When Satan Tempts Me To Despair

The morning of January third dawned early. I breakfasted and prepared to go welcome Ruby into the world.

It was a little overwhelming. With a push, life was going to change. Dramatically.

I found myself weepy, and despairing. My very unreliable, pregnancy-hormone-driven feelings were ruling my head and my heart. No matter what truth I told myself, I worried and feared and grieved.

Sometimes grieving the old is necessary in order to welcome the new. But it's not healthy to wallow in that place. Especially not on your kid's birthday.

As I was leaving all choked up, I told my friend, who was watching Brynne and Hadley for us, that I was struggling, and to pray for me. She told me she would pray, and would love to give me a hug, but she hadn't brushed her teeth yet. Ha! That's one of the many reasons I love her. So thankful for the levity she offered in that moment.  

This is one of her favorite verses:

The Lord will fight for you; you need only be silent. ~Exodus 14:14

 Easier to listen to God when you're silent.

Silence requires the discipline to recognize the urge to get up and go again as a temptation to look elsewhere for what is close at hand. It offers the freedom to stroll in your own inner yard, and to rake up the leaves there and clear the paths so you can easily find the way to your heart. Perhaps there will be much fear and uncertainty when you first come upon the "unfamiliar terrain", but slowly and surely you will discover an order and familiarity which deepens your longing to stay home...whenever you come upon this silence, it seems as though you have received a gift, one which is "promising" in the true sense of the word. It promises new life. It is the silence of peace and prayer, because it brings you back to the One who is leading you. ~Henri Nouwen

It was a gift, this silence. As I welcomed endured those blasted pitocin-induced contractions, my head and my heart were full of truth. Fear and worry melted away. I was thankful---especially once I had an epidural.

(And can I just say---if you labored and delivered naturally with pitocin, you are my hero. I just couldn't hang.)

In that place of quiet. I was able to see the gift of welcoming Ruby into the world. 

If you've had twins, you know how crazy the birth can be. If you haven't, here's a glipse at our experience: we delivered in the sterile, very cold operating room. There were at least 10 people (nurses, my doctor, pediatricians, respiratory therapists, and others) waiting to welcome our 35 weekers. The girls got whisked away right after they were born to regulate their temperatures and to help them breathe better. Then, EVERYONE wanted to meet our girls---it was a circus in my hospital room non-stop from morning till evening, and we had no time get to know our girls. They discovered that Brynne had a heart defect, and her beautiful lips kept turning a scary shade of blue. Then, Brynne was transferred to the NICU at another hospital. Brad went with her, and I stayed with Hadley. 

I don't know what I expected, but that was hard and overwhelming.

Ruby's birth was different. Peaceful. Beautiful.

• We delivered in a normal delivery room. 

• There were only three medical people in the room. 

• They put Ruby on my chest the second she was born. (I had no idea they even did that!)

• And, more. They didn't whisk her away anywhere. They let her stay and hang out for awhile before they cleaned her up. 

• I got to breastfeed her right away. 

• The heart defect she had in my belly was gone. I asked every.single.time a nurse or doctor checked out Ruby, just to make sure the last person hadn't missed anything. Her heart is perfect.  

• Hardly anyone knew we were in labor, so there were no texts or facebook distractions. We were fully present to the miracle of Ruby's entrance into the world. 

• We had no visitors (other than Brynne and Hadley). So we enjoyed lots of newborn snuggles.

The whole experience was so redeeming for me. Silence allowed the full weight of that to soak in.  To revel in joy and thanksgiving. To rest. To bond with sweet Ruby.

A slow stillness of the new. And a joy of this most precious gift. 

A friend from church, quite unexpectedly, took this picture of me and Ruby. Ruby was just a little over a week old, I'm quite sure I was sleep-deprived. I love this moment he captured! It's real. It's beautiful. I don't have on makeup, my hair isn't done, I forgot to put on earrings. But I got in the picture, and I'm really glad I did. There's a joy, a glow that he captured that is sacred and lovely. 

It all just comes down to a pair of jeggings

Awhile back, a twin-mama-friend asked me to write about the difference between my twin pregnancy and this singleton pregnancy.

Here's a moment of honesty, friends: I really don't like being pregnant. At. All.

Twin pregnancy? Singleton pregnancy? It all pretty much ranks right up there with getting a cavity filled. 

I'm glad I've figured that out, actually. I think it gives me a lot of grace for other friends of mine who struggle with being pregnant too. It seems like it's often implied, or maybe just directly communicated to women that they're supposed to love every single glowing moment of carrying a life in their wombs. And, Heaven forbid, we utter something about not loving one of the many not-so-glowy moments, of our heads hanging over the toilet, or battling the ugliness of depression, or the in-opportune time when we don't make it to the bathroom on time. 

If you've seen the movie Steel Magnolias, Olympia Dukakis' character, that sassy southerner, Clairee says:

Well, you know what they say: if you don't have anything nice say about anybody, come sit by me!

 

I feel like I'm Clairee for pregnant people. You wanna talk about how much it sucks be pregnant and then how the hormonal-aftermath makes you a sweaty, crazy, smelly mess? Come sit by me!

Don't get me wrong, friends. I'm thankful. I'm thankful for the life that's incessantly beating on my bladder. I'm thankful for the life in my belly causing my ass to take up residence in two counties, despite the many squats I attempt in between the contractions that I've had since 15 weeks. That's right----15 weeks! I have the most temperamental uterus on the planet!

Thankful, but if I'm honest, I'd just assume get it all over with already. It's hard to be thankful for this time of largeness and multiple bathroom trips.

[A note about the following picture: I didn't love this movie, in fact the twin pregnancy in here was laughably, eye-rollably, annoyingly unrealistic, but Liz's character here, is pretty funny, because she's a hot-mess the entire time. (I can call her Liz, because my husband's co-worker's wife grew up with her, and calls her Liz, so it's almost like I know her, or something)]

 

So, I'll tell you about the one thing that makes this all just a little bit better (other than the baby at the end of the road). 

Probably the biggest difference for me is that at this stage in the game, I'm still up walking waddling around. With the twins, at 26 weeks, I went into preterm labor, and was on bedrest for the rest of my pregnancy. I never went anywhere, except to the doctor's (went there a lot), so I didn't really worry too much about cute maternity wear.

With this pregnancy, I've had some generous friends who have lent me some maternity clothes, and I've put the ones that fit to good use. The aforementioned ass-largeness has been a tough pill to swallow. At almost 33 weeks, I currently weigh almost as much as I did when I delivered the twins. It's hard to feel very attractive with those numbers swimming in my head.

So, a couple weeks ago I decided I wanted to have a pair of maternity jeans, and ordered some jeggings from Old Navy. When they arrived, I tried them on, and even though they were, jeggings, afterall----those are leggings that look like jeans for those of you who haven't yet been introduced to a jegging---- I thought they were too tight/small, and I shoved them in the closet. 

I did lots of self-talk about how a pair of jeggings, the numbers on the scale, or even the size of my arse don't define me, because I'm a daughter of the King, I'm a loving wife, I'm a good mama, etc. And friends, I know my jegging size has nothing to do with anything truly important, but whew! It's been hard.

So, this morning the girls and I had to hightail it out of the house at 8AM, because someone wanted to see our house (yes, we're still trying to sell our house---and an 8:30 showing---seriously?!), and I got out the jeggings to wear. I tugged and wrestled those suckers on (because really, with jeggings, I think there's a bit of a workout involved in getting them on, at least when you're pregnant, or maybe they really are just too small---if it's the latter, just don't tell me), and you know----they actually looked pretty good, and I felt pretty good. I think I might just be able to make it to the end of this pregnancy.

Thank you, Jesus for jeggings.

Real Life

I click on the link. And stare in awe at the craft creatively executed by two three-year-olds and, elaborately orchestrated and recorded by their mama.

The snapshot of a perfect moment.

I pin it. Brynne and Hadley would love to do that, I think. 

I sigh, recalling our morning. I woke up exhausted. My allergies were in full effect, so I took the only thing that is safe and somewhat effective---Benedryl, which makes me even more exhausted. I ached too---the effects of over-doing it again at boot camp. I can't seem to reconcile my pregnant body with my competitive, athletic heart. What I wouldn't give to be able to pop a few ibuprofen.

I glanced at the clock, it was almost 11, and the girls are still in their pajamas, and so was I. Getting the three of us dressed just felt like a chore.

We read some books that were strewn about the living room. I asked the girls if they'd let me rest for a minute, and this erupted in two crying toddlers that now needed their noses wiped in addition to needing a change of clothes.

What a mess!  Brynne comes and tells me.

So, we abandoned the books, to organize the five puzzles that the girls have dumped together in a pile. What a mess, indeed.

My day isn't even note-worthy, let alone Pinterest-worthy.

The temptation for me is to compare my day with the mama-extraordinaire whose craft I just pinned. Then, to feel tragically sorry for my girls who got the boring mama. Right next to board with toddler crafts is the board with encouraging words. I see this:

 

Sarcastically I think, Mr. Roosevelt hasn't seen this woman's craft.

I know, deep in my soul that I am the very best mama for Brynne and Hadley. I know that comparing myself to other mamas does steal my joy. And there are certainly days when we do things that rival that super-mama and her fantastic craft.

And days like today? It's okay to have days like this. Really. It is.


photo credit

And you know what else? That super-mama has days like mine too, guaranteed. She just doesn't take pictures of them and put them on Pinterest. 

My sweet friend, Melissa suggested recently that maybe it isn't the Pinterest-worthy moments that are most encouraging. Maybe it's those messy, real life, books-strewn-across-the-floor, two-toddlers-in-their-pajamas-till-noon kind of days that encourage best.

Maybe we should take pictures of the mess that is everyday, real life. 



I've found this new (to me) blog, finding joy.  She writes these "dear mom letters" to encourage mamas. To make days like mine okay, normal, enough okay. She says this: 

Real is the everyday. Get up at the crack of dawn. Try to find underwear in the clothes baskets that still needs to be folded. Pour cereal in a bowl. Look for school papers. Change diapers. Wash dishes. Sweep floor. Read stories. And on and on and on. That's normal. That's real. ~Rachel Martin

There is a sacredness, a comfort in the mundane of everyday. The routine of living. The nothing special. When things are hard, that's where we go---to the familiar.

That's real life. That is okay.

Healthy Mama!

Friday morning the girls were in the bathroom with me while I was getting ready for the day. I don't always do this, but I believe it's important for them to see me taking care of myself. (And it warms my heart a little bit to see them mimic the motions I use to wash my face, put on lotion, etc.).

Something they love to do, while they wait for me to get ready, is to weigh themselves on our digital scale. They know to press on the scale, wait till it reads "0.0" and then to stand on it and wait for their weight to be registered.

Even though the girls have no idea what the numbers mean, they take delight in me telling them what the scales says. I always answer,  

30.5 pounds (or whatever the numbers read)---a healthy, growing girl!

Then, I see their faces explode into a big grin with that news.

On Friday, after the girls weighed themselves, they told me they wanted me to get on the scale.

I took a deep breath.

I realized in that moment, as I was waiting for the "0.0", that my reaction was important. The way I view myself, the way they see me viewing myself is important. My reaction to my numbers on the scale will influence the way they react their numbers on the scale, now, and for years to come.

They would mimic my reaction, just as they mimic me putting on lotion and washing my face.

So, as my numbers registered on the scale, with a big smile, I said,

145.5 pounds---a healthy mama!

Smiles all around.

I want to give my daughters the gift of having a mama who can demonstrate what it looks like to love and care for the body God gave me. A mama who truly believes that my worth and value is greater than what I look like, or what the scale says.

That's a tall order in this culture, but I think it's oh so important. I'm reminded of just how important each time I see my girls pretend to dust their faces with my make-up brush.

Learning from Melissa

The week of Labor Day, my sweet husband took us on our first family vacation. I had no idea where we were going; he wanted desperately to make it a surprise, and I intentionally let him do all the planning, avoiding the urge to figure out where we were headed.

It was indeed a great surprise to see my sweet friend, Melissa standing in the restaurant parking lot when we arrived at our destination.

Please excuse the crazed looks! It had been a long day for all of us.

Melissa and I met through blogging. 

Her girls are five months older than Brynne and Hadley, so I've sought her insight a lot, because, in most instances, she's dealt with it; been there, done that with her girls. In the process we've become great friends. We share our faith. We share our lives. We encourage one another.

Following our trip, Melissa wrote a telling post about all she's learned through our friendship.

If you've taken a moment to read it, you'll see that we are, indeed, very different people. And our parenting styles are in many ways night and day different.

I was telling a friend, a long time ago, about my friendship with Melissa. Her comment was that really, this is the best way to get to know someone. Instead of seeing what kind car she drives, or what her home looks like, or how she dresses, or how how her children behave--I saw her heart.

That is where the foundation of our friendship was built, and on that, there is great grace and love for one another.

Her words ring true. It's easy to judge and discount mamas who do things differently than what works for us, and maybe we should not be so quick to do so. There could be a beautiful friendship (and much to learn) amidst the different feeding, diapering and discipline styles.

My efforts in parenting our children focus greatly around health and safety. Admittedly, obsessive in some instances.

I battle to find the line between letting the girls experience life fully in a safe and healthy way while teaching them to obey and exercise appropriate caution. When I say battle, I really do battle/debate/question everything. Sometimes it's exhausting.

Stop.
Breathe.
Pray.
Repeat.

As Melissa has learned from me, I too have learned much from her. Learned and put into practice! Mostly, it involves relaxing a little bit. It's good to relax, and to let the girls relax.

Going barefoot. Before our visit to South Carolina, I don't think our girls had ever gone barefoot outside (unless they were in their strollers). This is a regular occurrence at Melissa's house.  

My girls kinda love it!

Letting the girls bake with us in the kitchen. Kitchens make me nervous. There are about 103 ways a kid can get hurt in the kitchen. Once, my little sister was helping me make some brownies. I was a dumb high school kid, who didn't pay enough attention in chemistry. I poured water over burning butter, which then exploded in my face, sending me to the ER. Thankfully, my sister didn't get burned. But--the thought that she could have been makes me all kinds of nervous, which is why our kitchen is completely off limits to the girls.

Melissa lets her girls bake with her in the kitchen all the time. That sounds like so much fun! I want my girls to decorate sugar cookies, help me stir, and be part of food preparations where appropriate.

So...under careful supervision, our girls did get to help their papa make banana bread (no burning butter involved). They had so much fun! Definitely something we'll do with them again!

Family Dinners. Most of the time, Brad and I wait to eat our dinner after the girls go to bed, and the girls have the leftovers for their dinner the following night. Melissa's family eats dinner together as a family. Lately, one or two nights a week we've been doing family dinners. It's chaotic sometimes, but I love that the girls are part of our meal together. I look forward to more of those meals together in the future.

Appetizer Dinners. Most of the time I plan out just a plain old meal. Melissa does "appetizer nights" at her house. How fun! Are you guys on Pinterest? I caution, you, time spent there is like a black hole, even worse than facebook. But--there are some pretty amazing recipes to be found, and you can park them right there in your own Pinterest folder, so that they're easy for you to find. I've found some great appetizers for appetizer night that way. Appetizer night at our house is definitely a family dinner. Fun food enjoyed by all!

Climbing. Melissa's girls are climbers! Oh my are they ever! This was something Brad and I are just not used to at all. We stood in awe as Aeralind and Bronwyn climbed onto the roof of the car, and Melissa and Derek didn't even bat an eye. Our girls have never really been climbers. They climb up on the couch, but that's about the extent of it. So, this is a new adventure for us, and it makes me nervous. Climbing = falling. But--I let this go on long enough to snap a picture this past weekend:

Heaven, help me!

Filling the Gap

Expectations.

They're universal. We all have them, right?

I love finding things that are universal. It makes me feel just a bit more connected to everyone. Connected to you.

On Sunday I learned a little something about these expectations we all have.

Our pastor described that we each have a bar where we set our expectations. In most cases, we set our expectations up high, right?

 Brad loves me, and he knows I didn't get to sleep until late. I'm sure he's going to get up with the girls this morning, and let me rest a bit longer.*

So, what happens, when Brad doesn't get up with the girls, and my expectations aren't met? When I had my bar set up high, and he came in on the low bar?

How do I fill that gap between what I expected, and what actually went down?

It's easy, especially when I'm tired, to fill that gap with anger and resentment:

Grrrr! Doesn't he know how tired I am! I get up with these girls every day! Can't he just get up and let me sleep?!*

Or, I can fill the gap with grace:

He works so hard all week. I'm so glad I can give him this time to get some extra rest.

Sometimes, grace isn't easy to give, especially when there's sleep involved!

Truth? I can probably recall more times when I've been extended grace for falling short of others' expectations, than I can times when I extend grace.

Selfish, isn't it? I'll take it, but I don't want to give it!

I like to think about it like this:

When I fill the gap with grace, it's like filling two cookies with ice cream or frosting--whatever your pleasure--it shapes up the day to be sweet.

But, when I choose anger, frustration, resentment--it's like the poop I spray off the girls' cloth diapers--it stinks and there's absolutely nothing good about it.

How do you fill the gap when your expectations aren't met?

*Brad gifts me at least one morning during the weekend to sleep in, and it's pretty much amazing! 

Say It Just Because...

When was the last time someone told you you were beautiful?

It feels pretty great, right?

So---why don't we say that more often to the people we love? I mean--we know it makes us feel good. Surely it has to have a similar effect on others, wouldn't you think?  

My challenge to you today--just do it!

Tell someone she (or he) is beautiful.

Tell her she is beautiful... 

• because she encourages you.
• because conversations with her fill you with hope.
• because when you spend time around her, you see God just a little bit better.
• because she always gives you the truth, even if it's difficult to hear.
• because she loves big.

See the image below? Get it here, and share it with someone beautiful!

 

 

Winter Doldrums

I've been feeling really lonely and disconnected from people lately. It's cold, it's cloudy, and I just feel blah.

What no one tells you, is that being a stay-at-home-mama can be very isolating. This truth has been an incredibly hard realization for me.

Before you skip the end of this and leave a comment pleading with me to seek therapy and/or medication, rest assured, I am not in that place--yet. I love my daughters, and recognize them for the blessing they are, which leads me to the place of knowing that I need to change. Brynne and Hadley deserve an emotionally healthy mama!

For those of you who have or do feel the same way, I think it's normal--becoming a mother is a huge, life-altering event. Couple that with all kinds of crazy hormones and lack of sleep--well, sometimes it's not pretty. I don't think people talk about this very much. I'm standing up to talk about it, because it's real for me. I'm struggling, and from a few conversations I've had with friends recently, I know I'm not the only one.

I knew that having children was the ultimate "dying to yourself", so I accepted and embraced that the girls' needs trump my own. While it is true that I have two, pretty cute, babies to take care of, that doesn't mean that I stop taking care of myself. Being a mama has become part of my identity, but should not define me. There's a careful balance there, and I need a bit of "rebalancing".

Confession time. Most weeks I only get in two or three showers (ew, I know). My workout routine really can't be called a "routine" since it's sporadic, at best. Sometimes I go days without brushing my hair--a messy bun is my go-to hairstyle. Speaking of hair, I haven't had it cut or trimmed in over a year---can you say split ends?! My crusty feet haven't had a pedicure since May. I usually don't change out of my yoga/pajama pants unless I have to go somewhere or see someone. Sometimes I forget to put on deodorant until my pits feel sticky, or worse--when I start to stink.

All of this was fine in the beginning, when the girls were little, and I was a tired, overwhelmed new mama. Some of it is still okay, sometimes. I mean, who doesn't love comfy yoga pants?! My girls are almost a year old, though, and are aware of their world. I want them to see their mama taking time to take care of herself, so that they will learn to do the same.

So--I have a plan!

1. Tomorrow, I'm starting bootcamp again. Two mornings a week I'm going to get my sweat on. I'm actually pretty giddy about it--hopefully I'll feel the same way tomorrow at 5:30 A.M.
2. I'm going to try to schedule at least one playdate a week. Let's face it, playdates are usually more about the mamas socializing than the kids playing together.
3. Once a week I'm going to get out of the house by myself. To run errands, get a cup of coffee, meet up with a friend--something.

Okay, there it is. Seems simple enough. Friends, you have permission to ask me how this is going--call me out on the carpet. I need to do this for me, and for everyone else in my house. Hold me accountable!

Neosporin to the Soul

Words are powerful. Words matter.

They can be a piercing dagger to the heart or a soothing salve to the aching soul.

I have been working on a post for over a week that you will never see. It chronicled my meandering journey through the thorny thicket of forgiveness. It was raw. Real. I thoughtfully weighed each word. It took me forever to get out what I wanted to say. It was emotional, excruciating even, like tearing out a piece of my soul and putting it down on paper (virtually speaking). Some of it was ugly, some of it was harsh, some of it espoused hope---all of it was authentic. After I'd written it all down and had my husband read it over, I opted not to publish it. Some times it is better to leave things unsaid. Words are powerful.

On forgiveness, I pray to one day be able to forgive a la Corrie ten Boom. Most of you have probably heard of her; she forgave a cruel Nazi prison guard who held her captive during the Holocaust. Describing that experience here are her words:

For a long moment we grasped each other's hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God's love so intensely as I did then.

Nothing, NOTHING I will ever experience comes close to the atrocities she forgave. Humbling, isn't it? Her words are powerful.

I will say this too. A sweet sister reminded me that my experiences, however disappointing, are the experiences that my wild, dangerous, unfettered, good God wants for me. Another Corrie quote:

God does not have problems. Only plans.

How, then, can I continue to wallow in unforgivingness when this is what my God wants for me? I can't, it is incongruous.

I must be careful. This platform I have to write is powerful, because words are powerful. As I was writing my unpublished (soon to be deleted) work, I read this:

Only speak words that make souls stronger.

I want my words to be authentic, genuine, and real. I also want them to be encouraging, full of grace and love. I pray I can do both. I pray that the words that dance off my lips and the words that flow from my heart into my fingers onto my keyboard, make souls stronger. I want to be the Neosporin, not the dagger.