cjmcgrey

I'm not even that fond of horses

I have never been that adventurous.  No skydiving, no bungee jumping, and no tattoos.  The idea of any of those things sounded scary.  Very edgy, and if you do them, I'm probably be impressed. But not me, the giant chicken of the west.  So maybe it would make sense to you that when we visited Larry's uncle's horse ranch, right after we got married, I wasn't super anxious to hop right on a horse.  I liked the kind called "Old Paint" that were fat and mostly lazy.  The horse I got on that day(as I was trying to be brave and fit into the family) was neither.  And since everyone knows that horses can smell fear, and he had already eyeballed me and sized me up, I ran the risk of embarassing myself in front of family I didn't really know and wimped out, dismounted the horse, and went home. 

The next time I tried to ride a real live horse(as opposed to the fat ones that shuffle along the trail), we were in Costa Rica.  There was a RAIN FOREST.  And a VOLCANO.  Surely that would make up for the fact that a giant beast who could smell my terror would be jostling me around.  And although I didn't wimp out, it was a fear-filled hour and a half ride around a rain forest, wherein one of the horses from our group tried to make a break for it, and the guide had to chase him(and his rider) down.  I whispered to mine that he better not get any ideas.  And then I went back to cowering and bumping along. 

This summer, I got reaquianted with one of my favorite songs from high school.  It was a song that we used to listen to on the way to camp, make videos to, and it would make me, a weird and insecure high schooler, excited about the future.  And it can be related to the previous equine theme.  Yep, SCC's Great Adventure.  And while I used to love listening to that song and thinking about all the great adventures that life has, it's a lot easier to plan for them when you are 16, instead of 34.  And I know it's a God song, about being a Christian, but right now, as I time wimpy contractions and wait to go to the hospital to meet our 3rd child, I can't help but think that the 16 year old me had no idea what kind of adventure she was getting into.  From marrying a coach and being completely submerged in all things sports(yikes) to a totally different career than I ever imagined for myself(but guess what? I love it) to 3(yes, three) kids.  Who i'm pretty sure can smell fear, too.

I guess what I am trying to clumsily say is that even though horses freak me out, and I will not ever be able to canter and post and all that other jazz, and Larry and I are getting ready to be outnumbered by children(on homecoming week, no less)it's probabably just fine that I'm not the one picking my adventures.  Because I might still be at home, reading a book. Not terrified.  But bored, with bad eyesight.

Wide Open Spaces. Or, the First Day of Fall

No, today is not the first day of fall.  To this Texan*, though, it might as well be.  Birds are chirping, trees are no longer wilting, and my face doesn't melt right off when I get into the car after work.  The temperature drop of about 20 degrees in the last week or so has changed my outlook on life.  And by golly, before the week is up I'm bound and determined to make something out of pumpkin. 

But the first day of fall is rapidly approaching.  September 23 is the official start.  And since I will probably be in the hospital with a new squirmy baby, I'll pay my homage to fall now.  In advance.  While I still have a few remaining brain cells.

Growing up in Missouri, we experienced fall.  For more than a day.  Leaves would turn, apples would be picked, pumpkin pies would spontaneously be baked, and all was right in the world.  Although, I'm not sure if I'm recalling all the details exactly as they happened.  For instance, I never looked at leaves on my own free will.  Usually, my parents would force me into the car, drive around the local cemetary, while I sat in the back seat rolling my eyes at the thought of being made to look at some dumb leaves.  Yeah, orange.  I get it. Ooh, there's a yellow one.  Marvelous.  And the weather.  Usually by the time Halloween rolled around, it was cold enough that our parents would insist that we wear our coats over our costumes, which was the ultimate curse.  It ruined everything.  But age dims the memory, and I now have fond memories of the autumns of my youth.

But in the not so far away past, a particular fall stands out in my memory.  The fall of 1998.  It was a time of new beginnings.  That spring, I had gone through major changes prompted by an angsty relationship with an old boyfriend. Hurtful things were said, and my poor 19 year old heart was crushed.  From that came a long period of depression, moving out of the dorms at the college I attended, cutting off contact with most of my friends, and a retreat into hermithood.  By the fall, though, I had gotten back on the right track.  I mended friendships as best I could, enrolled myself into a new college with a new major, and had come to terms with the fact that maybe the best idea would be for me to focus on my education and quit obsessing about getting married.  So I went into the fall with the Dixie Chicks anthem about exploring new horizons as my theme song.  My plans were to finish college, move to a big city, and make it on my own.  No guy for a crutch.  No coddling from family members. Just me, the Atlantic ocean, and plenty of space to make a big mistake. Or something like that. 

The school year started off fabulously.  I loved my classes.  I'm sure i saw a leaf or two change. I'm almost certain I ate something containing pumpkin.  And then a girl I worked with mentioned that her husband had a friend who was a nice guy, and would I like to meet him?  Actually, I really didn't.  I thought blind dates were creepy.  And I was not looking for a boy.  But.....the bank that I worked at was hosting a party soon, and it might be nice to have a date to take with me.  So I told her she could make arrangements if she wanted to.  But in the meantime, i'd be focusing on my schoolwork and making plans to relocate in a year or so.

I got the call on a Wednesday night.  Did I want to meet this guy and some friends at Harpos in downtown Springfield?  No, I did not. I was not a bar hanger-outer, and it sounded like I would be out of my element.  Maybe another time. 

The next time, it was another weeknight.  The guy and his buddies were watching the Mizzou game at a sports bar.  Did I want to meet him there?  No, I did not.  But this time, when I declined the opportunity to be paraded in front of his buddies at a sports bar where they could silently judge me, he offered to change the location and meet me next door at Applebees.  So I said yes.  I made plans to drive and meet him there, just in case he was a crazy lunatic and tried to murder me after he discovered where I lived.  We met at Applebees, and were joined by the girl who set us up and her husband, which was totally unexpected and mostly awkward.  We sat in one of those big corner booths and probably said two words to each other the entire date.  As far as first dates went, it was not too great.  He offered to order me a drink, I declined, and had iced tea instead.  He seemed nice enough, but we were not even sitting next to each other.  We made plans afterwards to get together, and although the other couple planned on joining us, it ended up being just me and the guy.  Before we left the restaurant, he paid with $100 bill.  Which impressed me more than it should have.  I found out later that was his last bit of money. In the world.  Let that be a lesson to you, gold diggers.

So we went to have coffee afterwards.  I rode with him in his car, and crossed my fingers that he wasn't going to use this time to murder me.  He didn't, and we made it to the coffee shop.  I found out he didn't drink coffee.  Oops.  We sat there and made small talk for a while, and at one point he looked me directly in the eye and said "What's wrong with you?  You're cute, you're smart, but you're single.  Why?"  That question did two things.  One, it caught me off guard.  that's really not a first date question.  Second, it was sort of rude. It immediately put me on the defensive.  I don't remember how I responded, but it changed the date totally.  Now, it was my goal to show him that there was nothing wrong with me. NOTHING.

On the way back to Applebees to get to my car, his car died and he ended up pushing it to the mall parking lot while I steered. From there,  his buddy picked us up and took me back to my car.  Overall, it was a first date disaster. But for some reason, I agreed to go out with him again.

He didn't fit into my plan. I was not looking for a boy to get tied down with. It was going to be a lot more difficult to graduate and break up with someone before moving to the coast.  But after that second date, we saw each other every single day for the month of November, all the way up to the week before Christmas, when he went to Georgia to sell fireworks(which is a bizarre story for another time). While he was away, I mooned around and checked the mailbox every day for letters from him.  He called me every night from the Pizza Hut next to the fireworks tent. I missed him, and couldn't wait till he got back. 

A new year, and it was no longer fall anymore.  But by this time, I was considering the idea that maybe my great plan was just that, a plan.  And plans could change.  And by the next fall, instead of making plans to move away and start a new life by myself, I was in New York, saying yes to a proposal.  That first date with Larry had been a comedy of errors.  The first year that we got to know each other was a crash course into the world of coaching and sports and all that comes with it.  Our engagement was a whirlwind of wedding planning, college attending, and breakups. With each other.  And our first few years of marriage were not easy street for sure.  Take a first born son and pair him up with the spoiled brat of the family, and feathers will fly.

But as we start this fall, 13 years later, it will again be the time for new beginnings and new experiences.  We both have experienced career moves that have shaped our lives over the past few years.  We have learned how to be parents of two, and this fall we will hopefully figure out how to be parents of 3.  He hates the Dixie Chicks, and I still love them.  Because they remind me of the new beginnings that fall brings.  And of my silly little plan to make mistakes, all by myself, in a town where everyone doesn't know your name.  It's much more rewarding to go through life with someone you love.  Who loves you, despite your 3rd born, baby of the family tendencies. 

Fall will always have a special place in my heart.  Because of pumpkin pie, of course.  And also, because of Larry.

*it's official.  I've signed paperwork and will now be yelling the loudest at large group gatherings when they ask you what state you are from.

Here comes the rain. And I am getting an umbrella ready.

So the countdown clock is set to 5 weeks.  Five weeks until the sweet relief of a lovely epidural.  Five weeks until there is 24/7 room service.  Five weeks until I see if the NEW! REMODELED! labor and delivery suites that my hospital's website touts are for real, or just photoshop trickery. 

I am praying for an easy birth: a time surrounded by family and friends, the graham cracker pudding room provided for the mothers, and happy memories of the birth of our last child.  My lovely husband is quick to point out that I have not "given birth" to anyone, ever, so I cannot list that on my resume.  But the surgery, perfomed by my lovely obgyn, will be on September 20 or 21, and I am looking forward to that.

What I am not looking forward to is the going home part.  The part when you leave the hospital, with fanfare(in a wheelchair!), car loaded with flowers, baby blankets, and items from the little drawer under the baby bed(as one nurse put it, "you paid for it all, you'd better take it").  And then you arrive home.  Maybe someone brings a meal.  Maybe you have family in town to help.  And maybe your baby decides that she has been keptawake in the nursery playing 21 and blackjack with the nurses, and let's just continue that tradition at home.  No one tells new moms that the first night home might possibly the worst night ever.  With Sheridan, it was like they switched our mild-mannered baby with an tiny irate cell-phone customer stuck in a 2 year contract.   She wanted nothing to do with her basinett, her new home, her parents, and how dare we change her surroundings.  I begged Larry to take me back to the hospital.  And although he is nice and friendly and accomodating, he wouldn't.  With Cale, the same thing.  We thought bedtime should be about 10.  We put him down, swaddling him like pros.  And he made noises.  He tricked us into thinking that he had fallen asleep.  we would close our eyes.  and them a noise.  another noise.  a night full of noises.  Not loud enough to call in the pros.  Just noisy enough to let us know that OH MY WORD THERE IS A BABY IN OUR ROOM WHO WILL NOT BE QUIET. Again, Larry refused to take me back to the hospital.

It went on like that for me for several days.  The faint sound of the Haverty's commercial reminded me that the rest of the world was going on with their lives, while I was stuck at home in my sweatpants, getting barfed on.  My life would never be the same.  Everyone else got to get up, go about their days with no expectations, and I was stuck at home, trying to figure out what to do with a newborn.  The only thing that really made me feel normal was the 2 am feedings, when watched the tivoed Late Night with Jimmy Fallon episodes. Because of that, Jimmy Fallon has a special place in my heart. And really?  Yacht rock is pure genius.

The feeling of darkness and desperation and hopelessness didn't go away after the first few weeks.  My world closed in on me, and nothing made me feel better.  I begged God to make it stop.  To make me feel like normal.  To make me feel like not clawing everyone's eyes out.  There is a lovely picture, taken of me on my 33rd birthday, just weeks after delivery.  I am sitting on the couch, holding a baby, with tear stained eyes and a puffy face.  Not my finest moment. 

Finally, I swallowed my pride and made a phone call to my doctor.  A phonecall wherein I told the nurse that things just weren't right.  I wanted to lay down under my bed and never talk to anyone again.  They told me to come in right away, which translated to me that I was indeed a freak, a menace to society, and they needed me off the streets. On the drive to the doctors office, I cried the whole way.  I was a failure as a person.  Why couldn't I get my act together? Why was the way the wind was blowing on the car completely freaking me out?  Why had God let me be a parent, if i was such a disappointment to my family?

And then my doctor talked to me.  She gave me advice.  She gave me hope.  And she gave me relief in a form of a prescription.  On the way home, I cried some more.  Because it felt like giving up.  I took the easy way out. Maybe I should have tried to suck it up a few more weeks. And then things started getting better.  I felt like more like myself than I had in a long time.  The baby didn't stop crying.  Spit up was still an hourly occurance.  But the urge to run away subsided.  The inclination to be kind to others came back.  And two months later, Larry looked at me and said "You're the Caryn I married."  And that was the reassurance I needed.  A pill didn't change my personality.  It didn't turn me into a zombie.  It didn't transform me into little Suzy Sunshine(really, just ask LBoogie.)  But it helped me cope with all of the hormonal, situational, and emotional changes flying around my head.

I'll be honest, with all the joy that comes with a new sweet baby and her cute little fingers and toes and sweet smiles that will be coming, i'm scared.  Because I have been through this twice.  The first time, I didn't fully recover for almost a year.  For the second, it was a few months.  And I can only pray that this time, having taken precautions and having gotten rid of my pride a long time ago, things will be different. The umbrella is by the door.  And it's pink:)

 

Let's call this the home stretch*

So in case you have been hiding under a rock, you may not have heard that Texas is bound and determined to break all the heat records in history and get a giant gold star for being the hottest place ever in the summer.  Because why just have a month of 100 degree temps in a row when we can hold the record for the most ever and ever amen?  Maybe the next record we can go for is "Most Dairy Queens in a 10 mile radius."  That would be a lot more useful right about now.  Buster Bars, banana pudding blizzards, star kiss........

Anyways, the crippling heat, combined with a large dose of laziness and uninspiredness has caused a drought in postings as well.  That means the summer has been a blurry haze of trips, change, and heartburn.  So in the interest of getting back to a routine, getting back to the basics, and getting back to waking up before the Today show is over, I present to you the cliffnotes of my summer. Read at your own risk.  Or go watch Little House on the Prairie.

News of Note Part 1: New Orleans Girls Trip-I perhaps am a spoiled brat.  I do not deserve a trip away to just do fun girly stuff, but I got one anyways.  Because Larry is super nice and friendly and likes our kids as much as I do.  So my girlfriend and I have been frequenting the south for a few summers in a row.  We are not super duper fancy, and we do not hobknob with the old money people, but we have been getting in a car, leaving our children in the capable hands of our spouses(spice?) and touring old creepy houses, eating food, and waiting in long lines for things while commenting "isn't it nice to be waiting in this line without having to entertain anyone?"  So this year, because of the impending birth of Dooters Julianne Merryweather Thexton, we had decided to make it a short trip. Mostly because I drove to Arkansas a few weeks ago and my back told me that was a terribly stupid idea.  So we had settled on someplace close.  One of the fine towns that Texas had to offer.  But it just wasn't the deep south.  So after some searching, we found a cheap flight to New Orleans that lasted approximately an hour and ten minutes, booked it, and planned our excursion.  You might ask, "Caryn, why are you such a brat that you leave your poor defenseless kids and husband all alone in the Texas heat?  Do you hate them?"  The answer is a firm and loud and resounding(and maybe even echoing) "NO!!"  However, when football season fires up in the fall(actually, the match has been lit and it has fired up already), most of the parenting duties fall to me.  Larry is super busy coaching and footballing it up, and as much as he tries to pitch in when he is not working, he is super exhausted and busy.  So although I may feel a little bit guilty for taking off for a girls weekend, I sort of think of it as a little advance reward for being a football widow. 

So off we went to NOLA, arriving at 8:30 in the morning, just in time for beignets. Delicious, nutritious  beignets.  After licking all the remaining powdered sugar off the plate, we made our way through the French Quarter. After a long morning of sightseeing, a bizarre interaction with a homeless man, a torrential downpour, and a scrumptious lunch served to us by a member of the New Orleans restaurant dynasty, we headed to our home away from home, Nottoway Plantation.

Amanda and I sort of feel like Nottoway is part of our family. We knew it when it was a rickety old plantation.  The first time we ever visited, we arrived after dark. We were given the key by Gus the night watchman, we pulled our suitcases to our room, our path lighted by creepy gas lights. We were sure a ghost was going to torment us in the night.  But since those days, about 14 million dollars in renovations has been dumped into the place, and it is positively absolutely fabulous.  And I'm thinking we are sort of taking credit for it.  By our attendance and all. 

The next few days were filled with pool time, naps, workouts, and an accidental breaking of a coffee maker.  And food. Oh the food.  Between salads with magical toppings, fresh fruit, and all manner of bread pudding, we were nourished.  Also, there may have been a creepy person inside the plantation at night peering at us from a window.  Amanda saw it.  I refused to look.  Because I am a chicken. And in two days, our good time was over, we were herded back onto a southwest flight(which, next time I fly southwest i'm going to sharpen my elbows.  On account of all the line jumping.) and we were back in the big D(and I do mean Dallas) and life returned to normal. 

News of Note Part 2: New Job-So, after crashing from a carb overload in the Big Easy(i'm so very sorry, i had to call it that), i started a new job.  At a new school.  With new people.  I am quiet until I learn the culture.  So I will refrain from my Michael Jackson impressions until i've been there for a while.  And I'm excited to have this new opportunity to show off my moonwalk to a whole new set of colleagues.

News of Note Part 3-The Home Stretch-In six weeks or so, there will be a new baby in our house.  Are we ready?  Probably not. Is anyone really ready for a brand new, un potty-trained person who has her own likes, dislikes, pacifier preferences, and visions about how the sleep schedule is going to shake down? So while the date is scheduled, the drugs are prepared(by an anestesiologist, not me) and the room is semi-cleared out, I'm sure we will not be fully ready. But I take comfort in the fact that the hospital serves a fabulous potato soup. I'm not kidding. 

It has been a busy summer full of lots of changes.  This time last summer, if you would have let me see into the crystal ball, i would have called you a big fat liar.  There is no way I would have been ready-mentally, physically, or emotionally, for all these changes.  But God protected me, sent out a code Adam when I needed one most, and brought people into my life to encourage me and be my true friends. And although I am slightly terrified at the upheaval headed my way, I am again thankful. Because when you boil it all down, I don't deserve one lick of it.  Yes, lick.  I am a Texan now.

*except, if i ever run in a race that has a 6 week home stretch, i will quit.

Off the ledge. Safely.

Overactive imagination: check. Pregnancy hormones: check. Extensive mental collection of movie scenes wherein irate females dump piles of clothes into a car and set the entire car on fire in the driveway: check. 

I will be the first to admit that sometimes my first instincts are not always my best instincts.  In elementary school, I put a rock up my nose to see if it would fit.  It was a purple rock.  Very pretty.  And I was old enough to know that rocks do not go in noses.  But i went with my instinct.  And ended up sitting in the nurses office, explaining how a purple rock was lodged in my nostril. I had the decency to be embarassed.  And honestly, the only explanation i could summon was the same one that killed the cat. 

In 4th grade, I decided to get a perm.  It was the 80s.  Spiral perms(and smelling like you just got a spiral perm) were a rite of passage.  Nevermind the fact that my long brown hair was incredibly thick and healthy.  Let's chop it off and pour some chemicals all over it.  And then my hair was Christmas-tree shaped and frizzy for the next 3 years.  Not a good look. Not a good look at all.

Sometimes instincts are good.  Fight or flee.   Braking quickly to avoid a wreck. Hiding out in your bedroom because the summertime wasp that comes into the house in the afternoon through the air-conditioning vent is back.(seriously.  every afternoon in the summer at approximately 2pm, a wasp comes through the vent and hangs out in the kitchen. Kids are safely down for naps.  and rather than battle it out, I retreat.  and he does too, eventually.)

But I will admit that many of my instincts are tempered and fueled by emotion.  I Hollywood them up and imagine them playing out in my head just like they would on the big screen.  The problem with that is that if i ever act on them, they are more likely to end up like a bad you-tube cover of a movie than a feature film starring Julia Roberts.  Because in real life, commandeering delivery trucks and chasing someone through the streets of Chicago to prove a point usually ends up with a police standoff, not a lovely wedding topped off by dancing with Rupert Everett.*

Last night, I sort of had a meltdown.  Possibly made worse by fatigue, a two year old who is sort of indecisive and shrieky this week, and the fact that the laundry that was entirely caught up a few days ago is gaining on me.  But instead of acting on any kind of instinct I had, I typed off a missive to some girlfriends who are good about seeing the situation from outside, and being comforting but wise.  They will not come out and say "You are being an idiot, knock it off", but they will flower it up and make the same sentiment sound a lot nicer.  At one point, as I was trying to collect my addled thoughts, one of them said "Hurry up and finish so I can talk you down."  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the mark of true friendship.  Someone who can listen to your crazy, pat you on the head, and tell you in so many words to be nice.  Someone who, in the midst of your ramblings, will text you a reference to a verse about biting your tongue rather than flipping out at someone. 

So the next time I decide to shove a purple rock up my nose and get a spiral perm, I'll message my built in special response team first.  I cannot wait to see what Bible verse they dig up for that.

*My Best Friend's Wedding.  I can perform a concert of the soundtrack for you if you have some free time.

Ode to sugar free angel food cake. Or Google, M.D.

A few months ago, i may have promised to announce to the world my secret plan.  Sorry to disappoint you, but my secret plan does not involve turning potato peels into fuel for your car.  It was more along the lines of "how to avoid gaining 65 pounds when you are pregnant." Which is much more applicable to me.  Because I am.  Pregnant.  24 weeks, to be exact.  And since I have more children this time than any other time I have been pregnant, I needed to come up with a game plan that would keep me from being passed out on the couch all summer long.  Which sounds lovely, but it truly gets boring after the first 3 hours. Especially since Sleuth network is no longer playing Simon & Simon reruns.  So I put together a little mental list on how to keep myself in check,  Here goes. 

1. Do not reward yourself with an egg mcmuffin and/or an apple fritter just for getting out of bed in the morning.  With the last two, I did.  And while it made for pleasant wake-up times, it was perhaps not the best nutritional choice.

2. Force yourself to eat healthy stuff that doesn't make you want to hurl. It might not make you feel as warm and fuzzy and important as a brownie.  But you will also not want to take naps.  The name of the game is eat a bunch of the healthy food you can stomach.  For me, it has gone in waves.  A few months ago, all I wanted was Special K.  I ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Then, subway sandwiches.  Super good.  And at lunch, our delicious lunch caterer makes the very best chocolate chip cookies, every day, that are roughly the size of Cale's head.  Or you can get a bowl of canteloupe cut up into adorable pieces.  Now, even though I just tried to make the fruit sound cute, it just isn't as good as the cookie.  So every day, standing in line, i would think through how i would feel after eating the cookie.  Every single time, I knew it would make me want to take a nap immediately.  and since that doesn't work in my schedule very well, i picked the fruit.  Sometimes, with bitterness.  But I ate it.

3. If exercising doesn't make you want to pass out and your doctor is okay with it, give it a shot.  I have been super fortunate to have a lot more energy this go-round.  So I decided to continue jogging, with  my doctor's permission.  At first, I was doing 2 and 3 miles, and ran in a few 5ks.  More recently, i've been alternating jogging with walking, and I'm okay with that.  If I can get out 4-5 times a week, I'm doing good.  The 17 year old Caryn couldn't run a mile.  The 34 year old pregnant one can.  Booyah.

4. Go to bed whenever you feel like it.  My schedule has caused me to wake up at 5:30 on a regular basis, so by the time the day is over and kids are asleep, I crash at 8:30.  Like in bed, completely asleep.  It is sort of awesome.  And I don't care if you think i'm a grandma. 

5. Treat your weigh-ins at the obgyn like Weight Watcher weigh ins.  Oh i'm so not kidding. With Sheridan, once my doctor told me in no uncertain terms to lay off the carbs after one particular weigh in.  And she was right. I had quit looking at the scale and stuck my head in the sand.  This time around, the jewelery comes off, the shoes, you name it.  Not because I'm obsessed.  But I'm 34.  I need to be practical.  Gaining 7 pounds in one month for a person who is 5'2'' is sort of a bad idea.  I'm just trying to avoid that.

All of this has been working quite nicely for me at this second.  I blame the indoctrination of Weight Watchers and their PointsPlus! program prior to pregnancy.  I have had a healthy weight gain so far, but not enough to make me feel like I need to be pulled around in a little red wagon just yet.  And after an episode of delayed night sickness, dizzy spells, and generally feeling horrible over the weekend, I Googled my symptoms and found out that maybe i just can't tolerate sugar right now.  Because it makes me want to die after eating it.  I'll tell my doctor, because I am suspect of Google sometimes.  Although, have you ever googled "How tall is Tom Selleck" and found a sense of cameraderie with the rest of the world because you are not the first person to ask that?  Anyway, as much as it pains me, all white sugar that can be cut out will be cut out.  And I will see if I am still trying to pass out next week. 

What kind of year has it been?*

On the way to work this morning, I found myself driving alone, in the bad car.  We refer to it no longer as the Honda, but the bad car, because: a. the engine light is constantly on, b. the headlight is duct taped together, c. sometimes it doesn't start and there is a special trick you have to do in order to revive it, including slamming the steering wheel up and down as hard as you can and jiggling the key. This is the same car that I ran out of gas twice in, the same car that was my first car purchase ever,  and my first moon roof.  So even though it is not so luxurious now, i have fond memories, and when it is retired later this summer, I will miss it. 

So back to the story.  I was driving, alone(thank you wonderful husband who took a turn to argue with children all the way to school today) and i had plugged in my ipod to the rigged cord coming out of the glove compartment that allows us to listen to music(classy, I know).  And devotees know that nothing can trigger a memory for me more clearly and quickly than a well timed song.  I'm not sure how my ipod was choosing to play music this morning, because i was getting R. Kelley, Phineas and Ferb, Lady Antebellum Christmas, all one right after another.  No rhyme, reason, or even alphabetical connection.  And then, "Defying Gravity" from Wicked came on.  And instantly, I was in a dorm room at Bethel College in Indiana.

Yes, Indiana. Last year, I had the chance to attend the North American Coalition for Christian Admissions Professionals National Conference(5 times fast, dare ya) hosted by Bethel College in Indiana.  And since it was my first time to attend, NACCAP covered the registration and travel cost.  Which was completely wonderful.  And also meant that I was on their timeframe.  The conference didn't start until Sunday night in June, but my flight arrived Saturday night. I got dropped off on campus around midnight, carved out a place in my little dorm room, and slept.  The next morning, campus was dead.  No one was there yet.  I didn't have transportation, I wasn't sure exactly where things were, and I was starving.  Fortunately, my welcome bag was filled with granola bars, fruit snacks, and bottled water.  And I spent a very restful Sunday, alone in a dorm, catching up on my Beth Moore Bible study and listening to the Wicked Soundtrack(not at the same time, mind you.)  And in those quiet moments, I knew that I hadn't even been this close to God. My life was mapped out, Larry was starting a new job that I was excited about, I was confessed up on all my bad stuff, and our little family was set.  It was such a feeling of contentment and peace.  As more people started arriving and I got adventurous, I wandered out, found a coffee shop, and found people I knew.  By the time the conference kicked off, I was not only having a good time, but it was sort of like youth camp for grown-ups.  I left Indiana to meet up with Larry in San Antonio, and all was right in the world.

Looking back, I'm not sure what I should have done differently.  I think I let my guard down.  I was flying so high on my feelings that I left the common sense out.  Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't taking practical steps, every day, to maintain a relationship with Christ.  But when I really think about it, it was probably that again, I thought I had arrived.  I had attained that relationship that I was supposed to have, and I decided to coast.  Because it wasn't a month later that I was filled with anger, guilt, discontentment, and a feeling that I had trapped myself in a life that I wanted no part of, and that life certainly wasn't fair.

The good news is, our Father is relentless in His pursuit of us, and although my summer wasn't the most peaceful ever, I learned lesson after lesson after lesson.  And by the early fall, I was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I had come through the fall bruised, battered, but having learned lessons that were so important for me to learn.  The most important, though, was that my walk with Christ has to be minute by minute by minute.  Just when I think I have my act together is when I massively take a turn for the worse. 

Some people may think that sounds weak.  And I can totally see, on the outside looking in, how that might appear.  But I promise you my entire Barbie Collection with some Strawberry Shortcake thrown in that I wouldn't have it any other way.  I know my limits.  I know my weaknesses.  I know that there are days that I might burst into tears for no good reason.  I know that I am not invincible.  And in admitting all that, I also admit that I can't get through life on my own.  I can't even get through it only relying on other, imperfect people.  I have to every single day, rely on Christ to guide me. 

There are days that I don't feel like it.  There are days that I want to be all Beyonce "Independent Woman" and throw my hands up in the air and be the boss of Me, Myself, and I.  Fortunately, I have some very real reminders of how that didn't work out for me in the past.  And some godly friends who continually keep me in check. 

So what kind of year has it been? I have gotten in touch with people I haven't heard from in forever. And with one exception, it has been so completely fulfilling and God-ordained.  I have spent time thinking about my marriage, and what I can do to make it better.  I have been real with myself concerning my strenghts, weaknesses, and temptations.  I have tried to cut myself some slack in the areas that don't really matter. I have met new people in new social situations and been outside my comfort zone as Larry has transitioned to a new job.  I have cheered for Eagles.  I have come 4 pounds away from my goal weight, only to find out that our family of 2 was going to be a family of 3.  I have felt afraid to be a mom of 3.  I have become excited about being a mom of 3. I have been a bridesmaid in a wedding.  I have continued to jog while pregnant, and have resisted the urge to eat cake for breakfast every day.  I have made the decision to leave a job behind.  I've put my complete trust in my future in Christ.  I have had the opportunity to pursue another opportunity.  One that I am actually super excited about, and that there is no doubt in my mind that it is from God.  I have made new friends who have been godsends. 

It's been a roller-coaster of a year.  one that I probably wouldn't have wanted to know about in advance.  But now that it's here, now that it's happened, I thank God every single day for protection, grace, forgiveness, second, third, and fourth chances.  And for once again, having mercy on the little girl inside of me that stomps her foot with hands on hips, saying "I want it my way!" Because once again, looking back, His way was better.

*I know, it's May. 

Putting your money where your mouth is. Not literally, though. Because that would be disgusting.

I spent much of my childhood in the great state of Kansas.  And if you have spent any time at all watching the news or the Wizard of Oz, you know Kansas is a hotbed for tornadic activity.  We had a basement there, though, and we spent many storms huddled in the damp basement with the sump pump that sometimes worked and the laundry chute that always tempted me to climb in and see what happened.  One time, my mother and I were home during the daytime, and straight line winds broke my window and took our neighbor's* roof off. So I developed a healthy respect for storms.

When we moved to Missouri, there was no stinky basement.  Just a bathroom with interior walls.  And I don't know about you, but that just doesn't feel as secure.  But the storms came again, and we huddled in a bathroom, or a closet, and listened to the weather man, heard the howling storms, and prayed.  And during these times, when I was my most panicked, I made wild and outlandish promises to God.  Promises that came from a sincere heart, but were not something that I ended up keeping afterwards.  One afternoon, huddled with my cabbage patch kids, my pillow, and my Bible, I promised to obey my parents from that day forward, and to read my Bible every day, if God would just save us from this storm.  I was in 4th grade, and I can tell you that as an adult, several years later, I did not keep that promise.  I tried.  But I failed. 

As the years went on, and other things came up that I was scared of or worried about, I still made silly promises.  If you heard my conversations with God, you would be embarrassed for me.  They ranged from pleas of weight loss, to boy problems, to a new car for my 16th birthday.  And every time that i felt like my bargaining "worked", I kept my deal with God for a few days, became excited about my success, and then forgot about my promise.

Have you ever broken a promise?  We all have.  And we can phrase it very nicely to where it sounds like we just accidentally stepped on someone's toe.  But really, a broken promise is really just a big fat lie.  And now that I think about it, that's one of the top 10 things we are supposed to be avoiding. Especially with God.  Especially with anyone, for that matter.

I am at a point in my life that I have no idea what the future holds.  I suppose we all are like that every day, but generally we have a guess of what is coming this summer, this fall, this winter.  But me?  No clue.  And I have been saying (out loud, to witnesses) that I am just trusting God for His best. And I have felt complete peace and calm about it.  Until this week.  Because this week, the rubber is meeting the road.  Do my actions show that I am trusting God?  Honestly, the past few days have been a fight just about every single hour.  God, are you sure?  Why can't you just tell me.  Sheridan pesters me every day for candy, dessert, cookies, and anything else where the main ingredient is sugar.  And it irritates me to no end.  I suggest yogurt, apples, cheese, and other healthy things, and wish that she would just trust me, and know that I'm not opposed to treats now and then, but a constant diet of sugar and junk will turn her into a horrible person.  And just now, I wonder if all of my constant fret and worry this week has been like big pester to God.  I broadcast out loud all spring that I was trusting God for His best.  And now?  I am tempted to ask for candy, in that whiny voice, and stomp my feet when I don't get it.

I am no longer big on coincidences, and I know that when I am doing my daily devotions, they are there for a reason.  And I came across this verse yesterday:

“God hears us whenever we ask Him and we know also that He gives us what we ask from Him.” 1 John 5:15

He heard the first time I asked for guidance.  He didn't get distracted by something else.  And I rest in that today.  That the tornado sirens might be going off.  I might be tempted to be terrified now.  But He heard me the first time.  And because of that, i will choose to be peaceful.

*side note: these same neighbors may have robbed us one Thanksgiving eve.  Which has nothing to do with the story.  But it is a fun little piece of trivia. 

Bridesmaids, batcaves, and why i'll probably break out into Michael W. Smith before the weekend is over.

One May evening, not quite a year ago, I was digging through some college pictures and found some great shots of old friends from college with giant hair.  Because Larry was off footballing somewhere, and the kids were already asleep, I decided to post them on facebook to kill some time.  Within a few hours, one of these pictures sparked a 38 comment discussion and murmurings of a trip to Chicago in the summer.  That night, prompted by a discussion of giant hair and white-glove inspections, I stayed up later than I had in a long time , reconnecting with old friends and planning a far-fetched cross-country jaunt to hang out with people I hadn't spent much time with since 1996.  It was sort of crazy.  But for me, at the very time in my life that I had decided I was bored and was contemplating a Papa Smurf tattoo, it was just the thing I needed to look forward to.

Plans were made, dates were discussed, and jury duties were cancelled.  Our hostess, the lovely Dotti, rearranged her jury duty just for Julie and I to visit.  Once someone changes the date of an appointment with civic duty, you are pretty much committed.  Julie and I bought our plane tickets and met at the airport in late July.  It took 5 minutes of sitting in the terminal for us to completely spill our guts to each other, and the 14 year gap was completely erased.

It takes me forever to make new friends.  Besides being shy, I am self conscious and have spent lots of time worrying about my looks, my personality, and if people would really want to be my friend.  Sometimes I get it in my head that i'm not good enough, and don't measure up to a person's friend standard.  Other times, I worry about my street cred, and perhaps  fear that I am too good, and that I should start hanging out in seedy dives to impress others.  For whatever reason, though, this trip to Chicago, which we fondly referred to as the WWF Reunion*, was the complete opposite of any friendship experience I had ever had before.  We reconnected and became instant friends, and it took Julie and I approximately 5 minutes in Dotti's house to spill our guts to her.  Within an hour, we had updated each other on our hopes, fears, dreams, failures, and all of that stuff that you never tell people in real life, for fear they would vote you off the island.  And then what happened next is the really cool part.  Because it could have just stopped at that.  We could have just collected juicy gossip on each other, gone our separate ways after a fun time in Chi-Town(sorry), and moved on with our lives.  But instead, we invited Christ into the equation.  One by one, we realized that this fun girls weekend may have started out as just time away from responsibilities, but it was actually something that God had bigger plans for.  We prayed, encouraged each other with scripture, cooked, ate outside, painted rooms(beachwater blue) and hair(not blue at all), and ate more salt and vinegar almonds than anyone should really consume. And oh the Garrett's popcorn. On our final day in Chicago, as we wrapped up some last minute sightseeing with a bald sheep, we stopped at a church and prayed.  We prayed for each other, we prayed for our struggles and our victories.  And we prayed that this trip would be the beginning of something big in each one of our lives.

All good times come to an end, and upon arriving back at DFW, I was back to the day in, day out routine of summer parenting.  Football, fits, sippy cups, and trips to the pool.  But right away, when things got hard, instead of taking the easy way out or resorting to bad habits, I texted or emailed my WWF buddies instead.  And not only did they offer encouragement, they showered me in prayer.  Ridiculous conversations, silly little jokes, and a whole lotta God.  And little by litte, in each of our lives, it was apparent that God was working.

I kind of figured this would taper off around Christmas, and we would talk on facebook from time to time, but that's it.  Instead, the prayer requests became more frequent.  It wasn't uncommon to look at my phone at 7 am and see a text that said "prayed for you today!". I married a football coach, who is also a man, and although he is a kind, generous and wonderful husband, he is not chatty.  He will sit down and have a heartfelt conversation with me, but he is not too excited about getting a text from me that says "Can you look at the People at the grocery store and tell me if Kim Kardashian is really pregnant?"  And so, while is he my best friend and my partner in life and we talk about all sorts of things, I had gained two girlfriends who understand the little things in life, and will pray for them.  They prayed skinny prayers as I was weighing in at Weight Watchers.  They prayed for me to keep my sanity while I was single parenting.  They prayed for my spiritual growth, my job, my family, and even silly things like going to a Christmas party with new people and being nervous. And I was happy to return the favor.  Praying for others was the perfect way to take the focus off my petty little problems, and it was a good jump start for my daily conversations with God.

The months were not all good.  Together, though, we weathered break-ups, bad influences, strange bills for computer services not rendered, and Chrirstmas, the wonderful celebration of Christ's birth that brings out the stress and money worries and family tensions and weight gain. So it hasn't been all flowers and rainbows and unicorns. Instead, though, we have challenged each other to lean on Christ .

This weekend, WWF reunites, to celebrate a wedding.  Julie has found her guy, and we will spend the weekend catching up, making new friends, and getting to know Jakey boy.  Larry gets to see a little bit of what all this craziness is all about.  And throughout the week, as I reflect on the good, the bad, and the ugly of what this past year has brought, I am not only thankful for fun memories and laughter, but for the constant reminder of this verse:

Ecclesiastes 4:12 A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.

This past year, I have totally seen this lived out right in front of me.  And I'm so thankful I have been reminded to keep my eyes on Christ.  Because I could have really missed out.

*WoodWorth Fourth.  The airconditioning-less floor of our college dorn where Dotti taught us to sing "change my heart, oh God" even when we didn't feel like changing our heart.

Hold me. Or: This is a spiritual post, not a kissy-face one.

 

For the Chrismtas of 1991, my big present was something that I had always dreamed of.  I was sure that it validated my self-worth as a person. I would be fancy, high-tech, and if I wanted to and had enough batteries, I could be-bop down the street with a spring in my step.  You guessed it: A boom box.  By 1991 i'm not sure we were still calling them that, but in my head, I did.  A Sony, dual tape deck, radio equipped, with......a CD player on top.  Now, at this time, CDs were the future.  They were still considered cutting edge technology, and the fact that I had one was so very exciting.  All I wanted to do after I got this present was sit in my room and record songs off the radio.  Because guess what happens when you get a CD player and you've never had one before?  You have to cough up $ to buy cds.  I would not have believed anyone who would have told me that in the future, you buy songs from your computer, that can range from free to $1.29.  That was pure science fiction. (I know, I know.  Not everyone is a slave to iTunes.  But I'm sure the government will get me for stealing music.)

So my oldest brother, who has been a big part of my musical tastes, took pity on me and bought me a few CDs to go along with my new present. One of them was a cd by the Winans.  Now, there are all kinds of Winans in the music industry.  BeBe, CeeCee, Mario, Steve.  But these Winans, who i believe are related, were a group of brothers who sang Christian Music.  And the Cd, The Return, was my favorite immediately.  In the early beginnings of new jack swing and all that jazz, they had a beat, and i loved it.  I put "It's Time" on repeat(can you believe you could do that with a cd player? Repeat, over and over, the same song, without rewinding!)

As I began to grow tired of that CD, another one took it's place.  "Number 7", by Commissioned.  They too, had a beat.  But my very favorite song turned out to be one of the slow ones.  Because just about that time, our family was facing some difficult stuff.  Nothing that countless other families haven't dealt with.  But as a 14 year old girl, it was hard for me to deal with. It was hard to see people feel sad.  And this one particular song kept coming up in my mind.  "hold me" spoke about trying times, when there is just nothing you can possibly do to fix things and feel better about them or change a situation. It's when you have to just sit back and let Jesus hold you. The resting in His arms stuff.

A girlfriend once told me that during a particulary rough time in her life, she would picture Jesus, sitting in her room at night, rocking in a rocking chair as she slept.  Taking care of her.  And while that is not something that probably really happens, it is a picture of the comfort  He offers.

Today is one of those days that I wish that I could literally crawl up in that rocking chair and have someone pat me on the head.  I feel lonely.  I feel like a failure.  I wonder what is wrong with me, that I can't just suck it up and be an adult.  I'm training someone else for a job that I love.  A job that I know it is time for me to leave.  God has made that very clear.  I'm going to take some time to be a mom instead. But still, it hurts.  I'm not always the best mom. I might be leaving the best job I've ever had to be a flop as a housewife. That kind of scares me. I have unrealistic expectations as a wife.  Being married is not all about holding hands and walking through the daisies.  But sometimes, that's what my brain thinks it should consist of.  And when it doesn't turn out like that, when there are misunderstandings and single parenting and piles of laundry, I want to throw a fit and curl up in a ball and cry. 

This past weekend was Easter weekend.  And I can honestly say that in all my years, celebrating the resurrection of Christ, and reflecting on His sufferings for our sins has never been quite as real to me.  Because, as I grow older, it turns out I have lots to be forgiven for.  And I embraced it.  But with every great spiritual high, comes the smack back into reality.  And it looks like that's where i am today.  But I know, that even in my low, God was preparing me.  Because I read the following scripture in my morning devotion:

I'm a mess. I'm nothing and have nothing: make something of me! You can do it; you've got what it takes God. Psalm 40:17 (Msg)

I am a mess.  A big, giant, wimpering, crying mess.  And I have a God who loves me so much, that even when I'm hungover on Easter candy and ridiculousness, He prepares me for my sad day with encouragement.  Which is not exactly a literal rocking chair, but it kind of feels like it right now.