Why 3

As a rule I try to be in a good state of mind when I blog...but today I'm making an exception. I'm tired, I'm inexplicably grumpy/angry, I'm hungry, and all I want is someone to give me a hug and pretend to not notice when I start crying.

I'm pregnant with our third. I honestly don't know if that is why I feel all this at the moment, but it probably isn' helping.

I figured it would be a good time to get my thoughts out on why I we decided a third kid was a good idea. I don't have any baby stuff left because I couldn't wait to purge my house of babydom and launch into the new and older stages my kids were hitting. Approximately one year ago I was thinking about my daughter being three and heard myself say (in my head of course) "wow, not too much longer and she will be off to school and I can get on with my life." I'm not proud of this, I'm just being transparent because like I said, my filter is off right now. As soon as I had that thought it was followed by "um...I'm glad I didn't say that out loud, but I'm a little scared I said it at all."

This caused a series of prayer, reflection...confession for the next few months and oddly enough it cracked open the door to idea of a third baby. When I took a hard look a my life I realized I've never been more challenged, stretched, cracked open, exposed than the time I've had raising our kids. It does make sense that there is a part of me that wants to run from that, but that is just the weiney in me.

Then there was this other factor...their dad. He is the saving grace of this family. I had/have a great dad too. Everyone should have a great dad, and yet many people don't. And that screws them up. When I looked at what God had blessed us with in our family...not only a great marriage, but amazing extended family on both sides, great friends...why wouldn't I want to share that with another kid?

If I'm being dead honest I would say at my core I am very insecure about my ability to be the mom my kids need (especially on days like today). But I do say that I love them and the very definition of love is sacrifice...not "getting on with my life." I also have Jesus and I hang desperately onto the fact that His grace covers my mess.

So why wouldn't I choose to stay in this life awhile longer?

I'm pretty sure I've lost my mind...and I'm learning to be okay with that.

He still has his bear

I was feeling nostalgic yesterday so I combed through some old posts. And that is where I discovered my son. The one who took his bear everywhere, the one who repeatedly asked me to marry him. The one who could ignite my anger and melt my heart in the same breath.

I know his dad and I know him better than anyone, and yet I don't feel like I recognize him anymore. I love watching him grow and mature from baby to boy to little man...but the older he gets the more he becomes a mystery to me.

This week he came home after a rough day at school. He was snippy and defensive and I took it all in stride...ha ha just kidding...that is a lie. I got irritated. He went to his room to get something and I felt a tug in my heart. I knew I needed to get over my irritation and give him some love, and for once I acted on it. I went downstairs, got eye level with him, grabbed his head with my hands and planted a fat kiss on his forehead. I pulled his head back and looked him in squarely in the eye and said, "I love you buddy."

And that was when I had a flash of recognition. It may have been his smile or his eyes who knows, but it was him. Jaden Catcher Price, my son.

He may never ask me to marry him again...which is good because that would get weird...but no matter how bad his breath is or confusing his obsessions are he is and always will be my boy.

Why I should wash my dishes more often

I really dislike washing dishes, and one of the things I dislike the most is how easy it actually is and how little time it takes. I have a dishwasher so I only have to hand wash a couple of things, but those things mock me daily. They sit, unwashed in an unkempt stack by my sink laughing at my helplessness to make the kitchen look clean without dealing with them. I avoid it for days, and then once I finally surrender, and start the process only to be done in 5 minutes...I again am frustrated with how long it took me to deal with it. Hmm, just saw a parallel drawn for my spiritual life.

Anyways, tonight during my dishwashing my mind wandered to elementary school and all the drama that was my 2nd-5th grade years. I don't know what it was about my class, but we ladies were desperate housewives caught in itty-bitty bodies. We had lies, gossip, boyfriend swapping, best friend stealing, torture (not really) cruel jokes...you get the idea. If we had been born at a different time they would probably have named a reality show after us, "The cruel elementary lives of Warsaw Christian School." Oh yeah, we were christians alright, downright Medieval Crusade style.

I remember I used to blame one girl in particular. Her name was Jahna and I worshiped her. She was beautiful, wealthy and popular. I always wanted to get in with her. I would on occasion...but then I would get traded for another best friend. I believed that if she were to leave the school I would finally be happy. Peace was just waiting for this girl to get out of the way. Once she came to school and told all of us that she cried all night the night before and begged her mom to homeschool her, and I thought, "Yes, that is a good idea. You should totally get homeschooled. And then wait, then maybe I could get homeschooled and our moms could teach us together and we will live completely happy as bffs." Neither of us ended up getting homeschooled although our teachers were probably rooting for that plan behind the scenes.

In 6th grade things changed. I changed. I got sick and I got fat, really fat. It all happened over the summer so I showed up in fall like "Hey remember the 75lb girl from 5th grade? She just gained 45 lbs of water weight over the summer and almost died...how was your summer?" And a strange thing happened, the drama went away. I do have a couple of memories of kids being cruel, but that was associated with my weight and not with the girly drama. Until tonight I have always just figured the drama went away because I was no longer a threat. I wasn't pretty so there were no boyfriends to fight over. Mystery solved.

But tonight it hit me...I think the drama went away because I was the drama. The only thing that changed in 6th grade was me. I went from being a self-centered insecure little princess snot person who gossiped and manipulated to get more popular, to a fat, God fearing girl.

Oh Jahna, I am so sorry. You did not deserve the blame I threw on you. I just wanted to be anyone other than myself. What a terrible way to live. Praise God he picked up this confused 5th grader, took away everything that she thought made her important, and hit the reset button.

Ole'! Take 2

I've been to Mexico a grand total of two times in my life. Dan took me to a resort a couple of years ago for a delayed honeymoon/early 10 year anniversary trip. We lounged around kid free taking full advantage of the beautiful beaches, pools, all inclusive food and drinks, and the never ending sun. I came back tan, relaxed, and a bit heavier.

Two months ago I went back to Mexico. I came back exhausted, dirty, sporting a beautiful farmers tan, and hair I like to describe as "haggard mom hair." This was not a resort, but over the week I was there it became the most beautiful place I've ever been. The strong emotions have faded as they do after a trip like this, but what has replaced it is an understanding and a resolve that is deep and real. It is a strange and overwhelming thing to see God working and doing His thing in a different part of the world. I've heard about it, but to see it first hand simultaneously humbled and thrilled me. These kids in Mexico are the abandoned, the forgotten, the despised, and God has refused to allow that to remain. He is using Back2Back Ministries to restore hope to the hopeless...which is no small undertaking.

So for one small week myself and 58 others from my church got to jump in and help them do their thang. And I'm home now, reunited with my own children, and resolved to help restore hope to the hopeless in my own part of the world. Doing that looks much different here than it did there, but it is all for the same God.

And I think that is amazing.

Ole!

I just had a great memory return to me when I wrote the title. This is completely not what I was planning on discussing, but a little digression is healthy for my soul. Years ago, when I was helping establish a crepe shop I was discussing the espresso menu with the owner. I may have mentioned a few hundred times that I had worked in coffee shops for many years and he should trust me with this menu.

Well...he did until he realized that I truly though Cafe Au Lait (meaning coffee with milk) was spelled Cafe "Ole." The picture of him laughing and throwing up his arms in a mock Spanish dance whilst yelling, "Ole!" is forever branded on my pride.

I planned on writing about my time in Mexico...and this is what showed up instead.

My mind is weird.

Dad

When I was young, I knew I was adored.

My dad would take me on dates and sing to me as I came down the steps in the morning. He also played tag and chased me around the house until the day he tripped and seriously injured his shoulder. On an unrelated note...did I mention by the time I came into the family my father was not all that "young"?

When I was a teenager, I knew I was safe.

I shudder knowing I will have teenagers someday. I knew everything, and I didn't need any advice or guidance. But even when I was arguing and blocking him out, I was watching. I watched him love our mom the way a husband should. I watched him hurt for his kids as he walked with them in their pain. I almost watched him die, and as scary as that was, I watched his commitment to God throughout his entire recovery. And through all of my watching I knew I had a father who loved God and his family. And I knew I was safe.

When I was in college, I knew I was an idiot.

The time came when I finally saw the selfish spoiled girl I truly was-the stupid girl who knew nothing and had taken the gift of her father for granted.

Now I'm a girl with her own family. And now I know. The adoration, the security, the unconditional love...it all came from a man who reflects my Heavenly Father far better than any other dad I know.

I am who I am today because of the man my father was and is. The older I get, the more aware I become that fathers in general are scarce, but fathers like him are unheard of.

But he exists, and he is a gift I no longer take for granted.

Bringing in 7 with style

Today is Mother's Day. Today is also Jaden's seventh birthday. Seven years ago I remember holding my 1 day old son on Mother's Day and thinking, "Whose baby is this?"

I also remember a holding you a week after you were born and crying through my sleep deprived hormonal tears, "She's so beautiful."

Seven years later and we still get to call you ours. How humbling. You are bright, you are deep, you are compassionate, you are full of faith. You ask questions that cause me to ask questions which cause me to grow up a little bit more.

Son, you are the iron that sharpens my iron.

I cannot imagine a better Mother's Day gift than you.