So here you are! HI!
Now there you go!
See you there!
Thank you!
3/20/11
come here. go there.
I think we're still doing this thing where you come here and then I direct you to the new place...because I don't think you'll know to go there quite yet. Something about feeds and subscribers and other technical things.
So here you are! HI!
Now there you go!
See you there!
Thank you!
So here you are! HI!
Now there you go!
See you there!
Thank you!
3/18/11
my new home
Hi! I have a new domain! It's over on wordpress at www.extraordinary-ordinary.net
I have no idea yet if your subscriptions are going to transfer over--whether you are subscribed by email, via RSS feed or google friend connect. So, stay tuned. (Please.)
In the meantime, go check out the new site! (Please.)
Once we figure out what happens to all of you who are currently subscribed, I will pass along some more information. For now, I'll continue to put all new posts here, for those of you who subscribe. I'll also be posting a new post on the new site and who knows? Maybe it will magically transfer for subscribers? We shall see...and if that's the case, you won't have to do any of that re-subscribing stuff.
SIDENOTE: Yeah, this is all so technical, it makes my head spin, but it's going to be OKAY.
(that last part was a note to self)
Thank you, friends.
I have no idea yet if your subscriptions are going to transfer over--whether you are subscribed by email, via RSS feed or google friend connect. So, stay tuned. (Please.)
In the meantime, go check out the new site! (Please.)
Once we figure out what happens to all of you who are currently subscribed, I will pass along some more information. For now, I'll continue to put all new posts here, for those of you who subscribe. I'll also be posting a new post on the new site and who knows? Maybe it will magically transfer for subscribers? We shall see...and if that's the case, you won't have to do any of that re-subscribing stuff.
SIDENOTE: Yeah, this is all so technical, it makes my head spin, but it's going to be OKAY.
(that last part was a note to self)
Thank you, friends.
3/16/11
of course
After lunch and before Asher's nap, and after dinner and before bedtime, we have cleanup time. I'm not one of those you-have-to-clean-as-you-go-throughout-the-day moms. Maybe I'm just too lazy to stay on top of that, so we do it twice a day. It works for us.
Today as I was walking through each room before lunch, picking up strewn about clothes and Legos while the boys cleaned up the toy room, I noticed the difference in the sound my feet bring to the hardwood floors. It's louder than before. I'm heavier. My ever-growing belly (and other areas) weigh more and more by the pregnant day.
There was a strange comfort in the sound. thud thud thud.
There I am. I'm here. Doing this. I can hear me, I must be here.
So often a person can feel kind of invisible, just trapped in their own home and mind.
This made me think of a conversation I had over Twitter with my friend Lyz yesterday. She said she almost panicked when she couldn't find me. That's because if a person types in the previous .com (url) for this blog or has it bookmarked or clicks on my link in a sidebar or a profile page of mine or something, they're getting an error message. This blog no longer magically appears. (I explained in my last post about losing my domain. Subscribers via RSS or email are still able to find me, that's the good news, but non-subscribers who try to visit in any other way have no luck--long story.)
Anyway. I jokingly tweeted back to Lyz:
Today as I was walking through each room before lunch, picking up strewn about clothes and Legos while the boys cleaned up the toy room, I noticed the difference in the sound my feet bring to the hardwood floors. It's louder than before. I'm heavier. My ever-growing belly (and other areas) weigh more and more by the pregnant day.
There was a strange comfort in the sound. thud thud thud.
There I am. I'm here. Doing this. I can hear me, I must be here.
So often a person can feel kind of invisible, just trapped in their own home and mind.
This made me think of a conversation I had over Twitter with my friend Lyz yesterday. She said she almost panicked when she couldn't find me. That's because if a person types in the previous .com (url) for this blog or has it bookmarked or clicks on my link in a sidebar or a profile page of mine or something, they're getting an error message. This blog no longer magically appears. (I explained in my last post about losing my domain. Subscribers via RSS or email are still able to find me, that's the good news, but non-subscribers who try to visit in any other way have no luck--long story.)
Anyway. I jokingly tweeted back to Lyz:
"I DID panic. I'M LOSING MYSELF, I said. But I still exist. I think? I mean, if 80% of readers can't find me, I still exist, RIGHT?"
And then she responded with her typical hilarity:
"Doesn't the saying go "People can find my website, therefore I am."
Of course, this was silly banter, and also of course, this got me thinking more philosophical thoughts (this time about narcissism and online identity), since that's how my thoughts roll--they refuse to stay light.
I'll admit, this whole website thing has been bothering me. I'm fighting some pretty ridiculous thoughts, stomping my loud puffy feet. I'll think things like, Over four years of growing a readership and now no one can find me! This is of course ridiculous and irrational because the comments on the last post will prove that many people COULD actually find me. And! Do I really write here only to "grow a readership?" I think not. But when something like this happens, that single-minded kind of narcissism is tempting for a blogger and I can admit that.
Before I was writing here, the words were building in me and then I found this place to voice them, to be heard. Like I'd been pregnant with words and then I walked around and I cleaned them up and emptied them out, my feet sounding off across invisible interweb waves. You see, there is a beautiful and powerful kinship in being heard in this way, this way that is what my friend Ann calls bearing witness. My stories are here and when people come to read them, something happens, something in the mingle of the witness. Maybe I can't see you and I don't know what all of your reactions are, but there is something in knowing that a crowd, however big or small, is out there in the void. Your witness steals some of the power from my pain and amplifies my joy.
:::::
As I said in my last post, Sarah has been working on this website mess for me and has therefore been moving me to Wordpress from Blogger. (Because why not? I'm kind of starting over anyway.) She was moving the comments yesterday and while all of your words were transferring from one host to another, Sarah said "it's on comment 9,000 out of 20,000."
I couldn't wrap my mind or heart around that.
20,000 comments. There have been 20,000 moments in which someone took the time to let me know they heard me. What a gift.
Then I thought about Sarah, the way she is so often my sounding board, on the receiving end of my stories, my rants, of so many many of my words. I thought about the way she's my friend because we met in this online space and how that has turned from, Huh, she's cool, to Wow, I think this far away person may have become one of my best friends. We witness each other's words, Sarah and I, in and out of the blog world. We, just two people, are listening to each other walk around the house.
I guess what I'm saying is, of course it's okay if not everyone can find my blog as it gains a new address. Because I have irreplaceable ears and hearts in my life. That's different than a crowd, but not less. Which is something all bloggers need to remember about blogging. The numbers really are just numbers. What matters is that the words are getting out, released, unfurled, relieving us and making us feel less alone with them. They go from stirring circles around and around in just one place, to stirring circles in many places. We don't even ever get to know where they end. We speak, and even more importantly, we get to be a part of the crowd that receives, that hears. And being a part of a crowd that hears, big or small, is one of the most important jobs in our relationships, online or off. To listen to people, to really listen to them, like they're a good book or a captivating movie, that is one of the most beautiful gifts we can give.
Magically, when we give that gift, it brings us the same rewards in exchange. I read Ann's post about bearing witness yesterday and even though it is not about blogging (it's about so much more), it gave me what I needed as I heard her. It helped me to remember that I have the honor of bearing witness to footsteps heavy or soft and that in doing so, I serve the people that I hear.
That truth means more to me than numbers. Of course.
And then she responded with her typical hilarity:
"Doesn't the saying go "People can find my website, therefore I am."
Of course, this was silly banter, and also of course, this got me thinking more philosophical thoughts (this time about narcissism and online identity), since that's how my thoughts roll--they refuse to stay light.
I'll admit, this whole website thing has been bothering me. I'm fighting some pretty ridiculous thoughts, stomping my loud puffy feet. I'll think things like, Over four years of growing a readership and now no one can find me! This is of course ridiculous and irrational because the comments on the last post will prove that many people COULD actually find me. And! Do I really write here only to "grow a readership?" I think not. But when something like this happens, that single-minded kind of narcissism is tempting for a blogger and I can admit that.
Before I was writing here, the words were building in me and then I found this place to voice them, to be heard. Like I'd been pregnant with words and then I walked around and I cleaned them up and emptied them out, my feet sounding off across invisible interweb waves. You see, there is a beautiful and powerful kinship in being heard in this way, this way that is what my friend Ann calls bearing witness. My stories are here and when people come to read them, something happens, something in the mingle of the witness. Maybe I can't see you and I don't know what all of your reactions are, but there is something in knowing that a crowd, however big or small, is out there in the void. Your witness steals some of the power from my pain and amplifies my joy.
:::::
As I said in my last post, Sarah has been working on this website mess for me and has therefore been moving me to Wordpress from Blogger. (Because why not? I'm kind of starting over anyway.) She was moving the comments yesterday and while all of your words were transferring from one host to another, Sarah said "it's on comment 9,000 out of 20,000."
I couldn't wrap my mind or heart around that.
20,000 comments. There have been 20,000 moments in which someone took the time to let me know they heard me. What a gift.
Then I thought about Sarah, the way she is so often my sounding board, on the receiving end of my stories, my rants, of so many many of my words. I thought about the way she's my friend because we met in this online space and how that has turned from, Huh, she's cool, to Wow, I think this far away person may have become one of my best friends. We witness each other's words, Sarah and I, in and out of the blog world. We, just two people, are listening to each other walk around the house.
I guess what I'm saying is, of course it's okay if not everyone can find my blog as it gains a new address. Because I have irreplaceable ears and hearts in my life. That's different than a crowd, but not less. Which is something all bloggers need to remember about blogging. The numbers really are just numbers. What matters is that the words are getting out, released, unfurled, relieving us and making us feel less alone with them. They go from stirring circles around and around in just one place, to stirring circles in many places. We don't even ever get to know where they end. We speak, and even more importantly, we get to be a part of the crowd that receives, that hears. And being a part of a crowd that hears, big or small, is one of the most important jobs in our relationships, online or off. To listen to people, to really listen to them, like they're a good book or a captivating movie, that is one of the most beautiful gifts we can give.
Magically, when we give that gift, it brings us the same rewards in exchange. I read Ann's post about bearing witness yesterday and even though it is not about blogging (it's about so much more), it gave me what I needed as I heard her. It helped me to remember that I have the honor of bearing witness to footsteps heavy or soft and that in doing so, I serve the people that I hear.
That truth means more to me than numbers. Of course.
3/14/11
this is about how I don't have a web address anymore. So. How ARE you here? wow. you're good!
If you're here, I'm kind of surprised. *waves excitedly*
A person can't get here via the web address for The Extraordinary Ordinary anymore because I sort of kind of completely and totally forgot to pay for another year and then the web address gods were all "NO MORE extraordinary-ordinary.com for you!"
(I'm a girl who really really needs her reminder emails, and since I did not receive even one, well...I failed to pay.)
So for now, we're back to a blogspot address. (www.theextraordinaryordinary.blogspot.com)
I'm working on getting back my .com or switching to a .net or doing the hokey pokey or something; hopefully I'll get it all figured out soonly. (Actually I don't know how to figure any of this out, but Sarah does and she is so kind to help me. Thank you, my friend.)
For the most part, for now, I think this means hardly anyone will find this space. Which is such a bummer because I'll miss you. You can tell because I'm talking to you and you're probably not there.
Okay then.
To be continued...
*cue dramatic music*
A person can't get here via the web address for The Extraordinary Ordinary anymore because I sort of kind of completely and totally forgot to pay for another year and then the web address gods were all "NO MORE extraordinary-ordinary.com for you!"
(I'm a girl who really really needs her reminder emails, and since I did not receive even one, well...I failed to pay.)
So for now, we're back to a blogspot address. (www.theextraordinaryordinary.blogspot.com)
I'm working on getting back my .com or switching to a .net or doing the hokey pokey or something; hopefully I'll get it all figured out soonly. (Actually I don't know how to figure any of this out, but Sarah does and she is so kind to help me. Thank you, my friend.)
For the most part, for now, I think this means hardly anyone will find this space. Which is such a bummer because I'll miss you. You can tell because I'm talking to you and you're probably not there.
Okay then.
To be continued...
*cue dramatic music*
3/11/11
3/10/11
beautiful - a gift for casey mullins
This is the beautiful Casey Mullins...
(I stole this picture from her beautiful blog, Moosh in Indy)This is Casey's beautiful daughter (and this is also an example of Casey's beautiful photography)...
(yes, I also stole this picture.)Casey is having another beautiful daughter (currently known as Mozzi) in May and so today I want to do something special for her as a part of the Mozzi event being brought to you by Casey's lovely friend, Emily. Today is my day to honor Casey as a part of this event and I'd love it if you would keep reading because I need your help. Please...
The first time I got to spend time with Casey in person we spoke on a panel together (while we ate Skittles). I loved her a lot right away and I always will. We talked to a room full of people about writing about hard things like depression and then it turned into a very honest conversation about how we handle life. It made me think about how we're all the same in so many ways and I loved the way Casey validated the people there, the way she softly spoke encouragement and grace. She's a class act, that Casey.
We've both struggled (struggle) with depression. We both know that our hormones and chemicals and all that jazz get really wonky when we have babies. That can be scary, but we both also know that we're good mothers.
All of that to say that as I was thinking about what I could do to make Casey's day today, all of you came to mind. I thought about how much it would mean to Casey to hear you say something good about yourself as a mother. I know how much it matters to her to tell her story honestly, to inspire mothers to see the beauty in themselves. So we're going to do something I've actually done here before (a long long time ago) and I'm going to ask you to tell me something beautiful about yourself, as a mother. (I realize not all of you are mothers. Please feel free to say anything you'd like, as long as you're saying something positive about you.)
You do (and you ARE) a lot of really good things, you know. You just forget sometimes because we're just so hard on ourselves. So today we're giving Casey the gift of focusing on the good--the beautiful--in ourselves.
I'll start....
One thing that makes me a good mom is that I validate my children's feelings a lot without patronizing. I really want them to know I respect how they feel, and I think they know! Also, I let them eat Peeps, but not in excess. Congratulations, my dear Casey-Moosh. You are doing so many things right too. xo
See? Easy peasy. Now. Your turn...
P.S. You can keep up with the Mozzi party at Emily's place. (pssst...there are GOOD (beautiful) giveaways involved!)
3/9/11
yes, I said Christians scare me (and yes, I realize I am one)
This post is not about Rob Bell or the backlash against him, or even about Ann Voskamp and all of the opinions on her book. Then again, it is. It's about all of that and so much more...
:::::
I am covering my ears. My headphones are even making them disappear, lobes and all.
I am choosing my favorite station on Pandora and all I hear is melody, blocking out the conversations around me in this place. All the people and the grinding of the beans and the boots on hardwood.
It makes me think of the way we do that, burying our heads in the sand, not wanting to hear or see what other people are experiencing, trying not to understand their perspective because we're just so busy with choosing our own songs, our own opinions, our soap box issues.
I grew up around religious people. I guess you could consider me religious but I don't really like that word. I have faith. I believe. It is what it is and I am who I am...a person tuning in to the things that lift me and guide me. I am trying to hear the voice amidst all the instruments, so to speak.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, the way we humans believe things. Arguing about it all isn't rare, so maybe I should be used to people judging and fighting over theological differences, but I'm not. It turns my insides and I turn up my volume to try to drown it out, just like they do over each other. We don't get anywhere, doing that. In social media, we can write soap box tweets and facebook updates and blog posts and then anyone can join in, voicing their opinions, duking it out. It doesn't ever seem to accomplish anything though, so I guess I'm not sure why we're doing it.
When someone disagrees with us, I think it makes us fear our own validity. We're all just so insecure and scared and so if we stay in our camps and hold tightly to our melodies, we just feel better.
I understand that the people who stand on soap boxes in the name of Christian truth believe they must. They believe it is their duty to keep people from believing things they do not agree are true. But here's my question: How can we be acting in love at all when we're playing these songs so loudly, and if something isn't coming from a place of love, where is it coming from? What is the intention? And really, are we getting anywhere by taking the time to bang and clang? By beating the drum of condemnation?
The real voice of truth is drowning in all of these clashing melodies. I thought of that because something is wrong with my actual headphones. The wires are all stretched so the melody is clear but the lyrics are completely muffled. I can't hear the voice. So lately, as I've come across more of this, these posts or sermons or remarks, it all makes me think a lot and then I think out loud here. These issues to fight over come up and then they pass, it all ebbs and flows, I suppose. And when it's flowing, I can't hear the voice. The spirit of love, the intention of grace.
:::::
Most of the time I write about my faith through story here. There's nothing really overt about it. I've only really blatantly professed my Christianity once or twice. I'm totally comfortable with that. It's actually quite purposeful, but I don't want to get into all the reasons why today. I will only mention one of those reasons and it is this:
Christians scare me.
Yes, Christians scare me, and yes, I realize I am one of them. I guess I'm referring specifically to those Christians who bang their drums the loudest, each strike another blow of opinions, of "right," of frustration over anything that isn't played out as they see fit.
I am scared of Christians because I never know what kind I'm going to get and it is so rare to meet one who truly accepts me just exactly as I am, whether conservative or liberal, a drunk or sober, or whether I hold the exact same theology as they do, or not.
I am scared of how much it hurts when I'm talking to a Christian and it seems like all I can hear is a soft harmony, maybe like a violin and then screech! there comes a remark, a comment of harsh opinion that slices through the voice and cuts me or someone else down. I'm scared of how sad that makes me.
I can't figure out how to reconcile that kind of noise with the voice I hear in the stories of Christ.
:::::
I could live on melody alone, I suppose, but I don't want to live in bubbles with other Christians, all of us holding our viewpoints like a harmonica to our mouths, completely missing the point. I can't do that. That scares me the most, that I might miss the point, that I would never hear the voice.
Love. He said it with a clear voice, all accapella-like, when He left. It was very very simple.
But lately what I've been hearing is much like my actual headphones, muffling the voice with melodies too loud. It seems our wires are crossed and then this very simple truth--love--it gets so complicated.
As mushy and trite as it may sound, I can assure you that if we sat together, I would hear you and love you, no matter what you think or believe, where your fears and opinions lie, what melodies and harmonies you choose. I would hear your voice because it's so worth hearing. I would not cover my ears and blast my own safe songs because that scares me too. How would I learn from you and how would I hear the voice of love through you, if I'm not listening?
That is the Christ that I know. One who hears and loves, not one folded down to fit in a box, muffled, to be stood on, to be used to support our viewpoints, to have His words twisted to fit our opinions.
As I finish this post, I'm thinking and thinking and putting all my things in my bag. I'm getting ready to go, back out with all the other people with all their many ways. Suddenly the lyrics to the songs become clear. I can hear the voice, coming directly from the speakers, loud and clear. Because I took my headphones off.
:::::
I am covering my ears. My headphones are even making them disappear, lobes and all.
I am choosing my favorite station on Pandora and all I hear is melody, blocking out the conversations around me in this place. All the people and the grinding of the beans and the boots on hardwood.
It makes me think of the way we do that, burying our heads in the sand, not wanting to hear or see what other people are experiencing, trying not to understand their perspective because we're just so busy with choosing our own songs, our own opinions, our soap box issues.
I grew up around religious people. I guess you could consider me religious but I don't really like that word. I have faith. I believe. It is what it is and I am who I am...a person tuning in to the things that lift me and guide me. I am trying to hear the voice amidst all the instruments, so to speak.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, the way we humans believe things. Arguing about it all isn't rare, so maybe I should be used to people judging and fighting over theological differences, but I'm not. It turns my insides and I turn up my volume to try to drown it out, just like they do over each other. We don't get anywhere, doing that. In social media, we can write soap box tweets and facebook updates and blog posts and then anyone can join in, voicing their opinions, duking it out. It doesn't ever seem to accomplish anything though, so I guess I'm not sure why we're doing it.
When someone disagrees with us, I think it makes us fear our own validity. We're all just so insecure and scared and so if we stay in our camps and hold tightly to our melodies, we just feel better.
I understand that the people who stand on soap boxes in the name of Christian truth believe they must. They believe it is their duty to keep people from believing things they do not agree are true. But here's my question: How can we be acting in love at all when we're playing these songs so loudly, and if something isn't coming from a place of love, where is it coming from? What is the intention? And really, are we getting anywhere by taking the time to bang and clang? By beating the drum of condemnation?
The real voice of truth is drowning in all of these clashing melodies. I thought of that because something is wrong with my actual headphones. The wires are all stretched so the melody is clear but the lyrics are completely muffled. I can't hear the voice. So lately, as I've come across more of this, these posts or sermons or remarks, it all makes me think a lot and then I think out loud here. These issues to fight over come up and then they pass, it all ebbs and flows, I suppose. And when it's flowing, I can't hear the voice. The spirit of love, the intention of grace.
:::::
Most of the time I write about my faith through story here. There's nothing really overt about it. I've only really blatantly professed my Christianity once or twice. I'm totally comfortable with that. It's actually quite purposeful, but I don't want to get into all the reasons why today. I will only mention one of those reasons and it is this:
Christians scare me.
Yes, Christians scare me, and yes, I realize I am one of them. I guess I'm referring specifically to those Christians who bang their drums the loudest, each strike another blow of opinions, of "right," of frustration over anything that isn't played out as they see fit.
I am scared of Christians because I never know what kind I'm going to get and it is so rare to meet one who truly accepts me just exactly as I am, whether conservative or liberal, a drunk or sober, or whether I hold the exact same theology as they do, or not.
I am scared of how much it hurts when I'm talking to a Christian and it seems like all I can hear is a soft harmony, maybe like a violin and then screech! there comes a remark, a comment of harsh opinion that slices through the voice and cuts me or someone else down. I'm scared of how sad that makes me.
I can't figure out how to reconcile that kind of noise with the voice I hear in the stories of Christ.
:::::
I could live on melody alone, I suppose, but I don't want to live in bubbles with other Christians, all of us holding our viewpoints like a harmonica to our mouths, completely missing the point. I can't do that. That scares me the most, that I might miss the point, that I would never hear the voice.
Love. He said it with a clear voice, all accapella-like, when He left. It was very very simple.
But lately what I've been hearing is much like my actual headphones, muffling the voice with melodies too loud. It seems our wires are crossed and then this very simple truth--love--it gets so complicated.
As mushy and trite as it may sound, I can assure you that if we sat together, I would hear you and love you, no matter what you think or believe, where your fears and opinions lie, what melodies and harmonies you choose. I would hear your voice because it's so worth hearing. I would not cover my ears and blast my own safe songs because that scares me too. How would I learn from you and how would I hear the voice of love through you, if I'm not listening?
That is the Christ that I know. One who hears and loves, not one folded down to fit in a box, muffled, to be stood on, to be used to support our viewpoints, to have His words twisted to fit our opinions.
As I finish this post, I'm thinking and thinking and putting all my things in my bag. I'm getting ready to go, back out with all the other people with all their many ways. Suddenly the lyrics to the songs become clear. I can hear the voice, coming directly from the speakers, loud and clear. Because I took my headphones off.
3/5/11
in which I poll you - baby girl names
We love some of the names in this poll.
We sort of like some of the names in this poll.
We don't like some of the names in this poll all that much at all.
oooooh, tricky....
So really, the names we love will still remain a secret, even though I'm asking you to vote for a name for our baby girl in a poll, just for fun, because I'm curious and because I like you.
You don't have to sign up for anything and it's all anonymous and stuff. So ready-set-go! One click! Vote!
(and thank you!)
We sort of like some of the names in this poll.
We don't like some of the names in this poll all that much at all.
oooooh, tricky....
So really, the names we love will still remain a secret, even though I'm asking you to vote for a name for our baby girl in a poll, just for fun, because I'm curious and because I like you.
You don't have to sign up for anything and it's all anonymous and stuff. So ready-set-go! One click! Vote!
(and thank you!)
Oh and if you missed the video yesterday, you may want to watch it. Asher can teach you what happens if you give a chicken a lemon, and who wants to miss that?
COMMENTS ARE CLOSED ON THIS POST. (I don't really know why except that this is just a random poll.)
3/4/11
An Asher video for your Friday. You're welcome.
AsherChickenStory_0001, originally uploaded by Heather of the EO.
I'm so terribly in love with him.
Have a good weekend, friends.
3/2/11
a glass jar
I watch them now, how they run from one end of the house to the other and I really do want to keep them here, in this space and time. I had this crazy thought, when my heart was bursting for the right now of them. I wanted to scoop them up and put them in a glass jar that's just the right size to hold them, to screw on the tin cover, just to watch them, to keep them this way. Like lightening bugs. But of course that can't be, they are not boys meant for bubbles or jars, they are my little people, and they're here, free. So free it hurts.
So I think of them as older than now, five years, ten years and more and I wonder what we'll all look like and feel like and how we'll be different. I imagine what they will love to do and I believe in their potential, that they're going to be okay. They'll grow taller and I'll grow shorter. What a strange idea. Me, with so many lines on my face and gray hair. But I can do no trapping of my own life's time either, no halting of my growth. Not by growing complacent or stalling out, not by nipping and tucking and injecting, zapping out my light and the ache of years of wisdom written over me. The perseverance and the fine lines and wrinkles, the curved back and the silver hair, they are all simply signs of wisdom, and to wish that away would make about as much sense as trying to stop the growth of my boys with a glass jar.
This is why the ordinary things, the days and the routines, the seemingly endless sameness, it is all so truly extraordinary. It just is. It must be, the way it all marches on with little feet getting bigger, running from one end of the house to the other.
This is why the ordinary things, the days and the routines, the seemingly endless sameness, it is all so truly extraordinary. It just is. It must be, the way it all marches on with little feet getting bigger, running from one end of the house to the other.
The things most out of our control, like what an everyday day holds or does not hold, or like growing up and growing old, they are the very most beautiful things. These inevitables, they are a spinning breeze with the tallest and greenest grass and softest moonlight, so we can flicker and glow, free.
2/28/11
monday laser surgery
a pudgy little hand and a little chocolate around the corners of his mouth.
something spilled on his sweatshirt.
long eyelashes.
chubby cheeks.
An IPod and head phones...who knew.
:::::
This morning he took a little Lego light saber and pretended to laser off the age spots on my hands. Isn't that thoughtful? He would say, "This will hurt just a little bit...zzzz...zzzzt."
I was almost convinced it was working so I sat very still.
This is a good start to a (finally) sunny day.
Happy Monday, friends.
2/25/11
Friday's train
I took this picture with an app on my phone, so I realize it's hard to see, but hopefully you can tell it's a little acorn hat.
Right now it's sitting up on a vase on our fireplace mantel, waiting to slide over a new little noggin in June.
Speaking of the fireplace, sometimes I think we're going to need to use it forever. We just got almost twenty inches of snow recently and another bunch is expected soon. I tweeted that the snow was starting to feel like a straight jacket. And so is the cold.
We had friends over last night and they liked the fireplace. They asked if we had recorded the news show about me and alcoholism and our family. I didn't know, but Ryan had it saved on our saving thing-a-ma-jig so we watched it with them and my whole body vibrated like I was nervous. I just hadn't seen it since way back when it aired and then we talked about how things used to be, before I got sober, and that's always hard. Good, but hard.
Sometimes God juggles. And what I mean by that was inspired by a conversation between Miles and his friend, Mahri. She said that God has the world in His hands and then Miles asked how we all fit and she said that we just do, so we can be protected. Then Miles said he hopes God doesn't juggle and they laughed.
And now I'm picturing God standing around with the world in His hands and I think maybe sometimes He does a little juggling, because if He didn't, we wouldn't pay attention and hold on and get sober and things like that. I don't think He ever shakes things up just to be a jerk. I really don't. I don't think Love can be a jerk.
These are just some Friday train of thought kinds of thoughts.
Have a good weekend, friends.
2/23/11
on having it all
I've been a SAHM for about five years. Now I have childcare a few days a week for a few hours and during that time I leave the house, my children in good hands, and I work.
But when people ask what I do, I don't really know how to answer. I wish we could all just say "I work" and leave it at that. Yeah, all of us, mothers or not, gainfully employed or not, because life is work. I wish that a work title wasn't just another way for people to gauge each other's worth because we're all worth the same whether that makes some of us uncomfortable or not.
So anyway. I'm working on things, a number of things, writing and editing and creating things. The thing is, only one of these gigs pays me (currently)...and only a little. So all this work can feel less valid, I mean, if I put the pressure of what I think people think of me on myself anyway. (Which is always silly.)
I need to return emails, I'll say. SO MANY EMAILS. (And then I feel like I'm supposed to put my hand to my forehead to make the point that I'm very busy with my WORK.) I need to do some editing. SO MUCH READING TO DO! (Swings other hand to forehead.) I have this post in me that's just begging to be written-how shall I find the time? (Fans self.)
See? It sounds pretty stupid.
I've said a million times that being a part of the online world, as a blogger and editor and speaker and friend (there! there are some titles! So nice of them to come along and make me feel better!), has been such a beautiful thing for me. I know many many people who are making their dreams come true largely because of how social media has benefited them, how they've found their creative footing and had great successes. And so often, people want to know HOW, HOW did that work? How did those people DO that? What is that called?
And I could try to help people understand by saying something like, Well, they had a well-read really cool blog and they tweeted a lot and they had a lot of fans on their facebook page and so people knew who they were and then they did this other thing and people were paying attention. You know, because of their klout score.
Yeah, I could say all of that and it would be sort of true, but I think the simple answer is that the person had "it" already. "It"--a talent or charisma, a drive and a knowledge and creative spirit--and the Internet was simply an avenue to doors that were shut without all the voices of social media shouting loudly the praises of that talent. But people don't really want that to be the answer I give them. They want a formula, maybe for their own road to success, or maybe just to have it all make concrete sense.
But it doesn't.
So I do my best to believe that I have "it" too and I sit with my words and my creative ideas and I work at them and I reach out to the brilliant people I've come to know because I'm here and then together we work toward bringing these ideas to life and I love it. I get to write words here when they strike me and I tuck other words away for a book and yes, there's always a busy inbox. So I'm working. And I'm believing that this is all headed somewhere because it already has and maybe that "somewhere" will have more of a title, but for right now it just doesn't. It's just work.
Dreams can come to be a reality in millions of different ways and the road is almost always longer than we'd like. The Internet makes us want the success now now now...but it takes time and it takes work. So on the days I have childcare, I say that I'm working, and now I'm working on saying that with confidence. And on the days that I feel like I must be taking something from my children by taking some time away, I say it to myself, I'm working, and then I try really hard to believe that it matters enough to be worth that time away. Because it does.
I'm riding this. I have no guarantees. I have not even close to an enormous paycheck or even a title. But I'm moving forward every day with these dreams that keep popping up, I'm daring to put myself out there and I'm taking risks. It makes me feel more alive than I have in a long time and I know my children feel that too. I still get to hang out with Miles and Asher so much of the time, and I get to have a baby girl who will enter this crazy mix while I do my creative thing on the side. So I wonder sometimes, how I could be so lucky, to land in this online space, a place that makes it possible to have the best of both worlds? They say that you can't have it all, not all at once, and I used to believe that to be true, but now I'm thinking maybe I was wrong.
I am a wife and mother and I'm a writer and a blogger and I'm even a creator, in so many ways. This is all work. I love my work. (wipes eyes)
:::::
This post was written largely to me. I've up and had an idea that's become a project that's become a team creative endeavor and man it is WORK. Hopefully I can tell you all about it soon. Today I just needed to think through things out loud. I actually have been feeling peaceful about "doing it all," more peaceful than I ever have in the past. In the past, I was convinced that if I was a SAHM, there was just no way to find time to respond to my creative ideas, my dreams, my goals...that's simply changing for me. And who knows, maybe it will change back? I think that happens to we mothers all the time...
If you're a mom, how does all of this feel for you? Where are you with the 'having it all' conundrum. I don't think there's a right answer. I just love to talk about it.
But when people ask what I do, I don't really know how to answer. I wish we could all just say "I work" and leave it at that. Yeah, all of us, mothers or not, gainfully employed or not, because life is work. I wish that a work title wasn't just another way for people to gauge each other's worth because we're all worth the same whether that makes some of us uncomfortable or not.
So anyway. I'm working on things, a number of things, writing and editing and creating things. The thing is, only one of these gigs pays me (currently)...and only a little. So all this work can feel less valid, I mean, if I put the pressure of what I think people think of me on myself anyway. (Which is always silly.)
I need to return emails, I'll say. SO MANY EMAILS. (And then I feel like I'm supposed to put my hand to my forehead to make the point that I'm very busy with my WORK.) I need to do some editing. SO MUCH READING TO DO! (Swings other hand to forehead.) I have this post in me that's just begging to be written-how shall I find the time? (Fans self.)
See? It sounds pretty stupid.
I've said a million times that being a part of the online world, as a blogger and editor and speaker and friend (there! there are some titles! So nice of them to come along and make me feel better!), has been such a beautiful thing for me. I know many many people who are making their dreams come true largely because of how social media has benefited them, how they've found their creative footing and had great successes. And so often, people want to know HOW, HOW did that work? How did those people DO that? What is that called?
And I could try to help people understand by saying something like, Well, they had a well-read really cool blog and they tweeted a lot and they had a lot of fans on their facebook page and so people knew who they were and then they did this other thing and people were paying attention. You know, because of their klout score.
Yeah, I could say all of that and it would be sort of true, but I think the simple answer is that the person had "it" already. "It"--a talent or charisma, a drive and a knowledge and creative spirit--and the Internet was simply an avenue to doors that were shut without all the voices of social media shouting loudly the praises of that talent. But people don't really want that to be the answer I give them. They want a formula, maybe for their own road to success, or maybe just to have it all make concrete sense.
But it doesn't.
So I do my best to believe that I have "it" too and I sit with my words and my creative ideas and I work at them and I reach out to the brilliant people I've come to know because I'm here and then together we work toward bringing these ideas to life and I love it. I get to write words here when they strike me and I tuck other words away for a book and yes, there's always a busy inbox. So I'm working. And I'm believing that this is all headed somewhere because it already has and maybe that "somewhere" will have more of a title, but for right now it just doesn't. It's just work.
Dreams can come to be a reality in millions of different ways and the road is almost always longer than we'd like. The Internet makes us want the success now now now...but it takes time and it takes work. So on the days I have childcare, I say that I'm working, and now I'm working on saying that with confidence. And on the days that I feel like I must be taking something from my children by taking some time away, I say it to myself, I'm working, and then I try really hard to believe that it matters enough to be worth that time away. Because it does.
I'm riding this. I have no guarantees. I have not even close to an enormous paycheck or even a title. But I'm moving forward every day with these dreams that keep popping up, I'm daring to put myself out there and I'm taking risks. It makes me feel more alive than I have in a long time and I know my children feel that too. I still get to hang out with Miles and Asher so much of the time, and I get to have a baby girl who will enter this crazy mix while I do my creative thing on the side. So I wonder sometimes, how I could be so lucky, to land in this online space, a place that makes it possible to have the best of both worlds? They say that you can't have it all, not all at once, and I used to believe that to be true, but now I'm thinking maybe I was wrong.
I am a wife and mother and I'm a writer and a blogger and I'm even a creator, in so many ways. This is all work. I love my work. (wipes eyes)
:::::
This post was written largely to me. I've up and had an idea that's become a project that's become a team creative endeavor and man it is WORK. Hopefully I can tell you all about it soon. Today I just needed to think through things out loud. I actually have been feeling peaceful about "doing it all," more peaceful than I ever have in the past. In the past, I was convinced that if I was a SAHM, there was just no way to find time to respond to my creative ideas, my dreams, my goals...that's simply changing for me. And who knows, maybe it will change back? I think that happens to we mothers all the time...
If you're a mom, how does all of this feel for you? Where are you with the 'having it all' conundrum. I don't think there's a right answer. I just love to talk about it.
2/20/11
despite
Back when I quit drinking, I gave Miles an explanation I thought he could understand. Then I was a bit astounded at his ability to understand. (I give him all the credit.)
This morning Ryan looked at his phone and saw it was the 20th. For us, the 20th always sticks out, a number that shouts SOBRIETY! So he said some congratulatory things to me from the other room, calling them out. Miles figured out what his daddy was referring to and came to me, stood next to me and asked, "Does that mean you had another month of not drinking wine?"
"Yes, that's right, honey."
He beamed and bounced a little bit, gave me a quick little side squeeze and ran off to play.
:::::
When I think back on the days when Asher was brand new and Miles was so much smaller, it always stings my heart. It was a hard time, in so many ways. I think of the day that both Miles and I just lost it and then I sat next to him on his bedroom floor and we cried together and talked about how hard it all was, right then. Because it was. We were just so tired. He was two, so our conversation was simple, something that would make sense. I told him it would get better, even though I doubt either of us believed me.
It got worse, for awhile. The constant crying from Asher increased, Ryan's work kept him away every other week and I was starting to drink more. I so often saw the pain and confusion in that little face. I felt the roller coaster of emotion day after day and I know he felt it too. I was so stressed and I carried so much shame because everything was spinning out of control and I felt so helpless. And then we found out about Asher's hydrocephalus and it got harder again, for awhile.
So Miles seemed to feel nothing but hate for his baby brother and who could blame him? His little egocentric toddler/preschooler mind could only understand so much. And sometimes I wondered if any of it would ever ever get better. It didn't feel like it. The daily grind will steal hope sometimes, especially when it's covered in so much extra. And we all have extra, don't we?
I tell you all of that because it will help you understand how much something meant to me earlier this week. My boys were bundled in their winter coats and they were standing so close together. Asher was turned away from Miles, peering from his little glasses and out from under his stocking cap. And Miles suddenly said, "Asher, aren't you so glad we're brothers?" And there was so much gentleness in his voice, so much true love.
Then Asher turned to his big brother with the brightest eyes and answered with a big "UH HUH!!!"
They smiled at each other and looked at each other for a long time.
It got better.
:::::
Yesterday we had some family over and Asher was playing with his big cousin, Zach. They were putting together a Lego train track and Asher said, "I got this for Christmas."
So Zach replied, "I know you did. I was there."
And then Asher said, in his high-pitched voice... "Oh yeah....Awkwaaard." He felt silly for forgetting and he said just the right thing to make that clear. How did that screaming little newborn and that helpless little boy who needed brain surgery turn into this little person who knows when to say awkward? I just don't know.
:::::
This morning Ryan looked at his phone and saw it was the 20th. For us, the 20th always sticks out, a number that shouts SOBRIETY! So he said some congratulatory things to me from the other room, calling them out. Miles figured out what his daddy was referring to and came to me, stood next to me and asked, "Does that mean you had another month of not drinking wine?"
"Yes, that's right, honey."
He beamed and bounced a little bit, gave me a quick little side squeeze and ran off to play.
:::::
When I think back on the days when Asher was brand new and Miles was so much smaller, it always stings my heart. It was a hard time, in so many ways. I think of the day that both Miles and I just lost it and then I sat next to him on his bedroom floor and we cried together and talked about how hard it all was, right then. Because it was. We were just so tired. He was two, so our conversation was simple, something that would make sense. I told him it would get better, even though I doubt either of us believed me.
It got worse, for awhile. The constant crying from Asher increased, Ryan's work kept him away every other week and I was starting to drink more. I so often saw the pain and confusion in that little face. I felt the roller coaster of emotion day after day and I know he felt it too. I was so stressed and I carried so much shame because everything was spinning out of control and I felt so helpless. And then we found out about Asher's hydrocephalus and it got harder again, for awhile.
So Miles seemed to feel nothing but hate for his baby brother and who could blame him? His little egocentric toddler/preschooler mind could only understand so much. And sometimes I wondered if any of it would ever ever get better. It didn't feel like it. The daily grind will steal hope sometimes, especially when it's covered in so much extra. And we all have extra, don't we?
I tell you all of that because it will help you understand how much something meant to me earlier this week. My boys were bundled in their winter coats and they were standing so close together. Asher was turned away from Miles, peering from his little glasses and out from under his stocking cap. And Miles suddenly said, "Asher, aren't you so glad we're brothers?" And there was so much gentleness in his voice, so much true love.
Then Asher turned to his big brother with the brightest eyes and answered with a big "UH HUH!!!"
They smiled at each other and looked at each other for a long time.
It got better.
:::::
Yesterday we had some family over and Asher was playing with his big cousin, Zach. They were putting together a Lego train track and Asher said, "I got this for Christmas."
So Zach replied, "I know you did. I was there."
And then Asher said, in his high-pitched voice... "Oh yeah....Awkwaaard." He felt silly for forgetting and he said just the right thing to make that clear. How did that screaming little newborn and that helpless little boy who needed brain surgery turn into this little person who knows when to say awkward? I just don't know.
:::::
These kids, they become so many beautiful things despite life, despite me, you know? I could just weep at their goodness. And I know I haven't entirely failed at this motherhood thing. I know that they've learned some good things from me and through me. I know. And yet what I know even more is that despite all of my failings, they overcome, they mature and they will continue to blow my mind.
They live out redemption and they always embody grace. Just like the rest of us, always moving toward better even in the darkest of things and even when it doesn't feel like it. I'm just so humbled by that. I really am.
2/17/11
past halfway
21 weeksWe are past halfway to meeting her.
Pregnancy, for me anyway, is one of those things that goes
both too fast and too slow,
mixing itself up to be just the right amount of time.
I think back to seeing that faint line on the test, way back in October
and it was yesterday and soooo long ago.
Before we know it, she'll be here and we'll be looking at her like
she was always here
and that seems really far away,
before we know it.
It's just the right amount of fast and slow and then
there will be this soft and holy HELLO.
She kicked right below my belly button right when I typed that. She did. Or maybe it was a hello punch. I'm not sure, of course. But it was just right.
2/14/11
one way or the other
{those of you who have been around awhile will recognize this post. It was originally posted on 9.23.09 and came to be known as The Dust Bunny post. I share it again today because it's Valentine's Day and so I'm reminded that love is best when the darkest places are uncovered.}
There are dust bunnies. So many. They are under the bed and in me, scurrying across the wooden floors of my home and my heart. They are moving much too fast through the empty, bumping into toys and crayons and dried up play-doh, then coming to a weary stop.
It seems no matter how we try to keep up with them, they are winning. So we sweep up only the ones that are out in the open and then we leave the house, coming and going with the living of everyday life.
We could hold them out in the palms of our hands to show that we have them, but the bunnies float and they spin and we can't seem to catch them. We push them under the rugs to hold them still.
We ignore them.
We force them to unnoticed parts of our cluttered minds, and move on to do the easier, the more manageable and mundane things. We go through the motions.
This thinking I'm doing about dust bunnies and life began the other day when Ryan was playing with the boys on our bed, wrestling. Arms and legs were flailing and there were giggles and shrieks.
Then Ryan's coffee mug was knocked to the floor by one of those flailing feet or hands. It fell with a crash, shattering off the nightstand and splashing into a large puddle under our bed. Coffee covered the floor and chased the bunnies.
So we stopped the easier things we were doing and lifted the bedside table, we wiped clean the unseen places, sliding as far as we could across the wood floor under the bed, on our bellies, reaching. It seemed like a gallon of coffee under there, dripping down the walls and oozing into the floorboards.
I sighed and sat back as I saw all the other things that needed cleaning while I was there. Something sticky, dog hair, and those dreaded dust bunnies.
The more I look, the less I want to do this, I thought.
We did not rot the floorboards by leaving that mess that seemed too big. Instead, we were knees to the floor, uncovering the darkest places so long ignored. And then the stubborn bunnies rose in protest, making it even harder. Oh, how they hurried and hunkered with each reach of the broom or rag. They fought to find their way back to the darkest corners, annoyed at being forced out and up.
So we tried harder, we took to chasing them down and wiping them out.
We were cleaning up the dark places, together.
It needed to be done.
It's much easier to walk away from those same kind of ignored places between us, the ones that itch at the subconscious and tug at the heart, the ones swept under rugs. But even when that goes on too long, unexpectedly but certainly, a destructive wind of change will blow in. The kind of blast that forces us to look under the bed and into the dark corners, because of all that shattered glass.
Then we lift up the rugs, letting up the dusty air, revealing what we've told ourselves is just fine the way it is when it's not.
It breaks the quiet that's not really peace after all.
It pulls the bunnies from under the rug and puts them in the palms of our hands where we cannot deny them, where we have to grasp them and then take them away from our home, from ourselves.
Sometimes we remember to keep working at a clean house, belly crawling and then grasping and releasing before it all gets out of hand.
At other times, we find ourselves strangely thankful for spilled coffee and broken glass, for the overwhelming messes that pull us down to the dark places, to take a look and make a change.
:::::
Happy Valentine's Day to my Sweetie, the guy who cleans up with me in so many ways. And Happy Valentine's Day to each of you. Thank you for being here.
xoxo
There are dust bunnies. So many. They are under the bed and in me, scurrying across the wooden floors of my home and my heart. They are moving much too fast through the empty, bumping into toys and crayons and dried up play-doh, then coming to a weary stop.
It seems no matter how we try to keep up with them, they are winning. So we sweep up only the ones that are out in the open and then we leave the house, coming and going with the living of everyday life.
We could hold them out in the palms of our hands to show that we have them, but the bunnies float and they spin and we can't seem to catch them. We push them under the rugs to hold them still.
We ignore them.
We force them to unnoticed parts of our cluttered minds, and move on to do the easier, the more manageable and mundane things. We go through the motions.
This thinking I'm doing about dust bunnies and life began the other day when Ryan was playing with the boys on our bed, wrestling. Arms and legs were flailing and there were giggles and shrieks.
Then Ryan's coffee mug was knocked to the floor by one of those flailing feet or hands. It fell with a crash, shattering off the nightstand and splashing into a large puddle under our bed. Coffee covered the floor and chased the bunnies.
So we stopped the easier things we were doing and lifted the bedside table, we wiped clean the unseen places, sliding as far as we could across the wood floor under the bed, on our bellies, reaching. It seemed like a gallon of coffee under there, dripping down the walls and oozing into the floorboards.
I sighed and sat back as I saw all the other things that needed cleaning while I was there. Something sticky, dog hair, and those dreaded dust bunnies.
The more I look, the less I want to do this, I thought.
We did not rot the floorboards by leaving that mess that seemed too big. Instead, we were knees to the floor, uncovering the darkest places so long ignored. And then the stubborn bunnies rose in protest, making it even harder. Oh, how they hurried and hunkered with each reach of the broom or rag. They fought to find their way back to the darkest corners, annoyed at being forced out and up.
So we tried harder, we took to chasing them down and wiping them out.
We were cleaning up the dark places, together.
It needed to be done.
It's much easier to walk away from those same kind of ignored places between us, the ones that itch at the subconscious and tug at the heart, the ones swept under rugs. But even when that goes on too long, unexpectedly but certainly, a destructive wind of change will blow in. The kind of blast that forces us to look under the bed and into the dark corners, because of all that shattered glass.
Then we lift up the rugs, letting up the dusty air, revealing what we've told ourselves is just fine the way it is when it's not.
It breaks the quiet that's not really peace after all.
It pulls the bunnies from under the rug and puts them in the palms of our hands where we cannot deny them, where we have to grasp them and then take them away from our home, from ourselves.
Sometimes we remember to keep working at a clean house, belly crawling and then grasping and releasing before it all gets out of hand.
At other times, we find ourselves strangely thankful for spilled coffee and broken glass, for the overwhelming messes that pull us down to the dark places, to take a look and make a change.
:::::
Happy Valentine's Day to my Sweetie, the guy who cleans up with me in so many ways. And Happy Valentine's Day to each of you. Thank you for being here.
xoxo
2/13/11
she
Her profile is so much like her oldest brother's profile. I wonder if she'll be more like him, or more like Asher? Or just plain different than all of us? For now all we know is that her profile is a lot like her oldest brother's profile, a boy who will turn six the week after she is born.
Ryan and I walked through aisles yesterday and we talked about six years ago. We carried that registering-for-baby-things-gun that beeps. (Yes, we created a registry for a third baby. We did. For moms and grandmas to know what we need, since we did that thing where we got rid of everything somewhere between colic and hydrocephalus...or maybe that was after...whenever it was it was obviously too soon, but we thought we knew we were done. Stress will do that to you...until time passes...I think I'm rambling like this because registering feels greedy even if it's really not...)
It's funny how we realize now how little we need compared to what we thought we needed those six years ago. Back then, when Miles was coming, I think we beeped everything in every aisle. This time we beeped one or two things here and there and kept in mind that we really don't need much. People would stop us to try to give us advice, assuming that this was our first baby, and we wouldn't correct them, we'd just smile and say thank you.
Because just as much as this isn't new to us, every new person is new. She is new.
She.
I can't wait to see what she'll be like.
Asher and his sister belly(photo taken with my Droid-Retro Camera app)
2/10/11
shake the dust
Thank you, Deb. I'm so grateful you shared this on your blog, and now I can't stop myself from sharing it on mine.
I don't know about you, but sometimes I just need a reminder that we're all the same and that beauty comes after pain and that struggle is universal and so is grace. So yeah. I'm so moved by the above performance, I've watched it three times in one hour.
Peace, friends.
deb writes at Talk at the Table. Her words are gifts. Her gifts are words. I highly recommend her to your eyes and your mind and your heart.
Peace, friends.
deb writes at Talk at the Table. Her words are gifts. Her gifts are words. I highly recommend her to your eyes and your mind and your heart.
2/9/11
voices
I am here alone in a place with Internet access and food, trying to clean up my inbox and clear my head.
But their conversation is turning my limbs light and my stomach in circles. They are men, with gray hair and pot bellies and low grumbling laughs, at the next table. They are reminiscing about the good old days, the "good old days" with women.
Heat is rising in my cheeks and my heart is beating faster and everything in me wants to strangle, to rail, to fight, to scream...to get them to stop, to get them to see.
Here you sit with all these years to know...and you still don't know.
They are talking so loudly...with so much pride, it sounds like bravado, and I feel sick.
:::::
Last night I was randomly struck with a thought, right before bed. I called out for Ryan, to come from the other room and I said, I just had the most terrifying thought.
What?
What if she's beautiful? What if this baby girl is beautiful? That scares me so much because men can be so awful.
I just needed to say it.
:::::
One of them, in here now, he says, Yeah, all I had to do was pull the car to the side of the road and she knew what was coming. They all laugh, that loud laugh, like they're trying to be the most humored, like it's a contest. Then he says, She knew how it was going to end. More laughing. She'd make excuses--oh I need to work in the moring or oh it's so late--but I'd just say yeah yeah yeah...
more laughing. They just keep going, with the stories and the laughing.
Then as quickly as it started, it's over--the topic has changed to the weather, oh it's so cold--and their voices are growing softer and softer, barely audible, and then there's a silence, the kind that takes over after a last breath. A kind of eerie and then holy silence. It's over.
My shoulders relax but only a little and I'm whirling with my history and her future and I'm trying hard to grasp around for faith, to trust.
One of them gets up to leave, pulling up his suspenders and slipping his arms through his coat. He walks by my table, and he smiles at me.
And I want to strangle, to fight, to scream, to rail against it.
Everything in me wants to protect her always, and even more, everything in me wants to give her a voice.
____
*edited to add: I realize that bad things can happen to anyone, not just girls (or beautiful girls for that matter). I simply caught myself in fear and expressed it here. Beauty can draw a lot of unwanted attention, that's just simply where my thoughts began, and then I wrote them out.
But their conversation is turning my limbs light and my stomach in circles. They are men, with gray hair and pot bellies and low grumbling laughs, at the next table. They are reminiscing about the good old days, the "good old days" with women.
Heat is rising in my cheeks and my heart is beating faster and everything in me wants to strangle, to rail, to fight, to scream...to get them to stop, to get them to see.
Here you sit with all these years to know...and you still don't know.
They are talking so loudly...with so much pride, it sounds like bravado, and I feel sick.
:::::
Last night I was randomly struck with a thought, right before bed. I called out for Ryan, to come from the other room and I said, I just had the most terrifying thought.
What?
What if she's beautiful? What if this baby girl is beautiful? That scares me so much because men can be so awful.
I just needed to say it.
:::::
One of them, in here now, he says, Yeah, all I had to do was pull the car to the side of the road and she knew what was coming. They all laugh, that loud laugh, like they're trying to be the most humored, like it's a contest. Then he says, She knew how it was going to end. More laughing. She'd make excuses--oh I need to work in the moring or oh it's so late--but I'd just say yeah yeah yeah...
more laughing. They just keep going, with the stories and the laughing.
Then as quickly as it started, it's over--the topic has changed to the weather, oh it's so cold--and their voices are growing softer and softer, barely audible, and then there's a silence, the kind that takes over after a last breath. A kind of eerie and then holy silence. It's over.
My shoulders relax but only a little and I'm whirling with my history and her future and I'm trying hard to grasp around for faith, to trust.
One of them gets up to leave, pulling up his suspenders and slipping his arms through his coat. He walks by my table, and he smiles at me.
And I want to strangle, to fight, to scream, to rail against it.
Everything in me wants to protect her always, and even more, everything in me wants to give her a voice.
____
*edited to add: I realize that bad things can happen to anyone, not just girls (or beautiful girls for that matter). I simply caught myself in fear and expressed it here. Beauty can draw a lot of unwanted attention, that's just simply where my thoughts began, and then I wrote them out.
2/8/11
focus
"Our lives are a collection of STORIES, truths about who we are, what we believe, what we come from, how we struggle and how we are strong. When we can let go of what people think, and OWN our story, we gain access to our worthiness-the feeling that we are ENOUGH just as we are, and that we are worthy of LOVE and BELONGING." - Brene Brown
I was trying to take pictures of them, Daddy and Asher, walking through the snow. But the screen was getting all caught up in the focus and I just didn't know how to make it stop doing that.
I ended up liking the photos anyway.
This made me think of that Brene Brown quote up there and the way that things may not look the way other people like to see them, but if they're yours or they're you, they are good and enough, just as they are.
I can't get the italics to shut off or stop in this post. I click on that i up at the top and the words just stay italicized. So maybe it doesn't look quite right, but it will be what it will be and that's okay.
I am like that too, that's the point I'm making. I am sometimes out of focus and sometimes that's led me into life things that took my breath away with their bad. And sometimes I just can't get myself to change and maybe I should just know that I'm okay, just like I am and be more gentle and patient with myself. If I believe in unconditional love and grace the way that I say I do...I see that most of the time I'm only battling what I think people think, not something that's actually wrong with me. When I feel like a screw-up and then I get sad and then I get lazy, I'm seeing through a screen that's too close to my face, you know? Judging myself out of insecurity or a fear of not being good enough.
It's good to sit up and pay attention and realize that. And then stop it. Just stop it.
There's not always something wrong with me, something glaringly awful to fix. Maybe I'm just me, living my story, and maybe the changes will come in their own time and even if they don't, I'm good.
I was just thinking about that...so I thought I'd tell you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
