butt kickin'

i'm totally prepared for one this week. i have a test, a quiz, and a paper due. that's on top of my usual homework. *puke*

the drive home

Each week, I have two days where I am alone in my car for an hour and fifteen minutes. In mommy time, this is an eternity! Of course, you can't do much besides drive and think. 45 minutes of the drive is made TO school at the OSU-OKC campus. Typically, just before the drive, I have been scurrying around the house getting things in order for Chris or the babysitter, whomever will be caring for the little people when I leave. I am usually frazzled by the time I get into the car. I am worried about whether or not I will have a quiz over the periodic table or metric conversions (flash card images run through my mind)...and whether or not I will make it to class on time. I worry about the kids, and what terror they might inflict upon the sitter. I worry about Chris and if he will be in the frame of mind to handle dinner, bath and bedtime alone.

Then I hit traffic, and I become even more frazzled. I typically have the radio blaring to drown out my goofy thoughts, but once I hit traffic, I am forced to turn it down or completely off. I can't concentrate otherwise. I am the only one in the car, and even with the radio off, it is difficult for me to "hear". I continue on, the traffic only becoming heavier as I reach my destination (it is at it's thickest right at the school).

I curse at other drivers.

Merge already!

Feel free to use a turn signal!

Of course, this is all done in my mind for fear that if I do it out loud, one of them might hear me and try to run me off the road. right. It sounds so much less lame in my brain.

As I sink into my seat in class, I am worn out.

I make it through class and do well at what I feared I wouldn't. I am getting this stuff. I leave feeling triumphant. The last couple of class sessions, the weather has been so pleasant, so I walk slowly to my car while enjoying the hint of fall weather all around. Sometimes, I am lucky enough to enjoy stimulating conversation with a classmate along the way.

I start the car and pause for a few moments before pulling out of my parking space. The radio is off from the drive before, but there is no other noise this time. It is quiet. My thoughts are no longer screaming through my head. I realize that there is peace all around me, and I can finally "hear." There is only the sound of my engine revving as I accelerate or the thud of my brake pedal as I press it down to the floor. The entire drive home is this way. It is only 30 minutes or so, but it is the sweetest part of my day. I spend the entire drive lost in sweet conversation with my Jesus. I actually hear him, and I am so free in listening. It's like chatting with an old friend...I can tell him anything, and he understands.

It was just tonight that I realized this pattern I have created, and it completely signifies the rhythm of my life. When I try to be in control, I am frazzled and worried. When I let go, true peace sinks into me, and I can truly be with my God the way he intends for me to be.

big hairy fits defined

large-sized anxiety-causing sudden outbursts of emotion

uhhh...can anyone say TWO-YEAR-OLD!?

jesus and chocolate

What is it about chocolate that makes you have to eat it until it's gone? If it is in my house, I will eat it...and not in moderation, mind you. I just can't get enough. And did I mention how incredibly happy it makes me?

Hmmm...could this possibly be the reason I bounce back and forth between the same 5 pound weight loss or gain? Another discussion perhaps.

All this happy choco binging reminds me of a time not so long ago that I binged on something else that made me deliriously happy...God's word. I couldn't get enough of it. I was constantly hungry for more. I read and read and read and read. I memorized powerful verses that I knew would help me fend off any spiritual attacks and I was excited to share with anyone who would listen...especially my kids! My excitement for what I learned was contagious, and in them grew a desire to know more, too! It was AWESOME. Even when life placed irritating pebbles in my shoe, I felt His presence and knew it was as it should be. So, what happened? I just don't know. What an incredibly complicated answer, right? I do not know why I no longer devour the word of our Lord as if I were starving. It must have happened slowly, as I don't recall an abrupt halt. My fire is still burning (or rather, flickering), and I crave God's word...but I am not starving for it any longer. How do I get back to that place? I want to be there again.

Hmmmm...oh, how I wish I were wiser and had more of the answers already.

chores vs. children

But I don't want to...


I hear this phrase often from my little people, upon being annoyed that I even asked and usually in response to a request to make a bed, to pick up shoes cast in the middle of the living room floor, or to pick up a wet towel from the bathroom floor. Seems there is always something far more important to do...somehow, even picking the lint from between their toes ranks above cleaning up after themselves.


If they'd just do it in the first place, I wouldn't have to ask.


I don't understand. Even as a child I was a fairly neat kid. I got the occasional request to clean my room, but I actually enjoyed it. I loved organizing my things, right down to my stuffed animals. I would change up how they were organized, sometimes alphabetical by name, sometimes by color. It didn't matter. I always knew where everything was and where it went. Definitely not a toss it all under the bed kind of kid.


Why can I not teach neatness to my offspring??? They are, after all, my flesh. There should be some of my obsessive compulsiveness within them, right? But alas, I have one child who is eager to help and does whatever is asked, two whose room could wreak of rancid wet towels for a week without them asking about the stink, one who is rapidly developing the art of creating living spaces similar to the after effects of a natural disaster, and one whose work habits are yet to be revealed. My home is definitely not the vision of lovliness I dreamed it would be many years ago before I had children. For me, order means peace. When my home is in order, I am at peace. My home is never in order.


Seriously, am I ever at peace? I mean really at peace? What does that even mean? I constantly seek peace, but what does that look like? Is peace really having a well kept home and clean well-behaved kids all the time? A lovely vision, no doubt, but definitely not real peace. I'm sure that this elusive concept is different for everyone, but for me, being at peace means letting go of the little things that do not deserve my attention...that means the bitterness at having to pick up just one more thing off the floor, the worry that someone might see how messy my car is on the inside, the guilt I feel for telling my child just a minute when asked to play. Would I lay down my life to have an immaculate home? Uh, nope. Would I die on a hill for my child's eternal life? YES, YES, YES!!! Sheesh, a no brainer.

the fine art of napping

***update***9.4.08 Bella napped yesterday and today...and went down pretty easily, too! BONUS!

Um, yeah. Napping? Whatever happened to two-year-olds who nap? I have one of those...you know, two-year-olds. She's great...really. But not when she misses her nap. You see, I believe there is an art in napping, especially in a napping two-year-old. It's not so much that it's an art for her...but for me. It's an amazing event. She goes down for her nap, and there is a never-ending silence in the house. It is one only experienced during nap time. Truly beautiful if you have never experienced it. We have had the pleasure of witnessing artful napping for a couple of years now (would make sense given that our two-year-old is, well, a couple of years old). But in the past couple of weeks, that nap has become rather elusive. I so took for granted it's beauty before. Now, however, I NEED for that glorious wonder to return so that I can STUDY. Forget getting the laundry done anymore. Oh please, oh please, nappy return to me.

start with me

Earlier this week, my oldest son was pouring himself a glass of apple juice. The fact that he pours himself ANYTHING is a magnificent event in my home, as he is one of only two who can get his own drink! A definite reason to celebrate! He has done this many times before, but I marvel at it each time. As I was watching him, he glanced up at me and flashed me a big grin. He loves to please me, and he knows his self-sufficience does. His shift in focus caused him to miss th glass and pour the juice all over the kitchen counter. It proceeded to spread quickly across the surface, over the edge and began spilling over the cabinets and onto the tile floor. I flipped OUT! I completely lost it. I can't even remember exactly what it was that I shouted at him, but it reduced him immediately to tears and he ran to his room sobbing. I angrily began to clean up the mess, muttering about how I have to everything around here and cursing about things not ever staying clean for longer than five minutes (I had mopped the floor only half an hour prior). I could hear myself...but had not idea who it was talking. I can't even call it talking...it was really a bunch of inaudible phrases coming out as spit. Before I was finished cleaning up the mess, I was in tears. I was so ashamed of the way I had reacted toward my sweet kid. It was an accident, and he was loving on me in that moment it happened. How could I have hurt him so?

This incident perpetuated a lot of soul searching. It isn't an uncommon occurrence lately. I am agitated easily and my unsuspecting offspring are usually on the receiving end of the rampage. After I had calmed down and prayed to my Jesus who oh so undeservedly forgives me, I found my hurting boy and wrapped him in the biggest hug I could give him. I made no excuses...there were none anyway. I'm sorry, I told him. He looked up at me after a couple of minutes. His eyes were still tear-filled, and it broke me. I will always forgive you, mom. I love you. Again with the undeserving forgiveness. His hug squished the breath out of me it was so tight. Who am I that I deserve this love?

I am a mommy. God made ME a mommy. He blessed me with five wonderfully made kiddos...He wants ME to teach them, to nurture them, to love them. But I don't know how, I often find myself telling him. His reply is always the same. I know, but I do. So, there it is. When my younglings are pushing me to the limit, it isn't THEM. It is me. It is my heart that shows true...all my impatience, my selfishness. That is what I teach them when I do not act as He has called me to act.

Lord, may I shine your light into the hearts of my children. May their paths be blessed because you trusted me to lead the way.