Our German Adventure, Day Five

Yesterday was such an adventure! Two very different highlights...

We stayed in a neat hotel right on the town square in Adenau. After breakfast we headed a few miles down the road to the Nurburgring. Hello, Disneyland for grown men! The place was amazing and nothing like I expected. I had envisioned: 1) a short, maybe 2-mile track enclosed in a stadium-like setting, 2) 2 or 3 cars being allowed to go on at a time, 3) watching Ben from the safety of the sidelines (as previously mentioned, we had a slight misunderstanding on that one. :) Imagine my surprise - and let's be honest, horror - when I discovered that the track was TWENTY KILOMETERS and that it would be chock full of ridiculously fast race cars. As I waited for Ben to buy his ticket (about 20 euro to go around the track), I thought to myself that perhaps I should have a better idea of what we were about to do. Seeing as how I was supposed to be the wingman and all. Big mistake. "Above all else, KNOW THE TRACK LIKE THE BACK OF YOUR HAND," said the oh-so-helpful blogger. "Practice it, memorize it, practice it some more. Oh and here, make sure you put this phone number for life-threatening emergencies on speed dial because you WILL crash and most likely die. Have fun!"

I kept this information to myself so as to not further freak out the driver of my car. I prayed, tried to breathe, went to pee sixteen times, and cursed Top Gear for putting this ridiculous notion in my husband's head. 

We drove down to the starting gate and saw that the entrance was temporarily closed. Usually, this means an accident has occurred. Sure enough, someone had wrecked and, as a gentleman explained in halting English, a helicopter had just come to the rescue because of the "damage to the bodies." Awesome. Not so much boosting my confidence. We walked around and enjoyed the view for about half an hour - Astons, Porsches, Ferraris, Lambos - before we heard the announcement - "Ladies and gentlemen, the track is now open." We beelined for the car and queued up - see how European I am? - and then, boom! We were on the track. No warm up, no "here get used to this for just a minute before you hurtle off into certain death." Just, FAST. For the next 12 minutes (which felt simultaneously like an hour and like five seconds), Ben drove his precious new Fraulein like a freakin' pro. And even though I was honestly terrified, it was also indescribably fun. I was so impressed with Ben's driving. He was smart, and cautious, knew how to attack each turn just the right way, and got us up to some pretty crazy speeds. Definitely an experience of a lifetime.

We left the Ring (which is a whole town in its own right), and drove down to Heidelberg for what we thought would be a quick tour of the castle. Unfortunately, we arrived just as it was closing for the day. Fortunately, we still got to wander through its courtyards and extensive grounds, and it was amazing! It was a fairy-tale brought to life and offered a breathtaking view of the city. We decided to stay in Heidelberg for dinner and got to enjoy the quintessential bustling European street cafe and an incredible meal (lamb is the new everything). We will certainly make Heidelberg a priority on our next visit. 

Today, we are setting out for a couple of hours in Bamberg (where Ben's parents used to live), and then driving south again to Salzburg, Austria for the final day of our vacation. Getting excited to get home to my babies, but I'm going to enjoy every last minute of this trip.

the rascal

So I just spent ten minutes sobbing in the corner. After fifteen minutes cleaning up a supposed-to-be-napping child's sticky, stubborn mess. After five solid minutes of yelling my head off while said child wailed. I was so mad, and I didn't hold back. And I toed the line between righteously indignant and out of control and if I'm honest, probably crossed it.

Lucas is my middle child, and he is a picture of extremes. He is so funny, so charming, so sweet and loving and snuggly. He is our entertainer and always keeps us laughing. But man, that kid knows how to push every button I have. And then push it some more. I never understood when my friends talked about their strong-willed children, but I sure do now. If you looked up "boundary-pusher" in the dictionary, you would see his big, goofy grin - and then see the contraband hidden behind his back.

Slobbery and clumsy and perpetually naughty - Luke is my child who is just a little harder to love.

He is sneaky - always taking things from drawers and cupboards and my purse. He ate a leftover Blizzard for breakfast the other morning while I was upstairs changing Madelyn and snuck the empty cup back into the freezer. Took a pack of gum out of my diaper bag and ate half e pieces before I even noticed he had gotten too quiet. And just now, after being spanked once already for getting out of bed at nap time, he found a tube of diaper rash cream and squeezed it ALL OVER his bedroom. I know every kid does these things (I have plenty of photographic proof of Eli's nap time escapades at his age). And they make for some funny stories down the road. But with Lucas, I don't know... I'm just tired of his nonsense.

And Luke is tough to discipline. Everything that worked beautifully with Eli bounces right off of him. He reacts "appropriately" while he's being disciplined (meaning, I don't think he's a sociopath), but often is right back at his naughtiness ten minutes later. And trust me, we're no lightweights when it comes to discipline. I follow through on consequences. We have a spanking spoon and we know how to use it.

Today I felt so unloving toward my sweet little boy. As I hate-scrubbed the carpet I sobbed to my husband, "I think there's something WRONG with him! Like, I think his CHARACTER is flawed!" (Cue husband literally backing slowly down the stairs, wishing he had never come up to investigate.) And immediately, God put a picture in my mind. Several pictures, actually - of me. Doing bad things. Stupid things. Sinful things. Over, and over, and over again. Me, ignoring past consequences and painful discipline and running headlong towards the same obviously wrong choices. 

Of course there is something wrong with him. Of course his character is flawed. He's a person. And he needs his mama to train him up into how to be a better, wiser, more God-centered one.

But.

He still makes me crazy.

So here's where you come in, all of you darling, wise mamas out there. What is your best advice for getting to the heart of a child like mine? And how do you handle that angry, pulling-out-your-hair frustration that comes with parenting? Lay it on me - even if I've heard it before, I can stand to hear it again.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a sad little guy to go make up with.

the little lady arrives

Madelyn Kate joined our family last Tuesday at 11:13 pm, weighing 7 pounds, 12.8 ounces and measuring 21 inches. She has blond hair with a hint of strawberry, enormous blue eyes, and long, skinny monkey toes like her mama. She has Lucas' mouth and his tracheal condition (no threat to her health, just makes for one squeaky baby). She is darling and delicate and beautiful and has every single person in our family wrapped around her finger, including her adoring oldest brother, who cannot go three minutes without kissing her and proclaiming, "She's just so adowable!" Her other brother has his doubts.

Maddie's birth was fairly uneventful, as Reese births go. I started labor on Monday night, and had contractions all night, fairly consistent, but far apart. By mid-morning it was clear that I was in labor, but it was progressing so slowly that I decided a walk would help. Rather than simply stroll around the block a few times, I hopped in the car with my mother and headed to Target. In Vancouver. As you do. To be fair, it was the only store left with the one curtain panel we were still missing for the baby's room, and my sense of reason was temporarily overruled by my compulsive need to finish that stinking room.

The Target jaunt did the trick (especially since we ended up having to go to the other Vancouver store, even further up the highway). By noon, I was on the phone with my doctor's office, playing the "How far apart are they?" game. The nurse tried to convince me to wait until my contractions were consistently five minutes apart, but all I could think of was how lightning-fast the end of my labor went with Lucas, and how my husband came very close to missing his birth because of it. So I headed for the hospital. 

The first blessing was that my admission nurse was the same fantastic woman who delivered Lucas three years ago. I'm sure she felt good and stalked when I squealed, "KY!!!" as she entered the room. It was obvious from her blank stare that I had made less of an impression on her than she had on me. But we got to talking and she did actually remember us (or at least, she pretended to very convincingly). She was as incredible as I had remembered. She fought for me to be admitted, since I was still barely dilated even after hours and hours of labor. At that point, my worst fear was to be sent home - all the wheels had been set in motion and Ben's mom and sister were about to arrive at the hospital. So it was awesome to have someone in my corner, and she sweet-talked the doctor into letting me be admitted. (Second blessing: even though my own doctor wasn't on call, I got my favorite back-up).

I began the walking/bouncing/rocking/sitting routine to try and get my labor going a little faster. Ben's mom and sister arrived and they all took turns doing laps with me and holding my hands as my contractions became more painful. I had briefly entertained the idea of a natural birth, but within a few minutes of real labor I came to my senses. I toughed it out for a few hours, and by the time the anesthesiologist came I was good and ready for the drugs. The epidural did not go smoothly, and it took about forty-five minutes to get the darned thing in. That meant forty-five minutes of sitting completely hunched over, trying to breathe through my horribly congested nose while I endured a number of contractions (I was just getting over a sinus infection and strep throat, just to add another layer of fun). The process also triggered a migraine (of course), and soon my nurse and doctor were discussing the best way to treat it. Color me surprised when Dr. Suzuki decided that the best option was just to get that baby out. Since I was still only about 4 centimeters (I know!), I was giving Pitocin, and shortly after the doctor came and broke my water. The contractions were coming fast and furious as I quickly progressed and headed into the dreaded Transition. And then...

My epidural wore off.

Now I know this happens, and it's happened to a number of you (and even more of you are crazies who don't get one in the first place), but seriously. It sucked. To go from all of that pain, to virtually no pain, to insane pain in a matter of minutes, was just kind of awful. It was all I could do to close my eyes, breathe as deeply and slowly as possible, and try not to think about what it was going to feel like to push. The anesthesiologist was called back to give me a bolus dose, but it never took. Before I knew it, I was ready to push. The doctor did give me a topical numbing agent in my lady parts at the last minute, and thank goodness - I can't imagine how it would have felt without that. As it was, I was De.Ter.Mined. to get that child out of my body as fast as possible. I'm something of an efficient pusher (less than thirty minutes with both of my boys), but this time, I pushed harder than I thought possible. I could feel the veins in my head and neck threatening to burst, but I would not stop. And in the span of eleven minutes, my sweet baby girl was here. Ben was able to help again with the delivery, his mom and sister were right by our side for her first breaths, and I was once again overcome by the blessing of welcoming a new baby into the world. There is simply nothing like those very first moments of life taking place right there on my chest. What a loving Father to design new life to begin in this way.

Maddie has been part of our lives for a week now, and already it's hard to remember life before her. She is, so far, a very easy baby - eats well, sleeps as well as any newborn. This is, in our minds, our last baby, and I am definitely feeling a sense of loss and grief at the idea that we won't have these firsts again. But I'm trying to use that to just thoroughly enjoy every moment with her, even when she's gassy and squirmy and crying at 3:00 a.m. I don't want to think about the dishes and the laundry, about how my older children are probably being ruined by watching endless episodes of Wow Wow Wubbzy, or about how in the blink of an eye this tiny, perfectly innocent little girl will be a tantrum-throwing toddler or about to head to kindergarten - or beyond. I just want to hold her, and hold her, and hold her some more. And thank my God that he let us have her, for as long as we can have her. I am in love, friends. 

home sweet home

I have a goal this summer. I want to stay home. You say, "But you're a stay-at-home mom! Staying home is in your job description!" Alas, I am the least stay-at-home of all stay-at-home moms.

I love my home. I love my children. I love entire days. Put those three things together, and it's my nightmare.

I can probably count on one hand the number of days that I have stayed home all day. I take my children out, somewhere, every day. The grocery store, the other grocery store, the library, the park. Sometimes, we just drive down the street to the coffee shop.Sometimes, we just drive.

At some point, in the middle of the messes and babbling and screaming matches, I feel the overwhelming need to escape. I feel like I have three options: put the kids on the curb (free to a good home only, of course), lock them in their rooms with hamster feeders, or pack them into the car and go somewhere.

Now, there's nothing necessarily wrong with this habit, but it's been impressed on my spirit that I need to make some changes. We need to spend more time at home, period. I need to create a routine and a rhythm that uses more of the hours in our day in better ways. We need a less frantic pace. I need way less time listening to whiny, fussy, bickering children who are whiny, fussy, and bickering because their trapped in their car seats for too long.

Last night, I made the mistake of sharing this with my Bible study girls. I say mistake, because once it's out there, these women will hold me accountable to it. Darn them. So today, I devoted myself to trying it out, this stay-at-home thing.

Well, it's 3:49, and I'm freaking exhausted.

In the hours between Eli's 6:15 rise-and-shine (curse you, summer sunrise!) and when I plopped them into their beds for naptime, we did art projects, baked a pie, played in the backyard, put together our train set, and played the world's most frustrating game of Memory. Doesn't sound like much to you? Factor in the messes - my children get into EVERYTHING. Lucas is a champion dumper of all things in boxes. Add to that the 87,000 arguments that my children get into in the course of a day. Add to that the cacophony of wooden spoons on pots (net loss: 3 wooden spoons). And on top of it all, I actually managed to squeeze in a few chores. And I blogged! And I didn't escape. Okay, I escaped once, first thing, to get some coffee, but that barely counts. A girl needs her drug.

But here's what I loved about today: My kids were happier. We've been dealing with a lot of whiny, grumpy attitude from Eli lately, and so much bickering between the boys. Today was better. Our pace was slower, so I felt like I could actually stop what I was doing and give them the attention they needed in the moment. And it helped!

I certainly don't plan to stay home all day, every day. It's summer, after all! There are parks to be played at! And there are errands that simply must be run. But I'm going to try, really try, to build the rhythm of our days around what we can find to do in our very own little home. And who knows? Kid #2 might actually get potty-trained before kindergarten!

Wish me luck!

two

Happy birthday, my Little Lion Man. Can't imagine our world without you.

on my own

Ben is out of town this weekend, on a retreat to Sunriver with some of the awesome manly men of our church. He is snowboarding and skiing and snowmobiling, having (I hope) a fantastically wild-at-heart kind of time.

On the homefront, I have again proven to be a less than model single parent. On the plus side, I have made blueberry pancakes, cleaned house, and taken my boys on some sort of adventure each day. I let them stay up late and watch movies and read books and cuddle. On the minus side, I yelled - yes, yelled - at Eli to "SHUT UP!" in the car today. I actually had to pull over, get out, and apologize because, seriously? That is some weak self control right there (good teachable moment, though). Also, I've gotten take out two nights in a row and made numerous trips to Baskin Robbins (darn you, drive-thru!). So, not my absolute finest use of a weekend, but not terrible, all things considered.

(And in my defense, I recently discovered that I am severely anemic, so I'm considering it a major victory that I have gotten dressed each day, let alone anything else.)

papa's house

We spent a week visiting my parents in Idaho. In Eli's eyes, the sun rises and sets on Papa. For weeks leading up to our visit, Eli would tell any available pair of ears all about his Papa's house, where the following things exist: cars, trucks, coffee, a waterfall, candy canes, Grandma, cookies, and a race car bed.

We got to enjoy some surprise snow while we were in town, and the boys loved playing in my sister's giant yard. My dear, devoted dad pulled them around and around on his old wooden sled. Luke seemed a little nonplussed by it all, but then again, Luke often seems unimpressed by the world. He wears a funny expression a lot of the time that seems to say, "What else have you got?"

My dad, who is awesome in many ways, is particularly great at building things for his grandsons. The bookcase in Eli's bedroom, the race car bed, a giant wooden hippo (don't ask), and this time, a real wooden soapbox car. The kids were over the moon about having a real racecar to "drive" around the neighborhood.

As much as I love my children (and parents), for me, the highlight of the week was leaving them for three days to hole up in a cabin with six of my dearest friends. Four of us have been friends from birth, and all of us from early childhood. We have seen each other through every imaginable stage of growing up, and share an extraordinary bond. These girls have loved me through every awkward, obnoxious, and painful season of my life, and I know how unique it is to still have their friendship. The rare occasions when we can all gather together for a weekend away are precious beyond words.

I love having a home to go home to. I am thankful for parents who are joyfully married after forty-plus years, for the quiet little town that never changes beyond recognition, and for the sweet relationships that still tie me to it. I have roots, deep roots, and I love them.

15 things - whoa, i am behind

I've been awol for two weeks, so I'm just slightly behind on my great 15 days of blogging. Let's just pick up where I left off, with...

Day 10 - Songs I listen to when I am:

Happy - anything that helps me tell my Savior how glad I am to be His. I love the song "I'm Singing" by Kari Jobe. And "You Are My Joy" by David Crowder Band (must turn up VERY loud). And "Happy" by Aiesha Woods, if I want to dance around to a really cheesy song.

Sad - Hmm... not the songs I should listen to. I like to indulge my melancholy side once in awhile. I think the technical term is "wallow." Lately my favorite sad sack song is "Blood Bank" by Bon Iver, but also every other Death Cab for Cutie song.

Bored - I literally cannot remember the last time I was bored. Exhausted, yes. Maybe listless, but only if I'm avoiding my mile-long list of things to do. If I ever find myself bored again, I'll break out the Hallelujah Chorus.

Hyped - I really don't know what that's supposed to mean. But, on those rare occasions when a run feels really, really good, and I feel really, really energized and pumped about how good it feels (and how totally awesome I probably look doing it), I bust out one of my current favorites - Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the People. Seriously, you must find it, and listen to it, and love it. It's streets ahead, people.

Mad - I don't usually listen to music if I'm mad about something. The imaginary conversations I'm having with the object of my anger tend to be pretty distracting.

15 things - days 7, 8, 9

Day 7- A picture of someone/something that has had the biggest impact on you



These little people have changed my life in every way possible, for the very best.

Day 8- Short term goals for this month and why

1. Roast a whole chicken. Because I've always wanted to try it. Because on Top Chef they are always roasting chickens and talking about how amazing the the crispy browned skin is. Because I envision the whole process: glass of wine, favorite cooking music, the deep satisfaction I get from chopping fresh herbs, and the even deeper satisfaction of making something absolutely delicious.

2. Run three miles with at least one kid in the stroller. To date, I've managed two, with serious concern for my cardiovascular health. I can do 6, maybe 7 by myself, so it seems ridiculous.

3. Get my garage under control. It's still half full of boxes, most of them rummaged through and left for dead. It's a nightmare.

Day 9- Something you're proud of in the past few days

I cooked the chicken! And guess what? Chicken skin, no matter how crispy and brown, makes me want to puke. Also, I couldn't hear my favorite cooking music over the mind-numbing whine and wail of my two-year-old, who hates dinner-making time in a violent way. But the chicken itself was delicious, so, WIN.

a servant heart

On Friday, I had the privilege of taking part in our church's annual Women's Night of Prayer. This year, 650 women came together to pray, worship, and seek the Lord for six hours straight, from midnight to 6 a.m. It's an amazing time, and without a doubt, the world is changed because of it.

I had signed up to help out, expecting to be asked to help set up or clean up, or maybe greet at the door. Instead, I was asked to be on "the kitchen team." Now, you have to know that at our church, nothing is done halfway. The midnight breakfast served at this event isn't just bagels and fruit. It's bagels and fruit, and biscuits and gravy, and scrambled eggs, and homemade cinnamon rolls dripping in caramel sauce, and bowl after bowl of munchies, and... you get the picture. We are seriously spoiled. So being asked to help prep, serve, and clean up meant missing most, if not all of the event.

I was torn. Actually, I wasn't torn. I didn't want to do it. I decided to ignore the email and pray about it. So I prayed, "Lord, I don't want to do this. Tell me I don't have to, okay?" Or something along those lines.

After asking Him many, many times, He answered: "If you have to keep asking, I think you have your answer. If you want to be a servant, start serving."

You see, I've prayed for years for more of a servant's heart. Sure, I serve. I joyfully pour myself out for my family. I'm happy to bring dinner to a friend with a new baby. I'm glad to spend a few extra hours at church to help with Sunday School twice a month. But give me an opportunity to serve that presents the teensiest inconvenience, and I'm out.

I realized that this was just such a "feet to faith" opportunity. I said yes, but to be honest, I struggled with my attitude all week. I like to be in the mix. I hate the feeling of missing out. I imagined myself scrubbing dishes in the kitchen, hearing faint strains of worship and feeling hugely bummed that I wasn't a part of it.

As I was fretting and stewing about it, God brought me to Philippians 2:14: "Do everything without complaining or arguing." The ESV puts it as, "Do all things without grumbling or questioning." (I know this verse well, as I recite it to my son about a kajillion times a week.) It certainly applied to my attitude. I was complaining about the calling, questioning whether I should really obey.

Fortunately, when God shows us where we fail, He also shows us how to be better. God taught me that my obedience was empty if my attitude was rotten. He took me back to last year, when I staggered into the Night of Prayer needing to soak up every ounce of love and wisdom and presence I could possibly get, and how I was absolutely lavished with love. And He showed me how, in so many ways since then, He's been equipping me to pour out the same love onto someone else.

And so, by His grace, I marched into that kitchen armed with a new, humble, thankful heart. I took on Colossians 2:23 as my mantra: "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as unto the Lord." I wrestled frozen sausages, mopped up spilled juice, refilled coffee, and scrubbed dirty dishes with a deep-down joyful spirit. A few times during the night, as I listened to the beautiful worship of so many Godly women, that "Aw, man" attitude started to creep back in. And each time, I surrendered that emotion, and joined right in the singing.

I know there are people who are naturally servants. I see them all the time, or don't see them, as they work tirelessly behind the scenes, out of the spotlight, in whatever way they are called. I am not one of those people. But I want that kind of heart. And so God, in his loving, gentle way, is building one for me.

Oh, and one more thing. Find the person who cleans the coffee pots after church each Sunday, and thank them. Profusely.

15 things - days 5, 6

Day 5: A picture of somewhere I've been















I love this picture, although it makes me long for the days of spontaneous travel, available credit, and skinny legs. Florida was a favorite destination when we lived in Indianapolis. Tickets were cheap, and it was a great escape for us poor landlocked beach lovers. Our favorite spot to visit was the Fort Myers area, and we loved to drive out to Sanibel Island and comb its famous beaches.

Day 6: My favorite superhero and why

Um....

I got nothing.

15 things - day 3

So, today should be a picture of me as a child. I have the ultimate picture, but I have to find it. And find the cord to the scanner. Which hasn't been located since we moved. So, it might happen on day 15. But when it does, it will be epic.

I'll do day 4 instead: A habit I wish I didn't have.

I have a number of bad habits, or at least annoying, non-productive habits. But the one that's really bugging me lately is my bedtime routine. I used to read actual books before bed, but lately I've been addicted to catching up on a number of blogs before I can go to sleep. I might be struggling to keep my eyes open, but I just can't put the phone down. And they aren't important, character-building blogs, either. They're pretty much useless crap. So thank you, Steve Jobs. You've ruined my literacy.

luuuuke

Poor, poor Lucas B.

This little darling has so suffered from Second Kid Syndrome. Even in utero, he got the short end of the stick. He was my percocet baby, because when you have migraines every day and a toddler to care for, you take drugs. Well, I did.

The first year of Lucas' life passed by in a complete blur. I struggled so much just to function with two kids. I didn't spend hours on end laying on the couch, just holding my baby (like I did with Eli). Couple that with the fact that Lucas, from a very early age, was a non-cuddler. He loved to be held, but hated to be held close and snuggled. He wanted to be upright and looking out. And as soon as he was mobile, he took off and never looked back.

So it has taken me by enormous surprise to realize that my sweet little baby boy is suddenly a toddler. I blinked, and suddenly he was rounding the bend to two. Talking non-stop (although, still can't understand a word he says), catching a ball, asking for labels (window? outside? cow? - which all sound like "flargaflafel"), and exercising his considerable sense of humor. He's already a little comedian and will do anything for a laugh.

For the longest time, Lucas refused to be read to - wouldn't sit still for a book if you paid him to. One night a few weeks ago, he brought me a book, sat in my lap, and opened it up. He sat for the whole book! Then he brought another one! My little teacher heart went flippy floppy and I immediately upgraded his educational potential from community college to Ivy League. And, just as I suspected, as I read more with him, he is finally making some actual words. The cow says "Boo," by the way.

I know that as mommies, we don't like to pretend that feel the same way about one of our children as the next. But the truth is, I felt kind of disconnected from Lucas for a long time. He was a needy baby and has the most obnoxious whine you've ever heard. He wasn't hard to love, he just wasn't as easy to like as Eli had been. So the best part of Luke's transformation into a toddler is that I like him so much better. Is that terrible? Well, it's true. I feel closer to him, more connected, and enjoy being with him more than I ever did when he was a baby. He is fast developing his own personality, and I love getting to know him as a little person. He's silly, funny, intelligent, and very lovey. Now, he loves to cuddle, and I can't get enough.

I do, however, worry a bit if we have a third kid. What does third kid syndrome look like - I call him "Three" and stick him in his crib with a hamster feeder?

15 things - day 2

The meaning behind my blog name:

This blog is a work in progress. I'm a work in progress. That's about it.

How boring.

15 things - day 1

A recent picture of me:



I love that kid.

15 "interesting" things about me. I use the word "interesting" loosely.

1. I have a serious ice cream habit. If it gets in my head, I cannot not get some.
2. I can't go to sleep without reading gawker.com.
3. I'm not nearly as fit as I look with my clothes on.
4. I have very detailed, specific daydreams about furniture.
5. I know all fifty state capitols. It doesn't help me out in life AT ALL.
6. I really want a daughter but I think my life is going to be all boys.
7. I don't enjoy playing with babies.
8. My favorite animal is an otter.
9. I'm great at starting projects and terrible at following them through.
10. My ultimate dream vacation destination is the Seychelles Islands.
11. I tend to be late, flaky, and forgetful. I try to make up for it with my charm and wit.
12. I'm exhausted, and I can't think of anything else. So, 11 interesting things about me.

the spacious place

Yesterday was a Bad Day.

Nothing particularly bad happened, but the whole day was rotten. I felt terrible, with a migraine and a sick stomach, and a bad reaction to some medicine that left me feeling groggy and achy and pitiful. I needed my children to be silent and still. They weren't. Every noise, every bang or crash or yell or cry or whine produced within a fifty-foot range was instantly on my nerves. I was short-tempered and ungracious. And no matter how many times I took a deep breath, asked God to change my attitude and put a guard over my mouth, it didn't take. You know how sometimes, your child is just kind of a pill, for no good reason? Yesterday, that was me.

It didn't get any better, and I put the kids to bed cranky, and Eli was up SIX TIMES during the night with the most ridiculous "needs" (I saw a baby squirrel in my room! I need a tissue for my boogie nose! You made me feel sad yesterday!). At one point I actually sat down on the edge of the bathtub (during his third middle-of-the-night attempt to poop), and started bawling. "You're not letting me sleeeeeep!!" I wailed. To my three-year-old.

But this morning, as I dragged my weary self out of bed and hauled Eli off to school, I was reminded of a favorite verse in 2 Samuel: "He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delights in me." It dawned on me that, seemingly out of nowhere, I feel better.

I'd been walking through this dark, dry, desert place for so long, believing and knowing that God was working, but not feeling it. I knew that eventually, he would bring my emotions and sense of well-being into alignment with the truth he was teaching me - that how I feel would catch up with what I know. And you know what? He has! I am beginning to see the fruit of all he has been doing. I am actually able to look back - which means, I have moved forward. Out of the desert. He has brought me out into a spacious place. I can breathe. I can rejoice. Heck, I can dance like a crazy person. There's plenty of room.

the schedule

I've had an idea rolling around in my head since before Christmas, and yesterday I finally sat down and did it. I made a daily schedule. For me, and my kids. At home. I know, I know. It kind of sounds ridiculous, right? I swore I would never become "that" stay-at-home-mom (might as well start saying SAHM, since this is such a very SAHM-ish thing to do). My parenting style is pretty laid-back, so actually scheduling the mundane activities of our day seemed restrictive and uptight and... well, unnecessary.

But God has been teaching me (read: DRILLING into me) to be moldable, teachable, and obedient. So last fall, when I noticed that I was wasting a tremendous amount of time during the day, and that I rarely actually sat down and played with my kids, and that Eli wasn't learning his letters and numbers as quickly as I expected, I began to ask God if he wanted me to change. Turns out, he kind of did. (Shoot.) I came across this verse:

"His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!'" Mt 25:21.

And this one:

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart." Col. 3:23

Truth be told, I was slacking. Being a low-maintenance mommy, I have pretty low-maintenance kids. But I was getting frustrated with them - a lot. I was impatient with their neediness. I was constantly behind on everything. I crashed into bed each night feeling deeply unsatisfied with how my day had gone, how much was left undone and how much was on my to-do list for tomorrow. I know this is a common state for most people, especially for a mom. But I knew God wanted more from me. He had more for me. More responsibility, yes, but also more blessing.

One day, the Holy Spirit brought to my mind a reminder of my past (short) life as a teacher. I wasn't a great teacher, but I was a pretty good one. And darn it, I was organized. I kept things running smoothly with a classroom of 20+ kids. Why, then, couldn't I run my own home the same way? Soon after, a wise friend shared how she schedules her day - every hour, every activity is accounted for. She homeschools, and has a child with special needs, so her schedule is ten times busier than mine. But the idea stuck.

So, the experiment begins. My schedule is loose, and I don't expect to ever follow it completely. The point is, it's there. It tells me to get up EARLY and have my quiet time before the chaos of the day. It gives me times to stop everything and devote my attention solely to my kids. It includes times for specific activities with Eli (and Lucas, by default) to work on his early language and math skills, because it's important to me. It even tells me when to do laundry, clean my bathroooms, and weed the garden. And every night, at 8:30, it says "RELAX."

Feel free to laugh out loud at my idea. Eye-rolling and "Girl, please" will be allowed. After all, we're already off schedule - it didn't tell me to spontaneously post on my blog with numerous interruptions to play elephant, referee, and Old Lady Who Really Wants Your Trains. But you know, that's the beauty of being a (gulp) SAHM.

wednesday thoughts

It's a random-thought kind of day.

The sun is shining and there are two gorgeous blue jays sitting on my back fence. Oh spring, how you tease.

Two New Year's resolutions this year:

1. Start every morning in the Word. I'm embarrassed to say that I've never read through the entire Bible. In this season of life, I've learned that nothing - no devotional, no sermon, no worship song - can substitute for the life-shaping power of God's own words. So far, I'm keeping up with our church's Bible-in-a-year plan, although dragging myself out of bed an hour earlier is painfully hard to do. I quickly learned that trying to have this quiet time after Eli gets up is impossible - or at least, unfruitful. (Is that a word? Fruitless. There you go.) Yes, some days it feels more like a "to do" than a desire, but the more I dig into scripture the more God makes me hungry for it.

2. Eat (and feed my children) more fruits and vegetables. In my mind, I was going to make smoothies for myself and the kids a few times a week, sneak pureed veggies into some of my recipes, and ample fruits and veggies cut, packaged, and ready for snacking. In reality, I finally cut up said veggies today - the 20th day of the year. Oh, well. Baby steps.

Have been trying some new recipes out and really enjoying cooking lately. I made my first homemade pasta into ravioli (thank you, Top Cheftestant Fabio, for making this look so deceptively easy). I made a delicious soup - pasta e fagioli - that they serve at the Olive Garden. Prosciutto and sage and garlic and white beans and tomato - oh, so good. The problem with my cooking phases is that they rarely involve really healthy food. It's always the comfort foods (read: fattening) that grab my attention. Sauteed kale with olive oil? No thanks. Bacon mac-and-cheese? Bring it.

Two major victories in my house of late. After the longest potty-training battle in the history of parenting, Eli has finally begun to poop on the potty every day. Before bed. Without screaming. What magical bribery tool finally brought this about, you ask? Was it the multitude of Hot Wheels cars? Dips into the candy jar? Threats of bodily harm? No, it was stickers. Just... stickers. (And yes, we've tried stickers a few times in the past. Apparently my child is now "developmentally ready" for stickers.)

The other victory is that I haven't taken migraine medicine in over a week. That may not sound like much to you, but believe me, it's huge. I can hardly remember when I could go two days without a migraine. Who knows why or for how long it will last, but I'm just gonna go ahead and praise God.

mr. personality

This kid.

He's coming up on four years old, and he is a Character. Eli has had personality to spare since he was a young toddler. He keeps me either in stitches or pulling my hair out. There's very little neutral with this one.

Eli isn't often outright naughty, but he is curious and mischievous. As any reader of my blog (or anyone within hearing distance) knows, he gets into trouble the moment your back is turned. The other night, around four in the morning, I woke up to a very quiet tap-tap-tapping on my door. "Eli?" I groaned. His little head poked through the door, and he informed me he needed to go potty. After putting him back to bed, I stumbled back to my room and noticed my broom leaning against the wall outside our door. "That's odd," I thought sleepily. "I don't remember sweeping the carpet before bed." I went downstairs for some water and on the way passed a random empty sake cup sitting on the bottom step. "Also odd," I murmured. "I don't remember drinking sake on my way to bed."

The next morning I noticed a few other strange things around the house. Another sake cup in the refrigerator. The pantry door left open, and the quarter-bag of chocolate chips from the pantry lying on the floor, empty. A pair of pajama pants stuffed into the coffee table drawer. Someone had done a little exploring during the night.

Later that morning, Eli pointed to a glass measuring cup that was sitting out on the kitchen counter. The night before, it held a good amount of leftover balsamic vinaigrette, but now it was empty. "Mama?" said Eli with a mournful look on his face, "I dwank that chocowate miwk and it. did. not. taste. good."

Later still, we found the last sake cup in a drawer, with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette still in the bottom.

Eli definitely inherited his mommy's gift for words (which is a nice way of saying that he talks, endlessly, just like I did. Again, mom and dad, I'm sorry.) I usually fall asleep and wake up to him babbling away in his room. He's developing a great imagination and loves to play with (and talk to) his stuffed animals. He already has a great sense of humor and we laugh together a lot - and at him a lot. I could, however, stand a fewer pee and poop jokes.

Oh, and he loves his little brother. A few months ago, he turned a 180 from trying to clobber Lucas at every turn to trying to (aggressively) hug him at every turn. Every time he says, "Wucas is my sweetie brudda," my heart melts a little.

a little tiny soap box

So, it occurs to me that the blog post I wrote late last night may have come across a little too transparent for those of my readers who prefer light-hearted "Guess what Eli said today?" posts. I hope that I didn't send anyone into a panic - I am not planning to jump off any bridges, and I don't need an intervention. One of my New Year's goals is to blog as often as possible - and that means that on some days, you will see the sunny side of my life, and on others, you will see something much more raw. The truth is, as women, especially as Christian women, we tend to live lives of great secrecy. We share the whole truth - the really ugly, scary thoughts and emotions - with very few people, if any. We are afraid to speak up when what we experience or what we feel isn't found in any Beth Moore book. And this? The shiny half-truth that we clothe ourselves in before we head off to church or work or play group or Target? It's a tool of Satan. I know, I know, nobody's comfortable tossing around the word "Satan." But he's real. He is the enemy. And this enemy of ours tells me that the Me who is content, self-controlled, faithful, gentle, and patient is the "Christian me." And the one who fails to live out the fruits of the Spirit is the sinner, and has to hide. But the truth is, it's all just me. I'm a real human being, and I live a real life. I swear when I drop something on my foot. I lose my patience with my kids when they whine and fight and make messes. I feel real things joy and sorrow, lightness and anger, hopefulness and hopelessness. Yes, I strive to live a life that pleases and glorifies the Lord. I try to be controlled by the Spirit and not by my emotions. I am quick to repent when I know I am hurting His heart. But my humanity does not make me a hypocrite. Please, don't believe that yours does, either.

I have two purposes in writing this blog. One, to encourage other women that they are not alone, even in their ugliest moments. That is why I try to write very transparently. Oh, I self-edit, of course. I do so to protect the people I love (because really, I swear a lot more than my mother-in-law thinks I do). But I see no need for another blog about another "perfect" Christian woman. I love to hear from readers who tell me they can "so relate" to what I've written. But even more important to me is to ultimately point you to Christ. I hope, and I pray that even when I let you see me at my weakest and lowest points, you will understand that I still have incredible, unexplainable joy and hope in the arms of my Savior. It's a tough balance to strike, and I know I fail at it often. Thanks for coming back anyway. Tomorrow, I promise, will be all about my cute kids.