Smartter Each Day

I've moved!

2012-09-28T18:14:00.001-07:00

Hi all! Smartter Each Day has moved! Find us now at:

http://smarttereachday.wordpress.com/

Thanks!

Getting rid of ANTS: tips for anxiety

2012-07-07T18:08:00.001-07:00

A couple years ago, my mom gave me a book that she thought was very insightful. I should reword that. It WAS insightful. However, at the time it went over my head like my husband's explanation of how fertilizer works.

The book was about "ANTS" : "Automatic Negative Thoughts." And you had to squash them. Certain thoughts were "red ants" because they were so dangerous. Clever.

Although at first I thought the list of "ants" was obvious and unhelpful, I don't think so any more. In fact, I have that list sitting next to my nightstand. It's dog-eared, with drippings of coffee and afternoon snacks and watermarks all over it, because I love it so much.

It's funny how God works. During the same time I got busy conquering the ants in my head, our formerly adorable and clean kitchen became infested with millions of the real thing. I am not trying to sound ungrateful that the Lord provided me with an object lesson, but it was disgusting. Just disgusting. "Honey, just try to keep the crumbs up," my husband offered helpfully. Oh, sure. Because it's not like two us of eat 75% of our meals with our hands, throw spoons of oatmeal on the floor when we're bored, smoosh up jelly sandwiches on the crevices of our high chairs, open the jar of raisins and jam them under the wheels of a pretend shopping cart. No, it's not that easy!!!!

Anyway. Point being, my house was a jackpot for these things. They would literally throw parties off the rooftops of the traps we placed.

Over the weeks when I battled the ants, literally and figuratively, here are some things I learned about them. I guess it was God's way of punishing me for not taking the "ANT" book seriously the first time around. :)

-At first they're a nuisance. But if you don't deal with them, eventually they interfere with everything.

-They keep coming. The battle is never-ending.

-You can't let your guard down (aka leave splatters of chicken broth unattended) for a minute.

-In their full-blown aggressive state, they are so disgusting. And embarrassing.

-Sometimes you need professional help.

-Even one ant is a problem. You know why? Because there's never one ant. There are 34,942 of them in some invisible mountain behind your outlet cover. And eventually you will see all of them in shifts.

Luckily, I found some things that do work in fighting these ANTS. In this part of the blog series, I'd like to share a few things that have (and haven't) been helpful to me. For this post, I want to focus on one particular thing I learned that has been really helpful.

In short, I have learned that while I can't control my feelings of anxiety, I can control my thoughts. And thoughts change feelings.

Read that last paragraph again. Really, do it. I cannot put into words how revolutionary this one fact has been for me. I realize that to some it's the emotional equivalent of discovering facebook. Hellooooo, old news. But not to me. For years I felt powerless against my anxious feelings because I couldn't change them. And I was right, I couldn't; sometimes I just feel anxious.

I can't control those feelings, but there is hope if I change my thoughts. The book on "cognitive therapy" for anxiety (where I got this information) pointed out that every time you have a thought, it affects your body in some way. Think about something troubling, and a flood of negative feelings comes into your body. Remember a fun vacation you've had recently, and your heart rate slows, endorphins enter your blood stream, and you take nice deep breaths. In other words, you feel better.

How wise our heavenly Father is. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." (Proverbs 23:7) And, "Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." (Prov. 4:23)

This next part may sound confusing, but I'll try to say it. I think I used to think this meant I should be more positive about a situation. You know, if I'm worried about Sam getting sick, to try to tell myself it won't happen, etc. etc. Now there is probably a place for that. And, heck, maybe that is best. I don't know. All I can say is that for me, what worked best is just to stop thinking about the thing altogether. Period. To dump out that whole batch of cookie batter, throw it away, wash the pan, and begin again. (Geez, my life is narrow. My analogies are really suffering. But you get the point.)

So if I am worried about Sam, I clean out the closet. I plan a party. I book a vacation. I paint my toenails.

I switch gears.

And I guess I'm jumping ahead of myself here, because this is my next tip. If thoughts control feelings, then actions control thoughts. At least this works for me - I put my hands to work on something. My brain follows, and then my feelings.

In the process, I have discovered something remarkable: People who are suffering can still get things done.

I would be lying if I said that anxiety medication didn't help tremendously in this process. Also, I would be lying if I said that every time I felt anxious, those feelings dissipated when I redecorated the guest room. But you know what? Sometimes they do.

There are quite a few other things...more to come. I am sure you are all hanging on the edge of your seat here for "tips from the anxious person #3." Oh well. :)

Oh, and ps. We did eventually call Terminex. So, rest assured, my house is not party central for ants anymore.

See you next time!

Part 2: Down To the Bottom and Up Again

2012-06-23T18:24:00.002-07:00

Three years ago when I started writing this blog, it was a little...cutesy. I mean it was always real, but I bet after reading it you probably thought I had a pretty swell life.

A few months later, based on a series of events you can read about here, Todd and I went through something really terrifying. Basically, Sam was three months old and exhibiting early signs of autism. We had to go through a battery of tests and clinics and prayers and tears. It ended well ... Now you would never in a million years guess that Sam was evaluated for such issues. But the point was, for a while I wanted to stop blogging. I was embarrassed. I didn't know what to say. It wasn't going the way I had planned. Eventually I decided that, awkward or not, I still had something worthwhile to say, so I would keep writing.

I kind of feel the same way now. Part of me is uneasy to articulate what has happened in my life the past few months, but another part of me knows that what I have learned might be helpful to others.

In a nutshell, my anxiety finally got the best of me. Come to think of it, that's literally what happened. Anxiety took all the best of me - those gifts that make me perfectly Jessica, the moments I've been blessed with to enjoy - and stole them.
It's hard to make you understand, because anxiety is kind of Miss Congeniality of the sins. I have liked to think so anyways; you know - amusing, endearing, productive, etc. And I guess it can be those things...you know, when I'm scrubbing down the grocery cart with Lysol wipes, excitedly tracking the latest storm, things like that. Those are endearing, right? Oh, those are psycho too?? Well forget it then.)

But back to my point.

The thing is, worry is sin. It's not a common cold in a world of cancer. It's not a plastic squirt gun in an arsenal. It is the demon of sin itself, "and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death."

I keep picturing the language of C.S. Lewis. I think it is The Screwtape Letters book where he talks about a "pet sin" someone keeps perched on his shoulder (maybe not the right language, but you know what I mean). The guy is attached to it. It's not that harmful, he likes it, he keeps it alive and close. For the longest time, I have been like that with anxiety.

And then it grew up. I think I'm going to blame it on motherhood, and you will all nod and sympathize. The lack of sleep. The crazy hormones. The truly terrifying reality that you love something so fragile. It all became too much.

And then I realized another thing God was right about... our health. Go figure, he who made the body knows what harms it. A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones. I'll tell you what it means for me. At the height of my anxiety, I went to see my doctor. I came for sinusitus, fatigue, "jitteryness," headaches, weight loss, and honestly there were probably a few more random things I can't even remember now. The very wise doctor gave me (instead of the panels and referals and screenings I expected) a prescription for generalized anxiety medicine. I still remember his words: "You know, when you start feeling better, you start feeling better." I was disbelieving. But since then, I have realized that it's not that my anxiety made me imagine my symptoms. No; they were real, because it created them.

Crazy as it sounds, it has been extremely therapeutic and freeing to think of myself as an alcoholic. I need help, beyond myself. At first I read the twelve steps of alcoholics anonymous a few times a day. I would take my deep breaths and soak in the truths and picture all the millions of drunks turned sober. If they can change, then I can, too.

I know it sounds like I am being overly dramatic, which, to be fair, is often the case. Maybe I am. All I know is, I was down and now I am up. I feel really grateful for the things that have helped. In the next post or two, I'm going to share some things that have been actually, clinically, helpful in treating anxiety for me.

In the meantime, here are the practical applications of this part of the story (because I'm a teacher, that's what we do at the end :)

- If you are someone who struggles with "recreational" worry, beware. If I could go back again, I would take my worry habits a lot more seriously, a lot earlier.
- Everyone has something. This is something my kind husband often reminded me of when I felt like the world's biggest most secret failure. Everyone has something they deal with.
- This too shall pass. God is so gracious, that for those who struggle with much, much worse than I do -there is light, and hope, and laughter, and joy comes in the morning.

I'm sorry for such a serious post here! I promise there are cute kid quotes coming again soon. In fact, I will leave you with this one, so we leave on a lighter note. :) But stay tuned for Part 3! :)

{cute kid quote} :

Sam: Mommy, you're beautiful.

me: Awww, thanks, Sam!
(pause) Sam, what does that mean?

Sam: It means you're nice!

{Sigh. Good enough I guess :}

Part I: God Loves Mommy Ducks

2012-06-17T10:49:00.004-07:00

I am such a little kid at heart. Actually, being quite honest in many ways I'm not. I get annoyed by messes, prefer being clothed, hate apple juice, and, oh, I like to nap. But I feel like vacation brings out the fun side of Jessica. Once I smell the salt, I have a one-track mind until my feet are squishing the sand. And, every single animal sighting brings me to squeals. You would never believe all the animals we saw on our recent trip to Myrtle Beach. I will spare you the list, but - get this - A REAL 11 FOOT LONG ALLIGATOR!!!!! My husband is going to interrupt me at this point and offer a more reasonable dimension. Ignore him. It was huge. And it was looking. right. at us. Yes, I was the one jumping up and down, craning to take pictures like I have lived in Hong Kong my whole life.

Then there were your token sand crabs (but big ones with pokey eyes), skinny lizards, jumping fish, and such. And, as mentioned, the Mommy Duck. We had a kind of affinity, the mommy duck and me. She looked so pathetically pre-occupied with those ducklings. Honestly her heart looked like it was going to pound out of her chest. (And let's be honest, she lived smack dab in the middle of a submarine splash park, so I kind of understand the apprehension.) We tried to give the ducks all crackers, and she wouldn't even eat any of them because she was petrified something was going to happen to the ducklings. Now things aren't so dire here that I would ever turn down a free cracker. So don't worry. But I do feel her pain.

To explain, I need to tell you a little about our life right now. Did you ever play "Jenga" as a kid? I sort of feel like my life is like Jenga. I keep pulling out logs, waiting for the pile to crash. It is like that parenting in general, you know. The first time they handed me Sam, I thought, "Seriously? I am in charge of this?? Are you going to give me a class first or something?" And when your child has a life-threatening allergy, the perilous and fragile nature of parenting always looms a little more ominously in the background.

We've had two really awful medical events back to back. And I am positive these are harder for us than him, being as we are the ones in control. Not really, of course, but sort of. I fish out the peanut shells in the sand where he's playing (most of the them?). I call the company to find out if the hot dogs are safe (enough?). I wash off the table (mostly?) before we eat at the pool. I manuever Sam around the kids with the cheeze-its. I recall what I've eaten before I kiss him goodnight. I always remember the epi pen. I diagnose cough as cold or asthma. I prepare, I watch, I monitor. And - I Am Tired. Really tired. It is too much. I'll miss something. I am not smart enough. I can't hold it all together. I'm not able to do this job.

On top of that, I feel guilty. When I think of what God thinks of me - even though a million people tell me otherwise - I feel ashamed. I know in my heart of hearts, I don't trust Him. I know in my heart of hearts, I'm frustrated and demanding and self-centered when I should be grateful.

Exhausted, and guilty. Not a real fun place to live.

Well, I have to tell you this. A long time ago when I was only weeks into being a mom, a friend of mine shared a verse with me. For us, she said. Us moms.

Isaiah 40:11
He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead those that are with young.

Did you catch the last line? He leads the mommies gently. I have loved that verse ever since.

With the tired, he is gentle.
With the worried, he is gentle.
With the guilty, he is gentle.
With the frightened, he is gentle.
With the little ones over which we worry, he is gentle.

And this is the great and wonderful present of Christianity that I love everytime: that he does not treat us as our sins deserve, but He leads us gently to rest.

introducing...

2012-06-13T17:58:00.001-07:00

Hi. The last few months have been pretty busy around here! Sam and Ty had birthdays, Cappy and Nanna took us to the "awesome ocean," we've relished a few emergency room visits, I purchased an awesome new bathing suit (online, nonetheless!), we joined a meat co-op, I flew on a plane for the first time post-children for a beautiful wedding in Michigan, we planted a garden (Okay, Todd planted a garden. I actually hate dirt..love flowers; hate dirt. I know...you thought I was more Pioneer Woman than that. I get that all the time.)

but back to the updates.. we got the stomach flu, the nieghborhood pool opened, I'm getting a niece (!!!), and let's see...Oh, I'm getting a niece!!!

Well, usually when I'm behind in blogging I just do a nice long welcome-back post to catch up on all the ways I've gotten smartter each day in my absence. Believe it or not, in this pause I have actually gotten so smartt that not one update will do. Folks, I have so many stories to impart that I have taken on the endeavor to begin an eight-part series (doesn't that sound sooo official??? I'm a real blogger! I just said "series"!!!)

You can look for Part I to run shortly. It has the sensational title of "The Duck That I Saw on Vacation." Trust me, folks, this is just as fascinating as it sounds. Dare I say, even more?? See you then!

ya gotta laugh

2012-05-05T06:01:00.001-07:00

I've been reading about the importance of humor in life. We had a truly hilarious night last night. Thinking about it in blog-form actually brought a smile to my face in the wee hours of the morning. Here is how it enfolded for Todd and me. 10:30 - lights out. 10:31 - Todd falls asleep. 11:00 - Snuggled up cozily, I realize it's probably getting too cold for Ty, who's in a short sleeve shirt. I rouse myself and go upstairs to turn the air down. 1:30 - The doorbell rings three times. Todd and I sprint from our beds in Santa-sighting fashion. Of course, there's no one there. Todd eventually sights a few envigorated pre-teens hiding behind some trees. 1:45 - back in bed. Todd mumbles something about how much fun those kids think they are having, which makes me wonder if we are getting some sort of divine retribution for some similar acts several decades ago. 2:00 - In one final hurrah of eighth grade deliquency, the doorbell rings again. Nice touch. (We ignore it.) 3:00 - Sam awakes, crying loudly. I race upstairs before he wakes up Ty to realize we are missing some particular stuffed animal. Whispering, I pacify him and go downstairs. 3:30 - Ty awakes for a bottle. Yes, a bottle. Yes, he is 14 months old. (I comply.) 5:30 - Sam awakes again, crying loudly. I rush upstairs to discover he has somehow stubbed his toe. We get settled down. Downstairs I inform Todd that when the boys wake up, it is his turn to get up in the morning. He responds, "I'd be happy to." "That's great," I say. "Because I hear him now practicing his consonants." Silence from Todd. Guess I must have still been whispering. 6:30 - Ty is still talking/crying. Todd and I have a brief but spirited discussion on what classifies crying. Todd leaves. *post-script. I did get to go back to sleep for a little bit. (Thank you Todd.) And when I got up, breakfast was being served, and unlike a prior snack of Dad's, it wasn't even applesauce with skittles. So all's well that ends well. And that's what coffee's for, right!

you know it's that time of month if...

2012-03-16T19:08:00.004-07:00

I don't think this will be as funny to anyone as it is to me. Oh well. Modeled after the illustrious Jeff Foxworthy's "You might be a redneck if..." is my own, timely, comedic list for women only.
you know you have PMS if...

- You think everyone else has PMS.
- You want some potato chips. Instead, you have an apple. And half a banana, with peanut butter. And some toast. And some crackers, and a handful of raisins, and three "m&ms," and, FINE. half a bag of chips.
- You get real annoyed. Not at just real live annoying people, but also yourself, insects, and animated characters. (But really. Who would EVER send a monkey to outer space. Idiot. And why does Bob the Builder have to be so GAY?? And if I wanted to listen to kids arguing, wouldn't' I just listen to my OWN kids, and not intentionally put on a movie of kids arguing?? End rant.)
- You cry at Carrie Underwood's youtube rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner," when you see ants on your counter, when your kids cry, and for other various causes.
- You may exhibit feverish determination to finish random, neglected household tasks. Such as, ahem, hanging all the pictures for your new house in one day. Without the right tools. When your kids are napping. And other craziness like that.
- You experience the simultaneous blessing of feeling both fat, and hungry, for most of the day.
- Your kids, subconsciously sensing the changing atmospheric conditions, choose this week to eat handfuls of toilet paper out of the toilet, to unanimously reject White Bean Soup, and to completely melt down while you are on the phone with an automated credit card line (which somehow completely understands THEIR background nonsense but cannot recognize one command which you are articulating in plain fierce English directly into the microphone.

So there's my list. Anyone up for a visit this week? No? You're already busy? I thought so. :)

How I Found Mr. Right

2012-03-11T16:46:00.011-07:00

A group of girls and I have been reading a psalm a week together, via the internet. Last week we did Psalm 77. Familiar favorite? Me neither, really. Until last week. I really resonated with the first part, where he's crying out, and desperate, and pleading with God. (Nevermind that David was probably fighting soldiers with spears in caves, and I am pining for my husband to get home. The point is, I get it.) The second part, though, was even better. Instead of staying there, he uses memories of the past to uplift his spirits again. He reminds himself of God in the past, so the future isn't so scary.

Which made me think of the story of me and Todd. I have actually been meaning to write it out for a while. You know, while I still actually remember, and while we still actually like each other. And let's be honest, things around here have been pretty redundant for a while (think: domestic version of Groundhogs Day) so it's nice to have some different material to write about. I know I always loved hearing about how my parents met, so years later when Sam and Ty read this blog (they will read it, right, with interest?) this story is chronicled somewhere.

Speaking of parents, I used to wonder/hope/joke that how one found a spouse was genetic. What I mean is, as a girl I longed for same luck my mom had: namely, that God SPOKE to her in words and intuitions and told her, when she saw some guy (Dad) raking the yard, that he was "The One." This is the sort of divine direction I sub-consciously expected (or consciously, come to think of it, as I journaled, prayed, and chatted with girlfriends routinely about the word from God we were all expecting on my future hubby.)

But back to my story, about my Mr. Right. Fast forward to college. The July before my senior year, in a whirlwind of events, I found myself engaged. Granted, there were no high-flying banners or rainbows appearing at the right moments, but I could not be more elated. I had met him through Young Life, where we were both leaders, and for nearly two years, harbored a secret, desperate, seemingly hopeless crush. For two years, only a handful of friends knew that I had fallen for my "team leader" (nevermind the lingo...point is, it's off-limits in Young Life). We were very different - me: practical, detailed, and scheduled; him, a dreamer, idealist, free spirit...But after a two-year massive crush, when I realized (gasp) he liked me too, NO ONE could talk me out of anything. The six months we dated were a magical, disbelieving blur. Then we got engaged in New York City, at the top of the Empire State Building; he wrote me a poem to propose. Our little Young Life circle rejoiced with us. I still remember calling my friend Jen from the NYC hotel, my brother hugging me so hard in congratulations, the voice mail from our would-be best man, telling me he was so happy for us, and to be involved in our day...

Then, it's odd, but in my mind there is about a four-month mental block. I remember nothing until my birthday, in October. I am standing in my dorm suite, putting on eyeliner, and I can't get it on right because I crying. I just remember feeling so odd inside, and not knowing why I am crying.

Then I remember about two weeks later. Again, it's odd...I have no idea of specifics - what made me upset - but I remember there's a vaccuum next to me, and it's after midnight, and I'm hiding my tears in a housekeeping closet so I don't wake my roommate. pCrouched next to tupperware, phone trembling in my hand, I call my mom. I'm 21, and I'm busy and grown-up and mom hasn't been needed for a few years, especially not in the middle of the night. But I didn't know what else to do, so I call her and I am shivering, not from cold but from fear. I remember telling her I feel like I'm going to throw up, and I remember saying the words: I'm afraid I'm making a mistake. She asks why; I don't know, or I can't say. I'm just afraid I'm making a mistake.

It was about two more months of that - the crying for help at all hours, the fear, the nonsense logic, the tears out of nowhere, the not knowing what I'm thinking or feeling or need to do with it all.

There were so many awful things. There was a dress hanging in the closet - what would I do with it if...? There were tickets booked to an island - would we just waste them if...?? There were posters with glitter and clippy magazine pictures outside my dorm - would I just rip them off? And there was my friend who hung out with me every night, who struggled through every problem with me, who I genuinely cared for and enjoyed, what would life be like without him? But the most awful thing, honestly, was knowing I could never be happy, either way. I couldn't be happy in this marriage - everyday it was more painfully obvious. We were too different. It didn't feel right. But how could it ever feel right without him? No one would ever "get" me like him. I could never fall more in love with anyone.
I remember sitting in an airplane, unscheduled visit to home, and my stomach felt sick. It was like my whole wonderful life, all 21 years of it, were thrown upside down, splattered and jumbled against a wall. Peace, happiness, hope - gone. My friend Marty loaned me a book, "Peace Like A River," to read on the plane. It was the only way I didn't sob the entire two hours. It was the most scary, foreign place in my life. I had never been so confused. I'd never had a broken heart. And honest to goodness, I'm pretty sure up until then I'd never made a mistake.

From what I remember, all of the awfulness got worse and worse until one moment where hope started coming, the first little bit. It was a very specific moment, the one where I was sitting on the brown couch in the sunroom at home (remember the unschedule trip), and FINALLY, made a decision.

The best thing to do was to put a hold on the wedding.

I could do that. Just take a break. {breath of fresh air}. I have no idea why it was so helpful to me, the baby steps of breakups, but that is how it needed to happen. First, a break. Then, broken engagement. Soon after, just friends. But not permanent, yet... And you know the oddest thing? What I had been fearing so much, at each step wasn't quite so horrible in actuality as I had feared in my head. Like giving back the engagement ring. I put on some lip gloss, and picked it up off the bowl where it had been sitting on my dresser, met him in the lobby and handed it back to him. Then we went and got ice cream. I know that sounds ridiculous. But it wasn't that bad. Grace for each step - Jehovah Jirah. The Lord provides. And you know something else? That semester I had been dreading, the one I almost skipped...it was the best I ever had. I went on trips, I loved my classes, my friendships blossomed, the Young Life girls I had been discipling, well, they were suddenly a lot more interested in what I had to say about everything...Our friends (who probably saw this coming anyway) were supportive. The would-be best man, the next time I saw him, told me he was proud of us, and he knew how hard it was for us to do what we did...There are so many things I'll never forget, like the letter my cousin sent me in my mailbox, the way my roommate held my hand when I cried, how my sister let me watch American Idol with her on nights I would have been alone. ...

And then I graduated and moved home. And the life that at one point seemed destined to be so awful was actually really, really great. I taught middle school. (You're supposed to read this as a positive:). I got an apartment, and found a great church. I ran a half-marathon. I got a new wardrobe, and made lots of new friends.

And in the process, I rediscovered a few old friends. One of them - you remember Todd, the would-have-been-best-man? :) Well, turns out I wasn't the only one who'd grown up a bit in the last five years. I had always enjoyed Todd in college, but as I was a bit distracted then, only a few things stuck out. One, he played guitar and had a tan all year long. Two, he was a pretty crappy on/off boyfriend to my friend Jen, and three, he was just so easy to be around. The more time we spent, the less I seemed to mind #2 (actually, it was quite convenient, come to think of it:), and more the list kept growing. He had character. He was fun, but didn't party. As a single guy, he spent most extra time reading John Grisham, hanging out with high schoolers via Young Life, and playing soccer. Um, cute. The New Year's Eve I saw him dancing with someone else, I knew it for sure. I had fallen for Todd. The fact that he almost wore a tux at my big day for quite a different reason was an afterthought, and a humorous one at that. And all that tragedy and trauma of a few years ago? I hardly remembered.

If I think of it at all now, the only emotion remaining is gratitude. GratefulI got out. Grateful I'm a better (humbler) person because of the suffering. Grateful for all the good that came out of it, in a million ways.

Of course, life isn't perfect. There were quite a few moments (which will remain anonymous) during the first year of marriage that weren't all bliss and euphoria. But a thousand times over, I love that I married the best man. He isn't perfect, but he's perfect for me. I love our boys...can't fathom that I wouldn't have THESE boys. It's different from my mom's, but mine, too, is a great story.

And like all the other great stories, there's a few morals behind it. (Come on...you can't be surprised - literature teachers always find the moral of the story:) These are the things I need to remember, my Psalm 77, my reminder when I'm frightened.

Often what seems like the worst thing ever is exactly what needs to happen.

Even when it feels like the end, it's never the end. The best is yet to come.

Suffering produces character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint.

When I remember this story, and others like it in my life (less dramatic ones :), I know why God tells us constantly to remember. The same God who was with me next to the vaccuum cleaners and boxes in the closet while I cried is with me in the kitchen when I'm worried.

I will remember the deeds of the LORD;
yes, I will remember your wonders of old.
I will ponder all your work,
and meditate on your mighty deeds.
Your way, O God, is holy.
What god is great like our God?
(Psalm 77:11-13 ESV)

disclaimer: i sort of rushed the end part of this, the part where I do justice in words and paragraphs to all the wonderful things about dating my husband. Rest assured (Todd) it is coming. I just felt like this epic needed to end. Stay tuned for Part II!

Happy Birthday Ty

2012-03-04T17:32:00.002-08:00

Dear Ty,

My mom always said you'll wonder how you could love the second kid as much, and then you do. I admit it, I did wonder. But she was right. You are the perfect Ty for our family. It was missing a Ty. I love how you say Dad, and Mom, and Sam (which, albeit, sounds more like "sss" - but don't worry, we get it) and "cool", your third word. What baby says "cool" for their third word? And in the right context even?
Speaking of, I love how your remind me of your daddy. You are so handsome, with the best summer blond hair and bright blue eyes. Your best friends (besides Sam) are the vacuum, the humidifier, the dishwasher, the remote, the fan, and any other cord you can eat. Already you have done three things on my phone I didn't know I could do. I give you two years before I'm asking YOU questions about technology. You love sports, too. And you do like books, mostly to eat. But I know that glimmer in your eyes when we read that color book means librarian-turned-mom still has a chance.

Don't worry, we have completely forgotten when you screamed bloody murder for a few hours a day those first months. We always suspected you had a sweet little personality lurking under the surface. You still tell us what you want (by yelling in our faces) but what a happy guy you are. Nothing is more fun than seeing you holding onto the edge of the crib in the morning, peeking out, laughing and smiling when I walk in the door. I know you're ready to come out when I start hearing your animals thud to the floor. Then the blankets and socks. One time you had half an arm out of your pajamas in addition. Might not be long before you're down to a diaper when you're ready to come out.

I pray for your wife often, that you'd find a good one. I don't know why.

Nothing makes you happier than that first moment we come outside, catching/chewing/watching a ball, seeing your Sam, getting picked up, eating blueberries, or getting kissed on your tummy.

What a gift it is to be your mom. You can stay one forever though.

I love you,
Mom

reflection

2012-02-11T17:08:00.000-08:00

There are things that become incredibly relevant when you are a mom, things that didn't mean as much before. Printable coupons. The flu season. Whether or not your husband will be home EXACTLY in time for dinner. And other sorts of things like that.
Also, C.S. Lewis. I have mentioned this before, but quite a few times I have found myself remembering a quote, and baffling that he was a middle aged mostly-bachelor who lived almost a century ago. Because, he knows me.

Like this quote: "There have been times when I think we do not desire heaven, but more often I find myself wondering whether, in our heart of hearts, we have ever desired anything else."

That first part, about not being quite as holy as we think we should - now that rings true here in momland. See I used to be quite holy, back in college. I had daily, sacred quiet times, in which I prayed for all of the lost, and nearly all of fruits of the spirit (not just patience). I journaled; I sung (with my eyes closed, mind you) at worship night; I discussed. Oh, how I discussed. Heaven, in its official self, was near.

These days are a little different. Actually I have quite a complex about that holy Jessica of long ago. She has been replaced with someone who gets annoyed easily, who says her prayers mostly in bed, with warm covers on (you can see where this is going), and...I think I know where my Bible is, but a journal??? Forget it.

Which makes me wonder, comparitively, if I will be knocking on heaven's door one day and somehow have forgotten my verses, and theologies, and...feel out of place.

I hope Mr. Lewis is right, then, that the inklings of heaven are still right here with me even if books and Bible studies have been replaced by dishes and diapers. And if I look at my heart, I think he is right.

Behind all of the vitamins and check-ups and seat-belt-buckling and baby-gate-installing and sneaking of vegetables into things, is the hope that nothing bad will ever, ever happen to my family. Heaven. Everytime I worry about my own health, it's just because I want to live forever with the ones I love. Heaven. Everytime my heart breaks for yet another family with sick kids, heaven. Everytime I'm hungry, and tired, and need strength for another day, heaven. Everytime I'm struck with how perfect my children are, and somehow hugging them tight is not enough - I want the moment to last forever...heaven. Everytime I'm lonely. Everytime I'm worried. Everytime I hurt. Heaven.

"If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world."
- C.S. Lewis

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

ramblings from the deep end

2012-02-02T11:06:00.000-08:00

First, I want to answer the obvious question here, the one I am getting all those comments about. (Not the comments below, they text them. I get lots of text comments.) And that question is, Jessica, what's up with all these blog posts recently? You've been MIA, and now three in one week! Well, folks, the truth is, it's not that anything more exciting is happening here than usual. But there's an equation concerning blogs, which you might know if you have one. The equation is, the longer you wait between posts, the more important the next post has to be. And thus, the more recent the post, the lamer your next one can be. See, now I can post about my new favorite shampoo now or a funny comment Sam made about poop. But, if it's been three months, people start to wonder about you. "Three months, and she's posting about that? She thinks that is important? But once you get that first welcome-back post out of the way, the sky's the limit. Which is why you are getting this post, which may or may not be full of helpful/odd tidbits of life here (off in the deep end).

Sometimes, I feel bad for Todd. When he calls me, he really never knows what he's going to get. I could giddy about a surprise I just made him. Sometimes the whole family is giggling and tickling each other. Sometimes I share my amazing (next) idea to make a million dollars and be famous. Of course other times, I am screaming my head off at someone who is unravelling/shredding/eating the toilet paper. Sometimes I am on hold with the credit card company and about to rip someone's head off. Sometimes I am weeping, and, moping, and forloin about how untan and mushy I've gotten. It's a shot in the dark.

The point is, I waffle. Here is the latest little experiment Todd got to witness. I am sure, for not the first time, he was sure his wife was jumping face-first off into the deep end. Basically, I have self-diagnosed myself (here is Todd's cue to groan and roll eyes) as being overloaded with toxins and irritants to my sinuses. So I've determined there are ways to reduce my body's toxic and/or stress levels. I know that phrase sounds funny coming from me, sort of like when I heard my sister Jenny talking about the Giants' defensive strengths. It seems odd. But really as the purpose of this blog is to entertain and inform, I am sure that my clever little list of life and body cleansing tips will do either amuse or help someone. Here are the things I have tried.
- Eliminating additives and dyes. Now this includes all the obvious fun stuff - oreos, pudding cups, bacon, coffee creamer, mayonnaise, etc. etc. But darn it, you can also find these stupid things in places that should never be black-listed. In the name of purity I also said goodbye to Colgate, Motrin, mouthwash, my precious Bath and Body works body wash, lip gloss, hand soap, emergen-C packets, fabric softener, and foundation. In what world should one feel guilty about brushing your teeth and taking vitamin C??? I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But read the labels!! It's shame!
- In the process, here are all the things I've discovered you can wash effectively with vinegar: kitchen floors, my hands, the bathroom sink and toilets, unorganic produce, clogged drains, kitchen counters, and, my sinuses. And judging by the overall stinging sensation I got from that last one, I'm pretty sure the rest of them are clean. real clean.
- Here are some "greener" substitutes I have found for aforementioned items: Dr. Bronner's body soap bars (found them at Trader Joe's... But, as my cousin Sarah pointed out, great soap, WEIRD guy), baking soda and peroxide for toothpaste (this one was not fun), and coconut oil for lotion/lip gloss.
In case you're curious, I'm back now, from that brief retreat into the life I should really be living. There are a few things I will leave in that life. Things like baking soda in my mouth, unless it is minisculey mixed with sugar, flour, and chocolate chips. Also, the vinegar in my sinuses routine. I think Sam thought I was a crazy person when he kept seeing me with an afghan over my face at the kitchen table.
However, I do plan to continue utilizing vinegar to clean everything other than my nasal cavities. I read somewhere how a lady cleans her bathroom with three paper towels and a squirt bottle of vinegar. Intruguing, is it not? Additionally, I found those natural soaps quite pleasant, and I plan to research natural makeup products. But you know, here is my conclusion. In the words of the very wise Bob Wiley: "Baby steps." As wonderful as my week-long toxic fast was, and as many things as I learned, I think am going to baby-step my way into Green Land. This is essentially my tactic to buy a few more years of Oreos in my life, but whatever. Baby steps.

today

2012-02-01T16:58:00.000-08:00

Aren't faults so much easier to see in junior high kids? The insecurity. The desperate throwing the stapler across the room for attention. The distinct need for braces, and definite lack of deoderant. And, the ifs. If I had a boyfriend. a girlfriend. if we didn't have uniforms. if this test was cancelled. if i had a boyfriend, or better parents. if we win our game. if i had a boyfriend. did I say a boyfriend? That one was always popular. They never listened to me when I told them that, trust me, living with a man, pleasant as it is, is surely not heaven itself.

Those middle schoolers. I was always so amused, and so critical. And here I am, a middle schooler for a mom. Whatever irritation, fear, or imperfection there is - it colors everything I see. If I am sick, that is all I think about. If Ty is fussy, that is all I think about. If I have gotten no sleep, or have a headache, or worried about a decision I must make, it is all I think about. It is a shame of a way to live a life, with one olive poisoning the rest of the delicious salad (blech).
Like my abs, my optimism muscle has gotten weak with age, so I am going to exercise it. (Okay, neither were that great to begin with.)
Today was a wonderful, beautiful day.
I slept through the night!
At dinner Sam thanked God with scrunched eyes for all our dinnerrrr, and all our luuuuunch, and all our foooood (he draws out syllables when he is extra grateful.)
Both of the boys thought it was hilarious when I tickled them with an orange. Come on, anything for a laugh.
We drove the airport and saw two planes land. On the way there, a plane flew over our heads. The excitement in Sam's voice when he saw it was priceless.
Before Ty's nap, he threw all his animals out of the crib and then cried when each one hit the floor. I had to laugh.
Sam gave me a hug, unpromted, when I got him out of his high chair, and told me, Mom, I love you.
At lunch he said, Mom, I love Dad. I just love that guy.
Ty snuggled me on the way up the stairs.
We played outside, and it was beautiful - sixty and sunny. In January.
Sam gave Ty a "gently, gently hug" when he bumped his head. It's only taken ten months, but, gosh, I think they like each other.
I got to chat with two friends from college, the disability insurance guy, AND the mailman gave me an especially personal smile. Good day for a stay-at-home mom!
I got to hear Sam and Todd wrestling, throwing the football, and saying their prayers.
The only casualties for the day were a broken candle, a cup of oats on the floor, and a ripped magazine. Not bad considering we spent 90% of the day inside.
Right now, I hear the most adorable voice in the world calling Mommy Mommy to give him some more big boy cup. Yes, the big boy cup is basically a graduated bottle habit we need to kick, but it is the cutest sound in the world.
I can see, and I can walk, and my kids smile back at me and we spent all day in our home, and not in a hospital and I have more than I need.
Today was a wonderful day.

why I hate pears

2012-01-31T17:06:00.000-08:00

I owe some of you an apology. Well, probably most of you, for some reason or another, but the ones who are getting one today are sinus sufferers. Yup, that's what I said. See, there are two kinds of people in the world. There are those of you who read that last phrase, with the mention of the sinuses, and thought, "booooring. Poo. I half thought this blog was going somewhere juicy." And then there are others of you, who have actually had sinus problems, and your precious hearts went out. Having undergone the agony of the throbbing head, the gucky drainage, and the stuffy nose, ears, hair follicles etc, you FEEL for those sinus sufferers.
Unfortunately, until about October, I was one of the former. And yes, if you ever told me your sinuses were bothering you, I confess that the words you were saying were interpreted as something in between, "I stubbed my toe a few weeks ago," and those sounds that Charlie Brown's mom makes on the videos. Basically, I ignored you.
Well thanks to the world's. worst. january. in Charlotte, NC (always fall, never winter), I now get it.
I will tell you how I experienced it, so if you have kept reading this scintillating entry you will get the distinct priviledge of experiencing sinus drainage issues from the standpoint of a hypochondriac. Now if that isn't an interesting story plot, what is.
Anyhow, at first I thought I was dying of a throat tumor. Yes, I webmd-ed "throat cancer," "lump in throat," "hard to swallow," etc, etc. Yes, I visited the ENT. I inwardly scoffed at (and dismissed) his diagnosis of "sinusitis." As the weeks turned into months, and we plotted through January slushing through mud puddles one day, sweating the next, and rummaging for gloves by the weekend, let's just say our sinuses have been through the equivalent of an air-pressure blender. And yes, I turned into one of those people (they're not all over 50, apparently) weeping and moping about "my poor sinuses."
Luckily, I have a few listeners more sympathetic than I've been. Todd repeatedly reminded me (still reminds me) in periods of fear and trembling that, probably, you don't have a tumor in your nose, and probably, we don't have mold growing irrevocably in the foundations of our house, and most likely, it will eventually turn into spring. Most likely.
Also, my mom. She listened, she commiserated, she suggested remedies. And here is where things turned a bit south, in referenced to the pears formerly mentioned. Somehow between the two of us, we determined that there was probably a group of foods tormenting those poor sinuses even more. Call them allergies, if you will (I will; she won't), call them triggers if you'd rather, but the point became, why don't you try an elimination diet.
Now if you know me, you know that any sort of "diet" (unless it is some sort of experimental, eat-appetizers-every-three-hours diet), should be suggested timidly, tenantively, and with no expectation of success, as one might approach a wild bear with hopes of a hug. It's a bad idea. And, truly, this was a most terrible idea, because between the two of us the lines of communication got crossed and through my head-throbbing fever somehow the list of foods I believed I should eat was whittled down to about four. Chicken, bananas, rice. And pears.
While I was sick with a sinus infection. And a headache. Needless to say, we've seen more cheerful family moments. I wasted away to a shadow of myself. I exaggerate not. I dreamed about cheese, fantasized about ketchup, drooled over Sam's breakfast sausage. It was bad. And it was only 72 hours.
At that point, Todd walked in the closet and there occured a conversation that went something like this:
Todd: Why are you sitting on the floor in the closet?
me: I'm praying. I'm asking God if I can have some Papa John's.
Todd: (chuckling, because he has no idea what it is like to eat a pear for every meal) Well why don't you come out?
me: This is taking all my strength.
Later, when I had somehow traversed to the living room:
me: You never answered me about the pizza. You're not helping at all. You aren't even paying attention. (If this seems harsh, remember, he has had a chili dog for dinner, and I have consumed less calories all day than I usually eat for breakfast.)
Todd: Well, I'm not sure if the pizza is a good idea right now. You're sick. But I have questioned the timing of this plan.
And that, folks, was somehow the snap back to reality. Today, as I speak to you, I am on day 2 of antibiotics for, wait for it - nod in sympathy - THE SINUS INFECTION. Are you sympathizing??? You should be. Also, I have eaten more foods. Some bread, which tasted like heaven, and a waffle, and, I do admit, a pear. But it's because I wanted to. Not because I like them, but because I preemptively bought three bags, and I am too frugal not to. But when the bags are done, that's it. No more pear diet. I can promise you that if I do ever do an elimination diet, I will choose an alternate fruit. And it will be more clearly planned. And it won't be during, you know, the dreaded S.I. !!!!

To Ty

2012-01-22T17:29:00.001-08:00

Ty:
One day when you read this blog, you'll wonder where I was for the first year of your life. Then another day, when you have your second child, you'll understand.
Ty, for months I have been wanting to write this post. We love you so much. You are hilarious. We have now learned if we want to predict our kids' personalities, we should write down all observations at three months old, and then reverse them. You once seemed so calm and easy-going! Now we now not to plop you down anywhere and just walk away, that you fake-cry when mom walks in the room, that when you're sure you're starving at 3 am, we should just give up and feed you. We know you have no patience for waiting in the pack-n-play, for food to be set down, and getting that bottom wiped.
You talk all the time. It started with "Oooooooo!" (volume goes up and down) whenever you got excited. Now you love to say "dad." You try to say Sam, and no, and bottle. Your little chubby hands clapping, and waving, and reaching so big are the cutest. I love when you sing when we sing and talk back to Sam. Nothing, nothing, makes you laugh as much as Sam. His laugh is funny, his hair is funny, when he hugs (read = squeezes) you it's funny, when he runs it's funny. The other day he was throwing a pot holder against the wall and it was SO funny.
I've never, ever seen a baby so disinterested in toys. If you can't bounce it, you won't touch it. Instead, I pry you away daily from the vaccuum, the china closet, the stairs, the toilet, the trash can, the computer, my cell phone, and the every power adapter we use.
I think you are a lot like your dad. You love taking things apart. You love cords and wires and plugs and anything electric. You aren't clumsy, and even, dare I say it, athletic. You're more interested in climbing and crawling and walking than sitting still for too long. And maybe, maybe one day you'll have his patience.
You are so cuddly and smily and love getting tickled and sung to and bounced and hugged. Everyday I love you more. I'm so glad your mine.
Love,
Mom

a blink of time

2011-12-06T18:07:00.000-08:00

When we were in high school, my sisters and I babysat for a wonderful family. Two families actually...brothers with kids. We loved them, still talk about them, and fight over their names for our kids. If more proof is needed, today - ten years later - I am writing a blog about them; last week, their mom wrote one about us.

See, recently I moved back to my hometown and found myself in need of a babysitter. And who would come to mind, of course, but my former kiddos - the two little girls that still in my mind have aqua glasses and gaps between their teeth and sleep with stuffed animals and nightlights on. It is cute, and ironic, and also disconcerting, that these girls can babysit my boys.
I don't know why that would be so troubling. Kids grow up. Fast. It's something since my very first public outing with a baby everyone from the Walmart cashier to the neighbors wistfully points out. "Oh, enjooooy these days. They will be grown before you know it, blah blah blah." So I have no idea why the fact that the three little kids from Concord are in high school now is so riveting to my system. But it is.
See, if these kids are grown {practically} then it happened in a blink. Boom. They're grown. And, if Jenn's kids really and truly are done with playdough, and don't play Candy Land, and don't need you to pull up their pants with they're done, why {gasp} MINE WILL BE TOO.

In a blink.

This is a theme for me. Yesterday - twice - I stumbled upon this quote.

“But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.”
~Anna Quindlen

This mom makes me sad. I'm sad her moment is gone forever, with the kids talking about nonsense on the grass. But mostly, I am sad because she is me, and I am busy configuring the router and planning the menu and chopping the onions. Too busy.

But I am a firstborn, and so, it's not just weepy Hallmarkness that the marching of time evokes in me.

Also, I feel motivated. Frantic, really. Something akin to the last day of vacation, run-outside-before-the-rainbow-moves, turn-over-your-paper-and-start-your-essay feelings. There is so much to do, and so, obviously, little time. I don't know if my Uncle Jerry coined the phrase or just made it famous to us: "Raising little kids is the shortest years and the longest days of your life."

I sort of wish God had made parenting kids more spliced out in life. You know, a few months of good sleep here, a sabbatical year there. Which come to think of it, is probably why people love being grandparents so much. (Namely, that you have all the influence but get to go home and sleep all night in your own bed.) But parenting has no such privileges. It is all and not nothing. All all all. All day, all night, all energy, all the time.
I have so much I want to accomplish with these kids, and a few more I'd like to have. In my dreams I am part Pioneer Woman, part Ann Voskamp and these moms who have homeschooling blogs, and go on field trips, and learn spontaneous lessons about rock quartz in the backyard and read everything and go all over, adventuring.

But in real life...Right now, for instance, I have a headache. There are books all over, and they need to go on the shelf. If I don't get a shower now, I won't, and the cookie swap is tonight. And I'm so. so. so. TIRED.

See, mothering is like a marathon, sprinted. Yes. I am tired; that sounds about right. I have never run a marathon, but I'm pretty sure there's not much time to do much else on the side. Sure, you do what you need to do - grab a banana, stretch a sore muscle, stop for a few words of encouragement to push through, and eventually the analogy breaks down, because I'm pretty sure there's a glass of wine in there too once in a while. But irregardless, it is hard, and all you do for a while.

When I see my former clients soon, and they come to be MY mother's helpers, I secretly hope they aren't all grown-up looking. It would be easier to swallow if I pretend they are different kids from the two I colored pictures with. But no, I think it's best that I remember.

And then I will look at mine, little and grubby and needing things, and I will try to stay focused, and motivated, and caffeinated, and organized, for this raising children stage.

Because hard as it is, it is a blink.

God, grant me enough sleep to do this job. Give me just enough breaks to be refreshed, but not enough to lose my focus. Grant me creativity, especially at 4:30 in the afternoon. Help us learn as much as we can about the big wide world, for you made it. Oh, and thank you.

Dear Steven Curtis Chapman

2011-12-05T18:12:00.001-08:00

Dear Steven.

Hi. We've known each other for a long time. We go way back. You probably remember that concert in '96 in Charlotte. It was at a church and I'm PRETTY sure we made some good eye contact. Could have been the blinding lights, also.
Anyways, I guess I've had distant admiration for you for a while. To be honest, growing up I was more of a Michael W. sort of girl. Might have been that raspy voice. But I did like you, too. You always made me cry with that "I Will Be Here" song. That was sweet. And, of course, the later Cinderella song about your little girls. Which reminds me, I can't believe how amazing you and your wife have been since the tragedy involving the loss of your child. I think that's what really made me respect you, on a truly serious level.

And then most recently, I want to thank you for that song you wrote about me. That - was so special.

When I heard it, when Sam and I were driving to Lowe's last week, I truly burst into tears. Because, why yes, yes I did pick up toys for the 15th time, and try to match socks, and yes I did throw color on my lips and a baby on my hip, and yes, I was completely exhausted and wondering the point of it all was.

And then you reminded me. See, I got confused. Sometimes I honestly and truly believe that getting the potatoes peeled before naptime, or the bills done by the 15th, or the prescriptions picked up before 4 - that the point is to DO everthing (or at least one thing!?) on the list. And you knew how stressed that was making me, because of course having a to-do list and a toddler is just asking for disappointment. It won't get done, probably, whatever it was that needed done. Thanks for reminding me that "it all matters just as long As you do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you." When you told me that, I really felt better. I felt hopeful. Like I had a goal I could accomplish. Would that last load of laundry be folded before bedtime? Heck, would the FIRST load of laundry be folded?? Um, let's be honest NO. Would my children do what I wanted them to? Not looking good. But could I do everything for God? Well, now THAT I could try. His yoke is easy and his burden is light.

You know me, Steven. Too, too well. Thanks again for the reminder. Until we meet again...

literary analysis (are you excited!!?)

2011-12-04T16:53:00.000-08:00

Today I saw Ellen, a wonderful lady I know, in the Harris Teeter. At the end of the conversation she noted that she'd missed my blogs recently. (As, obviously, there's been like two since 4th of July, or something.) I promised her I'd write one, so here we are.
I am always a little surprised when someone (besides my parents) says they enjoy my blog. The reason I'm surprised is actually the same reason I haven't posted in a while. (Okay, part of the reason I haven't posted is that I'm pretty sure my brain is turning to mush due to lack of sleep, doing the same 5 things all day long - telling Sam no, making food, cleaning up food, wiping, carrying, dressing or undressing someone) - and from hurriedly packing and unpacking everything we own before each box is devoured - literally and figuratively - by a toddler or a baby.)
But anyway, the other reason I hesitate to post is this. I feel like about 75% of what I have to say is about boring, embarassing, unoriginal same old thing: worry. Bleh. Sure the landscape changes. Sometimes Sam is wheezing. Sometimes I'm dying of something. Sometimes tornadoes, or politics, or the state of America's youth are scary. (But feel me there. Don't you just get the creeps visiting a playground trying to imagine how your kid is going to find an acceptable spouse? Seriously ya'll.) Anyways, the point is, if I were an English teacher (stretch) and I were trying to decipher themes from this exqusitite work of art known as "Smartter Each Day," there would be one main theme, and that would be worry.
And who likes to hear about worry? I've gotta work on some new material, for real. But that's the thing. For REAL, being REAL, I. Just. Worry. It's how I see life, and how God meets me. As goes the quote from my favorite book, Calm My Anxious Heart, "My life has been full of numerous misfortunes, most of which never occurred." I laughed when I read that because it is so me! It is embarassing that I meet God not in terrors and tragedies but in imaginary troubles.

My brother-in-law Dan used to say, "teacher out for summer!" in this sarcastic sort of tone whenever I tried to release pent-up teacher energy on my family. You know, making them do projects, reprimanding people for not raising their hands...perfectly understandable things like that. Well I do guess he's right, about the excess teacher energy thing. Like now, I miss school. Which is probably why I made a color-coded sticker chart for Sam's daily activities, and why we visit the library every other week. And then there's this. The other day I was thinking about my life, and analyzing it like a work of literature. You know. You have the author. (God.) The beautiful, intriguing, complex main character. (Ahem.) And then, the plot.
See it's kind of funny. If I were asking questions to my students, trying to get them to understand the meaning behind the story, first we would examine the main character. What do we know about her? They would raise their hands and say, well, she is afraid a lot. She worries too much. She has a really good life, but always struggles to trust that God will take care of her.
But here's where it gets interesting. What does the author (God) do with her life? One, he takes care of her, constantly. But also, he gives her Sam, a wonderful little boy with the severe food allergies. Now note. He is perfectly healthy. But he has a condition which MIGHT if he COULD POSSIBLY be exposed to certain things suffer POTENTIAL severe effects. Now the question I would ask, as literature teacher, is of course, why did God write the story that way? Why give that girl that child? In plain English, doesn't it sound like a horrible idea to give a neurotic mom a kid who needs constant monitoring to not ingest one of the #1 ingredients in common foods? Doesn't that sound like a recipe for disaster???

I can't tell you how many times I have thought about this. Not so much as in complaining to God, because in a million years I would never change one single thing about Sam, and, obviously, he is a perfectly healthy little boy. But more I marvel, almost in a comical sort of way. God, why did you do it this way?

And I know the answer. Actually, I mentioned the correct answer earlier, in sarcasm. "A recipe for disaster." Because it is disaster. My story, what little bits I can see, is perfectly, wonderfully disastrous.

I collapse.

I can't do it.

I. NEED. GOD.

Can I tell you that a million times a day, and at night in my prayers, I pray for protection against residual peanuts, and powdered formula, and inhaled butter fumes, and dog dander and a thousand other real or imagined threats to my wonderful life. And a million times a day I am reminded of two things. One, I do not own my wonderful life. And two, I need God. It's perfect. It's just what the little girl with trust issues needed to see.

So there's our literature class for today. And something completely unoriginal to this blog AGAIN. Geez, you'd think if I really were getting "smartter" I'd be gaining ground in this worry thing, huh? :) But ps. one more thing. If you haven't read your life like a work of literature, you should. It is very insightful to think about! Why did God write YOUR life this way??? :) (I know, I know, teacher out for summer!!!)

2011-11-17T16:54:00.000-08:00

It's hard for me to think about this conversation without getting emotional. Truly, it's kind of comical, but also on the wrong week of the month, gets the tear ducts moving if you feel me. I tried really hard to remember how it went and even took some notes during...which was a little tricky, as I was driving. Here is the gyst.

Sam: Mom, this is song is Jesus a sigh-a."
me: Yeah, it says Jesus is the Messiah."
Sam: Mom what's sigh-a?
me: Well, it means that Jesus loves us very much and he's going to take us to heaven one day. (Yes, I know I oversimplified. Give me a break, people. Had to take some theological liberties here; he's two.)
Sam: Where's heaven, Mom?
me: Um, it's...very far away. It's a really fun place where we will be with Jesus forever, a really long time.
Sam: And God too?
me: Yes, God too.
Sam: Mom, drive there.
me: Well...you can't drive there. God will take us there when he wants to.
Sam: Is heaven that building, mom?
me: No. It's really far away.
Sam: Will we take the sidewalk?
me: Not really the sidewalk. We'll go with God. It's a great place. We won't get sick, or be scared, or get boo-boos or anything. And it won't rain. (It was raining. Sam and I hate the rain. If you want rain in your heaven, then omit this part.)
Sam: Is heaven over there?
me: No, it's, um, heaven isn't really near here.

long pause. Brief conversation about why Sam's shoes are wet on the bottom, and how Ty ate a leaf recently.

Sam: Mom will there be shoes in heaven?
me: (pause.) Do you want to wear shoes? (No.) Then, no. No shoes.
Sam: Is there goin be toys?
me: Yes, lots and lots of toys.
Sam: And me and Jesus will play with toys!

About at this point we were home. I debated prolonging the trip to see if he'd ask any more questions. But I think the moment was over. what a hoot! :)

update(s)

2011-10-03T17:20:00.000-07:00

Where to start? I've received so many emails and phone calls demanding updates on my "no worries" resolution, so I'll start with that. (okay, more like my husband mentioned it in passing two weeks ago. At least someone remembered. :) It's been almost two months since I gave up worry for lent, or fall, or something.

How's it going, you ask? Well, it was going great. I wrote the blog, went to bed, and things were going swimmingly. Then I woke up and sort of felt that left-arm-numbness-thing I've been noticing. That was a bit of a battle to my spirit. But nothing compared to Day 3 of No Worry Living, when Sam had an allergic reaction to something still unknown, in our living room (carpet? pesticide? peanut butter?), and we had to administer the epi pen and call 911 and rush him to the doctor. I mean, I guess I knew there would be trials and tribulations to surmount. But really, God, really??!? The epi pen on Day 3??! Initially, even this challenge was met with confidence, maturity, and strength. What I mean is, the paramedics (and my mom) were impressed with my attention to detail, yet refusal to cry like a little girl, even though anyone would be scared.

It was only days later that I basically crumbled like a cookie in a lunchbox. Crumbled apart. The terror, the adrenaline, the questions that needed answers, the rashes that needed watching, the doctors who needed prompting...

Worry is like a toilet. No, not just that it's crappy. (Seventh grade humor...sorry. Too much time with my husband.) No, picture the part where it flushes and water is swirling and swirling and sucking down. Worry swallows everything. There is no middle ground. Worry a drop about something; soon you will worry oceans about anything. Either worry is dead or worry is tyrant. So I guess despite my failure it wasn't a total loss. I have learned a lot about worry. I have learned how destructive worry can be. I have learned I am a hypochondriac. (Who knew? Oh, you did? Shoot.) Finally I have learned that I can be great at managing worry, especially with a little medicine, a glass or two of wine, people who listen, a few good nights of (mostly) uninterrupted sleep, when I am surrounded by people, and, ahem, at certain happier times of the month.

I am not the hero of this story. I did a bad job not worrying. (Although give me a little break...the epi pen on day 3?!?! Did anyone think I'd survive that??) I still remain resolute as ever for the next 23 days. I think I am just more humble now. I know I am a worry junkie. I need to go to AA meetings and run like heck when I see a needle. It's my pathetic drug to cope with life, and I am grateful for people who help.

SO there is that update. Now that we've gotten that out of the way here are a few random happenings and thoughts of the last two months.
- We are praying for the right next place to live! Our house is rented. Where do we go next? No pressure, since it's not like our kids will probably grow up in this house, and I'm sure our 3.85% interest rate will be around any old time we need it again. (!?!?!)
- I am teaching again. I have the most wonderful students EVER. Sam, Jack, and Lincoln, so far. Homeschool preschool rocks.
- It's not too late to get up in the wee hours of the morning (or just the regular morning, only if you have a toddler and baby, heads up that it may FEEL like the wee hours of the morning) to read your Bible with us! I am so grateful for this program, and for all the friends all over the country who are reading with me! We sign in via facebook in the morning for accountability. Not too late! Join us!
- Have you been checking out my other blog? It is called The Allergy Free Kitchen. Keep it in mind if you want a yummy recipe for dinner, or if anyone you know needs to eat without a certain allergy. Pass it along!
- Finally. I have realized I have a love/hate relationship with pop culture, now that I am offically an adult. Love: I want to be cool again. When did I lose it? (Oh, yes, that's right. When I got pregnant.) Anyway, I miss shopping. I miss knowing how to do my eye makeup, or doing my eye makeup in general. I resent the realization that I am actually not wearing the kind of jeans the cool kids are wearing. But also: HATE. At the risk of sounding like a grandmother (no - I take it back. No "risk" - I offically WILL sound like a grandmother.) BUT WHEN THE HECK DID AMERICA GO TO POT??? (I warned you...grandmother.) But seriously. Maybe I have just been removed from culture too long while I was burping and shushing and making babyfood. But have teenagers always been so grungy and disrespectful and texting nonstop and just plain NOT who you want your precious little boys to grow up and be with? (or - gasp - be LIKE??) Has mainstream TV always been so full of sex and boobs and really awful people?? Seriously??

Okay, I am off my soapbox. Just had to note it, for the one other person in the world who also feels that way, now you are not alone! :) haha.

Whew, thanks for reading this quite random update, and I promise I won't be gone so long next time!

before 30

2011-08-06T06:48:00.000-07:00

You have probably heard of this thing where people list 30 things they want to do before they turn 30. I am behind a little. I only have 81 days to do whatever crazy things I want to do. Typically this type of thing would be right up my alley. But I have subconsciously been avoiding it for two reasons I just realized. First, even though it sounds cliche, I am joining the club of people who are in denial about their age. I am still coming to terms with the fact that "thirty-year-olds" are not people who hang out with my parents, or those dragging their kids to little league games, or people who tell cheesy jokes and drink adult drinks. No, "thirty-year-olds" are MY FRIENDS, and I am one of them. Sigh. My mom says when you are a kid life goes so slow and then somewhere around adulthood it starts rolling like a snowball until about 50 it is racing so fast you have no idea what's happening. Guess I better hold on.

Anyway, I think the second reason I haven't done the 30 before 30 is that to be honest, making a list like that just wouldn't be that big of a deal, for me or anyone else who knows me. I live and breathe lists. Grocery list, wish lists, meal lists, goal lists, packing lists, project lists. I'm one of those people who adds something to the list just to cross it off. (You know who you are.) I make so many lists that last year I decided that a master notebook (think Trapper Keeper, thirty-somethings) to hold all of my books of lists would be a good investment. It held my notebook for grocery lists, my notebook of project lists, and my notebook of - wait for it - miscellaneous lists. (this is not a joke.) When describing my trapper keeper to my husband, this was the point at which he burst out laughing.

No, for me the challenge has never been lining the lists and getting the goals. My 30-before-30 list would just be one more feather in my cap for self-accomplishments and petty victories. If I really think about, for me a REAL success would be to STOP doing, stop planning, stop analyzing, stop achieving, stop predicting and charting and mandating and controlling and thinking and... DO NOTHING.

In other words, to stop worrying.

Hmmm. The first time this insane idea crossed my mind I literally laughed. What a ridiculous, impossible thing. To make a goal to stop worrying! Makes for a good chicken-soup-for-the-soul story but how in the world. How would I even find the resources to totally, totally let go and with all my strength and heart and mind work on being positive? Too crazy.

And then I was dared to. I was talking to my mom; I can't remember if it was the time I thought Ty had whooping cough or I was having another kid or I couldn't ever have another kid or Sam was too energetic or too lethargic or what. But anyway, I was bemoaning the state of me, the inflicted worrier, when she slapped me with this: You know, you don't really know if you can stop worrying, because the truth is, you've never really tried. Being the goal-oriented person I am, I was more invigorated than offended. Puh! Never tried it!! Is that a challenge? I'll take it!

Of course, it would be goal-making heresy to vaguely pledge to forsake worrying with no defined end. So 1-before-30 it is. Until October 26, 2011, I will do no worrying. (Don't ask me what happens the 27. Worry party?? Anyone in?)

Anyway, upon further deliberation I realized I may need to redefine things, because, come to think of it, telling someone to not worry is about like telling someone not to think about oranges. (What are you thinking about??) And also like, if you forgive my presumption in Bible interpretation, the story Jesus tells about the empty house and the demons coming and filling it. No worry, and you just have an empty space for more destructive thoughts.

So perhaps a better goal is this. For the next 81 days, I will be a positive thinker. I like the sound of that. Truth be told, I am a little, um, worried, about it though. What if I fail? Of course now I'll have to tell all of you, but it's really not little old blog followers that terrify me. As any perfectionist understands, it's me. What if I set a goal, make a list, and FAIL? I would be so depressed. Honestly, though, I don't think it's failure that terrifies me most.

It's success. What if I try to become a different person - and it works?? Then what?? Secretly, I like me. Flaws and all. And goodness knows we don't need two Todds around here. Who would rush the kids to the doctor? Who would warn everyone of tornados (okay, tornado warnings. same thing.) I am at core terrified that if I stop worrying the next 81 days will be full of undetected ear infections, uninspected lumps, untreated diseases ravenging through bodies, unaddressed child-rearing issues and basically, calamity after calamity slapping us, out of the blue, in the obliviously cheerful face.

So it is with great trust, both in God, who I do admit is REALLY in charge (there, I said it), and also trust in those of you who see me daily, that you will alert me if I am exhibiting pre-diabetic symptoms or my child does indeed break out in rashes at the sight of ragweed or whatever alarming things I might miss.

I choose to sit in the passenger seat.

And I am going to dare to enjoy the view. At the impending notion that something terrifying could be coming, I am going to - gasp - choose another, more happy ending. I am going to give life the benefit of the doubt. I am going to assume the best, or does it count if it is at least a medium option. I am going to speak hope, and good, and life and health and beauty, and not tiredness and hints of a runny nose and why-could-he-be-late and I can't-make-it-through-todays.

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure WHAT I will do because this optimism thing is foreign language. So I think I will ask for help. In fact, I think I will interview a few optimists and maybe post it here. Stay tuned. And in the meantime, give me an early 30th birthday present and pray with me. That I can let go. And that if I do, I won't fall (apart). I'll keep you posted on my exciting adventure. Here's to 81 days of optimism. Kind of has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
:)

funny

2011-07-28T16:09:00.000-07:00

There has been a lot of laughing in our house recently. Also, whining. And a good bit of screaming. But that's all for another post. Here are a few of the funny things which I want to remember forever. I have a lot of guilt that I don't have any of these on video, but everytime I get out the camcorder we end up with eight minutes of Sam repeatedly asking to see movies of himself. Not real entertaining. Anyways, here are some funny tidbits from Sam.

- One morning I heard him singing Happy Birthday to Samule, which I thought was random until I remembered that I told him (when we drug him, kicking and screaming, home from the beach) that when we got home we were going to celebrate Samule's birthday.
- "Mom, what is that wood-packer packing?" (woodpecker?)
- "One day I will be a horse, and the lawn mowers will cut off MY toesies." (This misunderstanding stems, I think, from the time we were in a barn and saw a horse toenail on the ground. Obviously it was a bit traumatic.)
- "Mom, I'm yaffing at Ty because he's doing some funny toots." (Boys.)
- "Mom how silly if Cappy's birthday was a big giant poopie." (???)
- "One day I will be a storm chaser, and I will run and run and run and chase them."
- "If I eat this mustard, it's goin make me big and strong and have big muscles." (mustard = vegetable?)
- "Mom, we won't be having this. It's Dad's money." (said on the toilet, pointing to the toilet paper. I guess that's what happens when you try to give lectures on fiscal responsibility to two year olds who waste rolls of toilet paper.)
- "Dad goes to work, and we buy noodles (pause), and pasta (pause) and espetti ("spaghetti") and yots of things." (gleanings from the same conversation, I think, on how Dad leaves everyday to get us money.)
- "Look how big me is!"
- "If I saw an alligator, he would say, 'Hi Sam,' and me would say, 'Hi' back."
- "Did you see that, Mom? It's Charlotte." (Said regarding any building larger than a two-story home.)
- "Who's that friend?" (while pointing to any random person who looks interesting. We need to work on the dangerous-strangers concept.)
- "Mom, I'm mowing the yard like Gelver." (Said while swinging a ball-popper to smash into holly bushes. The pinnacle of Sam's ambitions are to be just like the lawn care guys that work with Todd. ps, every lawn care guy is named Gelver.)
- "Yook, guys, yook. I'm making your dinner." (Said to the stuffed sheep, while plating them uncooked spaghetti strands.)
- (later) "If they eat all their espetti, they can eat a marshmellow!"
- "One day I will go to work." Me: What will you do at work? Sam: "I will play baseball, and football, and soccer, and golf."
- "Dad, you're very brave, and me is very brave."
- "Yook, Mom, I'm a yizard (lizard)." This was said as the speaker was scaling down the ottoman head first. I was at least able to convince him that lizards jump down furniture hands first.
- And finally, I know you've probably had enough of the bathroom humor, but I am raising boys here, people. You shouldn't expect any less. I want to relay a typical morning dialogue during the first poop of the day. It is quite the scene. It lasts at least fifteen minutes, but Sam makes sure you aren't bored by giving play-by-play for all the goings-on. "Oh, this goin be a big one, Mom. Ooooh, here's a yittle poopie. Now it's goin be a big one, comin in my bombostity." (sp?)

What a riot. I think God made little kids so entertaining so completely exhausted moms wouldn't fall asleep on the job :)

2011-07-05T16:42:00.001-07:00

My family makes fun of me for a few reasons. I am going to assume that it is because they love me. Among these things: how I eat like my food is literally going to sprint from the plate unless I devour it like the Passover, the little cheer-thing I do after half a glass of wine, games I invent and make everyone play (ask me about the one I'm going to copyright and make millions off of), and lastly, how I discover hip new trends two years late. But seriously, anyone...Jack Johnson? Isn't he great? Speaking of, if you don't have an ipod you should get one.
Anyway, in keeping with this trend I am going to go out on a limb here and recommend something amazing, which I'm sure 95% of the free world has already discovered: HOME ORGANIZATION!!!!! Humor me here.
But I need to start by telling you this. My husband and I, like most married couples, have some long-standing arguments. Things like, is K & W a restaurant, what defines "clean," "spicy," and "yelling," if one should consume a Mountain Dew everyday of the year, and whether or not the world will come to an end if there are dishes in the sink overnight. (It will.) I will let you guess which side of the fence yours truly falls for most of those. Anyway, another argument is over our townhome, whether it was a mistake to buy. I say we were suckers. Todd, Mr. Always Positive, claims it was a good decision. Who is right really matters little, because like it or not we are stuck with it, apparently, for the next decade or two.
It's interesting, because what began as minor peeves and the inklings of should-we-sell conversations, now, after approximately two boys, four years, two realtors, eight showings, one job transfer, and, oh yes, one wife who is confined to these 1950-square-foot walls 24 hours a day with aforementioned boys, eventually fermented into full-blown NEED TO SELL discontment. It keeps reminding me of this quote by Martin Luther. "First the Germans killed the Jews because they hated them. Then they hated them because they killed them." Forgive me for making a comparision of the Holocaust to something as petty as unwanted real estate. But it's true. Actions breed feelings, perhaps more than vice versa.

But it's true in a good way, too, and that is the point of my blog today. Act like you love something, and you will. What this means in practical terms, is that sometimes, the very best, productive, and prudent thing to do, is to spend a few hundred of unbudgeted dollars in home organization paraphernalia at Ikea. Yes, that is what I said.
I am learning, here in our little townhome, a very, very precious lesson. More precious than, dare I say it, a nice big yard, or a guest room, or lower HOA fees, or whatever. This lesson is contentment. I know I sound like a spoiled brat, that I need to learn this lesson over something so silly as living in a perfectly good home, but it is what it is. I am learning to be happy, here. To be happy now.
And I am loving this. Come visit. I dare you to open my coat closet, to find a pen in my kitche, to wrap a present, to peak in my laundry space, to step in my closet. My house is getting organized!!! Again, at the risk of sounding embarassingly old news, I am having the time of my life finding a "home" for everything, maxamizing storage space, putting things where I logically need to find them, installing shelves (why did I not do this before??), and, to put it simply, making myself at home. Making peace with my present. It is much easier to live in a house if you aren't worried about what the next buyer is going to think of it. Which makes sense, because, apparently, there IS no next buyer. At least not until we retire. But that's fine. I'm happy here.
Unless, that is, that any of you are so moved by this awesome sales job that you're interested in viewing a Lake Norman luxury townhome at a steal of a price. In which case, send me an email and we'll see what we can do. :)

the lion in me

2011-06-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

Are you familiar with the animal personality test? I, who am obsessed with personality tests, find it to be one of the most insightful. I think Gary Smalley invented it, the love language guy. Anyway, you are either a golden retriever nice), a beaver (organized), a lion (leader), or an otter (fun). Forgive me, Gary Smalley, if you are reading this for my horribly oversimplistic descriptions. Well people who don't know me very well usually peg me for a retriever. I guess because I smile a lot. Oh, you silly people...
Then if you know me a little better you might say I'm a beaver, because I do have nerd-like qualities and appear to be organized. However if I am being truthful, there is a large, predominating lion-like nature to the very deep inside core of Jessica. Ask my husband and he can verify if you are doubtful. Here's how I know this. Again, my deepest apologizies to Mr. Smalley for the positive mangling of his test, but here's how I see it. If you want to know what animal you are, fill in the blank to this question, which would be your life motto or something.
If you do something...
a) do it right.
b) do it so no one is upset
c) do I really have to do this thing anyway? are you sure? there's probably something way more interesting.
Whenever I wonder which animal I am, I remember that my answer is, in fact, none of these mottos, but rather this: If you do something, do it as fast as you possibly can so you can finish right now, giving no attention at all to whether it is done correctly or people are happy. Just get it done.
Now this philosophy has its merits but also a few obvious flaws. Ask my Dad, a true and true to the core lion. Sidenote, if there is a stressful situation, don't send two lions into the CVS to pick out a humidifier. Maybe just send along a golden retriever or two. Heck, even an otter to lighten the mood. Anyways, my Dad was quick to point out (takes one to know one) that, yes, Jessica, we do need a humidifier for your sick baby. But should we perhaps, um, read the label first, prior to checking out? I'm not going to tell you this was a real peaceful scene, start to finish. Like I said, two lions, stressed out, not good.
But the point is this. Sometimes, I concur, haste does make waste. I have about thirteen projects, done in a day, that, ahem, well, let's just say they need to be done again.
I was pondering that this morning when I got the sudden urge to organize my entire house. And I mean ENTIRE, people. No cue-tip box unnoticed, no junk drawer left unsorted, no random vitamin jar unmated to its far away counterparts. I want this house Pottery Barn spotless and Target organized. (Unrelated note: If you really want something done, stop drinking coffee for six months and then have a cup in the morning. The energy is UNREAL!!!!!
Anyways, here's the problem. Not even the most determined, efficient, caffeinated lion could finish this job before being interrupted by an awakened napper, hungry toddler, or, even, the setting sun. This project is too big to finish quickly. Which makes me not want to start, but I don't think that is the right lesson. Instead, I am going to try to solicit my otter of a husband and my beaver of a mom to help me slow down, relax, and do it right. And I guess that is a lesson I should try more often. I've thought of a few ways that my life could be more full with a relaxed, thoughtful, patient mentality. For instance (random alert), if I take a shower, blow-dry, and straighten my hair, though it takes some time I actually am happier for the remainder of that day (feeling a bit more like a normal, socializing adult) and can even get another day and a half of truly good hair days. Worth the time.
Also, projects. BE PATIENT. Do not purchase the first high chair someone mentions, because for the next two years you will be annoyed that it doesn't travel. And on and on.
I have no idea if this helps any lions out there. But I guess the moral of the story is to be you, but be a better you. Is that cheesy or what. But I do have to go now. I estimate only about ten more minutes of nap time. Better go finish some projects before this coffee wears off!!!!

For future parents

2011-06-04T16:38:00.001-07:00

Someone recently reminded me of the school project where kids carry around a plastic baby that cries, to teach parenting skills. Since seeing this depicted on "Saved by the Bell" as a child, I have always been secretly jealous of the project, what with the whole getting-married-to-a-male-classmate thing, pretending to be a mom, etc. I was intrigued to hear it is still around.

Now as a parent, I view this activity with both appreciation and humor. Good idea, but I think I have a few adaptations to add. Truly, I would have benefited from something along these lines. I had no idea what to expect as a mom; most don't. If you are preparing to be a mom, I suggest that you do the following for three months:

Go buy a cat. (*Cat lovers, PETA, and the easily offended: I mean no disrespect to cats. Sure, they're FAR inferior to dogs, flighty, and weird, but no real harm intended.) Anyway, find a cat. From the instant your purchase is transacted, don't set the cat down for more than a minute unless it is sound asleep. Carry it at all times. For the first three weeks, conduct all your business (making your bed, getting water, going to the bathroom, sweeping the floor, etc.) while holding the cat. If you have a spouse, brief trade-offs are allowed during the hours of 6:00-9:00at night.

-Let's start with the sleeping routine, because that is the biggest adjustment. You'll need to prep the room beforehand. Turn the closet light on, position your radio to a nice static-y AM station (to mimic a monitor), turn on a fan, and set a noise machine loudly to a nice mechanical ocean wave setting. If it sounds like an airport, you're on the right track. *Keep in mind that every night you have to set all this up before putting the cat to sleep, because the changes might wake him up.

-Then, situate the sleeping cat next to your bed in a small, open carrier. For the first night, set your alarm to go off every 45 minutes. Be sure to choose the most annoying sound option. When it goes off, gently sway the carrier back and forth for ten minutes. Make sure to practice the whole gamet of rocking motions - the back and forth, up and down, side to side, etc. For the length of the three month experiment, the alarm should go off each night at least every THREE hours. Sometimes you'll wake from the dead of sleep to feed the cat, sometimes rock him, sometimes scour the floor on your hands and knees for pacifiers you have hidden, sometimes go downstairs and administer medicine (be sure to wake yourself up enough to dose correctly, mind you), and other times, just wake up and do nothing. Just wake up. Then try to go back to sleep.

- If your future parenting plans include breastfeeding, then practice by doing this. It's not an exact parallel, but you'll get the idea. Every other time you wake up, use a blood pressure monitor for a good fifteen minutes on each arm. Keep in mind you have to hold the cat during the whole interval, and stay awake for the whole thing. If you plan to bottle-feed, then get up make a serving of hot chocolate. Be exact in your measurements, now. Feed it to the cat using a dropper.

- About midnight, wake the cat up and feed him a small serving of cabbage, peppers, and refried beans. He might be a bit gassy in an hour or two. If he is, you might want to move his legs around in a bicycle sort of motion for a while (up to an hour). Put him to sleep and back in his crate. If he wakes up in the transfer, you must start again.Remember throughout it all that any loud noises will probably wake up any other children in the house, though your spouse will sleep peacefully until morning.

- Choose a different alarm for 6am. At this point, most likely the cat will be awake, hungry, and unhappy. First feed him. Then, bounce him around the room, cuddling him, singing "Joy to the World" for at least a half hour. At this point he'll be happy, but not sleeping. Both of you should plan to start your day then.

- But don't forget. You aren't allowed to brush your teeth, wash your face, or take a shower until about 1:00. If you'd like a cup of coffee, sure, go ahead. Drink half and feed half to the cat, and see how the day goes.

- For breakfast, toast some bread. After fifteen minutes, you can butter it. Eat two bites and then stop to put a diaper on the cat. Then feed the cat and wait an additional fifteen minutes. If you'd still like your toast, you can proceed, but do it while talking on the phone, unloading the dishwasher, checking your email, and, of course, rocking the cat.

- Proceed with the day's activities. If you plan to have more than one child, you must narrate all activities while doing them. Be perky, be instructional, and, always, be alert. Every half hour make a complete round of all the rooms in the house, checking for loose cords, dropped pennies, or other hazards or misbehaviors. As soon as breakfast is over, take all the small objects in the house and scatter them around on the floor. Open all doors, strip down the couch cushions, and pour water all over the kitchen floor.

- Throughout the day, run the cat up and down the stairs AT LEAST 100 times. If you plan to have other kids, then get ahold of a small to mid-sized beagle. Take him up with you half the times.

- If you can make it until one, it's shower time. First, get the cat asleep. Dead asleep. If you plan to have multiple kids, flip a coin. If you get heads, you win. You can take a shower today. Otherwise you're out of luck. If it's a good day (read: shower day) then first position the sleeping cat within eyeshot of the shower, but not so close that the rushing waters will wake him up. It may take a little fidgiting to determine the best position for YOUR cat before the starting of the shower. You may need to incrementally start the vent fan, the water, and the noise machine so all the racket doesn't wake up him. Anyway, for your shower be sure to shave just one leg per shower, and of course, eliminate that silly conditioner. Waste of precious time. Streamline your makeup routine into five steps. Go ahead and throw away all your lipgloss, because you will never, ever have time to put it on.

- About four thirty it's time to make dinner. Pick something simple, of course, because you'll be holding the cat. It is permissible to strap him to your body in a carrier. He'll need some up-and-down movement though, so make sure you're bouncing up and down while chopping potatoes, browning chicken, or stirring pasta. If you're planning to have multiple kids, spread golf balls, opened markers, and tupperware lids all over the floor, remembering to dodge them as you cook. Every five minutes, take something out of the cabinet and dump half of it on the floor. Stop and pick it up. As before, narrate all of your steps aloud, here stopping at least 12 times to say, "No, don't ___". You can pick any random chastisement here, but they all need to be dangerous, and different. Once you have dinner ready, you can eat. Go ahead and put yours in the freezer for a bit before eating it. While you eat, bounce up and down with the cat. Put some music on, like Raffi. You are never allowed to finish your plate, at least not until bedtime.

-Like to entertain? No problem. Invite a few friends over and do all of the following in heels, without getting flustered, intermixing the aforementioned talk with witty, pleasant adult conversation.

- The cat will need a bath. Clothed, stand and under the shower for three minutes and get your front side at least half wet. Then bathe the cat. When you are done, you have about 90 seconds before he will be very tired, very hungry, and very unhappy. He'll be squirming, so work quickly. In that time you will need to towel him dry, rub lotion on his fur, slather some desitin on the hind quarters, zip him in a onesie, and hurry him downstairs for a meal. Don't be discouraged if you're both in tears by the end of it.

Once the cat is asleep, congrats. You made it through another day.
If you are childless, you are probably thinking I am joking with this silly plan. I assure you, from the depths of my heart, I am not. Try it! You will be well-prepared for motherhood! *Disclaimer: The chaos reflected in this essay is not intended to hide all of the WONDERFUL things about being a mom. It sure is hard work, but there's nothing else I'd rather do!

Notes from the Underground

2011-06-02T17:07:00.000-07:00

You secret English majors out there probably realize I stole my title from Dostoevsky. Thought it was a clever title to give my recent tidbits from life in the SCORCHING heat of May, locked in a 1750-square-foot house with a newborn and a toddler. ( visit? anyone? thought so.) Please do not confuse the following essay with the aforementioned literary classic, the random psychotic ramblings of a lonely insane person. (hmmm....)

Anyways, a few thoughts.

- acid reflux (#2) + some sort of unidentified illness (#1) - lots of moaning, whining, requests for medicine at 2 am, etc. + husband late + Grammy and mother's helper gone + heat wave + no scheduled activities = not a very fun week. I am not complaining, people. I am putting this in writing so when I read this 18 years from now, in tears, looking at old pictures of the good old days, I can remember that it was not all cuddles and giggles.

-I get now why second-borns are so easy-going. Take naps, for instance. In contrast to the pampered first-born, who was swaddled, shushed, laid gently down in a room brimming with three fans and a noise machine, the second-born has no choice but to enjoy his or her naps in the comfort of the carseat under the kitchen table, with the comforting sounds of the garbage disposal, vaccuum cleaner, ice machine, and, of course, sibling #1's serenade of who-knows-what while pounding two lasagna noodles for a drum. It's sleep then, or don't sleep. So of course, they adapt.

- Speaking of second-borns, I am glad for the one I married. He exhibits all of these wonderful characteristic traits (adaptability, patience, high tolerance for lasagna drumming, etc) as well as quite a few more. Which brings me to my point. I am SO grateful for a man who compliments burnt pasta sauce, who loves to rock babies to sleep, who orders me to Target at 8pm on the day from heck, who eats sandwiches that are two days old (with soggy tomatoes, mind you) and who tells me over and over that probably, no one is dying, and most likely, we will (eventually) get sleep.

- a few more things I am thankful for. These are not mere trivials, folks. These are NECESSARY, crucial tools with which the tired housewife finds repose. Among them: Prison Break (I heart Michael Scofield), wine, oreos, 15 minutes of sunshine, coconut ice cream CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE DOUGH FLAVOR!!!!!!, my baby smiling at me, the time out chair, the fly swatter, Zac Brown Band, Boz (Christian Barney, but way more tolerable), Harris Teeter express lane, and, importantly, my cell phone. What the heck did people do in the olden days when they could not call their mothers to ask them how long to roast a chicken or if that background crying sounds authentic or manufactured???

- Oh, the glorious terrible twos, you are so prompt. I share one little humble victory in hopes that you, too, can apply its truth. Sam has the cute little habit of asking, "Mommy, what's that?" It sounds innocent enough, until you realize it will be repeated, consectutively, on end, over, and over, and over again, for a good ten minutes every hour on the hour. It is not an inquiry, mind you, it's a control mechanism. I joke not. It's not usually obvious what he saw/heard/etc that prompted the question, but I have found that if I reply, "airplane" to each question, somehow that ends it. Not sure why.

- lastly, I can't stop thinking about this song (faith), or this song (marriage).