Full House.

I woke up this morning with a really sore throat and had to back out of leading worship for this month's Mom's Meeting up at the church. I thought I'd lost my voice, but it seems okay now. I was bummed to miss the meeting, but my house was buzzing with warmth and comfort and love as Cameron and Anna snuggled on the couch with Ezra to watch his morning cartoons with him.

The coffee was brewing, the doors were opened to let in the fresh Fall air, and there was no lovelier place in the whole wide world than my little house this morning. Ezra played outside and we took turns pushing him on the swings in the backyard. Chris got ready for work, the rest of us set our sights on a coffee shop to eat/drink/be merry at for an hour or maybe two.

Yesterday I was so excited to learn that our dear friend Jeremy was also coming into town along with Cam and Anna. When everyone showed up at the house late last night, it felt like a long over-due family reunion.

Jeremy. Compassionate and Brave.

We all sat outside of the coffee shop and talked about life while masking our fear of the hovering bee.

It is now 2:30 pm and this is a complete list of what my son has eaten today (prior to crashing for his nap):

-waffle with syrup.
-Juice.
-Juice.
-More juice.
-Two bites of cream cheese bagel.
-Juice.
-Sips of mommy's chai.
-Fruit snacks.

With all the added excitement around here, the potty training has taken a sharp turn for the "HUH?!", as Ezra now pees first and then tells me he has to go potty. (That's ass-backwards!) I've had to change his pants three times already today because he's been completely soaked. *sigh* All that juice has to go somewhere, I suppose.

Currently, the house is quiet as all our guests are out and about with Joel and Ezra is fast asleep. I am eyeing the Margarita Mix on the top of the fridge and realizing that I have band practice tonight and should probably figure out which songs to play through.

These people who are out visiting us mean the world to me. We all (clumsily) learned how to love God together in community. We were all collectively wounded when we were suddenly told we'd been doing it all wrong... that, LOOK! We've found the ONLY good way to know God and it requires SIX meetings a week! Also? You're either in or you're out. CHOOSE NOW.

Where's the grace in that for the fumbling parents of a newborn child? Or the college student who already feels swamped by all of the homework and exams? Or the girl who struggles with finding her validity and worth in the eyes of the people around her? Is there room for the addicted? The overwhelmed? And, when they finally hit the wall of 'meetings overload', Are they finding a soft place to fall?

Tangent.

Sorry.

More Later!

Full Calendars, Full Lives?

It's almost 4:30pm, which is that inevitable time of day when I suddenly remember that I should probably make dinner. Or at the very least start thinking about what I could make. Or something.

This is why we eat so much spaghetti.

The day has been lazy and wonderful- a trip to the library and the park in the brisk fall morning air. A nap that is going on three and a half hours.

I've been wandering around the house today, attempting to get things in order for our guests who are arriving tomorrow. As I move from room to room, straightening and making mental notes of things I don't have the motivation to do today but will most definitely have the motivation to do tomorrow because it is the very last possible day to do them before our friends get here, I have been in nearly constant thought about my purpose here on this earth.

As a stay at home mother to one little boy who is pretty easy breezy for the most part, I often feel like I'm not doing enough. Like my life doesn't have any purpose unless I'm running around at a million miles an hour wanting to pull my hair out. And the question I keep returning to is this:

Does a full calendar equal a full life?

The obvious answer, I'm sure all would agree, is NO. But obvious answers are often the most difficult to accept. It is true that on the rare day that I am really busy doing this or that, I feel more alive. I feel good at the end of the day. I feel like I've accomplished something and I take pleasure in declaring how utterly tired I am to my husband who works hard day after day- like, see? I was busy today and now I have a valid reason to be so tired too! See?

And as harmless as this would all seem, I can't help but be troubled by it to some degree. Because if I am truly feeling like my life has more purpose when I'm running around being busy all day, aren't I answering my previous question with a heartfelt YES? I may claim that a busy life doesn't make a purposeful one, but deep down I think I've been trained to believe otherwise.

Has anyone else noticed how our society doesn't seem to value REST? True rest? The rest that does absolutely nothing all day? Sabbath rest? Rest that doesn't get up to clean the house or rest that doesn't require some form of entertainment to pass the hours? God repeatedly tells us to rest. Because he knows us.

So, here's a new question to ask myself:

Do I believe that God shows His love for me by how much he uses me? Because if I do believe that (and I most certainly do at this point), I am way off base. My worth doesn't come from ink markings in a day planner. The seasons of silence and inactivity in life are just as important as the busy ones. It is during those times God often focuses on relationship and intimacy with Him. (Ummm, super-mega important, no?)

I was outside earlier today trimming my rose bushes and thinking about all of this stuff. Trimming rose bushes is a task that the world might not think has much "purpose" or "worth" in, but I was enjoying myself immensely. I was stepping back to contemplate which branch I should prune next, when I heard the crunch of a dry leaf behind me. I turned to see a woman standing there who had deep scars and markings covering the lower half of her face. I was startled by her presence; I didn't know how long she'd been standing there. As she saw me turn to look at her, she took a few steps closer. I took a few steps towards her as well until we met in the middle of my lawn with a smile and a handshake.

She told me that she was my neighbor. The neighbor that I'd never met or even seen. She apologized for taking so long to introduce herself and welcome us to the neighborhood. She'd just finished another round of extensive chemotherapy and had been unable to do much for some time. The lower left portion of her face was sunken in and the fresh red scars traveled down her neck as well where her lymph nodes had been removed. She told me that she'd battled eight different kinds of cancer over the last fifteen years. She had some trouble speaking- she was missing her upper and lower teeth in the left side of her mouth.

We talked for awhile about little things- about how cute Ezra was and how we both enjoyed the neighborhood so much. She told me how her husband of 40 years decided a couple of years ago that he didn't want to be married anymore and filed for divorce. She said he'd been going through an identity crisis, but how recently he's been coming back around again and has been a tremendous help to her in her time of illness. She told me how she had one daughter, but there was pain in her eyes as she spoke of her.

She lives alone.

I told her I was so very glad to meet her, and that I was around during the days if she ever needed anything at all- that Chris and I would absolutely love to help her in anyway we could. She asked us to pray for her. I told her that we certainly would, and she seemed comforted by this. I felt God stirring my heart while I was speaking to her.

God is amazing. And when I finally take the time to PAUSE and stop freaking out about what I should be doing or not doing and how much I think He's using me or not using me and why or why not that might be, He finally gets a chance to speak to me in the simplest yet most profound ways. Today I felt like he told me, "Just be a neighbor." Simple, yet huge.

I'm Pooped.

I just spent the day watching a friend's kids because she and her hubby are on a much deserved vacation. They have two amazing boys, ages 2 and 3, so Ezra and I spent the day at their house. Just me and three wild boys.

We started the morning by watching the tail end of Sesame Street while I got the boys dressed and brushed their hair and tried to convince everyone to use the potty before we went anywhere. (Refused.) We played with toys for awhile and then I loaded them in the car and took them to Barnes & Noble. The trip was lots of fun but can be summed up with this statement: There were three of them and I only have two arms. Yikes.

After the bookstore, we went and got food to take back to the house. The boys ate like champs and we had lots of fun sitting around the table making each other laugh. After that, I somehow managed to get ALL THREE BOYS to take a two and a half hour nap. These boys don't usually nap, so I felt like I'd done something amazing- like I'd invented television or something. After their naps, we watched an episode of Little Einsteins and then spent the next hour or so playing outside on the swings and digging in the sandbox while I drew chalk pictures of everyone much to their delight. ("Draw Ezra's daddy! Now draw Ezra's daddy's mom and daddy! Okay! Now draw...") We played duck duck goose and pretended the slide was a magic train that could take them anywhere they wanted. ("The gwocery store!") We were having a blast!

At 5:00, The relief sitters came back for the overnight shift, and they asked the boys what they did all day and if they'd had a fun time with Ezra and his mommy. I was sure the boys would be allllll excited to tell them about the fun stuff we did during the day, but instead they sort of shrugged and said:

"Yeah. We watched TV."



And, the 'Babysitter of the Year Award' goes to...

Via Tandem Bike.

The entire month of October has been redeemed.



Cameron and Anna are headed our way, and we're so excited we can hardly stand it!

Hurry hurry hurry!

(Play)Dating Twins.

I had another friend of mine, Sherry, call me up a couple of days ago and ask if she could watch Ezra for me sometime. I was, of course, thrilled at the invitation and so we arranged to have the kids play this morning so that I could run a couple of errands and have the morning free.

Sherry has three children under the age of two.

How is this even possible, you ask?

That's easy:



Bam! Introducing Harper and Stella!

Hold on one second.... my heart just exploded and I need to catch my breath. *wheeze*

Ezra had a blast with these wonderful girls today. They did an art project and baked cookies and played outside.







Sherry is an amazing woman and momma. She also has a baby boy named Atticus, who is so happy and chill that it's easy to forget where you set him down at.


Here we can see Ezra working his charm on Harper.
Aw man, Harper- look out!
He'll getcha with those eyes and that big goofy grin...
(she looks none too convinced.)

While I was out and about I stopped at the Goodwill and found two incredible vintage children's hats that were the perfect size for my son. I also scored a vintage Robot shirt for him. These were all amazing finds- the cherry on top of an already fabulous day!

A chocolate brown fedora. In mini size!!

Newsboy.

Robo Force! Dun dun dun! (Ezra wasn't too into my
fashion photoshoot today. Hmph.)

Ezra and I both had a great time this morning. A big THANK YOU to Sherry for blessing us so much and for sending some of those cookies home with me. I only ate, like, ten of them or something. ON THE WAY HOME.

The Shrunken Wool Sweater Gown of Motherhood.

If I wasn't able to contact you personally, I'd like to say a big thank you to everyone who swung by to say HELLO yesterday. I am floored and so grateful for each and every one of you- Your words of encouragement stick to me, and I use them to help remind myself why I continue to write when I am feeling like I have nothing new to offer in this crazy web of world wides. Thank You.


*********************************


Ezra. Let's talk about Ezra. He is the lighthouse to my rocky coast. Spinning around in bright circles regardless of the weather or the storm. The day or the night.

I feel like I am just now reaching a place where I can say confidently that having him was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I may be late in the game to throw that out there, but I wanted to wait to say it outloud until I could say it without any falsehood. Ezra is the third best thing that has ever happened to me. God is first. Chris is second. Ezra is third. A girl must keep her priorities straight.

For the first couple of years there, I wasn't so sure. I have always loved Ezra with everything in me- from the tip of my head to the bottom of my feet, but the reality of what this kid would add to me personally and add to my life didn't sink in until much later. I loved him, of course, but life became so much more complicated after he was born. (Did I just hear a collective "duh"?)

I honestly believe that it has taken two and a half years for me to properly mourn the loss of my old life. My old self. And I think that this is perfectly Okay. Some parents don't need two and a half years to come to terms with their new identities as mothers and fathers. Others might need a bit longer.

That's not to say that I won't ever think back on the way things used to be pre-kiddo and long for a fraction of that freedom again. I will have those days. But I feel like I have recently shimmied my way into the final stage of "acceptance", where motherhood has become more of a well tailored gown rather than the shrunken woolen sweater I felt like I was forcing myself into back in the early days. I can finally put my arms down. I can do a quick twirl and feel like a million bucks.

My gown doesn't look like yours. And I can guarantee that yours doesn't look like hers. Or hers. Or hers. And I think that this is Okay too. This is more than Okay. Who wants to show up to a party wearing the same dress as everyone else?




We are all so quick to agree that every child is different. But we are so slow to believe that about ourselves as mothers and fathers. We are all different. There isn't an age we reach where we suddenly outgrow our uniqueness. If you were to look back and remember yourself as a child, I bet you'd agree that you were unique. In some way, you were different- set apart from all the other kids you knew. It was true then and it is still true now.

We parent with what we've got. And we've been given all that we need. And I am finally (two and a half years later) believing this for myself. I am a mother. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Ezra has made me a better person. A better wife. A better friend. A better daughter. He has shown me deep things about God that I might never have stooped down and paused to see. He has forced me out of many (treacherous) comfort zones and amplified some of my very best qualities.

He likes to sing songs and he hugs all of his friends. He is a picky eater. He likes to try and do things by himself, but he knows when to ask for help when it gets too difficult. He whines. And throws fits. And thinks he's entitled to a new toy every time we go to the store. He gives away his hiding place EVERY TIME we play hide-and-go-seek by squealing with delight when I walk into whatever room he's "hiding" in. He's finally figuring out how to incorporate his shoulders into his dance moves.

He is lovely. And he has changed my life for good.

House of Straw.

Chris called this afternoon and told me he'd like for me to have a night out on my own tonight. Needless to say, I was thrilled and touched that he would think to suggest it, and I was also feeling like some time by myself would be heaven.

So, Chris got home from work around 5:00 and I left shortly after that. I didn't even make dinner... I just headed out the door with no set agenda for myself.

Some people work well this way- with no plans ahead of them. They wander about the city and bump into adventure without much effort.

I am not one of these people.

If I don't have a plan set in place, I resort to my default: wandering around in stores without buying anything because (imagine this!) I don't actually need any more things. So, I wander aimlessly through isles for hours because, well, I guess because it's safe. And I can never think of anything else to do.

By the time I arrived back home, I was disillusioned with myself again. (Will this feeling EVER go away?) I felt like I'd wasted my precious "me" time. I felt like I was boring and lonely and BLAH. I felt like my life somewhat resembled one of the hundreds of pointless knick-knacks I'd wandered past throughout the evening- just tucked away on a cluttered shelf with no purpose, no true function other than to sit and gather dust.

I could have holed up in a coffee shop somewhere and poured over pages in a book or written feverishly in one of my journals until I felt my mind finally break through the fog. I could have called up a friend and had great conversation. I could have breathed fresh air or people watched for hours. I could have prayed. I could have found a quaint little place to eat and savored each flavor of a delicious meal.

I did none of these things.

Instead, I wandered around in fluorescent light- devoting my time to looking at things I don't even need.

And it's not just this evening, either. I fill my time during the days with television, Internet, chores, busywork. I am afraid to sit still. I am terrified of spending any time with myself. When I stop moving, I start thinking about the life I'm choosing not to have by hunkering down in my ridiculous comfort zones- forced to look at the glaringly obvious contrast between the life I'm actually leading and the life I've been called to.

I've had no desire to talk to God lately. To spend any time with Him. But I can feel Him asking for me. I hear it deep down in my gut. It is a call to more. The more that I want so badly but am also so afraid of. So, I busy myself. I avoid silence, stillness. I go on feeling unsatisfied. Adulterous. Unwilling to face the ugly truth:

My hands have been building a kingdom that won't last. A kingdom based on my wants and desires and whims. And I'm tired, yet still I refuse to give up the campaign. I'm like that one little pig who built his house out of straw- seeking shelter from the wind behind the safeguard of DRY GRASS. Every little breeze knocks another wall down. And I am quickly running out of things to prop them up with.


"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves on behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
The Lord will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations.

You will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings."

-Isaiah 58:9-12


THIS is what I don't have. THIS is what I am missing. Feeding the hungry. Clothing the naked. Satisfying the needs of the oppressed.

These are the things that lay the bricks; the things that eventually build a life worth living in.

De-Lurk or Bust.

All the planets are in alignment, and its time to de-lurk, my friends! Drop me a comment if you're somewhere out there beneath the pale moon light. (Aww, Remember Fivel?)

There are no cats in America and the streets are paved with cheese!

I'm off to de-lurkify myself as well... Wee haw!

Operation: Grow Hair! (Plus 8 Random Facts.)

Here's a quick Operation: Grow Hair! update...

It started out this short ten months ago:



...and now:
It's getting loooong. I like to shrug my shoulders up to my ears and then splay my hair across them while pretending that it is actually long enough to do that without making myself look like Igor.


*******************************

In other news, I've been tagged. (Thanks, Jen!) I must now confess 8 things about myself that you guys probably don't already know. Hmmmm.

one. I was a gymnast for a whole lot of years. No one bothered to tell me I was too tall and lanky for the sport- I had to figure that out on my own after many many years of wondering why I sucked at it. When I started to compete, I had two coaches from Russia that could have scared the stink off of poo. I can still tumble and do flips.

two. I gave up drinking soda about a month ago. Since then, I feel like my taste buds have come back to life. I tried to drink a diet coke the other day and had to pour most of it out because it tasted like sugar and syrup. Wait... That's because it IS sugar and syrup!

three. I have bad skin. (Thank God for Photoshop.)

four. I spent my entire Junior year of High School writing my name like this: MRE. Get it? MRE? Emery? I even started writing it like that on my school papers. You know, to save time. I was am such a dork.

five. I love God more than I love my husband.

six. I have been known to film and edit wedding videos.

seven. I'm scared of having another baby partly because Ezra has been a REALLY easy kid and people always say that your second child is the polar opposite of your first child.

eight. Is my favorite number of all time.

A Date Night Spent in Handcuffs.

**Edited to remove 2nd band's name, because I am now painfully aware that I did not need to add it in order to tell this humorous tale. However, the tale stands, because... well, it happened and it's true. Sincere apologies, however, for initially including the 2nd band's band name. I'm lame and totally embarrassed for it. Blech.**


Scandalous title!

note to self: do not make habit of googling "handcuffs".
apparently these things aren't just for law enforcement anymore.

Okay, date night recap:

8:00PM: Chris plays a show with a friend's band called Flyover-States. (GREAT show, GREAT music.) They are opening for another band.

8:45PM: Chris' set is over, so he packs up his drums and sets them on the side of the stage. He says he'd like to stay for one or two of the 2nd band's songs, and then we can go out for our super-rare and fantastic night on the town after that. I tell him that's fine.

8:50PM: 2nd Band starts to play. I am ready to leave for date night.

8:52PM: At this point, there are only a few people in the room to watch the show. Leaving feels a little bit awkward.

8:53PM: 2nd band asks for a volunteer. None of the people in the room move a muscle. Chris runs up on stage and offers to volunteer, thinking it will be something silly and quick.

8:54PM: 2nd Band guy proceeds to HANDCUFF a briefcase to my husband's wrist, thereby declaring him the 'Keeper Of The Donuts'. (?!) Then he tells Chris he can go sit back down. The briefcase is STILL HANDCUFFED TO HIS WRIST. I swallow my tongue.



9:00PM-10:00PM: 2nd band continues to play through their ENTIRE set. I bounce between rage and amusement at our situation. Our date night is quickly waning. Chris needs to go to the bathroom, but does not know how to do this with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. He also would like a cup of coffee from the snack-bar. (At least I can help him with that.) We sit. And wait. And wait. We cannot leave.

10:00PM: 2nd Band announces that this will be their final song. It is a rap about donuts. He calls Chris back up to the stage. He opens the briefcase and pulls out some donuts in plastic baggies. He tosses them to the audience.



10:00PM and ONE SECOND: We leave to try and salvage the rest of our date night. We are tired, and the handcuffs have put us in a funky mood. I feel mad but cannot stop laughing. I now feel tired and unexcited about date night. We decide to head down to Bricktown to get a nice drink and relax and talk and enjoy a smokey treat. (HAHAH Shannon & Jen: a 'smokey treat' is what we call our smokes of choice. For Chris, it is usually a tobacco pipe. For me? A clove cigarette. Mmmm Yummy. But BAD for you. Yes, very very BAD. No, smokey treats are not beef jerky, but that might be one of the funniest things I've ever heard in all of my life. Can you imagine us looking forward to a nice drink and some BEEF JERKY? HAHHA. Anywho...) At this point, part of me just wants to curl up in bed.

10:30PM: We pay $5 to park and we walk. We pass packs of young scantily dressed girls who are heading to the clubs- leaving whiffs of 350 different perfumes in their wake. We laugh about the handcuffs. The air is crisp. Things are looking up.

10:50PM: We find a really nice bar that has a rooftop patio and decide to get a drink and sit under the stars.

10:55PM: Chris suddenly stops in his tracks and slaps his pockets. (This is never a good sign.) He's forgotten his ID in his truck back home.

10:56PM: The sky falls down on our heads. We are crushed. No yummy drinks for us.

11:00PM: We stop in at a Pizza joint and eat a couple slices of greasy pizza. We meet the Italian owner, a man who is very friendly and kind. If he isn't in the Mafia, he should be. I think he'd be real good at it.

11:30PM: We walk back to our car. I'm craving a martini. We decide to drive allllll the way back home to get Chris' ID and then try to find a bar somewhere near our house. (Ha.) Chris says he thinks he knows where there is a martini bar near our neighborhood. So, we drive back home.

12:00AM: Got the ID. Head to the 'Martini Bar'. Turns out to be a place with blacked-out windows. We hear music PUMPING inside, and can see the faint neurotic pulsing of a strobe light from underneath the door. There are wiggies hanging around outside. We turn tail and LEAVE.

12:15AM: I am home. In bed. Somewhat relieved that date night has come to an end. The should-be-Mafia man's pizza is not agreeing with my stomach.

12:30AM: I am asleep.

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The night didn't go very well, but the very next night, Chris completely and totally redeemed it by coming home from the store with everything needed for our own in-home date night. He got three GREAT romantic comedy movies, lots of buttery popcorn, my favorite candy (Sour Patch Kids), and some Red Vines for him. We watched "The Holiday" and snuggled on the couch. I LOVED this movie more than any human being probably ever has before. I don't know why.



The evening was perfect, if for no other reason than the fact that there were no donuts or handcuffs or briefcases to be found anywhere.

Chris and I are not difficult to please... All we ask is that delicious pastries are not used against us for hostage purposes during our precious hours of childless freedom. Is this TOO MUCH TO ASK?

Apparently so. Hehe.