It’s okay to not be okay

Last night I dreamt my house was on fire. It was a slow burn in the basement but we knew we were going to lose the entire house. Smoke was starting to come up the basement stairs as we evaluated what we wanted to save. I helped my kids grab their beloved blankets and stuffed animals. I reassured them the rest was not worth the risk and it was okay to let it burn.

Once we were safely outside I noticed my wedding ring had been replaced by my grandmother's ring on my finger. I left the kids outside and ran back into the burning house to rescue my wedding ring.

Even in my dreams I know letting that burn is not an option.

Emotional Gut Health

My daughter and I share a condition I like to call Emotional Constipation.

Emotional Constipation
Def: The inability to recognize and identify the tricky bastard of emotion(s) that are swirling around inside you. Also can be confused with "stoicism" or "not caring." The lack of identification often leads to denial and never speaking a word about it.

I look at my daughter in the midst of her quiet chaos and think, "Oh sweet girl, your eyes betray you. I can try and help you have a safe quiet place to process, I can offer up different feelings and let you pick the one that feels the closest, but I can't make you speak."

I'm just now learning how to speak. I believe my condition is part nature and part nurture, but it is part of me all the same. By God's grace he has brought friends into my life that suffer from an opposite condition. One I call Emotional Diarrhea.

Emotional Diarrhea
Def: The ability to recognize and feel all the emotions, yours and other's. They are easily identified and strongly felt. The emotions have to be purged otherwise they will overwhelm and destroy the carrier. Can be confused with "emotionally unstable."

Both types have issues. Maybe if you put us together the result is health. I like that idea.

The Smell of Risotto

My husband has been battling Lyme Disease and it's damage for almost five years now. The thing that often gets buried in our memories, both for him and myself, is during that time I also had Lyme disease. From diagnosis to ending treatment my experience lasted one year. It's a blur of a year. I remember a friend hiring another friend to clean the house, friends bringing over freezer meals, coordinating carpools from my computer and phone so my kids were taken care, friends helping weed gardens, friends coming over to sit with me and help with my youngest kid, and spending a lot of time in bed watching Netflix. I tried doing things and then would quit. I remember cancelled plans, letting people down. It was a humiliating year, and a wonderful year.

Because you can't experience the happiness of rebuilding your life if it was never taken away.

One day, as I was recovering I made risotto. Risotto is fussy to make. It takes time and needs some babysitting. I was standing over my stove, caught a whiff of the squash, onion and garlic and started to cry. I had forgotten that I enjoyed standing over a stove. I had forgotten what it felt like to be able to stand in my kitchen and cook my own food. I also cried in my car after going back to the gym for the first time. I cried when I realized I was able to go to the dance studio with my daughter and interact with people instead of having someone drop her off. Bit by bit, I've been allowed to engage in little pieces of my life again. And by "engage" I mean "cry." The crying is a new thing I picked up over the past five years. I don't mind it, but it is very different from who I was.

My tiny battle with Lyme gave me a small taste of the hell my husband has gone through. Unfortunately his battle isn't over. Take my one year experience and multiply it by a million.

And yet, you can't experience the happiness of rebuilding your life if it was never taken away.

I daydream about the day I can write about all of this in the past tense. So does he. I think that day will come, and sometimes he thinks so too. In the meantime we will cry, laugh and wake up each day and try again.

Firmly Awana Stands

I was an AWANA kid. That means that once a week I put on my AWANA vest, strutted to church and earned a crazy amount of jewels and awards to pin to my vest. One earns awards with Bible verse memorization and a couple of other things I don't remember in AWANA. I earned every single jewel I could. I rocked my Bible memorization/recitation. I was an AWANA super kid.

I was primarily motivated by the jewels...and maybe a little by God's approval.

And then one day it happened. Some teacher/adult/volunteer mentioned that we earned real jewels in Heaven if we led someone to get saved. WHAT?! My heart leaped. Why had I not known this earlier? I immediately started scoping out my friends and family to see if any of them weren't Christians so I could get them saved and earn my awesome real jewel. Unfortunately most of them were...except for one. I wish I could remember her name, but I do know that mom picked her up on our way to AWANA. She didn't go to our church other than that, so I assumed she was one of the "lost."

And my opportunity.

I pounced during AWANA game time.

"So ____________ do you know Jesus?"

"What?"

"You know, Jesus. The God who saves us."

"I don't know."

"Well, are you a Christian?"

"I don't know."


At this point I knew I had her. I had found my "unsaved" and I was dangerously close to victory. I needed to close the deal fast.


"Do you want to be a Christian?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Well, you should. All you have to do is say this prayer (say something weird about Jesus entering her heart)."

"Okay, but I have to go to the bathroom. I'll do it in the bathroom." (She leaves and goes to the bathroom).

"So did you do it? Did you ask Jesus into your heart in the bathroom and become a Christian."

"Um...yes."


Sweet Lord Jesus! I had done it! I had earned my first Jewel.

I later heard that even though we earned crowns and jewels in Heaven we are going to give them back to Jesus. Fat chance Jesus.


I desperately want to leave my story there because the young superstar AWANA Suzanne is so comedic and sad. She is also very real. I really was that girl. And honestly somedays I still am. Praise Jesus the older I get,the more He works, the more convinced I become that if there truly are crowns and jewels waiting for me in Heaven, I will dead sprint to Him to give them back. I've done nothing. I deserve no jewels. He has done it all.

denial observed

Sunday: "Hmm, I'm really grumpy and short tempered. Weird, I'm also achy. I must be PMSing."

Monday: "I woke up in a sweat this morning. So strange, my hormones must be wacky. My workout was extra hard too, I just didn't seem to have energy."

"Yeah, I know I don't normally take naps but I was feeling extra lazy today."

Tuesday: "My body still really aches. It must be the yoga I did at home this morning."

"I have about 1 hour before I need to be at school to volunteer, I'll just lay down again-since it's so cold in this house, I should probably keep my coat and boots on."

"Okay, I have 1/2 hour before I need to make dinner and then take J to soccer practice, I think I'll lay down again...why is it so %^&*&# cold in this house! I've got the fire on and 3 layers?!"

(I then lay down)

"I can't get up. Maybe I'm sick."

Wednesday: "I hate this."

Thursday: "Today I must be feeling better."

"Keep going, keep going, keep going." (while attempting laundry)

"Keep going, keep going, keep going." (while putting food in crock pot)

"Keep going, keep going, keep going." (while putting dishes away)

"#$%&%$# I'm done."

Friday: "Today I must be feeling better."

"I have to be better, I'm probably just being lazy because I haven't done work all week and my body has forgotten how."

"Nope."

Saturday (today): "Okay, TODAY I must be feeling better."

"...But why is it still so cold?"

I'm a...

There are great articles circling the facebooksphere-actually great articles and greatly ridiculous articles. A decent one has been banging around in my head lately. It was written by a mom telling every other mom in the world to chill out, stop trying to be everything, and celebrate who you are and who others are.

I applaud you outspoken blogger woman who is comfortable in your own skin. Now can you come visit me and let me know what I'm good at? I liked to garden, but then we moved and I had a lot of stairs to get to the backyard, so I stopped liking gardening. Cooking is fun, except this month, and last month...so now I'm questioning the definition of "fun." Health food is a great concept so on occasion I will turn our house into an organic vegetarian paradise, until I get tired and serve ice cream for dinner. I was a working mom so I dressed in fancy work clothes and pretended to be a grown up, but those days are over for now. And the list goes on and on...

The truth is, I don't care. Am I a gardener, am I a health nut, am I a cook, do I rock birthday parties and wow with my fashion sense and personal fitness? I don't know (except about the fashion, I know I don't have great fashion sense) and it takes too much time or energy to think about it. My life and "gifts" seem to change on the daily. A couple of days ago I was crazy clean house mom and yesterday I stared at my laundry while I had a long and embarrassing dance party with the kids.

Thank God what I do does not make me who I am. Thank God that who I am is safe and secure in God's view of me. Otherwise I would spend life trying to achieve things for the sole purpose of proving that I matter. That sounds insanely exhausting, and one thing I do know for certain is I don't have the energy for that.

Dear Jesus take 2

Dear Jesus...sometimes my life feels exhausting, and then you give me delicious wine, the Dick Van Dyke show and an infomercial about a massive light up key chain that helps you find your keys in your death chasm of a purse with only a shake, and life seems amazing again.

Thank you.

Dear Jesus...

please turn off my crazy.

Amen.

Books and Gift Theft

My senior recital at college opened with the line, "I love books." Riveting, I know...but true all the same. Over the past few years, I have mostly stopped reading books. I still love them, they just take too much time away from other things like watching awesome TV. But I am reading a book right now called, "What Every Man Wishes His Father Had Told Him." I realize that I am neither a man nor a father so I actually picked it up flippantly one day because it was on the table and I needed something to do while I was eating my fifth meal of the day. I'm telling you right now...go get this book. Seriously, right now. Don't believe me yet, check out this line, "When we are insecure it's as if we're attempting to cover up that which God uncovered on the cross and finally dealt with. To deny the cross is like stealing our gifts at our own party." I understand where fear, protection, pride, and insecurity all come from. I personally deal with it daily...I'm just sick of it. Why not just come clean about who we are? I'm tired of stealing gifts at my own party. I'm tired of watching others do the same. Geesh...this gospel stuff is crazy. Who knew?

Stop your blubbering

Two days ago Jaden and I were discussing Heaven. I don't remember much of the conversation except for his closing statement of, "Wow, that is so crazy that God has a place for us that is even better than here, because I think this world is pretty amazing."

I immediately had two thoughts.
1. Praise God that my son is still innocent and views this world with so much joy.
2. Will I ever feel that way again?

I do enjoy life, but there are times where life feels...heavy.

Tonight I was sitting downstairs watching a movie with the kids. I knew they wouldn't be able to finish it before bedtime and I warned Jaden about this. Parker was exhausted so she ended up crawling into my lap during the movie and falling asleep about a half and hour before bedtime. When bedtime came so came the drama. The short of it is I turned into "I warned you this was going to happen...so don't give me any crap" mom which did not sit well with my oldest...and my youngest woke up and began wailing because she realized she had slept through the sacred bedtime snack and I turned into "stop crying you are driving me nuts" mom which did not sit well with my youngest.

I sent them to bed feeling like a complete failure. Parker continued to wail uncontrollably and no matter where I was in the house I could hear her. I began to pray for wisdom, guidance, deafness...whatever it took to make this horrible sound go away. I knew that giving her what she wanted (a snack) would only wake her body up and keep her from getting the sleep she so desperately needed. I knew I was making the right choice, but it felt awful. I then had a thought (I'm guessing it was an answer to prayer), that maybe I should go into her room and hold her while she cries. I'm not changing the situation, but I can try and comfort her through it.

I did, and after 20 minutes of crying in my arms she laid back down and went into a deep sleep. I realized I wasn't done. I left her room and went to Jaden's room, kissed him on the forehead, accidentally woke him up, and apologized for my attitude.

Normally I buck at the spiritual wrap-up but this was so blaringly clear to me I couldn't avoid it. Here goes it...

If you are paying attention life is heavy. There is pain, sin, and destruction all around. But we have a God who, even if He chooses not to change the circumstances for reasons beyond our understanding, will lovingly hold us through our sobs and cries of injustice.

I tend to view God as the mom (me) who yells,"Just trust me and stop your blubbering." I'm learning ever so slowly how wrong I am. And that gives me joy in this world.

Don't judge. It's an entertaining show.

The other night I was watching Desperate Housewives and the husband was sitting next to me on his computer. The show revolved around the funeral of one of the characters who had been murdered. They were making some pithy comments about what heaven was, you know, the kind of drivel that only TV drama can conjure up. The husband started tuning in and began to groan about its ridiculousness. He turned to have me join him in his groaning...only to find me silently weeping beside him.

I think it sounded something like, "Are you kidding me? Is this really how people are trying to comfort themselves into the face of death (he turns to me)...um...oh wait. You are crying. A lot. Um.....sorry?"

I then proceeded to weep openly which led to straight up sobbing. I had to run and hide in the bathroom until the emotional mess of it all was over.

The very next day I was on the treadmill at the gym jamming to my Lauryn Hill mix. Her song "Zion," which minus the religious stuff is about her son, came on and I began to cry. The crying kept coming so I started running faster in hopes that it would distract me from the apparently heart wrenching song and keep others from noticing or at least think I'm simply sweating through my eyes. This only led to me crying harder and practically hyperventilating because I am not actually a runner...which turned me into quite the sight at the local OakPark YMCA.

And today I had to stop reading my book because every other paragraph made me weepy.

22 weeks left. It is going to be a long 22 weeks.

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.

why you don't argue with a 3 year old

This morning Parker and I had a discussion about what clothes matched.

"Mommy, we can't wear brown pants. It no match."

"Parker, you need to trust me."

"But it no match Mommy."

"Do you understand that I am smarter than you and I know things that you don't know?"

"You no 'marter. And I am cute and no 'marter."

She wore the brown pants. She and I both walked away thinking we had won.

Ugly Faces and Nerds

I had a friend at college, I will call her Roma because I don't know anyone by that name (is that even a human name?). She and I got along early on our freshman year...and then I began to notice a disturbing trend. When our group of friends would go to the cafeteria to eat, I wouldn't get a call to join them. Roma would then plan outings and "forget" to invite me. I was starting to get nudged out. This happened slowly and I think it is dumb to fight when it comes to this sort of thing so I kept my mouth shut and started developing other friendships.

But every once in awhile Roma and I would find ourselves hanging out with everyone. One night we were all together and laughing hard about who knows what (it was probably juvenile because as I mentioned we were freshmen). Roma and I were both laughing and she looks at me, points and says, "Suzanne, your face is so ugly when you laugh."

Try as I might I can not get that out of my head every time I laugh.

Another time I remember her saying in front of everyone, "You sure go on a lot of dates, but the guys you date are so nerdy." I am currently laughing (and probably looking hideous) because thinking back, both those things are potentially true.

There is something else I remember vividly. I had/have a friend named Suzy (real name) who was part of that freshman troupe. We never spoke about Roma, but I think she noticed on some level what was going on. She started to call and make sure I was invited when they were going to eat or go on some excursion. My other friends didn't do that, not because they didn't like me...but because they didn't see it. But Suzy noticed and she did something about it.

I want to be like that. I want to pay attention like that.

By the way, Roma and I are cool. We got along fine as we got older and settled in to our college thing. In fact, since I think about her almost every time I laugh she might be the person I think about the most from college. The exception being my husband of course. And for the record, I may have dated a lot of nerds early on...but I ended up with the coolest one who loves me and my ugly laughing face.