Day 470 - If Mama Ain't Happy

Mommyfession: Last night, I had a margarita. Okay, two margaritas. It had been one of those days.

I woke up and since I had a bit of extra time on my hands, thought that I would do something other than a ponytail. While Youtube tutorials have rarely let me down, they did this time. I spent an hour trying things over and over again only to be frustrated and feeling ridiculous and useless by the end of it. My nails aren't manicured, I can't just egyptian fish knot goddess braid my own hair in 30 seconds, and I don't understand what 'day 3' hair is. And those things made me feel... like less of a woman. Doesn't matter that I have a 7 month old to keep up with rather than a purse dog, or that I spend my time doing dishes and laundry and browsing pinterest for recipes rather than chevron nail art. I still felt... less than.

Then I forgot to go pick up our produce from the CSA, a waste and a taste tragedy. Green garlic and pea shoots and nappa cabbage because my experiments with at home chinese take out have been quite successful and I'm ready to take it to the next level for Christmas week. Non-refundable, might I add. "Totally spaced it." Is not sympathy inducing.

Emotional, hormonal, and dangerously close to losing control, I got my feelings hurt by Anthem right before we were supposed to leave for dinner. I knew it wasn't really his fault, but that didn't stop the tears. So when we got out to dinner, (at which there were $1 margaritas), I had one. And that one felt so good. I felt the stress of the entire day melting away because it was silly. It was a hairdo and nappa cabbage. Somehow, life would go on. I felt myself unwinding for perhaps the first time in weeks. I giggled. I laughed. I did a little dance. Anthem was amused. We flirted a little. We talked. I relaxed.

It began to dawn on me that I was the problem the past few weeks. Anthem wasn't being distant, I was. I was so determined to be a strong, productive wife and mama that I was getting frustrated and upset all the time when things didn't go to plan. And with a husband whose hours can vary greatly, and a constantly changing 7 month old, things almost never go to plan. I was so tightly wound I was winding him up just by being around me. I was making our home feel tense. It certainly wasn't intentional. It was the exact opposite of what I was intending to be like. But I was, just the same. 

It was then that the truth of, "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" became clear. I used to hate this saying, assuming that it meant a mama who put herself first and dominated her husband and children. Now I understand it a bit more. It's not about making a husband do what you want, it's about acknowledging the unique power we as wives and mothers have to influence the peace of our home and those who dwell in it. 

Even as a mama who loves to stay at home, and gets fulfillment cooking and cleaning, there has to be more if I'm going to stay a fully functioning woman. Whether it's reading, or a morning spent on youtube tutorials, a new crochet pattern, or some game time, mama has to stay sane. And that doesn't make me a neglectful mama or wife or homemaker, it makes me a whole person. And a better wife and mama. 

Day 469 - Flashbacks and Time Crunches

Hi.

It's been so long. We need to catch up. We need a half a day devoted to nothing but hot tea, an Austen movie in the background (A BBC Masterpiece theatre selection would also work), and crocheting some slippers while we fill each other in on what's going on in our lives. Except that's not going to happen because I've got about fifteen minutes while my little man takes a nap. It's not much but it's a start. 

I reread blog posts from the past today and it was beyond strange to hear my voice talking to me from the past. That girl who had seemingly endless time to reflect and write seems like a stranger now. Have I really changed so much? 

Yes. Yes is the short answer. 

For starters: How did I not realize how much time I had!? Dear Heaven. No wonder I was so angsty about everything. All I ever did was ruminate. Honestly. 

And yet, yet I did not know myself half as well as I thought I did. But only time reveals that truth. No amount of solitude or introspection can shed that light. Only hindsight. For fun, allow me to follow up on a few of the characters from the blog. 

The OSM and I haven't spoken since before my wedding. While a complete break wasn't what I had expected, I can't say that I would have it any other way, either. I do love the OSM still, but he has no place in my life now. I look back on him fondly, and thankfully, but without any desire to renew that friendship. 

The Gentleman isn't a gentleman. He's kind of an asshole to be honest. A classy asshole, to be sure, but still an asshole. I have no idea how that self delusion lasted as long as it did. Honestly, my relationship with him is the one I regret the most. Ugh. Just makes me shudder. 

I have no idea what nickname I used to use for my buddy in the blog, so I'm just going to call him my buddy. He recently got engaged (finally) and while he and I are no longer close, it is a very comfortable distance. Life changes, so do relationships. It was good while it lasted, while we needed it, and now life moves us ever apart. 

My heterosexual life mate and I haven't spoken in months, which is very sad because I miss her quite a lot. I miss the smell of glitter.

Mom is doing well, and due for a visit in the coming months. Miss Erica is still in Iowa and working on her degree. Alex and I saw each other recently, and it was lovely.

It was so easy, in Iowa. I had so many friends. Always talking about my guy friends and how I'd always have them. Turns out, once I had the attention and devotion of one man, that was all I needed. To be honest, I now find single men exceedingly tedious. It is women I miss. I'm... having more trouble making friends here than I thought. Like I said in the beginning, I only have fifteen minutes here and there. I've been working on this post for three days.

Oh, bussom buddies. Christmas and cooking and crochet and tea. Quiet days. They were lovely, though I wouldn't trade my babbling boy to get them back. I believe it will be a number of years before I get my quiet days again. Instead, I have days full of giggles and sudden tears and poopy diapers and endless wiggles. And that is enough for now. Indeed, more than enough. My days are loud, but my heart is full. It is time for a new type of bussom buddy. Not the one of my twenties: single, flighty and fanciful, lacking any solid direction. Life is too different now. I have my direction. I have my family. Perhaps, now that I take the time to ruminate a little, I am having such difficulty because I have not taken the time to realize how much has changed.

So, I pray that someday soon, I may find a soul a little like mine and we can share our time together. There. Now tell me about what's going on with you. 

Day 468 - First World Problems

Here's the thing, verbal affirmation is like crack to me. I need it. As much as anyone can dish out, I can bask in it. Swim in it. Soak in it. It's my drug. 

The opposite is also true; verbal criticism withers me. The smallest amount is magnified through my ultra-self-criticism lense and before you know it, I'm sobbing up a storm and shrinking into myself, swearing to never emerge again lest I fail in so spectacular a manner. 

Anthem has graciously pointed out my tendency to turn, "Are you sure you cleaned this dish?" into a full blown meltdown over how terrible a wife I am. I like to think I've gotten better, but criticism can still bring tears to my eyes if I'm caught off guard. Or tired. Or already frustrated with myself. I'm a work in progress.

Anyway. We're going to skip the story, because it's irrelevant, and get to the punchline. Frustrated, angry, desperately-wanting-to-point-fingers me goes to God and asks what He wants me to do about the situation. To be completely honest, it was sort of a half-assed prayer. I wasn't really interested in what He wanted me to do, I was interested in how I could get what I wanted. 

Luckily for me, God answered the question I asked. Not so luckily, He was pretty blunt about it. Now, while I do not claim to have one-on-one auditory conversations with the Good Lord Almighty, we do have a way of chatting that is singular in that while the actual word for word is unclear and difficult to replicate, the feelings and directions conveyed are crystal clear. Also of note, this does not happen every time I ask a question. In fact, it's pretty rare. 

Though to be without pretense, so is my one on one time with God at this point. *shameface*

Me: "What do You want me to do?"

GLA (Good Lord Almighty): I want you to stop whining about it and just do it. It's inconvenient. Okay, do it anyway. It's not easy, not receiving the verbal affirmation you so desire, I know. It's even harder to do with the constant criticism, but that's no reason to stop. Your husband appreciates what you do, and so do I. So suck it up, and get at it. 

Me (slightly taken aback): "But what about the relationships? I don't want to become angry or bitter."

GLA: Then don't. Sow seeds of peace and harmony. Live the faith you're so desperate for. That's how you change. That's how you grow. Be gracious and humble. I will see. I will appreciate. 

Me (pouting): "But it's not fair! And everyone should know that it's not fair."

GLA: I've told you what I want you to do, the rest belongs to me. Leave it here. Leave it with me, and do what I've asked with a glad heart and helpful hands. 

Me: "But -"

GLA: Will you let Me work in you or won't you? Be different. This isn't a real problem. You're not hungry, your son and husband are healthy, you have a roof over your head. This is an opportunity that I am giving you to become more like Me. To love more like Me. To live more like Me. Do it. Set yourself aside and do it. You cannot change anyone, and only I can change you. Do it for love of Me. 

That's all. That's the whole kitten-kaboodle. I have no idea if it applies to you or if it's totally out of left field. I just wanted to share. That's whats going on with me right now. 

Day 467 - The Arrival

The sweet swaddling phase only lasted about two weeks but oh it was cute while it lasted. 

It's been just over 7 weeks since Haven arrived. That's weird to put into words because its difficult to remember life without him. It's the most surreal thing to watch the baby you've been loving, carrying, and anticipating go from a nudge (or painful rib kick) to a tiny human in your arms.

That day changed my life forever, and I want to share it with you.

He has some of the best faces. This one was telling me he was less than pleased with the socks on his hands.

It was 3:30 am, Friday, May 2nd when I woke up to use the bathroom for the umpteenth time that night. I had stopped counting how many times I woke up to use the restroom about three months previously as once you top 10 in an 8 hour period you just kind of give up. As I was stumbling toward the toilet, I felt a sharp pain in my back and rolled my eyes. More gas. Awesome. Thankfully, it seemed short lived and I was able to return to bed easily. I woke up about 30 minutes later with the same sharp gas pain, but as it quickly went away it occurred to me for the first time that perhaps it might not be gas. I hoped to wake up again shortly. I did. I smiled and waited for Anthem to wake up for work so I could tell him. Haven was coming.

It was 4:30 am when Anthem woke up for work. I looked at him sleepily and tell him I'm pretty sure I'm having contractions, but they're so mild he should go to work anyway and I'll call him if they get worse. After all, this could last for days. He was not tampered by my cautiousness, though. He immediately perked up. "Really? Contractions?"

I smiled. "Really." He went to work and I tried to watch Grey's Anatomy and fall back asleep. Two hours later, however, he was on his way home. I needed him with me as they got stronger. I got dressed, we put the finishing touches on our overnight bags, and went for a walk. They hurt, but they were not close enough together to go to the hospital. So we paced the block to speed things up, both of us excited beyond words that we would be meeting our son soon. We joked, we spoke of our anticipation, of our longing for him. We hoped. It didn't take long. We were at the hospital and I was 5cm dilated by 11:00am.

He can give me that look all day long, I'm not going to stop taking his picture a thousand times a day. 

It's weird, being admitted for labor. I had two straps all the way around my torso. One keeping track of my contractions, the other monitoring Haven's heartbeat. They gave me an iv to keep me hydrated, and just in case they needed to give me anything else. It was burdensome, having so many wires around me. That was the only part I didn't like. It seemed like forever, though it was only about a half an hour until we were in the labor room. Thus began the realization that we were going to use absolutely nothing that we had packed in our labor bag. The playlist we had spent hours on was forgotten in the bag because I was concentrating so hard on the contractions. No movies either to distract me.

It hurt. But it was manageable. So long as Anthem was by my side, I could do this. The hours passed slowly. It seemed forever before it was 2 pm and they were checking me again. I felt crushed when they told me I hadn't dilated anymore. And that my doctor was leaving at 6 pm and wouldn't be back until Monday. They asked if I wanted them to break my water to try and speed things along. I agreed.

This was the first time he discovered his thumb. He was not a fan. 

That's when it went from doable to horrible. The contractions became unbearable, and my pain tolerance jumped out the window. I filled two vomit bags. The contractions were 2- 3 minutes long with less than 30 seconds in between. To me, they felt constant. By 3:30 pm I was begging for a break, for a breather. They checked me again and said I was only 7cm. This could last for hours. I asked for iv pain medication, just to catch my breath, just to get a second wind. I got lost in the weeds. All I could think about was the pain. They explained how I could only get them once an hour, and if it looked like Haven was going to be arriving imminently, I couldn't have them as the drugs could make him lethargic. I nodded, desperate to get any form of relief. As fate would have it, as soon as she finished administering the pain medication into my iv, I felt like I needed to push.

Someone checked me and told me to stop, that I was only 7cm and pushing could hurt me and Haven. But I couldn't stop. I was trying, but going against that need to push had me sobbing and crying out that I had to push. My doctor was outside the door, getting briefed by a nurse when she heard me crying out that I had to push. She came in to check for herself, and thank God she did. She took one look, not an exam; she didn't feel me, just a glance before saying, "Oh! We're going to have a baby!"

She was in a dress and heels. Apparently she had just finished giving a lecture and was checking her patients before she left for a conference in Dallas. That didn't stop her from gowning up. I looked at Anthem. "Really?" I asked and he heard all the desperation behind that word. "We're going to have a baby? He's going to come? The pain is going to end?"

He kissed my hand. "Really."

That's right. My child can blue steel it up all day. 

Then a flood of people entered the room and suddenly the lights got super bright. I remember being vaguely aware that I was exposed to an entire room full of people but I genuinely couldn't care less. Haven was about to join us. And then another contraction had me crying out. The doctor told me I was  9.5 cm and she was going to stretch that last .5cm manually so I could push.

I pushed, screaming in a way that I can only describe as the most instinctive, gutteral sound that has ever come out of me. The books were right about this part. After all this pain, being able to push made me feel better. Not a reduction of pain, but the knowledge that it'll all be over and being able to actually move things along. Anthem gripped my hand as I squeezed his. He held my head up, chin to chest, to help me push. 

"Almost," the doctor told me. "I can see his head. You'll feel the ring of fire soon, and then it's just a few pushes more."

I felt the 'ring of fire' but I would call it a 'ring of mild inconvenience' compared to every other pain in my body. And then his head was out, which, by the way, feels incredibly strange. Two more pushes and then his whole body slid out and it was over. The doctor clamped the umbilical cord immediately to make sure Haven got as little of the drug as possible into his system, and before my eyes (though the memory is a bit blurry) Anthem cut the cord.

Chillin without a care in the world. 

Haven was quickly checked out to make sure the drug was not affecting him. It wasn't. He was alert and healthy, and the vernix was rubbed in. He never left Anthem's sight. It was a whirlwind. Within a few minutes Haven was on my chest and feeding. He latched immediately. I vaguely remember the doctor telling me that the placenta had passed (we were unable to take it with us as the cost of legal fees - in Texas you need a court order to bring it home because its a biohazard - and the cost of having it dried and ground were too much) and she was stitching me up. Thankfully, I didn't require an episiotomy and had only a small superficial tear that required a single stitch. 

But in the moment, all I could see was our son.

Honestly.

Our beautiful, pink, alert, nursing son. Anthem and I just stared at him. We'd made him. He was ours. And he was amazing. His dark grey blue eyes looked up at us. Our Haven had arrived and our lives were forever changed.

He did this half smirk thing for a solid week before he gave us a full on smile. How you doin?

At 4 days old he started trying to hold his head up. For the past week he's been smiling more and more, and starting to babble. Today he rolled from his back to his side, though he couldn't quite get himself onto his stomach. He's amazing, and we're obsessed. Welcome to the world, Haven. 

Day 466 - Declutter Your Time

Moving from a small apartment to living in a single room with your in-laws forces one to reevaluate what you really need and pare down much of your possessions. Anthem and I are at the point that even though I'm reading a really great book on living a minimalist lifestyle, we're having trouble imagining getting rid of anything else. We're pretty much down to the bare minimum the way it is.

But after a few hours of contemplation, it occurred to me that I can declutter my time. Especially when it comes to superfluous distractions. So I took my phone, took a deep breath, and deleted Facebook and Tickld. I used those two apps literally hourly every day. And gained nothing from them. I also deleted about 10 apps that I never used and were just taking up space, but Facebook and Tickld were by far the hardest. They were my habits, they were what I turned to whenever I was not currently occupied, and often times when I was.

And I was the worse for it. There are things that I want to do, but every day would pass me by mostly wasted. Granted, some of it is because I'm the size of a small mountain and can't do what I used to. But most of it, and I mean a solid 90% of my time wasting was due to nothing more than distractions and letting time slip away.

The distractions kept me from productivity. They stole my focus, kept me complacent, and sapped my motivation. (In all honesty, and without pretense, if you've been following the blog for any amount of time whatsoever, you'll realize that this is not the first time I've blogged about this exact issue. I suck at managing my time and I'm grieved over it.) I'm wasting my twenties. I love my life, but am horridly disappointed with myself. I am capable of doing so much more. And every day I'm going to wake up and try. Especially because Haven is due any minute now. Especially because I adore Anthem. But just because I've come to this conclusion before, and fallen back into my old habits does not make me a hopeless case. It means that I'm not giving up, and trying again. And I'll keep trying until I get it. I'll always be changing. It's life.

As I write this particular part of the post, know I've been awake since 3am for reasons beyond my comprehension with a deep, deep desire to vacuum the entire house. Due to the fact that we do not live alone, that was impossible. Okay, not impossible, but extremely rude. So I had a few hours to occupy. It was difficult to not log onto Facebook immediately on my computer, or just start watching TV. But I persevered, albeit it's just for one morning, and yet I celebrate my small victory. Because for a few hours this morning, I just read a book. A good book. Just fiction. And it was glorious. And I want to continue.

A little encouragement can go a long way. So as I pray that this restlessness is a symptom of impending labor, I'm pleased with my baby step forward. My small morning of victory. Here's to praying it snowballs.

If this sounds good to you, I encourage you to take a few steps with me.

1) Make your phone smart again. Delete your time wasting apps and download some helpful ones for when you do want your phone to keep you from the mind numbing boredom of waiting rooms.

I highly recommend the app Duolingo. Also the Kindle app, or any reading app. The amount of free books you can get is staggering if you search. Bookbub.com is a great place to start, and gutenberg.org has most of the classics. Find apps that will enrich your life, teach you something, help you. I'm not saying they can't be entertaining. I kept Pinterest because I love browsing it for recipes and DIY projects. But delete time wasters. For me it was Facebook, Tickld, and Cracked. That way you're not nearly as tempted to look at your phone when your attention should be committed to what's right in front of you as the 'smarter' apps require more focus than browsing Facebook.

2) Remember something you used to do to occupy yourself before your smart phone, and if possible, before the internet and do that thing again. For me, it was reading. I was the kid who always had three books on her at all times. And a gameboy, but that's irrelevant at the moment. Reading is a true passion of mine that slowly got edged out by social media and memes. More importantly, it was something that was easy for me to start again because of how captivating I find a good book.

The second step (which I hope to pursue today) was DIY projects. But remember, start small. Don't take on a huge project to distract yourself. Slowly fill your free time with what you love and we'll get there.

3) Have grace with yourself. I want to watch less TV it's true, especially streaming (darn you Grey's Anatomy) but that doesn't mean I'm going to not watch the new episode of Game of Thrones. Everything, even distractions, have a time and a place. It's about being in control of your entertainment instead of letting your entertainment control you.

Speaking of, life is calling and today is pretty full for me. If you're joining me in this, let me know. I want to pray for you and encourage you and partner in doing this together. If you're already in control of your time, I applaud you and ask that you share with me and others how you stay that way.

Day 465 - Your Stuff

To everyone who interacts with me or my social media account, I'm sorry. Haven has developed his own gravity, it seems. Not only in my body, but my thoughts and actions revolve around him as well. I'm constantly thinking of getting ready for his arrival and daydreaming about what it'll be like when he gets here. Pretty much to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. Except food. That will still grab my attention.

But you still have stuff and I want to hear about it. I want to know what's going on in your life. My baby A.D.D. does not mean that I don't care about you and your stuff anymore. I do. I just need you to be assertive about it right now because I really struggle to pop the Haven bubble. Not to mention the baby brain that makes it rather difficult to remember where we last left off and therefore ask you relevant questions about any developments. I promise, I do still care and I do still want to hear. You're my friends, my family, and you're important to me. Even if I'm having a difficult time expressing that right now because in between your sentences of 'so today I found out' and 'next week I'm going to' I've suddenly remembered that I haven't read the instruction manual for the wipe warmer yet and am rethinking which drawer I want to store the diapers in.

I do hope you'll forgive me. I've never done this before and while I know we're not going to be ready (who is ever ready for a tiny human!?) I want to be as ready as I can be. And it's getting really, really close to crunch time. Even if Haven comes on his due date, we're about 3 weeks out. Family history hints that we may not make it to his due date. In fact, family history hints that we may be looking at having a baby in about a week. And we're excited. We're just ridiculously excited. And thusly incredibly, incredibly distracted. 

We're already at the point of no return. If I go into labor while writing this, the medical professionals will not stop my labor. Which means that every kick and twinge is being over analyzed by my mommy brain. And considering how incredibly active our unborn son is, that takes up most of my daily brain power. 

So please, please feel free to butt in and tell me about you. I really do want to hear. I still need you. And when you go through the same thing, when your baby brain kicks in, I'll understand. And bring you food. And really, really try to not pester you with advice and just let you talk. 

Day 464 - And We Begin Again

I need to write this post. It's the only reason electronic ink is being spilled today. The dishwasher is going, so the bath I'd rather be taking instead of a period of introspection has to wait and I have to write. So let us begin, and start with some confessions.

1) It's been two months since my last post. Partly writers block, partly procrastination, partly having little to say that would benefit others in any way. It's still not okay. 

2) It's been almost a year and a half since I was reading my bible daily. I let life take over and stopped making time for it. My heart is incredibly grieved by this. If there was ever a time in my life when I needed Him, to know Him, to be near Him, it's now. And still it is a struggle to sit down and begin again. 

3) I'm still so afraid of failure that it's paralyzing and I'm so sick of it. 

I feel a little lighter already, but it's not enough to simply confess. A confession without change is nothing but empty words and there are enough of those in the world today without my additions. The first is easy to remedy. After my bath I've got a blog scheduler printed out and plan on spending the next few days genuinely pursuing writing. 

Which leads us to addressing #3 (we'll come back to #2). I love writing. I'm not always fantastic at it, but I'm pretty good and enjoy it more than almost any other activity. Fear is all that keeps me from it. And that's... so wrong. It's okay to have a bad post, or a few mediocre ones. Not every post, story idea, or attempt at wit and cleverness will be brilliant. And that's okay. Enthusiasm and prolific attempts rarely leads one astray. 

Anthem has spent the last year showing me that. Sometimes I believe my husband has no fear whatsoever. He has such confidence in himself that I watch him in awe. He will share his ideas, his music, his talents freely, without hesitation. He doesn't spend hours perfecting them first so that upon their revelation they are near flawless. He lets others in to see the mess of inspiration as it takes shape, and doesn't seem to feel vulnerable at all because of it. 

He knows his worth, and does not hang it on the opinions of others. He just dives into what he's passionate about and his enthusiasm is contagious. And this man, this incredibly talented, passionate man believes in me. He encourages me to pursue my writing at every turn. 

So why am I afraid? That's a good question. I've been thinking about that more and more the last few days. What do I have to fear? My husband thinks I'm brilliant and so I cannot disappoint him, even if every draft for a year was nothing but utter failures because he would be proud of me for trying. My unborn son is still a little too young to be embarrassed by me yet, though it is far more likely that I would let down my future children by not trying than by trying and failing. My deepest fear then, it seems, stems only from my own insecurity. And that's just ridiculous for I have nothing to lose for the trying. 

Which leads us, albeit a bit roughly, back to #2. I've lost for the lack of trying; I've lost for the giving up, for the loosening of the grip of that which I treasured. All three confessions can be remedied rather simply: an end to inactivity. I have the time, there is no arguing that point. I've let my life become infested by things that don't matter rather than making the most of the time I've been given. That's got to stop. My 26th birthday is around the corner and I have no intention of wasting anymore time. Because it's not just my time anymore. It's Anthem's time, it's Haven's time, it's time that I can give freely if only I will take it in my grasp again. 

And goodness knows they deserve the most of me. I don't want to look back on my life and know I could have done so much more. I'm tired of being afraid. And I know, I know I've said it before but now it's not just about me and I think that is the biggest change, and the one that makes all the difference in the world. 

Day 463 - I Need People

"We buy things we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't like." Dave Ramsay

The only thing I question about that statement is the end. I've been raised around too many hoarders to think that the accumulation of stuff is to impress people. Take it with a grain of salt as I have no formal training in the matter, but I think the accumulation of stuff in our homes, in our lives, is due to the fact that our relationships are becoming more and more shallow, time together is compromised, and we are flooded with fear of forgetting or being forgotten.

What is undeniable, however, is that we live in a culture defined by stuff. We have more stuff than ever. Despite an economy that is hurting, ever increasing personal debt, and houses that are built with 3x more space than that of our parents and grandparents, the market for personal storage units continues to steadily grow and is at an all time high. And it's not just continual accumulation of our own stuff (and a stubborn refusal to get rid of stuff), we love other people's stuff. Antiques Road Show has been on for decades, but Hoarders, Storage Wars, Pawn Stars, American Pickers, etc. are more popular than ever. And I'm not exempt. It is a well known fact that when I need to get motivated to clean, I watch an episode (or 6) of Hoarders. And I find Storage Wars fascinating. I just do.

I've been thinking about stuff a lot lately as Anthem have been packing up our small apartment to move in with his parents. It's a win win situation for both families in this economy and we hope at the end of a year and a half to have saved up enough money to put a down payment on a house of our own. We're very excited to help each other out during this transition, as well as having Haven come home to a large family. That being said, it also means we have to cut down on our stuff significantly. Every item we own has to be assessed into one of three categories: move, store, or let go. Considering we already don't have very much, and plan on getting our own home in the next year or two, getting rid of all of our furniture, kitchen supplies, books, linens, etc. wouldn't be very wise. But we can only take essentials with us. And Haven has a lot of essentials already, leaving Anthem and I with enough room for little more than toothbrushes and laptops.

At first it was sort of difficult. After all, you surround yourself with things that you need and want. That's why you bought it in the first place. But the truth is that I don't need to have instant access to every book I have accumulated over the years, nor my entire and extensive blanket collection (I used to live in a much colder climate). I don't need most of my kitchen ware as we're moving into a fully stocked home, so the same goes for our dining ware and most of our furniture. As we kept going though, it became easier and easier to realize the things I really do use all the time (toothbrush, deodorant, cell phone, lap top) are a lot fewer than I had thought. It was liberating. I was flooded with appreciation for the little things, and felt lighter every time we decided we didn't need something.

Most of our things we've packed to store because while we won't need them for the next year, we will need them again soon. But the beautiful thing of being forced to go through all of your earthly possessions is finding all the things you haven't touched in the last year. Like the beautiful comforter that Anthem and I have never used because it's just wildly impractical. It's silky for goodness sake, which means that it will slide right off the bed as soon as you crawl under it. It's incredibly annoying, rather loud, and absolutely beautiful. We're selling it. Along with our nice, and rather uncomfortable love seat. Along with half my blanket collection and a few of Anthem's old pedals. Oh and some books that we've never read and to be honest aren't going to read. And each time we made the decision to let go of something, I felt free. And we made the decision to never again hold onto something 'because we might need it/use it someday'. Like the comforter. And the books. The self deception ended.

And after being forced to look at every item critically, I have come to a single conclusion. I don't need stuff. Some of it is really, really nice. My toothbrush. My bed. My favorite pair of tennis shoes. But I don't need it. I need people. I need my husband and Haven. I need my family and friends. But I do not need stuff.

And I don't need stuff to remind me of them.

Isn't that why we keep so many things we're not using anymore? Because it reminds of us of a person that we love (especially if it's one we have lost) or a wonderful time in our life. So many of those things quickly become clutter. For instance. My dad went to the Grand Canyon once and brought me back a stick. I know it seems weird, but it was a gorgeous, artwork-ish stick and I held onto it for years because it reminded me of my dad. During one of my many moves over the last few years, however, I came to the conclusion that while it was a beautiful stick, it was indeed just a stick and that getting rid of it was not a reflection of my feelings toward my dad. I just didn't want to haul a stick around from apartment to apartment when I had a picture of the two of us that reminded me of him just fine. Because clutter doesn't enhance my life, even if it's clutter full of memories. Those people enhance my life, and I want to keep making memories with them, not holding onto old ones.

It took me years to learn that letting go of something someone I loved gave me was not a reflection of how I felt about that person. Letting go of something that reminds me of you does not equate to letting go of you. In fact, letting go of stuff makes more room for the people you love to fill you. And not just emotionally, or even spatially. But financially. A lot of the things Anthem and I have decided to let go of we're selling. Because other people will pay for our used things.

My mother is the perfect example of this. I was raised in a six bedroom house that was fully furnished. Over the years, we've moved into apartments, and then smaller apartments, and then smaller apartments. Suffice it to say, she doesn't have the same needs as when she had a six bedroom house, or even when she and I lived together. Instead of holding onto all that stuff, she's decided to sell it and use the money to come visit Anthem and I this summer. It's a win win. Less stuff, more freedom, and more room for the people she loves even as she let's go of things that remind her of us. I'm so incredibly proud of her. And I'm inspired by her.

At the end of this day, and the end of this post, I want to remind you (and myself as I continue to pack) of one final thing. Even our most treasured possessions will not pass beyond the grave with us. We can take nothing with us. But our relationships endure the grave. So that's where I'm determined to invest my time and my money. Not in things, but in people. Because I don't need things. I need people. 

Day 461 - When You Run Out

It is really, really hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I cannot earn God’s love or blessings. You know, of course I’m not trying to earn either one. Nooooo. No. Maybe, you know, it would just be easier for God to love me and bless me if I read my bible every day and spent more time feeding the poor or praying over the worship services my husband leads or any of the other billion things I really should be doing.

Maybe… just maybe… if I did those things He’d hear me a little louder. Because I know He loves me. Right? I mean we all know that. Even when prayers go unanswered for years. Even when you’re desperate and He’s silent. Even when it seems like He’s either deaf or mad at you because if He really is your Father then He’d do what any dad would do and loan you some money so you can pay rent, right!? Right. Because we know He loves us, regardless of those things.

Right. Oh screw it. No. I don’t. Not always. Not before the last few months. Weeks. Ugh. Fine. Days. The last few days. I mean it’s really easy to believe it when everything is great. When you’ve got enough to cover your bills and you’re marrying the man of your dreams (or who turns out to be the man of your dreams, if you’re me) and you find out you’re pregnant and your baby is healthy then obviously God loves us.

But when you’re not sure how you’re going to pay the car payment that was due almost a month ago, and when you’ve been broke and couldn’t find a job when you could, got fired for the first time ever when you finally did, and then were too pregnant (and sick, to be really honest) to be hired before the baby comes. When you can’t take the birthing classes you wanted to because they cost too much and can’t hire a doula or a midwife because your insurance doesn’t cover it and you’re concerned about how you’re going to put gas in the car let alone paying a few hundred dollars, minimum, for a more natural birth experience. When you know you can’t be worrying about all this stuff  because it’s not good for the baby to have a stressed out mom and you’re doing all you can (which isn’t much) to help with the bills with babysitting jobs while your husband is doing everything he can to make enough and the jobs just won’t come. Then… then it’s really hard to keep believing that He loves us. You. Me. It’s really hard to believe that He loves me. It’s really hard to believe that He hasn’t completely abandoned me. It’s really hard to believe that He’s not punishing me, that I couldn’t do something – anything – to appease Him and get some ‘blessings’ flowing my direction. It’s really, really hard to trust that He’s taking care of us.

It’s really hard to not lose hope and just give up because what does it matter anyway? He’s not listening. We’re suffering. And no matter what I do, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that I put in over 100 applications and never heard anything back. It doesn’t matter that I worked my ass off, threw up at, on my way to, on my way home from, yet always wore a smile at the one job I did really manage to get because I was fired because (and I can’t prove this, but I was told that my being let go had absolutely nothing to do with job performance) I was pregnant and they didn’t want to deal with maternity leave. Or that the moving jobs that were once the bread and butter on which we survived just aren’t coming in anymore. No matter how much I try to scrimp and save we have been living week by week since we got married, and now are going day to day. I’ve broken down in tears about it a few times. I was scared. What if we got evicted? What if they had to repo my car? How would we ever get a house if my credit was ruined by a missed payment? How were we going to make sure we could take care of this baby when we didn’t have an extra ten dollars for the laundry mat? There may have been an end in sight but it was a year, or two, away and by then we’d be living on the street.

And then… then… I started to realize that He was changing me. That we were impoverished because He loved us, not in spite of it. To be clear: I subscribe to neither poverty theology nor health and wealth. What matters in both is the heart, and that what He was working on. Not my checkbook.

I realized that I was discontented with Our relationship. I wanted more from my faith than me begging constantly for the peace of mind that more money would bring and His constant silence. I wanted more. I needed more. I wanted to know Who He is; I wanted to know He had me no matter what happened, I wanted to ask for what mattered. I wanted my prayers to be filled with requests the ability to touch hearts, for peace among His people, for opportunities to serve, for my family, for my child. I wanted my prayers to change me, not my bank account. I found my chase after money, and the peace that it did indeed bring, to be empty, even though I never seemed to find any. Peace or money.

Our circumstances have changed slightly. It’s still tight, but at least it’s doable. Or it will be by the end of March. And there is not a darn thing I can do about it between now and then but trust that He’s got us. Because I don’t have anything to give. I’ve run out. I have no more tears to shed in fear, not when I am powerless and He is all. Not when I realize that losing some of my credit will not destroy my life, neither this one nor the next. Not when I realize that nothing is permanent. Not when I realize that we’re surrounded by family and my son will never go hungry or lack for a warm place to stay. There are more important things on which to spend my waking hours than checking and rechecking the fact that it doesn’t appear like we’re going to make it. A single opportunity, not missed but embraced and blessed, for the Lord to make another lost soul a Child is worth more than any dollar amount of which I could conceive. A closer walk with Him will do more for me in now and eternity than any measure of security I could get by actually having a savings account.

Please understand, being wise with money, living within our means, saving for our and Haven’s future is all quite important to us. But our poverty has held my attention to the exclusion of the things that do matter. And that is not okay.

Most of all, and this I cannot stress enough, my hope was not in God. My hope was not in His redemptive work in my life. My hope was not how I could spend my life to serve Him, or the ability to be His child, His beloved child, for now and for all time. My hope was stubbornly hoping that someday we wouldn’t be broke. That was my goal. Nothing productive could happen in our life until that day. Until we were set. Until I could open a savings account and go to the grocery store without worrying about overdraft fees. Then I could work with God, for Him, whole heartedly. Then I would know He loved us. Then I could have a functional relationship with Him again. Then I could focus on what He wanted for us. I could go through all sorts of things so long as it wasn’t poverty anymore.

Not shockingly: I was constantly frustrated and disappointed. I constantly felt abandoned and hopeless. I would want to hear God promising an end to this cycle. I would want that to be one of His promises. It isn’t. He didn’t protect His followers from death, I can guarantee you that He won’t protect you from a missed payment. Even if you are reading your bible every day. I was stuck in a hamster wheel of hope and disappointment because a savings account is a really, really stupid place to put your hope in. No, not yours. Mine. It is a really, really stupid thing that I was doing for years.

Ugh. As if the honesty of this post didn’t hurt enough already – let’s just make it a bit worse, shall we? (Deep breath, band-aid ripped.) Because before my hope was in a savings account, it was in a man (no, not my husband, thank God) but in a man who never showed up (again, thank God). And before it was in a man it was in a job. I can’t imagine it’s as emotional for you to read that as it was for me to write it, but… that hurt.

And here’s where it starts to stop hurting my heart, and start hurting my mind through the process of boggling. God, in His infinite wisdom, used our poverty to smash my idol. My pride went into hiding when I had to ask to borrow money to make a payment on my car. My deep, deep desire for financial security lost its giant priority status when I realized that my credit rating didn’t define me and there were worse things in the world than losing a few points off it. I want a relationship with God, deep, deep in my soul, I want that more than a savings account. I want that more than a house. I want that more than all the adventures I want to take around the world someday. I want that more than anything. And nothing – nothing can take that from me. My salvation is not connected in anyway with late or missed or on time payments.

When I finally hit the place I had been dreading, when I couldn’t make it work with what I had, when I lost what I had fought so hard for, namely the ability to be financially independent and never need to ask for help, that my idol crumbled down around me and I could see the true goal. I could see Him, and how His silence has been a loving guide to this beautiful moment.

And now I’m sharing it with you. Because my pride be damned. Because as my idol crumbles, I pray that yours would too. Because I’m tired of seeing my friends be trapped in the same trap, in the same hamster wheel of false hope, and the inevitable disappointment and anger and sense of abandonment that comes with false hope.

Often times, we've run in these hamster wheels together. Pushing each other forward, encouraging each other. Only now do I see how wrong that is, that we were all lusting after idols and not enjoying our God. Not enjoying Him or what He had already blessed us with. Not even wanting to. Putting our whole lives on hold, putting our very souls on hold, until we got what we wanted from God. What we believed, what we had convinced ourselves He had promised us.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I spurred you on toward your idol. I'm sorry I thanked you for pushing me to mine. I'm sorry I didn't know the truth to tell you. The truth I wish someone had told me, even though it's more than likely I wouldn't have listened. Because it's hard, the truth. Because it's not what you want to hear, it's not what any of us want to hear. But it is what we all need to hear.

In a world full of health and wealth preachers, we desperately need to remember the truth. In a world where we are told, repeatedly, that we have EARNED these blessings if we only cling to them, God will be forced to give them to us. I saw a video on the internet a few days ago, where a woman was trying to encourage her followers that God would repay her seven times what had been lost. We're told God owes us. We're told to project good thoughts and our desires will come. We're told all of this spiritual bullshit that chains us and keeps us from the true Joy. It keeps us from Him by filling us with false desires and false promises. It is nothing but bondage.

The real promise is that He will never leave us, nor forsake us. He promised us eternal life, with Him. He promised us a relationship with the Father. The real promise is that if we accept Him, we are going to suffer. Maybe it will be our relationships, maybe our finances, maybe our jobs, maybe our health. Suffering will come. We are not greater than our Master, and Jesus suffered. He promised us we would too. Not once did He ever promise to change the world to better suit our wants. He promised He would change us. 

So here it is. Here's what I wish I had known a long time ago, when my hope was in a job, a man, a savings account.

You are not your job. You're not your diploma, your degree, or your paycheck. You're not what your friends think about you, or your critics for that matter. Being a high powered lawyer/doctor/sales rep/coordinator/director/ whatever it is you feel you need to be to be whole, recognized, appreciated, etc  is not you. You may never get that job you think is going to 'set you'. And if you do, you'll be disappointed because it's not what you wanted it to be, and you won't feel like you wanted to feel. You'll still be you. The same you before you got the job. It's not going to change you. It's not going to save you. It's just a job. Chances are you will have many.

Maybe that man will never come. And that’s not God punishing you, nor not following through on His promises. He’s not ignoring you. You can’t earn that man. And no matter how long you wait there is no promise that he will ever show up. And when that man is your hope, you will know nothing but disappointment. Even if he comes, you will know nothing but disappointment because he cannot change you from the inside out. He cannot fill you, nor fulfill all that you long for. Because he is not your reward. He is not the end. God is. And you don’t have to wait. You don’t have to be disappointed. You don’t have to feel abandoned and angry and disappointed. You don’t have to blame God or yourself for once again losing hope.

Maybe you'll always be poor. Judging by the current state of the economy, there is absolutely no guarantee that you’re going to strike it rich one day. And if you’re waiting for money, for your circumstances to change, you might just be waiting the rest of your life. It grieves me to see you hope and hope and hope until you have a mental, emotional, and spiritual breakdown because the weight of the constant disappointment is too much to bear. Maybe your life isn't going to be what you thought it was going to be. Maybe it's not headed where you thought it was. But it's yours, and God loves you, and He is in control, no matter what happens. And He can change you right now. He can give you joy, even if you're still broke, and lonely, and confused. He is your joy. He is. 

Maybe we all have super messed up priorities. Maybe we’ve lost sight of the gospel. Of what He really gave. Of the security eternal life offers. Of the joy of a relationship with the Creator God who made us all and in whom all good things have their source. Of the need to share this news with everyone.

Of the need to be free of this bondage in which we put ourselves, and the need to show the world what freedom really looks like.

Of the need to live freely.

(Note: it has nothing to do with America or being American.)

I’m still at the epiphany stage of all of this but I can tell you one thing: tonight the only reason I’m not going to sleep is because it appears my lovely unborn son has found a way to kick my nerves and send shooting pain to random places and not because I’m worried about being broke. And maybe, during the 3am Fringe marathon that helps distract me from being so incredibly uncomfortable, I’ll say a prayer to the real goal and thank Him for my freedom and beg Him to never let me lose sight of it. No matter how much suffering that path leads me through. Because He’s worth it. Because He’ll never disappoint you. Because He will get you out of the wheel.

I love you guys. Thanks for reading.

Day 460 - Bad Words Start With H

Today marks my 22nd week of pregnancy.

I love my son, cannot wait for his birth, and would not change a thing for the world. That being said: this pregnancy sucks. I have honest to goodness lost count of how many times I have thrown up. And I'm not counting dry heaving in the morning, I mean gripping the toilet seat as I violently eject the entire contents of my stomach. Over. And Over. And Over. 

Granted, since entering into the second trimester, I am now off the anti-vomit medication as instead of twice a day, my body only decides that it didn't actually want to digest anything once or twice a week. Though I now have a lot less warning. Before, I'd actually gag a few times, allowing myself time to get to the bathroom. Now, I get one if I'm lucky. It's just sudden. No warning. No nausea. Just a sudden reversal of the usual function of my esophagus. But like I said, still better than it was two months ago. 

Two months into my second trimester, I have discovered some of the uglier, and less talked about, symptoms of a rough pregnancy. The heartburn, while less than pleasant, is dealt with so long as I have enough Tums around. The constipation, while uncomfortable, is also something that can be dealt with. The gas that accompanies the constipation is actually incredibly painful, but thankfully not very long lasting. 

And then... then I became acquainted with what I like to call the hell of pregnancy. Worse than vomiting, worse than exhaustion, worse than constipation, and worse than gas. It is a silent suffering, for the most part. My husband knows my woes, but my even my northern frankness has difficulty telling anyone other than a medical professional about my pain, let alone asking for advice. After all, there are a number of socially acceptable responses to the question, "How is this pregnancy treating you?"

You can talk about nausea, you can talk about vomiting, you can talk about breast swelling, stretch marks, headaches, swollen feet, mood swings, bizarre cravings, and all of them will get a response of a sigh and some sympathy. What you don't respond with is "Actually, the pressure of the growing uterus on my anus has caused some of the blood vessels to swell up and now the very thought of pooping is horrifying. As if that wasn't bad enough, I have to shove some small white pills up my butt twice a day to try and make every moment less painful because the torture that pooping has become aside, I really never realized how important a non swollen anus is to every day life, namely walking."

That's right, ladies and gents, I've got hemorrhoids. Well. Just the one, actually. But the hatred I hold for it is deeper and more violent than any hate I have ever known. The very word is a swear word to me now. It belongs only in the deepest circle of hell. Certainly not part of the circle of life joy that is growing a human being inside your uterus. A human being who seems to get endless amounts of pleasure by kicking me when I want to go to sleep, or stretching out entirely when I'm trying to exercise. A human being who I have loved since the moment I let myself believe he was real, the first time I saw him and his tiny heartbeat when he was the size of a gummy bear. Now, roughly the length of a banana and just over a pound, my squirmy little kicker is ever more interested in revealing his presence in new and painful ways. I have been told to expect this for the rest of our lives together, as apparently this phenomena does not end at birth, but begins anew.

In all honesty, I can't wait. Bring on the blow outs, the self hair cuts, the glue and glitter, the screaming, the nonsense, the heartbreaks, the panic, and everything in between. I'm a mom now. I don't get to not talk about poop and all the things that go with it. Because everybody poops, and at some point in their life, everybody has trouble pooping. It's part of real life. A small part, to be sure. But maybe if we could get over the embarrassment of such a small thing, we wouldn't be so uncomfortable being real about the bigger things either. 

Day 459 - What Happened To The Rabbit Hole?

As you can see, the blog has once again changed. Not just a redesign, but a change in direction as well.

I began the journey of 1,000 Days In The Rabbit Hole over three years ago. Much has changed since then, myself most of all. Not just age, location, and marital status, but worldview, lifestyle, and purpose. The Sparkly Marshmallow Theory of Life, though wonderfully useful and enlightening in in my early 20's, now suits me like an ill fitted evening gown. The Rabbit Hole does not change, though my understanding of it continues to expand with time and experience. And thus the 1,000 days is not truly over, and as a remnant I will continue to number the posts. 

While I love sharing my thoughts with the world (my vanity loves the audience), I've also come to realize that sitting down, contemplating events, episodes, trials, and blessings in their turn helps me a great deal, whether or not anyone reads them. 

So it's time to change my digital outfit to better suit my changed inner voice. The blog will probably undergo a number of design and possibly name changes over the next few weeks as I attempt to fine tune everything and get resuited to blogging. 

This time around the focus will be on laughing through honesty as I continue to learn how to navigate this life with grace. There will be recipes, plenty of DIYs, tips and tidbits about frugality, as well as things I really ought to have learned before my mid twenties. There will be questions without answers, problems without solutions, and loose ends like you would not believe. And I promise to always be honest in regards to myself, though like before I might change names to protect privacy. 

I hope you will join me as I intentionally learn from all that God gives me. The good, the bad, and the mind boggling. I hope you will tell me your stories, in honesty and humor, and that we might continue along together as friends. I hope a great many things, and have little fear of being disappointed. Life, while often different from our expectations, rarely disappoints when we ask for grace.