's way into my head and then into my spirit. It packs hopelessness as its ammunition, and it uses lies as its fuel. In a word, it blows, and when I am not on top of my game spiritually, it blows any measure of happiness and blessing in my life right out of the water.

So today I am feeding myself a decent dose of truth. My relationships with the people that I love can bring blessing and joy into my life, but they cannot make me happy. School can bring direction and purpose into my life, but it cannot make me happy. Money can bring me more headaches and more things, but it cannot make me happy. Other people...other places...other things....can change my circumstances, but they cannot make me happy. The spiritual truth is that my happiness must rest in the voice and the Spirit of God. His call on my spirit is often quiet and gentle, because His desire is that I will seek Him in full knowledge that I will find Him when I do. His plan offers me wisdom, because there is a purpose that He intends for me to pursue. His fulfillment is not based on circumstances, but on the truth of knowing that when I dig into the meat of His promises, that I will be satisfied with a feast of His understanding.

My focus has been situated on the outward scene. I love the outward scene and the people that occupy it. I love the direction that my life is going, and the people that are going there with me. I am abundantly blessed with a wealth beyond monetary value. But all of this is nothing, if I don't stay in clear communication with The One who directs this path. So today I am adjusting my focus with an inward lens in order to better see The Source. If I seek Him, I will find Him. When I find Him, He will speak. When He speaks, I will listen. When I listen, I find peace.

This, I believe...to my very core.

Blog Slug

2009-08-03T10:44:00.001-07:00

I know....I suck.

Lately I've had everything in the world to blog about, and for some reason, absolutely nothing to say! I've tried several times to sort through all the thoughts I'm having...dealing with....loving...hating...and none of them seem to come out as quite blog worthy. This is strange to me considering my life is happening at warp speed these days and I should be spewing blog worthy thoughts out my ears...but oh well. See...I can't even justify my lameness in a creative way. Ugh.

So in the interest of keeping updated the handful of you who still check this thing...here's what's been going on in my neck of the woods:

*officially finished my first year of grad school....onto year two! I can practically taste my degree.
*have received parental approval of my fiance...along with comments like, and I quote, "You two are a good fit" and "You seem more comfortable with him than anyone I've ever seen you with!" Color me happy.
*Gearing up for my first flea market vendor booth...half painted furniture is ALL OVER MY HOUSE. Lots to do....very little time....oh, Lord help me.
*Made major strides in potty training E. He still won't tell you when he needs to go...and there was that one time he forgot to point the Mr. down and peed on the dog...but progress is being made just the same.
*dropped my wedding dress off to have alterations made.
*booked the photographer and have a general idea of all wedding details.
*have opened a joint checking account. And paid joint bills.
*converted E's playroom into a den and organized E's bedroom so he can play in there now.
*and the list just keeps going....

I realize this isn't very exciting. But it made me sad to think of my blog being all....quiet.

I'll try to come up with something a little more interesting for the next post. I get that it's very unfair to subject you people to this. Please accept my heartfelt apologies and rest in the fact that I'm sure I'll be back in no time just blogging away about issues that would be better left to therapy. Lucky you!

LUCKY. YOU.

Oh Brother

2009-07-23T09:54:00.000-07:00

E is becoming a big brother AS WE SPEAK.

Ex called around 4:30 this morning to let me know they were heading to the hospital and he would be dropping E off at the house. I was actually the most convenient drop off point for them, because our house is within spitting distance of the hospital that Sasha is delivering at. When Ex told me this a few weeks back, it seemed like the most logical solution to "What to do with E should she go into labor in the middle of the night while E is at their house."

Mind you, I never actually expected all of those variables to fall into place. But low and behold my phone started chiming it's annoying belly dance ring tone at an hour when only shift workers and pedophiles are still awake.

I have to say...it's weird that Ex is becoming a dad again. Not sad weird, not mad weird, not good weird, or even bad weird. Just the kind of weird that words don't really cover.

So anyway, I'm guessing that all of the potty training progress that we've been making with E lately might regress. Oh well...that's life...and apparently there's more of that going around today. Congrats to Ex and Sasha on the arrival of C.J.

And congrats to the little boy that has my heart...you're officially on duty Big Brother! I have a feeling that you'll kick the asses of big brothers that have gone before you....you're just that kind of special.

Before and After

2009-07-22T17:18:00.001-07:00

My garage is still full of Goodwill finds....more to come!

Just Add Water

2009-07-21T06:42:00.000-07:00

A few months back I took E to the zoo in Cincinnati. While I had a great trip, and E enjoyed seeing all of the animals, I couldn't help but wander around the zoo and be a little sad. All around me, couples were holding hands and pushing strollers...enjoying family time. I was, in a word, bummed. My whole life, I dreamed of family outings like this. Never once in that dream was I pushing the stroller alone. And never once, since I had given birth to my precious son, had I enjoyed a family outing like this. In the midst of my bummed mood, I stopped the stroller in front of a handful of baby cheetahs, watched my son ooh and aah, and turned my eyes toward God with a silent prayer that one day I would get to have the family life that I had always wanted.

Then, THE VERY NEXT WEEK, Old School turned back up in my life....and you know the rest of the story.

This past weekend was our longer weekend with E. He's been to the zoo a handful of times, and without fail, talks about it for weeks afterwards. When we realized how cool the weather was and that we had the whole day to ourselves with no projects that had to be done, we loaded up in the car, filled up on a country fried breakfast, (got a speeding ticket on the way), and headed out to enjoy the day together. E was so excited that on the way out of the restaurant he waved goodbye to the waiter and hollered across the dining room "We're going to the zoo to see the ANIMALS!"

Like true losers, we forgot the camera. Thank God for camera phones! The pictures aren't that great...but the memories are.

A few months ago, as I walked around the zoo feeling kind of sorry for myself, I had no idea that God was preparing for me an instant family.

Just add water.

Dear Lord,

Thanks for listening.

Dear Fear, Worry, and What If...

2009-07-13T10:40:00.000-07:00

Part of last week, leading into this week, was emotionally heavy. I mainly blame it on PMS...but credit is also due to three little friends of mine.....

Dear Fear, Worry, and What If:

You suck. In fact, not only do you suck....you suck turkey turds. And in case you weren't aware...that's gross. Please desist immediately, so that I may swiftly return to a state of cheerfulness so annoying that people walking by me on the street would swear up and down that I shit sunshine.

Sincerely,

Me.

Here's the deal. As much as I would love to pretend that people close to me frolicked and did back flips when I announced my engagement, the opposite is true. My parents were congratulatory only through clinched teeth...and the FAS sent me a text stating, and I quote, "I want to be happy for you, but I won't disrespect you by faking it."

And although my precious family members are simply fearful of having to scrape pieces of my heart off of the concrete again, it hurt me that they couldn't simply see how happy I am and rejoice with me. They have since loosened up to the point of agreeing to come to the wedding with pinky swears that they won't lay down in the aisle and throw screaming hissy fits. If any of you reading happen to be either the FAS or one of my loving parental units, you have my deepest thanks.

I know that this engagement has happened quickly. OS and I talk about it all the time. But the truth is, that we've been talking about marriage since about day 3 of our courtship, and I firmly believe that when you know, you just bloody well know. Period.

BUT...everyone's concerns coupled with PMS and a couple of emotionally heavy conversations led me to an alarming encounter with my friends fear, worry, and what if. And for about 3 days last week I spent way too much time with each of them...intimately letting them molest my spirit until I lost sight of the reason that I KNEW THAT I KNEW in the first place, and leaving me with nothing but panic and despair. Could I really get married again? What if he turns into something resembling my first husband? What if this marriage, like the first one, is a complete disappointment? What if I wake up one day and find myself stuck with someone that refuses to meet me halfway? What if things aren't perfect and instead are horribly miserable? What if, what if what if?

So I talked to the only One that would understand. I prayed. And prayed. And prayed. And pretty quickly, right there on the front steps of my home, God met me where I was at and spoke truth to me like He always does. His message was brief, but crystal clear. "Perfection is a process." And then, as quickly as the voice breezed by, it was gone and I was left with something other than fear, worry, and what if. I was left, once again, with complete peace.

I've learned something since Sara Getting Married, volume 1. I've learned that it's not what's said on the wedding day that matters. It's what is said during the fight, during the making up, during the laughter, during the tears, during the love....that will make this marriage work. So that night, OS and I curled up on the couch and laid our fears out on the newly painted coffee table. They were plentiful, but not powerful. And as our conversation progressed, tears flowed. Tears of fear, worry, and what if...tears that had been waiting to creep out for days....tears that needed to be cried...and caught by his hand.

OS can marry me....but he has no way of knowing what the future holds. When I asked him to promise me happiness, he said he couldn't. When I asked him to promise me forever, he said he'd like to. When I asked him to promise that tomorrow wouldn't hurt, he only said he hoped it wouldn't. But when I asked him to promise that he loved me, he wiped away fear, worry, and what if when he looked me in the eye and said, "I do."

The only guarantee with love is that the feelings that come with it will make you laugh harder, hurt deeper, miss more, desire unceasingly, and live memorably. So the second time around, I'm casting fear, worry, and what if into the wasteland, and hanging on to the One who CAN make me a promise...a promise that perfection is a process.

Dear Fear, Worry, And What If:

I'm marrying my best friend. He will probably hurt me at some point. He will likely disappoint me at some point. He may even break my heart at some point. But that remains to be seen. Today, we laugh together.....cry together....and love together.

The three of you have NOTHING on that.

Dear Old School,

Tomorrow's looking good too. ; )

What's In a Name?

2009-07-05T08:44:00.001-07:00

***I have to preface this blog with the following:***

I was at the gas station yesterday, blogging in my head...this blog to be exact. And I got so into the head blogging that I got back into my car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove off...with the gas pump still firmly attached to my vehicle.

I blame Blogger.

So anyway...What's In A Name?

The wedding date has been set. The exciting (smallish...I think) event is going to be held on October 10th on OS's grandfather's farm. That's exactly 3 months and 5 days to do a whole lot of (in Old School's EXACT words) "wedding shit." He expressed this particular opinion of the planning while riding in the car back from the gym one night, when I politely turned toward my adorable fiance and asked him to please refrain from referring our nuptial event as "wedding shit." He obliged. He now calls it "wedding poop." See....compromise already.

Anyway, while I'm trying not to stress out about the big day and I'm moving very quickly on the planning, I do have to admit that this day can't really come quickly enough. Not only will I be marrying my best friend who I laugh with even in the midst of scolding him for saying snarky comments about the amount of wedding planning taking place, but I get to shed something that I have wanted to shed so badly since April of 2008 that I can't even begin to put it into words.

I get a new last name.

Several people have been curious why I didn't take my maiden name back when I got divorced, but it never really occurred to me to do so. I had a child with that last name, and I had high hopes that one day I would remarry and get a brand spankin' new last name. But I have to admit that on more than one occasion I have regretted keeping ex's name and thought about just randomly picking my maiden name back up.

Maybe it's because Ex's last name is kind of different, and every time I say it to someone on the phone the following conversation takes place:

Me: Hi, my name is Sara L*******. That's L-E-F as in Frank, so on and so forth.

and the person on the other end of the phone ALWAYS...did I capitalize ALWAYS? Because they ALWAYS say:

Person on the other end of the phone : L-E-S.....

Me: No, L-E-F as in Frank....

Person on the other end of the phone: So it's not L-E-S?

Me: L-E-F as in Frank...FRANK....or Frustrated.

And after 5 years it has gotten old. I miss the days when saying my last name wasn't followed by a brief, make me want to slit my wrists spelling bee.

Or maybe it's the fact that taking on Ex's last name brought a lot of emotion into my life that wasn't always positive. Pretty much everything associated with that last name, with the exception of E...the one good thing that happened during that union....brings up feelings of disappointment and regret. And while I've done my part to work through the emotions....I'd like to get rid of the name.

So for more reasons than just the obvious marrying my best friend, love of my life, finally got it right stuff....I can't wait for 3 months and 5 days to get here. Because on October 10th, 2009 I will become Sara H***. Short, sweet, and only one way to spell it. So not only do I get a fresh start with someone that God began knitting me to 20 years ago....not only do we laugh a lot...not only can I be myself and do the kind of head in the clouds stuff like drive off with a gas pump still in my vehicle and him still love me....not only is life full of endless possibilities with my teammate firmly planted beside me....but I get a new name....a clean slate.

Trust me when I say that love has never felt so

G-O-O-D.

Another Table Transformation

2009-07-01T08:55:00.000-07:00

This is a table that I found at Goodwill for $7! I loved the shape of it and it was in good condition structurally, so I pounced. It has been sitting in my garage for about a week now, and since I started my part time schedule I threw some paint on it this week and it's now up for grabs on craigslist!

I think I managed to impress OS again. In the middle of a very serious marriage conversation while I was glazing away on this thing he stopped mid sentence and said, "Wow, Baby....you can paint some tables!"

I may have blushed a little bit. : )

I'm Engaged!!!!

2009-06-30T06:06:00.000-07:00

The heading of my blog, just under Grace. Gets. Greater, reads "where second chances and God's Grace collide, there you will find me."

What it doesn't say, is "there" you will also find him....but it should. Because now, we are officially doing life together....the kind of together that involves a ring, big day discussions, and the dream of pissing each other off when we're old and gray!

OS asked me to marry him...to be his wife....to be his teammate...and I said yes through the happiest tears I've ever had ooze from my face. There will be a blog coming up with all of the details and sappiness....but for now....

Dear Lord,
When you said You knew the plans you had for me, you never mentioned that they would be the flavor of amazing that I wasn't even sure it was ok to dream about. When you told me that everything would be ok, you never mentioned that it would be SO.MUCH.BETTER than ok. When you said that the valley of weeping would turn into pools of blessing, you never mentioned that it would quench my thirst in this all consuming way that it has. When you said you loved me....I didn't quite understand that it meant you wanted to see me happy.

Thank you, Lord, for answering prayers that I have prayed since I was a little girl. Your perfect timing, until now, seemed like it was taking forever...but now I know why. When everything seemed so chaotic and out of control, I had no idea where you were taking me. But Lord, I'd do it all again to be in the midst of this blessing that I'm in right now.

Thank you for the most perfectly imperfect man that I could ever have dreamed up for myself. Thank you for his laugh, for his humor, for his wit. Thank you for his charm, his affection, and his depth. Thank you for his passion for doing life better, his zeal for making things matter, and his heart with all of its hopes and scars.

Thank you for bringing him back into my life at THE PERFECT TIME, in THE PERFECT WAY, so that the only thing we could know for sure is that we had NOTHING to do with it, and you...EVERYTHING. Thank you, Lord, for the delicate, merciful intersection between grace and second chances....because that is where we found each other.

And for that, I praise you.

And the Winner Is....

2009-06-27T14:13:00.000-07:00

My last blog was about naming my new side business. I'm buying used furniture and "sprucing it up" to resell. So far, my success equals one sale and a lot of big dreaming. But I'm excited about this opportunity to do something that I love, and since it's something that relaxes me and makes me happy that's just icing on the cake.

I needed a business name and was really leaning toward Graced Seconds. However, several of you mentioned that you didn't like using "seconds" in the name, because it might have an association with cheap that I'm not so much going for. I appreciate the input, because I never really thought about it like that, and have decided against using "seconds" in the business name.

However, I really wanted to come up with something that involved grace. Over the past couple of years, God has been consistently offering up bits of His grace into my life. I think prior to a couple of years ago, I really had no understanding of what His grace really was, and now it has become my mantra. It's the reason that I'm where I'm at, and ultimately it's the reason for this blog! So it was very important to me that the business name continue that theme and bring some sort of honor to God.

My life is SO. INCREDIBLY. DIFFERENT than it was two years ago, and in the car on the way home from school today I was overcome with emotion over the dramatic turn that I have taken. Two years ago I was broken, directionless, and doing good just to breathe in and out. There was so little light in my life, and at the time I didn't even realize it. I was treading water and getting ready to drown. Today, I have a glimpse of what God wants to do with my life, a path for getting there, a spirit of survival, and the passion to make each day count. Not too awful long ago, God threw me a piece of grace, and it was all I needed to stop just breathing in and out and start LIVING.

And because my new business is all about transformation, I've decided to name it....

Pieces of Grace

A piece of furniture will change your living room...a Piece of Grace will change your life.

Making Ends Meet...YOUR VOTE COUNTS!

2009-06-23T06:41:00.000-07:00

A few blogs ago I mentioned that I was going part time at work. This transition is kind of taking place this week and will officially start next week. This was brought on by a little scuffle with my boss over me going to school...but God really used the experience to allow me to see that I could operate in a less stressful way over the next year and a half while I finish my degree. The new schedule at work (Monday-Thursday 8-1) will allow me to spend SO much more time with my baby boy, and give me time to get some things done around the house. There are actual domestic things that I'd like to do that always fall to the bottom of my list of priorities when I feel myself running around too crazy. Now, I can meet OS at the gym on his days off, cook dinner, try and keep the laundry caught up, and maybe even get my house organized! I have goals people....real goals that result in a house that smells like febreeze on a daily basis!

And in order to make ends meet I'm pursuing a passion of mine that has, up til now, gone largely untapped. I'm starting a side business of painting and refinishing furniture. The business officially got underway last night when I made my first sale. I painted my dining room table (a craigslist purchase during the divorce) a deep red color with antique black underneath. It turned out really well....so well in fact that Old School didn't want me to sell it because he liked it so much. (I think I surprised him....he was expecting disaster. And honestly...it's me....disaster seems to follow wherever I go...so I can't blame him! But when the finishing touches were done I believe his exact words were "Maybe you shouldn't sell it.....I like it....I think we should keep it and find another damn table for you to sell.")

Before After

This is the antiquing. Kind of hard to see....

So anyway, I need your help. Since the first sale was a success, I'm going all in and making a business out of this little venture. In August I plan to participate in our local flea market with several pieces (and maybe some homemade soap...who knows...I'm full of surprises) and I need a business name. All of the furniture will be used and either handpainted or refinished. So far I'm debating between....

Graced Seconds

Seconds by Sara

Second Chance Chest

Feel free to throw another name in the hat. I'm open to pretty much anything! But since you guys have been so faithful to follow me through this crazy life over the past several months, I wanted your most valuable input. Cast your vote and the winner takes it all! Thanks for playing!

Life Back Guarantee

2009-06-22T18:24:00.001-07:00

I'm sitting on my couch with the tv tuned to Jon and Kate Plus 8. They are announcing (on the show no less) their future plans for their relationship and family. I go back and forth between being heartbroken for them and wondering whether or not this is, in fact, the greatest publicity stunt of all time.

But I don't think it is.

I met Jon and Kate in 2007, before their show was a People Magazine focus and their kids were officially potty trained. They spoke at a local church, and I had a few minutes with each of them. They were precious people, and it breaks my heart (and angers me beyond belief!) that they are facing the challenges that they are with their marriage. While I agree with others that they should shut down the show and focus on their family, I still can't drag myself away from this window into their stormy world.

Less than a month after my encounter with Jon and Kate, my marriage ended and life took an unexpected turn towards pain, anger, disappointment, rebirth, direction, and fulfillment. I had no idea at the time that the most painful night of my life would turn into the most enriching and rewarding experience I have had thus far.

Fast Forward.

Today I went to work. My boss is out of town on vacation, so he invited another chiropractor to stand in for him. She is in her mid to late 30's and was extremely pleasant. I would never have known that she was in the midst of the most horrible pain one can imagine. However, during the course of the day and the conversation, she let me in on her experience of watching her little girl pass away just a few short months ago. She was 4 years old, sick with a chromosomal abnormality, and she died of pneumonia. As Dr. L briefly told me the story, her eyes welled up with tears and she excused herself to the bathroom.

Lately, it seems that God is speaking to my spirit through many loud, clanging, signs that there are no guarantees. Life doesn't make many promises, and I've spent too much of mine planning for and worrying about things that either never happened...or made me stronger when they did.

OS and I are talking about "the future." They are the kind of talks that make me well up on the inside with gratefulness to God for his grace and faithfulness....and they are the kinds of talks that cause each of us to gather the fear from the depths of our toenails, hold it in our hands, and ask "is this going to hurt me?" It's next to impossible for either of us to have these talks without either the gratefulness or the gathering.

But there are no guarantees. And as God gently urges my spirit toward that mantra, I'm seeing over and over the importance of living today. Enjoying today. Singing our song today. Loving today. Embracing today.

We aren't promised tomorrow...and when tomorrow works its way into today, we aren't necessarily promised a pretty package. We ARE promised a God who will never leave us or forsake us. We ARE promised the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. We ARE promised to be lifted out of the mud and mire and our feet set on a firm foundation. We ARE promised that no matter what hand we are dealt, we don't have to play the game alone.

I hear God's gentle whispers to love in abundance today, because the only thing I know to be true is that when tomorrow comes, it will be different...a kind of different that I can only affect with today's choices.

So today I will choose to love.

Thirty minutes have passed since I tuned in to see Jon and Kate face tomorrow. But now there is a storm blowing outside. My power went out long ago. Sirens are screaming to the scene of a nearby accident....and I am curled up on the couch with only the glow of my computer screen and a bit of battery left.

I'm lost in thought over what Jon and Kate might do. Will they work it out. Will they give up? Will they choose to love? And I'm lost in thought over Dr. L...who smiles over so much pain...pain that she didn't ask for or deserve....but pain that she is wearing daily. And I'm lost in thought over this man that I have fallen in love with. Will it be forever? Will we have the kind of happiness that I dream for us? Will we continue to sing to each other as the new wears off?

And I realize that none of that matters. Be it joy or pain, whatever we have today, we may lose tomorrow or gain tenfold. There is no such thing as a Life Back Guarantee....we get today once... and the memory for a lifetime.

So today I choose to love.

Live and Learn...or something like that...

2009-06-18T08:29:00.000-07:00

Everyone stand back....I've been learning things about myself. Unfortunately for me, and anyone who chooses to keep coming back to my blog, most of the things I've learned lately I haven't really liked.

Don't you just hate when that happens?!?!

I miss 6 months ago when I was in my "Screw the world, I'm the most awesome thing God ever created" phase and I felt like anyone who didn't agree with me was either

a. stupid

or

b. yet uninformed of my greatness.

Shame on them.

However, my delusions of grandeur have ceased, and lately I seem to be noticing all the "not so awesome" things about me. Lucky for you, I'm about to share. All you haters out there...this is the blog you've been waiting for.

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER

I have problems with authority.
I don't have problems with legal authority like police or the law in general. But I have a real problem working for a big donkey patooty that only says negative things and expects everything to be perfect. EXCUSE ME FOR THAT LAST SET OF PAPERS BEING STAPLED SLIGHTLY AMISS....I WILL NOW IMPALE MYSELF ON THE MODEL OF THE PERFECT SPINE YOU HAVE IN YOUR OFFICE...YOU KNOW...THE ONE THAT YOU LIKE TO BEND AND TWIST AROUND WHILE YOU ARE ON THE PHONE...CONSIDER IT MY VOLUNTARY AGREEMENT THAT I DO, IN FACT, SUCK! Ok...but here's the deal....I have always had problems with my employers. It's not that I've been bad at my jobs or insubordinate or anything like that. But I always manage to end up feeling like I'm working for an idiot...and then I begin to resent working for said idiot...and then I look for another job. The light at the end of this dismal tunnel is that I'm in school so I can eventually work for myself....an achievement that can't come quick enough. Both of my parents, in essence, work for themselves. They have always pretty much set their own schedules and managed their own time. This lifestyle is appealing to me, and I can't really see myself being happy any other way. I just don't think I have it in me. Or maybe I'm just a spoiled brat. My guess, if I'm being honest, is that it's a pretty healthy balance of the two. I don't think I'll ever like working for someone else....and...in my best whiny voice....I just don't wanna. And the arrogant stuck up part of me thinks I'm smart enough to figure out a way not to have to do this. (I might have to come back and eat crow on this one some day...but if I don't try I'll never know.)

I'm strong until I'm in a relationship.
THIS....let me tell you, has been a hard pill to swallow. I still haven't fully realized the reasons for it, but I'm sure it goes WAY back and would require a lot of conversations with "Little Sara" in order to fix it. Here's the scoop. Things with OS are great. He's good to me, and we have a great time. There is a lot of laughter, usually over absolutely nothing, and I'm loving life. I really couldn't ask for things to be better. But during the course of our relationship, we've both hit small pockets of "down in the dumps" and we're becoming more comfortable letting our true colors show. This is all well and good, because as the true colors have come out, we've both stayed put. But I've noticed something about myself because of this natural progression in the relationship that I really don't like about me. I tend to lose my strength when I'm in love. When I was dating before I had no fear being a "speak my mind, tell it like it is, take no prisoners" hard ass in the relationship. I was not going to settle again, and I was going to make damn sure that whoever the flavor of the month was at that point knew it. But with OS it's different. When there is conflict of any sort, major or minor, I lose all of my hard ass qualities in order to get past the conflict and retain harmony. And in doing this, sometimes I don't say everything I think I should have said, or I lose my ability to truly speak my mind. I think it's because I've opened myself up to a very vulnerable place in this relationship, and when I see bumps in the road coming, my natural reaction is to brace for impact. I'm scared of losing this happiness. I'm scared of getting hurt. I'm scared of having the bottom fall out...because the last time I was this vulnerable the happiness melted away, the hurt came with a vengeance and the bottom fell out...over and over again. And that's not just the story with Ex....that's the story with my experience with men in general going back again to when I was "Little Sara." I've gotten very used to expecting the worst....so that when the bump in the road gets here, I feel absolutely no strength in my bones to handle the impact of it all. So I turn to mush and hope for the best.

There's really no reason for me to be doing this with OS, because I think there is safety with him, and it's one of the reasons that I love him. I'll probably never be a complete hard ass...because I think being in love with someone tends to soften those edges anyway...but I'm going to work on finding the strength to speak my mind when I feel I need to. I think life and love are just too short to be afraid of what may come. New leaf....turned over.

I have absolutely no sense of style.
This probably doesn't come as much of a shock to anyone who actually knows me, but I'm a dork. I often act like a dork, talk like a dork, and dress like a dork. I wish this wasn't the case, but I grew up with no focus on being "in", and I never really got the hang of putting outfits together, accessorizing, or looking cool. And I didn't really realize how bad it actually was....but 3 guys that I have dated now have either subtly or not so subtly pointed it out to me. And while I've always thought I at least looked presentable....now I'm constantly concerned about JUST HOW BIG OF A DORK DO I APPEAR TO BE TODAY? And I

a. Hate that I even care

and

b. care way more than I should.

The dilemma here is that I wouldn't know what to buy if it jumped up and bit me in my dorky jeans attired ass and it doesn't really matter anyway, because I'm about to step out into this "I have a problem with authority" part time job, new world thing and won't have the money to buy cool clothes even if I did recognize them when they bit me. Problems, problems everywhere.

I realize that this really isn't all that big of an issue...I've pretty much accepted the fact that I'm a dork....but it's bringing up some insecurities that I forgot I had....the need for other people's approval....caring too much what other people think....worrying that I'm not good enough. Old, old crap that I can't seem to flush away.

And I think I'll stop there for the day. I mean really...there are starving children in countries that Madonna and Angelina haven't even gotten around to adopting from yet, so do any of my piddly little issues actually matter? Probably not.

But for some reason that I may never understand, they seem less like a big deal on my blog than they do in my head. Call me thankful for a corner of the internet into which I can sweep my issues and name them done.

Breaking Down Boxes

2009-06-13T20:22:00.000-07:00

Laney (aka The Dog Who Shits In The Playroom) has been sleeping in a crate at night. Actually...I should probably say that Laney, aka TDWSITP, has been hollering and yelping in the crate at night. As of yet there has been very little actual sleeping. I've read before that crate training is the best way to housebreak...and OS googled it...so it must be true.

But TDWSITP absolutely, positively HATES being boxed in. Really, I can't blame her. I mean, if someone locked me inside a wire box that was barely big enough for me to turn around in, and then left me in there for 4 hours at a time expecting me not to at least piddle on myself a little bit....well....then....I feel safe in saying that I'd have some yelping of my own to do.

While I was in class today supposedly listening to final presentations on counseling diverse populations, I spent a lot of time thinking about Laney and her crate...and somehow that ended up with me thinking over all the ways that it's easy to get boxed in by life.

I think I have spent the better part of my life trapped in boxes that either others put me in, or I ignorantly climbed into on my own. For the longest time I was a Christian, but I couldn't for the life of me discern what was going on in my spirit, let alone listen to it. For a while, I was a wife...but the title really didn't matter, because for the most part I was still doing life alone. I am an employee....but I pass the hours by dreaming of doing life differently. All of this leads me to think that there must be a better way.

There seems to be a new theme developing in my life.....breaking down boxes. I've come to the realization over the last year or so that life doesn't ever turn out the way you expect it to....and planning for the future can very often lead to disappointment. But LIVING today, will never fail you. And I have spent so much time planning for the future and hoping for the best, that I haven't done much LIVING for today. However, I'm turning over a new leaf.

I've decided to change my work schedule so that I can enjoy TODAY....if I choose it.
I've decided to stop worrying about what MIGHT happen with OS so that I can enjoy TODAY....if I choose it.
I've decided to give up trying to be the Christian that everyone thinks I should be, so that I can hear God TODAY...if I choose it.
I've decided that it doesn't matter what life SHOULD look like...but what it COULD look like...if I choose it.
I've decided that being the best version of myself doesn't have to wait until I'm remarried, finished with school, thinner, smarter, or financially stable....it can happen TODAY...if I choose it.

And I'm tired of being boxed in in such a way that makes me choose something else. So I'm breaking down boxes...and choosing to do life differently. I only get one life....and I've finally REALLY realized that I can make it be whatever I want....no rules....no expectations

and it just so happens that I want it to be fulfilling....TODAY.....so I choose it.

Now that I know I actually have that option, doing anything else makes me want to curl up in my little box....holler, yelp, and piddle on myself. So much so that I almost don't want to make Laney sleep in the crate.

Almost.....but I'd rather her piddle in the crate than shit in the playroom.

Slacker.....sorry little slacker.

2009-06-11T11:14:00.000-07:00

Yep, that's me. I'm a slacker.

This week I made a somewhat crazy decision to transition to part-time at work. To a lot of people, this is going to seem crazy and irresponsible. And in all honesty, I can understand that perspective. I mean...I have full time bills and tuition payments....so it makes sense that I would have a full time job. Really....it seems like a no brainer.

But I'm tired. For the past 11 months I have gone NON STOP. If I'm not at work, I'm at school. If I'm not at school, I'm at home writing a paper for school. If I'm not at home writing a paper for school, I'm trying to be a good mommy...and let's call a spade a spade...when you have zero energy after all the things that you HAVE to do....being a good mommy is a lot harder than it should be. My relationship with my child is fine. He knows I'm his mommy, and I know his habits, sayings, favorite blankets, and what to buy for him at the grocery store. But the energy that I have to give him is FAR LESS than he deserves. He deserves

so. much. more.

Then last week, I told my boss I was in school and that in August I would need to leave an hour early from work twice a week. And he told me I had disappointed him and betrayed him. And then he threatened to write me up...to make me sign a piece of paper stating that I was a disappointment and a betrayer. I politely refused and strangled the urge to tell him what he could do with his little piece of paper and instead offered up a couple of workable solutions for all parties involved. (See....all this learning that I've been doing about counseling is paying off!) One of the options was to cut my hours...and the more I thought about doing it...the lighter I felt. So I prayed about it for a couple of days, and yesterday I told him that at the end of the month I would be changing my schedule to work only 20 hours a week.

While this DOES tend to beg the question "how will you pay your bills," the question that I'd rather answer is "what are you going to do with those other 20 hours?" The answer goes something like this....

drop off and pick E up from pre school

take E to the park

take E to the pool

read stories to my baby boy some other time besides just before bed

play in the backyard

cook dinner for my two special guys

take The Dog Who Shits In The Playroom for walks to show her other places to shit

get my house in some kind of order

clean stuff

go to the gym

and basically keep what's left of my sanity. And during those other 20 hours there will be some projects going on that will hopefully supplement my bills. The thing is, I was just too tired to keep going the way I was. And I can't quit being a mom, because God blessed me with that little booger. And I can't quit school, because God specifically told me to go back.

But I can reduce the stress due to my job, and trust that God will provide for the difference. I have peace about it, and as long as that's the case, I can handle pretty much anything. (I'm sure a couple of months from now I'll be blogging about financial stress....and I give all you naysayers the right to say "I told you so" when that happens.

And here's the thing. I know I'm not the only one who's tired and feels like they just can't keep going like they've been going. I know there are tons of stay at home moms who desperately need a break. I know there are tons of people out there who would rather scrape their eyeballs with a paper clip than go to work for another day. I get that you people are out there.

Which leaves me to beg the question...

why don't you do something about it?

Family Addition

2009-06-07T20:23:00.000-07:00

Today, OS and I made our first investment together as a couple.

Everyone, meet Laney.

Laney is a purebred German Shepherd and the byproduct of the combined impulsivity of both my boyfriend and myself. I was famous for it on my own...but I think I may have met my match!

We've been saying for a couple of weeks that we'd like to get a dog together. And then we rationalized this by saying that E really needed a dog to wrestle around with....I mean, what kind of life can a little boy have without a dog to grow up with?!?! A darn sad life....that's what kind.

I honestly thought that getting the dog would take a little longer...until OS started talking about it more consistently. Then, last night, he spent the better part of the evening googling dog breeds and saying things like, "Well...if we get a bull mastiff it will shed less...but a German Shepherd is really smart." I knew a statement like this was trouble. Old School didn't realize it at the time, but the gateway to my impulsivity also just happens to rest in the depths of Google... just past the enter button and in the evil clutches of the Point of No Return. Once the obsession hits, there's just no turning back. And look out world, because now there's two of us and we're collaborating as a team.

Go ahead...take a moment to shudder at the thought.

So today, when Old School, who was apparently awakened by dog breed researching withdrawals, began asking what E and I wanted to do today, I had a feeling that by the end of the day we'd be dog owners. He was just. so. excited. about. it. And sure enough, as the day progressed, phone calls to breeders were made, addresses written down, and after a quick lunch and lots of dog name conversation, we were well on our way to expanding the size of our family.

We went into the breeders home planning to choose a male pup with mostly tan markings. We were also prepared to wait 3 weeks for that particular litter of pups to be ready to leave their mom. But upon our arrival, IMPULSIVITY kicked in again, and we instead chose a female pup from an older litter with mostly black markings...you know...because we could have her TODAY instead of 3 weeks from now. Apparently patience does not fit well on either of us. Oh the trouble we can get into because of that.....

Anyway, we piled into the car with one more living, breathing, pooping, being than we left home with...and now there's a black faced, female German Shepherd puppy curled up on my couch...

and the love in the house keeps growing.

Awards!

2009-06-04T11:52:00.000-07:00

This week I got two blog awards from two girls that I really really like and have never even met!

B over at HappyascanB gave me this:and Krystyna Lizabeth gave me this:

Thanks to both of you for thinking enough of my random ramblings to give me the awards! I'm supposed to pass them along to 5 of my favorite blogs. It's hard to pick just 5, but I'm going to send both awards to the following....mainly because I'm short on time and don't have time to link to 10 people....so happy day for:

Jaycee at Married Without Children who just rocks in every possible way...
S at A Little To The Left because she needs to blog more...and she's my FAS....
Amy at The Soundtrack of My Dreams....because she really shouldn't love me, but she does...
JPP at Just Playing Pretend....because she is just SO GOOD. And she has an adorable puppy you just really need to go look at...
Lora at Take Me The Way I Am...because she's one of God's best...and I still owe her a hike...

Go check out these fine ladies along with HappyascanB and Krystyna. They all just make blogging more fun! Love you ladies!

Little Bits of Life

2009-06-01T11:31:00.000-07:00

I realize that I've been somewhat of a horrid slacker on the blogging as of late. There are several reasons for this.

A. My new job doesn't allow me time to hop on the computer that often to vent my various thoughts and feelings...the only thing I miss about my old desk job....

B. I've had a wee bit o' writer's block lately. I absolutely hate when this happens. But it might have to do with the general fog I've been living under lately due to the fact that....

C. I'm in love. And when you combine the general fog of love with the fact that I'd rather be DOING stuff with OS rather than just WRITING about it you get...

A PRETTY BORING BLOG.

The silver lining in all of this is that for me, a pretty boring blog = a pretty happy life.

Here are some little bits of life that have been going on as of late....

E has peed in the potty a lot more lately. He goes through spurts of liking the potty and then hating it again. This week, he's been fully on board and even narrated as he was going..."Mommy...I peein in the potty....Mommy, I pooted.....Mommy....I peed in floor a wittle bit." Progress comes in all shapes and sizes people....don't judge.

I got an email from Sasha. And wrote one back. And got another email from her. And wrote another one back. I wouldn't call us BFF, but I think we're well on our way to making my son's life much more peaceful and much less dramatic, which is the ultimate goal. I really can't even begin to describe to you what a huge step this is. Admittedly, all of our emails started with some flavor of "I know this is a really strange situation, but..." but all in all it has been a very positive experience.

OS and I joined a gym together.... a family membership....with a contract. Yikes. This means two things.....

A. We're in this together

and

2. I have to go to the gym.

Both are incredibly good things in my life...and both tend to scare the shit out of me. Gyms in general just intimidate me. I feel like I walk in with a giant neon arrow pointing at my head that says, "DOES NOT BELONG, DOES NOT BELONG....SHUUUUUNNNNN THE CHUNKY GIRL...SHUUUNNNN." It's not a good feeling.

But I will do it. I will put forth the effort. I will commit. I will do what I have to do to get the results that I long for.

And in case you haven't caught on yet...being in love scares me. And I think it's safe to say that I am GOOD AND WELL IN LOVE. It's also safe to say that I am GOOD AND WELL SCARED SHITLESS. I've spent a lot of time in the last few days praying through a kind of fear that I haven't experienced in a very long time....the fear of an ending that I just don't ever want to come. Love scares me, because once you've experienced a feeling like this....the thought of not having it anymore is a kind of unbearable that there are no words for. And I don't ever want to find myself in that place. And loving someone means putting yourself in the position for loss...it's scary....it's a thick, choking, kind of scary that is just almost overwhelming enough to make you not want to take that chance....

But I will do it. I will put forth the effort. I will commit. I will do what I have to do to get the results that I long for.

Once this kind of love has hit your lips, there is really no other choice but to put one foot in front of the other...

in the same direction as him.

Goodbye and Hello

2009-05-27T18:24:00.001-07:00

I feel like I start a lot of blogs out this way, but this week has been weird.

First of all, I'm having cramps. Like SERIOUS, curl up in the fetal position, beg for Jesus to have mercy on your uterus kind of cramps. I haven't EVER had cramps like this. And while I'm thankful to have a working uterus...it still kind of sucks. Just sayin'.

Second, my mom had to put her dog to sleep. I blogged about him a while back...here. We've seen it coming for a while now, so it wasn't a gut wrenching surprise. On Monday, I stopped by my parents' house while they were out. I had OS and E with me, and we were using their house for a quick pit stop on our Memorial Day Extravaganza. (Extravaganza meaning we drove around aimlessly and ate ice cream at Sonic.) While we were there, Bo threw up A LOT....like a huge ass pile of vomit. OS quickly took E outside, and I stood there over the pile of dog puke. To be perfectly honest, I debated for a good 2 or 3 minutes about how bad of a daughter I would be if I just left the pile of vomit and acted like I had never been there. Would that make me a horrible human being? I decided that yes, it would actually make me one level below the white foam that collects in the corners of people's mouths when they need to stop talking and take a drink of water. So I grabbed some carpet cleaner and paper towels and made a "good daughter" attempt at cleaning up the vomit. If I had known that it would be Bo's last full day on earth, I might have said sweet things to him while I cleaned up the chunks instead of the gagging and "Eww, Bo! Seriously!" dialogue that actually occurred. Live and learn...live and learn.

Anyway, like I mentioned before, Bo and I weren't super close, so I'm ok with his passing. However, it does make me immensely sad for my mom, because WOW...she LOVED that dog. And it does make me incredibly sad to think of the moment that E goes looking for his furry friend and is left to wonder why his bed is no longer there....his water dish is no longer there...his friend is no longer there. And I just don't know how to make him understand. Obviously, if I was good at explaining difficult to understand concepts to my toddler, he would be pooping in the potty instead of in his pants. BUT...I suck at explaining things to my toddler....and therefore, I find myself still changing dirty diapers and at a complete loss for how to explain doggy death.

AND....

HELLO COMMUNICATION.

On Mother's Day I did something that I thought was very brave and mature of me. Get your "Pat Sara on the back" hand ready...because you're just gonna want to pat me after I tell you this. I reached out to "her." The Other Woman. The Woman Who is Living With My Ex Husband. The Woman Who was "THERE" Long Before She Should Have Been...and Stayed Long After I Left. The Woman Who Is Living My Old Life...with My Old Husband....In My Old House." You know....That Woman.

And that's kind of a long name for her....so I'll blogger name her "Sasha"....mainly because that's what E calls her, because he couldn't say her name the right way when he was younger...and now that's what everyone calls her, including me.

I'll admit that over the past year and a half I've had mixed emotions for Sasha. Who wouldn't? But, contrary to what she's actually thought, she's not my least favorite person in the world. Over time, I've grown past the past, and I've ended up with a large amount of respect for this young woman who loves my son like he's her own. She's good to him. She treats him like he is a treasured part of her life. She genuinely cares about him....and for that, I will respect her. For that, I will appreciate her. For that, I am blessed.

And I felt compelled to make sure she was aware that I have no bitter blood. No ill will. No desire to be on different teams or for that matter, playing different games. I just wanted her to know that "I know." So on Mother's Day, I sent her a card...yet another card buying experience in my life that showcases the shortcomings of Hallmark. But I found a card that wasn't too cheesy....too lovey dovey....too much. And I wrote a short message that started with "Thank you" and ended with "Happy Mother's Day!"

A year ago, this would have been a futile attempt to take the high road. This year....it wasn't so much about taking the high road....it was more about taking a new road....a road where the past doesn't have to matter anymore...and the future....our future....mine and Sasha's... begins to intertwine in a place of acceptance....not because I want it to....not because she wants it to....but because our little boy has a right to love his mommy....and his Sasha. And because I will do whatever I can to protect the love in his heart....regardless of where it's directed.

For a couple of weeks I heard nothing from Sasha. I wasn't even really sure what she thought of my attempt at bridging this gap between us. But tonight, I feel like a new leaf is turning over. I got a text from her asking for my email address...with a smiley face on the end of it.

I don't expect us to be best friends. I'm not even sure I would want that. But I've got to say, I'm very excited about the thought of communication between us. It's a weird place to be....and a weird person to be there with....but in the words of the only Gary Allen song I've ever liked....

I'll take today, over yesterday...any day.

Goodbye, Bo. Hello, Sasha.

And it's official....

2009-05-23T17:31:00.001-07:00

I'm swooning. (See comments on my previous post.)

Is it possible that something like this can really be happening to me? ME? ME???? The girl who for the past 18 months has been trying for love and misfiring

every. single. time?

I guess everyone gets it right every now and then!

And by the way...OS read EVERY SINGLE BLOG POST THAT I'VE WRITTEN TO DATE. He read about all of the other guys....he read about that week where I was just absolutely insane...he read about that time that I found myself on the toilet in need of a tampon and couldn't find one because E had absconded with them. He read it all.

And he stayed put.

So if this is a dream, then drug me up right nice and say "goodnight," because I gotta say...I'm good to go.

Happiness

2009-05-21T11:03:00.000-07:00

My computer is still acting funny, and I haven't yet enlisted the help of the professionals to figure out what's wrong with it. So I made Old School bring his computer to the house so I could blog about him. : )

I'm happy. Genuinely, calmly, happy. There's excitement, but it's not the same chaotic excitement that I have experienced in the past that meant a dangerous explosion was forthcoming. It's a kind of excitement that seems to fit nicely within the healthy boundaries of my life without making me act like I am....

A. 14

or

B. Crazy.

My relationship with OS is growing and developing, and regardless of the fact that it's only been a short time since he made his reappearance into my life, his presence in my life seems to

fit perfectly.

And Lord help us all....I LOVE IT.

Do you know that part in the movie "When Harry Met Sally" where Harry tells Sally at the New Year's Eve party that once you find the person that you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible? Remember that part? I do. And for the past couple of weeks, Billy Crystal's voice has been playing over and over in my mind, and for the first time ever, I actually like hearing him talk. I get it. I understand what he's talking about. (Here's the part where my parents melt into panic puddles on the floor. I can just see it...)

Trust me when I tell you that I understand the part that logic plays in loving someone. I have been burned before by not incorporating that into my relationships. But since my divorce, the only thing I've really been able to find is logic. Everyone was a "good choice." But it always felt so wrong...like something was missing.

This new relationship in my life has shown me that I haven't lost my capability to love someone, as I was beginning to fear might be true. I was afraid I was too jaded....too broken....too defective.

I'm not.

And while I'm reveling in the fact that this experience is driven by emotion more than anything I've experienced in a VERY long time, I'm trying very hard to keep a level head and make sure that this relationship makes sense. It seems to. It feels right. And I like the direction that it seems to be headed. In all honesty, I'm actually resisting the urge to give in to emotional whims that I never even knew existed.

But I'm still scared. Why is it that love arrives with fear in the passenger seat? What makes the vulnerability of loving someone such an intimidating place to reside? Half of me is ready to jump off the deep end into the depths of a relationship that has made me no promises, no plans...no safety or security to rely on....just a bunch of feelings that I didn't believe I could have again, and a longing for a life that, at this point, I can almost taste. The other half of me is being....logical. It's only been two weeks. And when I say the things out loud that I'm feeling and thinking...I can't really blame people for looking at me like I'm crazy....like I'm losing it....like I have toilet paper on the bottom of my shoe. I can't blame them...but I want to jump anyway.

I have come to a fork in the road...two paths that could make or break my attempt at loving again. One foot rests on rational. One foot rests on reckless abandon. Two very different paths that will undoubtedly provide two very different outcomes. I want both...and I want neither.

Because somewhere along the way, I've learned that it's the small plot of land between the two where love resides...where love makes sense....where love grows steadily.......

where love becomes worth the risk.

And as luck would have it, these days, I'm a risk taker.

Technical Difficulties

2009-05-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

Just FYI....my computer is giving me fits again.

And yes, my wireless card is pushed ALL THE WAY IN.

It may have something to do with E standing on it....or possibly because it went clattering to the floor the other day.

Stay tuned.

Just. Don't. Understand.

2009-05-14T13:26:00.000-07:00

This week, a friend of mine from high school took his own life.

Before you feel sorry for me, I should let you know that I hadn't spoken to this person in probably 10 years. We stopped being friends when he graduated high school, and we really weren't close enough to keep in touch after that. So this really isn't a "whoa is me" kind of post.

This friend, however, was someone that I was in the same circle with in school. He was older than me, but he dated my best friend for a good while, and therefore I spent a fair amount of time with him. We were all in band together, and while this wasn't necessarily the coolest place to be in high school, it created a circle of friends that, through thick and thin, seem to remain bonded regardless of time or distance. I mean, seriously, once you've changed clothes on a charter bus in the middle of the night at a truck stop in Georgia with your entire circle of friends also in various stages of disrobe....you're lifers. I would bet my right pinkie toenail that there's not a single person that went through that particular program that doesn't have a hodge podge of stories that start with the phrase "We were on the band bus..."

It wasn't the cool crowd....but it was more fun being on the inside than any of the outsiders would EVER have known. And even with all of the drama that found its way into our little community, everyone managed to retain a form of kinship to their fellow band geeks that never seems to go away.

And when something happens to a member of the group, the band geeks seem to come out of the woodwork. This week, one of our own found himself in a position that he determined to be the end of his rope, and without warning, without explanation, without thought for how much those he was leaving behind would hurt, he ended things.

And I Just Don't Understand.

Tell me....how can someone hang out with his group of friends on Monday night....not show a single sign of the thoughts he's having...and the next day pull the trigger on his life? How does something like that happen?

I understand loneliness. I understand fear. I understand "I just don't want to do this anymore!"

I even understand the thought of "what if."

What I don't understand is actually going so far as to find out.

God, I just don't understand....praying I never do.

(Please take a moment to lift up Jennifer, Mindy, and Billy as they don't understand either...and they are deeply impacted by the loss of their band geek...their friend....their lifer.)

Status

2009-05-13T17:17:00.000-07:00

This probably seems fairly minute to you, although to me it was a massive milestone. My facebook status changed from "single" to "in a relationship." (And yes, typing a sentence like that makes you feel like you're about 14.) I get that this is fast. But there really aren't words to adequately explain the "thing" that is happening in my life at the moment. Old School came back into my world

completely out of nowhere.

You have to understand...I've spent the last 18 months of my life desperately wanting to believe that Ex wasn't the greatest love story I would ever experience. I mean, really...THAT'S what I get to look back on as the "love of my life?" Are you freaking kidding me? It just seemed like such a waste! That's not to say that I didn't love Ex with my whole heart. I did! But when things ended the way they did, it just seemed like a waste of a really good story. Since the divorce, I've dated A LOT...and all of the guys were perfectly nice, and most of them were even perfectly normal. But none of them were perfectly RIGHT. There was never a time when I felt compelled to completely take myself "off the market" for fear that as soon as I did, the RIGHT GUY would come along.

So I never completely took myself "off the market."

And low and behold, the RIGHT GUY came along. I realize that's a bold statement. I realize that it's only been a week. But the truth is that it's been 20 years....and Old School is as much my FRIEND now as he was when we were 8. Except now, there's kissing involved. : )

REALLY. GOOD. KISSING

So yesterday when he asked me a question that I first heard from his lips 20 years ago under the elementary school playground slide, "Will you be my girlfriend?" there was no hesitation. There was no fear. There was no reason to cash in the moment on the logic of "it's only been a week." As we have talked about our lives and pasts over these few days, the only thing that makes sense in all of it is that God was at work in all of the brokenness to bring us to this place. Neither of us have had it easy over the past few years. Neither of us understood the why's and how's, but no sooner had we downed a cup of coffee and a green tea...it made sense.

Is it too soon to call Forever? Maybe. Is it too soon to call it for real? Not even close. For the first time since my divorce, ever part of me is IN, and there is absolutely no fear.

And damn, that's a good feeling.

Beware

2009-05-12T18:18:00.000-07:00

Soul Sister and I are on phase 1 of the South Beach Diet. This means that for the last two days I have eaten nothing but protein and veggies.

The good news is that I have lost 4 lbs since I started eating healthy a couple of weeks ago...so this diet thing seems to be working. Also good news....it's easier to diet when you are constantly texting your teammate to dialogue about what the other one is ingesting.

The bad news is that I might actually murder someone in the next 24 hours for a piece of chocolate. No kidding....would actually use my dinner fork, and with little bits of tuna still clinging to the end of its prongs, I would be perfectly willing to impale whoever happens to be closest to me at the moment to get an M&M or a chocolate covered almond....just one. JUST. ONE.

Old School, who has recently set up residence on one end of my couch, may want to relocate to the safety of the far end of the living room until this little urge passes.

Just sayin'.

How Rednecks say I Do

2009-05-10T17:54:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back I received an invitation to a wedding. Normally, when one receives a wedding invitation an elaborate event is expected. But this time, I knew things would be different. This was the wedding of a man and woman in their 50's....the same man and woman home repair team that I met shortly after buying my "new" old house. For the last 9 years, they have worked side by side, repairing toilets, laying tile, fixing electrical mishaps, and painting ceilings....and in the last year they have done all of the aforementioned repairs in my humble home.

This couple is absolutely precious to me. They were the first people that I met after setting out "on my own" after the divorce. They immediately became "my people," and while they worked on the vast number of repairs needed in my home, I cooked them dinner and bought them beer. I fell in love with them almost instantly....but they fell in love with each other many years earlier. As I observed them in my home, I witnessed a kind of love that is rare in our society. They weren't just lovers. They weren't just co-workers. They were best friends....and it never mattered if they were painting a wall or repairing a toilet...they did it with laughter. Their love and respect was obvious at every turn of the wrench, and many times over the last few months I have listened to them love each other with their laughter....with a "baby, can you hand me that hammer" kind of respect. And instantly, I wanted what they had.

Today, they got married. It had been a long time coming...something that they both just kept putting in the corner, because they knew they'd be together forever, so what difference did a piece of paper make? But at the urging of their families, and with the realization that they wanted to be as "together" as they possibly could, they printed up wedding invitations and their love landed in my mailbox, complete with an RSVP card.

B and D are rough. They are beer drinking, paint smeared, simple life kind of people. No frills. No airs. No extras. They are just them....and both separately and together they are perfectly imperfect. Knowing this about them led me to the conclusion that their outdoor wedding would be "interesting." And it was.

Today, with Old School (the elementary school boyfriend from the past) by my side, I found myself in their back yard. Chairs were set up. Beer was iced down. And every detail of the wedding was about as redneck as could be. The "gift table" was the cover on the hot tub. The "music" was a local country station blaring from their large red and black Budweiser radio. And the guests were scattered about, popping the tops on their Bud lights and bumming cigarettes from each other. They milled about until a lady in a leopard print top hollered that "the bride is a comin and ya'll need to stand up!"

Then a guy with a guitar began to play, and the wedding party marched down the aisle, complete with a "I DON'T WANNA" courtesy of the flower girl. The bride and groom stood side by side, the air filled with the aroma of beer and cigarette smoke, and for a moment I was distracted from the event by the overwhelming backwoods simplicity of it all.

Then I caught them smiling at one another, and I realized that that is what love is all about. It's not about putting on airs, creating an atmosphere, or making a show. B and D get it. They know that love is surprisingly simple. It's smiling and laughing over toilets. It's prefacing a favor with "baby." And apparently, it's walking down the aisle in a white ruffled dress through a cloud of cigarette smoke towards the one person that desperately wants to be your teammate for every minute that he has left in life.

I've learned a lot from these precious newlyweds. They have taught me how to caulk a tub....repair a toilet....change an electrical outlet....identify the source of a plumbing leak....

and perhaps most importantly that love isn't so much about the party...

it's about showing up laughing.

Fatty Friday...with a really Awesome story attached!

2009-05-08T11:27:00.000-07:00

So... a quick Fatty Friday update. I'm still eating twigs and berries....and the scale is actually starting to reflect my recent rabbit-esque behavior. So, yay me! I need to get back into a workout routine so that my energy level will be boosted some more, but I'm still having a hard time finding the motivation. However, I am jug chugging green tea and water, so hopefully I'll continue to make some progress in my quest for personal health. My energy level is way up compared to before I started this process...and sadly, I have not had a chicken burrito in over 2 weeks. I'm sure they are missing me at the ol Chick Fil A. In fact, I heard a rumor that they aren't even letting people in the building now unless they are donning a black arm band in memory of "The Chicken Burrito Girl."

And now....for a really awesome story......

It's no secret to anyone that my dating life is...um...unpredictible. This is both exciting and frustrating, but more commonly the latter. I spend a lot of time going out with "really wonderful guys" who I just don't really feel quite right about. There's really no reason for this gut feeling except that I guess the timing has been off and I've been very picky about what I'm looking for. And as I mentioned in an earlier post, I've become the Online Dating Queen of the South.

So a good while back Super Man mentioned that he was using a website called Plenty Of Fish dot com. It's a free online dating site, and he said he'd met a few people that way. So, as is my motto these days, I threw up an old "What the hell!" and signed up. Because the website is free, I was prepared to be bombarded with pure crap in my inbox, so I used my google email address which I use for nothing else but this blog, and I started checking the inbox. However, just as I had assumed there would be...there was nothing but crap. So I stopped checking the email address completely, but I couldn't figure out how to disable my profile, so I just left it alone. Then, this week, I ate dinner with Super Man, who had started dating a girl that he met on this website. It reminded me that I was probably still getting random crappy emails and I decided to check the email address the next day.

There were a ton of emails from the website, most of which were nothing more than invitations for some physical fun. But after getting friendly with my delete button, I opened an email that was sent two days prior. It was actually an email with real substance and decent grammar! Jackpot! AND...the guy was really good looking! BONUS! I didn't have a lot of time right then, but I didn't want this good looking, good grammar typing guy to think I wasn't going to respond. And since you can see when someone has read your message, I decided to send a very quick email back letting him know that I liked his email and would type more soon.

Then, on a whim, I took an extra minute to check out his profile in more detail. I clicked on his picture which opened up his profile. The guy was 5'4". I immediately thought, "Oh great....he's 2 inches shorter than me. Lovely."

AND THEN IT HIT ME LIKE A TON OF BRICKS....I looked at his picture again, looked at his screen name....flashed back to bits of his email...he had been in the marines...and he graduated school in the town that I now live in.....

OH MY GOD THIS IS MY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL BOYFRIEND FROM THE SECOND GRADE THROUGH THE SIXTH GRADE! THIS IS THE GUY THAT IS IN EVERY SINGLE FLASHBACK OF ELEMENTARY SCHOOL THAT I HAVE! OH......MY........GOD!

So I hit the reply button again and sent a message expressing that I was completely shocked and told him who I was and that I would love to catch up with him!

About an hour later I had a reply with a subject line that read "I AM BEYOND SPEECHLESS!!!!!"

And just to give you a bit more background....
He was my "first love"....as much as you can be when you're 8. We were best friends through elementary school, but he moved away in the 6th grade. When he got ready to join the marines when we were around 20, he randomly hunted my parents' address down and showed up at my doorstep one day. We sat on the front porch and he told me that he was getting ready to leave for boot camp and he just really wanted to talk to me again before he left. Then, 5 years later...just after I got married....he walked in the door of the beauty shop while I was getting my hair cut. We chit chatted and he gave me his number and said he'd love to catch up. But I told him I was married, and I never called him.

And then, out of the millions of people on that website, he randomly sends "some girl" an email....and as it turns out..."some girl" was me! He said he knew I looked familiar, but it never occurred to him that it was me. I'm living in a different area now, and the last he heard I was happily married and he just assumed I was living a white picket fence life with the whole husband and kids package!

So that night, we talked on the phone and he invited me out to coffee....and we sat on the patio of Starbucks until 2AM catching up and being completely in awe of the entire situation. As we reviewed all of our history over the years, he admitted that he walked out of the beauty shop that day completely heartbroken that I was married. And since it never occurred to him that I would end up divorced (yeah...caught me off guard too!) he never tried to contact me again.

But now here we are....catching up....drinking coffee.....and going out this weekend. : )

Let's all just stop for a moment and give God kudos for writing a week worth remembering.

Good surprise, God!

VERY. GOOD. SURPRISE.

The Blog That Should Have Been Broken Down Into Three Other Blogs...but wasn't.

2009-05-04T17:52:00.000-07:00

So I spent a week thinking my internet was down. Since I "borrow" internet service from "someone" in my neighborhood....(praying for forgiveness)....I didn't think I had much control over this little debacle.

And then I went out of town this weekend...more on that in a minute....and my internet wouldn't work there either. Hmmm. Dilemma. At this point I made the BRILLIANT conclusion that it was a problem with my computer that was keeping me from my daily blog addiction and not actually "my" internet connection.

Upon getting home from work tonight I opened the yellow pages, dialed the number to a computer repair place, and began to describe the problem.

Me: My internet won't connect. I'm pretty sure it's a problem with my computer. It wouldn't work in a couple of different locations.

Computer Fixer Guy: Are there any other problems with your computer?

Me: No. Just this one.

Computer Fixer Guy: And you have wireless internet service?

Me: (hmmm....how to say it without ACTUALLY saying it....) Uh....yeah? Sort of.

Computer Fixer Guy: So you're piggybacking?

Me: (shameful....) Well....not at the moment.

Computer Fixer Guy: Is your wireless card all the way in your computer?

Me: (without looking) Of course! (looking)....oh wait....no....it's not. (Plugging the wireless card ALL THE WAY IN THE COMPUTER...) yeah....it's working now. Thanks for your help.

Computer Fixer Guy: No problem.

Me: obviously.

So yeah....I totally just deprived you all of my blog, because I'm a big enough idiot to not check to see if my wireless card is ALL THE WAY IN THE COMPUTER. The REALLY sad part about that is that it took being on the phone with a professional in order to bring that little fact to light. There should be a law for people like me to be required to have a giant warning sign enter the room 5 minutes before I do. It's only fair to give people a head start.....

Anyway....update #1 The New Job!
Today started my second week at my new job. So far, I'm really excited about the possibilities. I had a few moments of stress, but on the whole I think I've done really well, and my boss is very pleased with my performance. I've been able to set up some cracker jack marketing programs in the community, so as of right now, I'm calling success on the job situation. However, the new boss is VERY high strung, and some of my new co-workers seem to be at their wits' end. So far I haven't been subjected to the wrong end of one of his fits, but I'm sure my time is coming. Between now and then, I'm enjoying my new position and I officially no longer feel like my spirit is dying every time I walk in the front door of my place of employment.

Also....I don't know if I mentioned details on the new job...but I'm doing marketing and financial management for a chiropractor. My boss has very high expectations of me, but the good thing is I get free adjustments! On Friday, I believe he successfully cracked every joint in my body....

...full range of motion how I've missed you!

Update #2 Fatty Friday Volume 4

I haven't weighed myself since Fatty Friday Volume 2, and I'm not going to go do so at this moment either...partly because I only weigh myself naked and right after an early morning pee...and partly because I ate unusual food over the weekend (see update #3) and I doubt I've lost a single pound. However, my fridge is stocked with fruits and veggies, and I have successfully cut aspartame, refined sugar, and "white stuff" from my diet. I am eating things like fresh mozzarella, turkey, and basil on wasa crackers, greek yogurt with raspberries, and I'm drinking the dickens (that's a technical term) out of some green tea.

And let's just let the record show, that if I eat like this for 6 weeks straight and don't lose a single pound, you might just find yourself reading a blog about what happened when I slit my wrists with a wasa cracker.

AND....drum roll please.....

Update #3 The Road Trip

I have been itching to take a road trip for a while now. It's been a year since I left the state, and I was way overdue for a vacation! This, however, was going to be a different type of trip for me. I was taking E, my little travel buddy, with me! Through the power of Facebook I reconnected with an old friend, and we began discussing the idea of meeting "halfway" in Louisville for the weekend. I wanted to take E to the zoo...a better zoo than the one here...that didn't even have giraffes or lions when we went....and he wanted to see me and meet my baby boy. It seemed like a win win all the way around. However, about 2 weeks ago I began looking for a hotel...and nothing was available....and if it was available it was $300 a night....for the Holiday Inn. True Story. This is the point in the road trip planning where we realized that our Louisville Road Trip was planned for the same weekend as the Kentucky Derby.

The options for the trip were quickly changed to "camp out in the back of my xterra" or "change the destination." And since I can't plug my hair dryer with diffuser attachment into my xterra, we opted to change the destination.

"Why don't you just come here?" he said. "We have a zoo."

So instead of a road trip to Louisville, E and I went on a road trip to Cincinnati. We hopped in the car, and E was out cold before I got on the interstate. He was asleep for two and a half hours...the perfect little travel partner! The trip itself was pretty uneventful. We stayed at a hotel outside of Cincinnati, because my friend (who, by the way, I'm resisting the urge to blogger name "Boner"...it's probably not what you think....but it's fun to let you wonder...) had a memorial service to go to on Saturday, and I didn't want to overwhelm him with our visit.

We arrived at the hotel without incident, and after checking in, I gave E his first lesson on elevator buttons. He pushed them like a pro, and every time we went anywhere he looked at me with sheer joy on his face and said, "I push the buttons?!?!" And of course, I let him every time.

So Friday night, Boner (yeah....I can't resist an opportunity like that...) came to the hotel to get us, and we went out to dinner. He wanted us to experience a meal that "you can't get back home" so we went for Indian Food. I've never really eaten Indian Food, and being only two years old...neither has E. I wasn't even sure how to order...but Boner explained to me that you just select the meat, the bread, and the level of spiciness from 1-10. He ordered a 6. I wanted to go "bland", so the meal wouldn't be too spicy for E, so I got a three. My chicken came, I took one bite, and I felt like sparks must have been shooting from my ears! There was an aftershock of spiciness that was completely unexpected...like fire was bursting up through my sinuses trying to escape through my tear ducts. TOO SPICY. WAY TOO SPICY FOR A TWO YEAR OLD. I grabbed my water glass trying to douse the flames creeping through my nasal cavity. At this point tears are streaming down my face....MENTAL NOTE.....NEXT TIME DO NOT ORDER A THREE....ORDER A ZERO. ZERO. Got it, White Girl???

I set down my water glass and finally looked over at E, trying to figure out what I would feed him. Obviously if I couldn't handle this then he couldn't deal wi....oh wait....what's he doing? Eating the chicken from my plate? The spicy, singe the hair out of your nose chicken? The chicken that his mommy is too wussy to eat? THAT CHICKEN? And smiling? Seriously?

Yes. Seriously. My two year old can officially eat spicier food than me. And I sort of felt defensive about it. I sort of felt like getting right up in his little spicy chicken eating grill and being all like, "Oh yeah....well guess who's NOT getting to push the buttons when we get back to the hotel! What do you think of that, tough guy?!?!"

Anyway, Boner spent the rest of the evening showing us around Cincinnati, and the next day, E and I loaded up and went to the zoo...which had both giraffes and lions. They even had penguins, which E watched swim for a good 30 minutes. There were rhinos, flamingos, cheetahs, elephants, gorillas, meerkats, polar bears, tigers, baboons....and we got to see them all.

Yesterday, on the way back home, I asked E what his favorite part of the trip was. I expected some general toddler speak about feeding the giraffes or watching the penguins play on the rock and dive into the water. I expected an excited response about one of the many beautiful animals that God created. That was what I expected....but what I got was, "I push the buttons!!!!"

And there you have it, folks. It's the simple things in life. It's a new job that doesn't make you feel dead inside. It's eating all natural foods, because it's the better choice. It's catching up with an old friend. It's pushing the buttons on the elevator.....and by God....

It's having a wireless card that is PUSHED ALL THE WAY IN!

I realize that it's only been a week....but it's really good to be back! : )

I'm still alive

2009-05-04T07:04:00.000-07:00

but not well..

My computer is down at home, and blogging at my new job is a little taboo....

so I just stopped by to say hopefully I will BE BACK VERY SOON! I MISS MY BLOG!

Dear Moment Monday

2009-04-27T18:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Moment,
I still hate you a little bit.

I mean, really...I know I do a lot of embarrassing things. I make it pretty easy to poke fun...but in all honesty, you could have let that one go by. You could have NOT humiliated me in front of everyone I've ever met in my entire life. You could have NOT made my most embarrassing moment EVER happen in front of half of the people in my senior class.

Moment...you could have just blown by. Quietly. Almost, dare I suggest, UNNOTICED. It would have been the decent thing to do.

But no...you had to take full advantage of the opportunity that I handed you. Shame on you. SHAME. ON. YOU.

It wasn't like I had a choice. She made me do it. And how are you supposed to say "no" to the sweetest most arthritic old lady you ever met? How? You can't. Hence, the embarrassment. I even tried to back out at the last minute. But she told me I was ready. She told me it would be fine. She told me it would "bless her little heart" if I went through with it. What was I supposed to do? What else IS there to do?

Absolutely Freakin' Nothing.

So I sat there...in front of half the people I think I've ever met in my entire life....20 other members of my senior class looking on....tears running down my face....embarrassment creeping up my neck disguised as ugly red blotchiness...

And everything I had learned...everything I had practiced...everything I had in me that would "bless her little heart"....

must have stayed out in the parking lot.

But, as the onlookers would try to comfort me with later, at least I kept going. At least I didn't give up. At least I didn't let it get the best of me. And in the final moments of my encounter with utter embarrassment, I poised my hands in the position that I knew they were supposed to end in, plucked an A, the only distinguishable note during this entire episode, and as always made a graceful exit from

the piano recital from hell.

Dear Moment, just so we're clear....sometimes you don't have to be so good at your job of "imprinting so as not to be forgotten." Every now and then it's ok for you to be a wallflower....to linger only as a "yeah, I vaguely remember this one time....but it's sort of fuzzy" kind of recollection. Sometimes....just every now and then...it's ok not to share.

(Which, ironically enough, is what all of the recital attendees were saying after I finished playing that night.)

Fatty Friday, Volume 3...better late than never

2009-04-25T14:05:00.000-07:00

Yeah...I know it's Saturday. I've never been all that great about being on time. Oh well....

So I was all prepared to blog about the things I felt the need to confess this week...like the fact that I ate a huge plate of fried rice when the gang at work took me out for a goodbye lunch at the new hibachi place in town....or the fact that Soul Sister came over the other night and I totally crunched up tortilla chips and put them in my soup...which I then washed down with a strawberry daiquiri....you know...stuff like that.

I had intentions of having an awesome Fatty Friday though. I was going to take E strolling with Lora from Take Me The Way I Am. We've been trying to plan an outing for a while now...and yesterday was to be the day. We've never met in person, and the HM wanted to know if I asked her 10 times if she was a psycho freak like I did him before we met the first time. I indignantly replied that no...she could not be a psycho freak because HELLO....SHE'S A BLOGGER! DUH!

Anyway, I was getting ready to walk out the door, and I was already going to be running behind. I had put the stroller in the car. I had put E's shoes on him. I had my walking shorts on and my hair pulled back. Sunglasses? Check! Juice box and snack for E? Check! I was READY TO GO!

"I onna take see-saurs!" (Which translates to 'dinosaurs' for all you who don't speak toddler.) So I replied in true mommy fashion, "You can take ONE. Pick one and let's go!"

"I onna take ALL my see-saurs!" At this point I really wasn't sure how much energy I had to fight this particular battle. I mean, really...what's the big deal about taking ALL of the dinosaurs? Do I REALLY want to turn this into a lesson in discipline? Do I want to try to explain why all 6 dinosaurs aren't necessary? Do I want to watch E's bottom lip pop out of his face like a God-given reflex? No...I didn't.

"Ok...get ALL the dinosaurs." So we gathered them up...dropping them and picking them up again a few times toward the door.

"Take E." (This is E's new command, accompanied by raised arms that means, Carry me Please!) So I picked him up, and dropped a stegosaurus in the process. Upon seeing the fallen "see-saur" E hollered right in my ear. It was like a shrill little warning, and a meltdown was forthcoming. I could just tell.

So with my overnight bag and my purse on my shoulder, E in my other arm, and 5 dinosaurs dangling from my fingers, I bent down to pick up the rebel stegosaurus.

I walked outside, shut the door behind me, and headed toward the car. And as soon as I opened the car door I went cold....my keys were still in my house....locked....no spare key.....um yeah....crap.

BUT NO ONE WORRY. DON'T PANIC. WE HAVE ALL OF THE DINOSAURS!

At this point we begin wandering around the house looking for the easiest way to break in, E trailing behind me with all 6 dinosaurs in tow. My house, surprisingly enough, is extremely difficult to break into! The credit card thing just doesn't work...doesn't even pretend to work. And I...like a big overly cautious idiot....locked all of my windows.

So I call a locksmith, and then leave a message for Lora that I have encountered a slight problem. "But don't worry," I said to her voicemail, "we have ALL of the dinosaurs."

The locksmith shows up. His name is Danny, and the license plate donning the front of his van says, "Jesus Loves You."

So the Christian locksmith spends the next hour fiddling with the lock to my front door. I eventually text Lora and suggest we reschedule, due to my inability to be prepared with a spare key and the Christian Locksmith's inability to pick my front door lock. After a while, he suggests we try the back door. So he gathers up his tools, and E and I gather up ALL OF THE DINOSAURS and head to the back of the house. He begins picking the lock and after about 15 minutes, the back door pops open....

....and there....gleaming in the bright, glorious sunlight....is my stripper pole.

Without missing a beat, the Christian Locksmith says, "Well....that's just not something you see everyday!" and he packed up his stuff and headed back to his Jesus van.

So I really have nothing to report on this edition of Fatty Friday...except this little pearl of wisdom....

....if you're going to lock yourself out of your house....there are two important things you should remember.....

1. Take down your stripper pole.

2. MAKE SURE YOU HAVE ALL OF THE DINOSAURS.

I mean really...it's just good sense.

Happy Fatty Friday! (a day late!)

Bittersweet

2009-04-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

The day is finally here....my last day of work at my current job. Of course, if we're being totally honest, my last day of "work" was probably two weeks ago. Today is the last day of me "keeping my desk chair warm with my butt while I check facebook and blog about aspartame."

It's actually going to be a little hard for me to walk out of the door this afternoon. BUT. I mean...it has turned into a HORRIBLE (did you notice that I capitalized that...yeah...there's a reason) place to work. The management lives for breathing down your neck, nothing is ever good enough, the product is declining faster than the economy, and there is just no money to be made right now. It's hard to adequately explain the frustration that hovers right at eye level in this office, waiting to attack you the moment you walk in the door. How can I make you understand.....? ...............

It's a horribly bad haircut, fuzz on your contact lens, wet underwear in your crack kind of experience. It just sucks...and when you find yourself in the midst of it...there's just no pretending it doesn't exist.

So yes, I'm glad to be leaving. However, there are some great people here that I'm really going to miss. This office, while being the general source of plenty of misery as of late, has also been the home to people who let me cry on them when my life fell apart, listened to stories about all my first dates, and in general helped me to believe that life was going to be ok again...and sure enough, they knew what they were talking about.

Sometimes moving on is painful. Sometimes it's sad. Sometimes it's just necessary. In this particular case, I think it's just the next leg of the journey that will get me a smidge closer to God's best for me. So in more ways than one that's a move I'm happy to make.

***********************************************

In Other News:

There may possibly be a road trip coming up for E and me! This excites me in a BOLD CAPITAL LETTERS kind of way! Details to come....

Auf Wiedersehen Aspartame

2009-04-22T08:29:00.000-07:00

So the other day I read someone's blog. Sorry for this epic fail, but I really don't remember who it was. I was whoring around the blogosphere, and can't for the life of me remember where I saw this little tidbit. If it was your blog, speak up and I'll totally link to you. My bad. (She totally caught me in the midst of my brain fart...thanks to Robyn for ridding me of this poison!)

Anyway...this blogger was talking about how she loved diet coke until she read that aspartame was poison. Really? Poison? My diet coke? No! But because I felt in my gut it might be true, I googled "side effects of aspartame" and realized that yes...the makers of diet coke are trying to kill me slowly with their thirst quenching bubbly goodness.

As it turns out, there are 92...yes, 92 health symptoms related to aspartame consumption. Read about them here. http://www.sweetpoison.com/. Most of them, thankfully, do not apply to me...yet....but here are a few of the ones that do:

ringing in the ears

trouble with contact lenses

restless legs

drowsiness

insomnia (wait..didn't I just say drowsiness...I'm a freak.)

palpitations/tachycardia

low blood sugar

increased craving for sweets

memory loss...

(I blame not knowing which blog I was reading on the makers of diet coke. Totally NOT.MY.FAULT.)

So...all that said, I'm going off aspartame, which translates to no more diet coke for this diet coke lover. It's a sad, sad day here at Grace.Gets.Greater. I mean really...I've already limited myself to one chicken burrito a week and now this. Can life really get any worse? Yeah...don't answer that!

How am I ever going to cut diet coke out of my diet? Lucky for me, there is a 10 step program on the website to assist addicts like myself. Awesome, right??? Not so much. I mean the first step made sense I guess. If you're on a mission to remove aspartame from your diet, it makes sense that step 1 would be "Remove aspartame from your diet." Brilliant. There were a couple of other steps in there that seemed reasonable. "Replenish nutrients. Exercise and Get Plenty of Rest." But steps 4 and 10 really threw me for a loop:

Step 4: Be Happy With Yourself

Step 10: Get Control of Your Life

What a revelation! It wasn't the pain of divorce that caused me to be depressed or feel out of control! It wasn't the moving around and the starting over! It wasn't the fact that nothing was turning out like I had wanted it to! No....none of that had anything to do with my roller coaster life over the past year! IT WAS THE ASPARTAME! And now that I know that...I'm so much happier with myself and feel so much more in control of my life. Cursed be the evil coke company for slowly poisoning my self esteem and life's ambitions with their wretched faux sugar food additive! I shake my fist at you in dismay! You hear that??? I SHAKE MY FIST AT YOU!

Apparently I'm cranky this morning. It's a really fine line as to whether or not the blame lies with aspartame detox or the fact that I'm drinking gross unsweet tea and had yogurt for breakfast instead of a succulent chicken burrito. Yes...very fine line indeed.

Online Dating Queen of the South

2009-04-20T14:33:00.000-07:00

I am the unofficial online dating queen of the south.

This isn’t a title that I aspired to when I first found myself single again. I mean…online dating??? Really???

But here’s the lowdown on yours truly. I’m divorced. I’m a mom. I work 40 hours a week. I go to school all freakin’ day long on Saturdays. I don’t really like going out. I don’t have a “group” of friends…just random amazing people from various points in my life. I’m not yet plugged into a church…and don’t really want to go to church with the intent of dating anyway. I HATE bars and clubs. And honestly…when I do have time to do something that isn’t related to work, school, or mommying…I tend to do it quietly, either by myself, or with someone from my list of favorite people.

To sum up…I’m boring. And damn it….I’M FINE WITH THAT!

I have managed to stumble across a few men in real life during the last year or so that ended up turning into dates. There was The Bad Boy…who was a total waste of my time. There was “That guy who is a cousin of a friend of a friend of a friend…” (you get the picture.) Obviously he didn’t last long enough to even warrant me donning him with a kick ass blogger nickname. And then there was Mr. Right? the son of The Neighbor Lady…who, while a totally awesome man…ended up not being so “right” for me.

I admit that the social stigma of online dating had kind of gotten to me. I mean…isn’t that for losers….for people who sit in their parents’ basements and masturbate during reruns of Saved By the Bell? I probably would have maintained this theory….save for my Freakishly Amazing Sister.

The FAS is in a loving committed relationship…with someone she met online. He’s not a loser. He’s not a creep. He’s not after money. He’s not even a fan of Saved by the Bell.

So in an effort to get back on the proverbial horse, I booted up my computer and pasted my pretty picture online. Viola! Multiple date offers in a matter of minutes. Literally.

I’ll admit that there is a lot of crap to sift through…but that’s true of the 3 dimensional men too. Some of my “favorite” online dating responses include:

“Well aren’t you just the cutest thing ever? Why don’t you write me back and tell me what dream I can make come true for you tonight.”

“Yo, let’s hit it.”

“wat up?”

And then there was the guy who sent a VERY long email with a VERY detailed description of what our future sex life and dream home would be like. He even selected a paint color for our future kitchen…because I’d “need a pretty kitchen to cook in…naked.” (I promptly flagged his profile, threw up in my mouth a little bit, and set off to shower.)

But in the midst of the crap, there’s always someone worth a second glance. Super Man and The HM are products of my online dating experiences, and while I don’t necessarily see a future with them, they have both made my life unequivocally better…and their friendship alone is worth all the crappy loser-laden emails that I’ve deleted.

The thing about online dating is that you never really know what a person’s reaction is going to be when you blurt out, “I met him online.” Sometimes they smile approvingly and want to know more. Sometimes they seem surprised that you would go that route seeing as how “you could get any guy you wanted.” And sometimes…sometimes they crinkle up their nose like they just smelled a really fragrant fart. (Just one more thing to add to the list of "Life’s Crap Shoots.”)

The result of my crazy dating life since the divorce is that I’ve dated enough men to know what I want and what I’m looking for, whereas before, I was willing to settle for a lot less than I deserved. Thanks to the handful of men that I’ve gone to dinner with, whether they made their initial appearance in my life in 3D form or with an online profile, I’ve learned to separate the bad from the good…the non-dateable from the dateable….”the one for right now” from “the one.” And in the midst of the vulgar emails and stuck up noses of naysayers….for me that translates to

Success dot com.

Dear Moment Monday

2009-04-20T08:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Moment,
I've heard about you, but until now, I didn't really know what the fuss was about. There are a lot of people in the room. It's kind of dark...there are only candles to light the front of the room. It's quiet. My boyfriend is sitting next to me with his head in his hands. There is something stirring inside of me. I can't really explain it, because this is a place that I've never really visited before.

It's amazing how quiet it is in the room, and how loud it is in my head. There is an argument...a marriage of strange voices that I don't recognize urging me to act, yet ridiculing me for the thought of doing so. The man in the front of the room continues to speak...but I stopped hearing his words long ago. The voices in my head are louder than he.

My cranberry colored sweater is itchy. I'm hot. I'm uncomfortable. This room is not big enough for the size of the thoughts swimming in my head. Breathing is more difficult in this room than it should be. I look around....maybe someone will open a door and let some air in.

Moment, what if people are watching? What if people realize that I've been an impostor? What if they notice? What if they know...finally? I don't want to get up. Don't make me get up.

And then there's the voice in my head again...."Get up. It's time."

I stand and walk out the door to the side, where I'm met by a lady...her name tag is friendly, "Hello. My Name Is....Connie." We sit. She begins talking....I begin crying. And then nothing is the same as it once was.

Moment, I finally get what the fuss was all about. After years of hearing about this place, I have arrived. I know what it means. I know what it's about. I know....it's not about me. Connie hands me a book and an ink pen, and still friendly, instructs me to write the date followed by 4 words. I begin writing...my hand is a little shaky...my breath coming easier than before....easier than ever before....just 4 little words...but Moment, there was nothing little about them.

October 27, 1996

I accepted Jesus Christ.

Dear Moment, thanks for the memory.

Dear Lord....for everything else.

Fatty Friday Volume 2

2009-04-17T06:29:00.001-07:00

Ok ladies...and Dad...the moment you've all been waiting for. Get your "laughing at me" pointer finger ready and swallow that drink of morning OJ, lest you see what I'm about to post and spit it through your nose in horror.

I weigh 155 pounds.

There....ripping off that band aid wasn't nearly as bad as I expected it to be! I really am a freak....how many 28 year old single women honestly go around blabbing their weight on the internet for all the world to see??? To date, I think I'm the only one I know of. Woo Hoo.....I'm a trend setter! (Ok, maybe not. I think the very definition of trendsetter is someone who does something that everyone else then gets all excited about doing. I doubt many of you will hop on this particular trendsetting train. Oh well....can't blame a girl for trying.)

I don't really have a firm goal weight in mind. I've always weighed kind of heavy, and God just did not design me to be skinny. And honestly, whenever I get to whatever weight I end up at...I want to eat a freaking brownie without feeling guilty about it. So my goal isn't to be super skinny or to "weigh what I did in high school." The amount of work required to keep that up just isn't lurking anywhere in the midst of this particular 155 pounds. True story.

My goal is to feel 100% sexy and confident in my own skin. I'm about 85% there right now....which is about an 85% increase over where I was just a year ago.....get a load of THAT progress! I know for a fact that I'm super svelte at 140 pounds...so I guess that's a personal goal. But I haven't weighed that post baby....so I don't know if it's an easily maintainable weight for me. All that rambling to say....I don't really have a goal weight....just a "goal percentage of personal confidence. "

Why did you feel compelled to broadcast to the world the one number that every woman guards with her life and lies about at any given opportunity? Why you ask?

Well...here's the deal. I'm traveling on my own little journey towards personal freedom. It is a process that for me, started with divorce, and will end somewhere that currently only God knows about. On this journey, I'm determined to be released from the shackles of the past that bind me. One of those particular shackles happens to be how I look and "Oh God, what do other people think of me?" For oh so long, what other people thought of me...how other people saw me....it all just felt like THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD.

Over the last 18 months I've been in a continuous process of "becoming someone I actually like," and I'm happy to say that not only do I like the person that I've become....I actually love her.

All 155 pounds of her to be exact.

I know so many women who are caught up on the number on the scale. Some of them even treat the obsession as a religious experience. I'm bound and determined that the number on the scale will no longer be a direct reflection of how I see myself. Does it matter how I look? Not really. As long as I feel 100% confident in who I am, and I'm able to love the woman that God has created me to be, then everything else is really JUST A NUMBER. It's the freedom in knowing THAT that allows me to share exactly how much I weigh. Do I want to lose some weight? Sure! But the end goal isn't really a number....it's just the knowledge that I am venturing down a path towards TOTAL confidence and acceptance of this woman who stares back at me from the mirror. It's not necessarily easy to share my weight with the ends of the internet...it's not all that easy to know that some of you may chatter about it....but that's your deal....

155 pounds is so much lighter than the weight of the world.

HAPPY FATTY FRIDAY!

Definition

2009-04-16T12:52:00.001-07:00

This week has just been plain ol' weird. I'm in the process of working out my two weeks notice. I hated my job before, and now that I know I'm leaving, I'm motivated to do absolutely nothing. I'm trying to give a crap....but I admit it...I'm crapless.

Also, I had been right smack dab in the middle of reading "The Good Divorce" for class. I had to write a paper, and this book, by Constance Ahrons was on the list. Since I pride myself on being "The Best Damn Ex Wife Ever" I figured it would be a worthwhile read. As it turns out, I've been living The Good Divorce for quite some time now. Pat me and Ex on the back....we've done a bang up job!

Here's the irony....

Tuesday night, I was reading the chapter on what happens when you or your ex decides to remarry and what that does to your "binuclear family" (a fancy term for two households that function with one family goal in mind.)

Wednesday...the other dangling shoe finally dropped. Ex is marrying his girlfriend. I guess I should stand up and applaud this decision. She's pregnant with his baby girl, and them being married is a lot better than E growing up wondering why his daddy lives with his little sister's mommy but never married her. So way to go Ex....good decision...or something like that.

Dear Ex...I went to Wal-Mart today in search of the perfect card. The good news is I found my favorite gum on sale. The bad news is...it looks like Hallmark isn't quite ready for the likes of you!

So here's the thing. I blog in general about my divorce quite frequently, but I tend to shy away from specifics. There are a multitude of reasons for this, the biggest of which is that the specifics really no longer matter. I think it's safe to say that both Ex and I feel that our marriage pretty much bitch slapped us both, and we're better off now than we were two years ago.

Here's the part that does matter...in short story exchange of course. Picture this....

It's last week. We are outside my current office, and Ex has just brought E to me. This is an unusual occurrence in the middle of the week. E has been having a harder time transitioning between parents lately, so we try to give him time to adjust when pick ups and drop offs occur. During the time that E is adjusting, Ex and I are having friendly conversation as always. In the middle of me telling a (riveting) story, Ex grabs me by the face, looks entirely too concerned for my comfort, gets right up with me nose to nose and says,

"What the hell...are you ok?"

Me: Ummm yeah....what are you doing?

Him: Your eyes are yellow. The whites of your eyes are yellow!

(At this point I know exactly why he's freaking out. And I mean...HE WAS FREAKING OUT. His grandmother died several years ago of liver cancer, and just before she was diagnosed she became jaundiced to the point that no one could ignore it, and the whites of her eyes yellowed. She passed away very quickly.)

Me: Really? Oh wow...(now I'm all nervous)

Him: Oh wait....no they aren't....it's my shirt. (He's wearing a CANARY yellow shirt.)

Me: (indignantly) You scared me to death!

Him: Well you SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!

And then we did a big "E in the middle" bear hug, and he got in his truck and left.

You see...the specifics aren't important. The important thing is this...

We love each other. We have loved each other for 12 years now. It never mattered who we were with, whether or not we were married, or at what point we were at in our divorce. Getting divorced doesn't kill that kind of love. Ending your marriage, moving out of your house, setting up a split schedule, having a new baby, or marrying someone else....none of that is big enough to end our relationship. We are family. We will always be family. And we will always love each other like family.

Were we meant to be married? I can safely say no. We were stupid kids who thought love was enough and learned the hard way that it most definitely isn't. Were we meant to share a home, and finances, and goals, and dreams? No. Both of us are happier now that we are not trying to intertwine our lifestyles and our desires. They didn't mesh. They didn't work. WE didn't work. Were we meant to be husband and wife? Our situation speaks loudly and clearly...we weren't. That door has since been closed....and new doors have since been opened. Life has started over...and started differently. Were we meant to be a couple? No.

Were we meant to be family? What does this tell you?

Love doesn't dry like ink on a divorce decree. And family isn't something you're born into...it's something you make. Our living situation has changed. Our love looks differently than it did a while back. We are picking up and moving on, and there are new people taking their places in the picture. Is it easy? No. Is it pretty? No. Is it comfortable? No.

Is it family?

ALWAYS.

Dear Moment Monday

2009-04-13T10:28:00.001-07:00

***Dear Moment Monday is a new weekly feature I've decided to include in my blog. It came to me the other day, when I was driving down the road and was struck by a memory that seemed to come out of nowhere. There are so many of those so often.....so on Monday's you'll get to read about them! Yay, you!****

Dear Moment,

This is the first, and only, time that this has ever happened to me. I'm sitting in the car, a passenger just enjoying the view. The radio is on. The destination is getting closer, and the anticipation is heavy. I'm looking out the window, and there is a navy blue Honda traveling parallel to the black explorer I'm riding in. Inside the navy blue Honda, there is a couple. They must be happy. The man is driving, and the woman, his wife I assume, is making eye contact with me. She's smiling and waving, and she's mouthing something to me. It takes me a minute to realize that yes, she's smiling and waving at me! What is she saying? I can't quite make it out. She mouths it again, this time moving her mouth slowly and deliberately so I can make out the word.

Moment, do you realize that I think of you and remember the feeling of accomplishment that I had experienced in the passing hours? Do you know that right now, in this black explorer, you are what defines me? Do you know that I waited for you and longed for you, and you're finally here? Do you know how much I wanted you? I'm filled with anticipation for what's to come. I'm ready to take on the world. I know that nothing will ever be the same. I know that there will be only good times ahead. I know...I just KNOW...that this is what it feels like to be at the beginning of forever.

I look at the woman in the navy blue honda again. She's so excited. She must be really happy to be so excited. She's still smiling and waving and mouthing that word at me.

That word is "Congratulations."

Because on the side of the black explorer, written in shoe polish, are the words, "Just Married."

Dear Moment,
It's a good thing I didn't know then what I know now. I may never have stepped out from behind the safety of the air bag.

But thanks for the memory just the same.

As promised....FATTY FRIDAY...volume 1

2009-04-10T07:15:00.000-07:00

I know....you've been EAGERLY awaiting an opportunity to jump on this post like a chunky pole dancing, soapmaking blogger on a "trawberry nuffin." Rest easy, my friend....

IT'S FATTY FRIDAY!

So what exactly IS Fatty Friday, you ask? Well....it's my new method of being accountable for the amount of fat that is currently hanging on for dear life to my belly and back. And while there's not nearly as much there as that one time just after I spawned another human being...there're still plenty of jiggling bits hanging around...much to my dismay.

Since the human being that I spawned that one time is now 2 years old, I don't think I can get away any longer with blaming the jiggling bits on him. It's accountability time, baby! I had decided that I was going to weigh myself and ACTUALLY POST MY WEIGHT ON THE INTERNET FOR THE WHOLE WORLD TO SEE. I know....isn't that the craziest thing you ever heard!? I was really going to do it. I was just going to throw every ounce of pride left in me to the wind. I figured that if you all knew exactly what my starting weight was, that it might just "internet peer pressure" me into sticking to my gameplan of shedding some serious poundage.

But I couldn't find my bathroom scale this morning. I'll hunt for it this weekend, and in the meantime seriously consider that maybe the fact that I couldn't find the bathroom scale is a sign that God doesn't want me to experience such vast internet humiliation. Can I get an AMEN?

So instead of broadcasting my weight, I will instead confess that last night, just before I embarked on this Fatty Friday journey, I met up with The Musicmaker. And I MAY have had a tall, full fat, shot of sugary hazelnut syrup added, whipped cream topped hot chocolate.

And MAYBE.....just MAYBE...I chased it with a Rice Krispie treat the size of my face.

And MAYBE...just MAYBE....while I was eating the Rice Krispie treat the size of my face and she was chomping on a triangular wedge of fudgy goodness....there MIGHT possibly have been a conversational exchange about certain people we went to college with who have gained so much weight that we feel sorry for them. (Said, of course with love...and while throwing the last bits of sugary goodness into our mouths.)

The irony of that conversation is not lost on us....and I feel pretty certain that I, for one, will shortly be reaping the deserved punishment of "Raw Vegetables and Sugar Detox." Let the games begin. Anyone else want to confess as we climb aboard the accountability train?

Welcome to Fatty Friday!

PRAISE GOD!

2009-04-09T12:53:00.000-07:00

Guess which pole dancing, soap making, single mommying, blogger freak just landed a new job!!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS ONE!

Thank you so much for all the prayers and support!

This whole blogger thing is definitely worth the money! ; )