July 28, 2009

A Woman of Destiny.

I have never had a good memory.

I remember a very precious few snippets from my childhood- moments that seem utterly mundane at first glance, except for the fact that they are all I have left of that time period, causing them to become poignant and extremely consequential in hindsight.

Sometimes I feel like I am building who I am, or who I think I should be, around these moments... because they are the only past I can conjure, and we're all products of our pasts, right? But what happens when you can't remember who you were? What you were like? What happens when you can't grasp the moments that you know have shaped you?

When I think back- even on high school, a mere ten years ago- all I see in my mind is a blur... like information trying to compute, but that ultimately ends up in a big, hostile question mark.

I can't even tell you how much I hate this.

It's like I wasn't actually living, or something. Because, if the person whose moments they were can't even remember them, what good are they? "If a tree falls in a forest"... am I right?

There are few words in the english language that terrify me as much as "Hey, do you remember that one time when...?" I instantly begin to sweat when I hear these words. I feel lost. And desperate. Because... no... NO, I don't remember it. None of it!! Accomplishments... achievements... hard earned goals.... moments that shaped the woman I am today... events that shattered me, broke me all to pieces, made me so uncomfortable I wanted to die... made me laugh until I cried and cemented hearts together... ALL gone! They are all a milky blur like laundry spinning around in a washing machine... ghosts of shapes surface every now and again, but I can't tell what I'm looking at... I can't tell if it's real or false.

I am BAFFLED by people with good memories. Just... how... how does that even work? What is that even like?

Can anyone out there relate to this? This feeling like you've somehow missed out on your own life? Like there is no going back, and no recreating, and no possible way to force yourself to remember your OWN life? It's like it is somehow not my own, after all. Like it belongs to the minds of those whose paths I've crossed... those who remember snippets of time in which I was present. It makes me feel... splintered. Ungrounded.

It terrifies me.

I'm realizing now that this is why my biggest struggle has been feeling like I am not being heard or seen... feeling like my life won't ultimately matter or measure up to anything whatsoever. Like I am just another face in the crowd. Because, on the inside, I feel that way. I feel that it is true. If I can't remember my own story, who else is going to remember it? If a life can't be consequential enough to be remembered by it's main character, it's a lousy book.

This is what I think I've believed about myself and my life all these years. This has been my constant uphill battle. This is where I need to fill myself with truth. Truth that will STICK. Truth that doesn't depend on the reliability of my memory, but that builds a solid foundation under my feet, that becomes second nature.

God has seen every moment, He remembers it all. No breath or tear or weary sigh are overlooked or unheard. Not one ever. He pours over my story like it were the best thing He's ever read. (Chris had a picture for me once-- where God was sitting at my desk, reading through my old journals-- laughing along with me and crying along with me, handling those notebooks like they were his most prized possessions.)

This is truth.

I wonder what my life would be like if I were to be freed from this burden... if I stopped believing I was so goddamn inconsequential and forgettable all the time. What if I finally put my foot down and got blind-raging ANGRY and refused to let such a rotten, filthy, disgusting lies seep into my ears for even one second longer? I feel like I'm flexing against old ropes, here. Like something has to give or I'm going to be tied to this mediocre spot for-frickin-ever. How would I live differently than I do now if these ropes were cut away? Who would that girl even be???

I'm dying to meet her. I'm running to meet her.

She believes she is a woman full of destiny and purpose, and she laughs in the face of anything that tries to tell her otherwise.

July 20, 2009

He Doesn't Want my Milk.

"i'm ON to you, woman."

So... my baby hates my boobs.

He does!

We have given him a couple of bottles over the last few weeks- when I had to run out and do things or wanted to go out by myself for awhile- and, apparently, I no longer cut it. Whenever I try to nurse him, he thrashes and arches and whines and cries and claws at me.

He's perfectly happy and content all day long... until I try to offer him the boobs. What used to comfort him now just pisses him right off.

Pleasant, no?

When you offer him a bottle, however, he turns into a pile of happy goo and chugs the thing like there is no tomorrow.

*insert me crying over the fact that my milk is like sour pond scum here*

I've tried nursing more often to see if I just needed to build up my milk supply again, but the little butt-butt doesn't seem to be frustrated with the lack of milk, he's just angry that it takes so much more effort to get it from me than from the bottle. So, I nurse and I nurse and I nurse, and he clearly lets me know how inadequate I am as a food source every single time. It's like he's drinking with a scowl on his face... making sure I know that he hates every second of it.

As of now, he gets a small bottle before bedtime, and he eats some baby food with us at dinner, and the rest of the times, I am still nursing.

But, even this small shift in milk demand/production has thrown my hormones for a loop. I am moody. Sweaty. Tired. Pimply. And prone to sudden bursts of anger.


So... now the question is... do I cut off the nursing cold turkey in order to get the hormone rollercoaster ride over with? Or do I continue slowly cutting back and deal with the outrageous side effects?

(To be honest, the pimples alone are enough to make me want to throw in the towel. They are AWFUL.)

I feel icky and miserable and greasy and icky yucky icky ick.

The hard part is, I really wasn't even close to ready to give up nursing. Ezra was able to juggle bottles and nursing for months with no issues. Myer, however, has figured out that he has a preference in the area of milk dispensing, and he no longer wants anything to do with what I have to offer.

This is SO heartbreaking. I have been wandering around in a disconsolate haze for the past couple of weeks, debating with myself on what to do about it all. Have any of you experienced this with your wee babes?

I know that this is a decision that ultimately I just need to weigh and make personally, but I would love some feedback from those of you who have found yourself in the same nursing bras shoes... if nothing else, just to know I'm not alone or crazy for feeling so upset about it all.

milky woe & trepidation!

July 19, 2009

Your Youthful Heart.

image here.

I'm speaking to the part of you that used to spin and race and dance in the outside air- drinking up the last moments of your every single day like you were greedy for life- chasing the sun to the hills in your holey, dirt covered (and, let's be honest, probably acid washed) jeans.

I'm speaking to the part of you that knew no shame and laughed without restraint and dreamed bigger dreams than the ones you hold onto now. The part of you that knew no bounds and knew that life was about adventure and risk and throwing yourself headlong onto the mercy of tomorrow.

Your youthful heart.

Don't try and pretend that that part of you isn't around anymore... or can't hear me from underneath all the obligation you've piled on top of its head... or was never there at all.

That piece of you can still hear. It is still very much alive. It perked its ears up just now like that kid waiting to be picked for a team at recess- thinking it had been forgotten, yet suddenly recognized.

What would happen if we let that part of us loose a little bit? The Wildness? Not to wreak havoc on our daily lives and responsibilities, but to bring a bounce back into heavy steps? To make life attractive and fun to us again?

It would start small, of course. (The wildness may have become somewhat tame over the years, afterall.) Maybe a little skip-hop on your way to the car one day? Or an unplanned detour to get an ice cream cone with gummy worms on top? Then, perhaps a little dance party of your very own when no one else is watching?

Eventually, you will be throwing your head back with laughter so often that your neck will be sore at night. You will begin wearing flip-flops so that you can kick them off and feel the grass in between your toes. You will love with abandon and experience joy and pain, elation and heartbreak... perhaps all within mere hours (minutes?) of each other.

You will live raw again. Walls will fall down from all the bodacious break dancing.

People will stare in envy of your light heart... then they will turn and unburden their own- perhaps realizing that life is too short to spend despising those who choose to actually live it.

So... I want to know... What have you done today (or, what do you plan to do tomrrow) to exercise YOUR youthful heart?

Today, I made a baby giggle by pretending to be a robot.

(And, yes, it was every bit as awesome as it sounds.)

Your turn!

July 17, 2009

Special Delivery.

In the six short months that Myer has been alive, he has somehow managed to wrap me up in a big package with a bow and mail me back to myself.

And just like his big brother did four years ago, he has given me more of who I truly am, who I was made to be.

Finding this gift of myself on my front porch after all those long months of despair has made life seem like a perpetual Christmas... like there is no end to the things I could learn about myself, the things I could do, the woman I could be.

I'm knee deep in all the colorful wrapping paper, wondering how there could possibly be any more that he could give... all while knowing we've only just begun...

(Happy six months, My-Moo. You are contagious joy!)

*For ModLife's Terrific Transformations Post.

July 15, 2009

Photo Upchuck.

my sweet boys playing in the morning light.

my new shirt I got for my birthday.

myer is now SIX MONTHS OLD.
And he loves green beans and sweet potatoes.

We went to a cool vintage motorcycle/vespa event the other night.
They were raffling off a new vespa, and Chris and I just KNEW
that we were going to win it... but we didn't.

Morgan & I.

Chris standing by his favorite bike at the show-- Jerrod's BMW.

The show with Flo last Wednesday was so much fun!!!
Thanks to you all who came out.

Nikki & Crystal- two of my favorite human beings on God's green earth.

Me, Myer, & Nikki after my set.
I had such a great time, it made me want to play more often!
Flo inspired me in so many ways...
I wish we lived in the same town so we could be BFFs.
See her OKC post & some video of one of my songs here.


July 10, 2009

The Pointless Prize.

image here.

Geesh, it seems I have to return to this mindset fifty times a year, but I'm determined to stay here so I'll turn back fifty times a day, if it comes to that.

Wealth. Materialism. The wretched MOREness that drives us day in and day out. The pointless prize.

Never satisfied, yet constantly being lured out to the desert by being promised the ocean.

"Buy this! You will BE better! More people will like you! Your skin will glow! Your teeth will glow! Your body will shrink! Your eyelashes will lengthen! Your hair will grow back! You will shed inches while you SLEEP!"

"Get this much square footage! You can throw fancy parties and not have to ever hear your kids during the day and you can have a separate room for your every single fancy and whim! Then, just pay someone else to come clean it for you!"

It makes me queasy just thinking of it all. We sit around in our ginormous houses and waste hours of each day trying to track down the most recent must-have. We're being fattened to death! Gluttoned into slow, drawn out death-rattles! And how much of this stuff will we be taking with us when we draw that final breath?


You could walk out your door tomorrow and it could be the very last time you do.

Morbid? No... It's called reality. If it bothers you to think of it, well... I don't know what to tell you. You can secure your fortress until you're living in a gated community of pillows and marshmallows, and death will still find you.

And when it does? We will be in our graves and our big houses and our money and our stuff STUFF STUFF will be far from our grasp.

Recently, we've been in a bit of a rough patch, this little family of ours. Not necessarily financially... we're still in the same place we've been since we married: living by daily bread. Having enough for what we need, and not a whole lot more. And we've been very happy this way.

But a few weeks ago, something in our minds shifted and we suddenly felt like we needed MORE. Priorities flew to the wind. We hardly saw each other. My husband worked his fingers to the bone and would come home late only to pass out on the couch or floor- whatever flat surface he happened to land on first. Resentment built up quickly. It became a constant comparison of 'who's REALLY working harder'?

I began to waste away from lack of sleep and lack of time away from the kids and lack of harmony in our home. Chris was burdened with the feeling of not being enough... he couldn't multiply himself enough to cover all the bases at once. He felt like the pitcher and the batter and the outfielder all at once.

When you strip this all down, it was the nagging MORE that pushed us to this place. Also known as Discontent.

When all of this finally broke, it was like water pouring back into my soul.

I'd rather have my husband than an increasing sense of comfort.

After all, as my history shows, the more comfort I obtain, the further away God seems to get. He can BE there in the comfort too, I'm not saying that He isn't, but for me personally, I have not mastered the NEEDING of Him in the midst of needing nothing at all. Maybe someday I will get to that place, but I pray that my heart will get there long before the money ever does.

Discontentment is like a wedge. It starts out as a small crack, the pressure builds and forces it down, and suddenly I'm standing on the opposite side of the Grand Canyon from all my peace, hope, and joy. Suddenly I am nowhere near my smile. And it all started with the tiny trickle known as "if only..."

I believe that God has all of my needs under control. I believe that He has brought me to this house, to this neighborhood, to this life for a purpose. And I will trust Him with all that goes along with that. (example: If He's brought us to this house, then I'm sure that He's thought ahead enough and planned for Ezra to attend that little school that he's zoned for down the street. Even if it's not the shiniest school in the city! Even if there's a part of me that wants Ezra to go to the sparkly school with all the latest gizmos! I will not be lured away by the MORE on this one... I will not be lured away by the false sense of security and comfort that comes from sending my kids to the 'best' schools in town. If Ezra were meant to go elsewhere, we would have ended up elsewhere.)

I'm coming back to contentment. (It was waiting with open arms.)

It feels like rounding the corner of your street after a long and difficult journey... like finding the bread crumb trail after wandering lost in the woods for what seemed like ages...

...like a one-way ticket back to your own front door.


July 6, 2009

My One Birthday Wish.

It's my birthday today!

My wish: to hang out with you all on Wednesday and listen to some good tunes!

It would be so silly if you weren't there, no?

Run, don't walk!

(Or... drive! You could do that too!)