I used to read Secret Agent Josephine back when she was pregnant, and somehow I lost track of her blog until now, when she has a four month old baby! I read back on several of her entries to try and catch up with her, and discovered that she’s been making monthly movies of her little Baby Bug!

I was so inspired because ever since I discovered Windows Movie Maker (which comes with Windows XP) I’ve wanted to compile video footage of my kids for the grandparents – video scrapbooking, if you will. It was fun to see some examples of this in action.

My first attempt at movie making was a little too ambitious for Movie Maker, so I ended up having Bryan help me create The Year of Melodic Shouting using the robust Adobe Premiere program. But for simple video scrapbooking, I look forward to the standard Movie Maker program.

O Happy Day!

Last week a package was delivered to my home. When I looked at the address I realized it was from a Seattle friend who is currently living in Connecticut, and my heart sang.

My day had been horrible – I had a cold and woke up at 3:30 am because I couldn’t breathe, and was a little short with the kids because of it. When I received a gracious and generous gift from a friend it completely diffused my bad attitude.

In the package was an adorable softy that she had made, a couple books that I assume she loves and felt I would enjoy reading, and a project pack for Ruthie to create all sorts of things.

I will have fun reading, and Ruthie will have fun creating.

Thank you Dacia!

p.s you should read her blog!

Dacia's gift

More Thoughts on Perspective

Pretty Lipstick

Last week a friend of mine, who is my age with small children, was diagnosed with cancer. She had surgery yesterday to remove the tumor.

In several weeks another friend will be giving birth to a baby girl whose heart is broken, and it is still unclear what the future holds for her.

In my denial, I often let the weight of tragedy roll off my back. A friend once said that things often don’t seem real to her because she doesn’t let them be real, and I have found myself dealing with grief in this way.

But lately I’ve been letting the seriousness of these things sink in, and I’ve tried to imagine myself in similar situations. When I do this, and when I think about my friends struggling with life and death questions, I wonder what the hell am I doing arguing with my husband about the laundry?

Yeah, I know the argument isn’t really ABOUT laundry. And I know it’s not exactly healthy to compare and prioritize importance of the problems we all struggle with, because as I stated the other day, God gives us the juice to deal with our own issues. But in light of cancer and broken hearts, I’m finding myself more willing to humble myself and let go of my need to be validated by another human being.

Through prayer, scripture, and a really great therapist, I’m learning to find my validation and worth in Christ – and what’s more important, I’m learning to do this without leaving my husband in the dust. In finding myself through Christ, I’m finding it easier to love Bryan despite his own bumpy and imperfect journey.

This week I was studying about Love, because I know I do not love Bryan and Ruthie in the way God would have me. I love them selfishly, and only when they give me what I want. But 1 Corinthians 13 says…

Love is…
Patient
Kind
Truthful
Protecting
Trusting
Hopeful
Persevering
unfailing

Love is NOT…
Envious
Boastful
Self-important
Rude
Self-seeking
Easily angered
Holder of grudges
Delighter in evil

I am shamed by how much of my love falls into the latter category. But I am thankful for this process, for all the junk being emptied from my cluttered closet. God is purging the junk that has made my mind an unordered mess, and he’s reordering my priorities.

The Sound of my Life

I listen to music all. day. long. and I’ve been DYING for a way to share my musical moods with the Internet without breaking any laws. It’s a good thing Bryan didn’t marry me during the peak of the Napster Dynasty because I downloaded GIGS of music back then and I think his conscience would have exploded.

A couple weeks ago he sent me this link, which brought me to this site, which brought me to you, here, today. I want to share my music with you!

Someday, when I find my reading glasses and I’m not going cross-eyed, I will create a Music Pile in my sidebar. But for now we’ll just test it out to see how ya’ll like the idea.

If you’re lurking on my site (and you know you do!), leave a comment and let me know what you think about the idea – especially since it requires you to do a quick and painless music player download.

I will Inaugurate this feature with the obvious musical obsession of the month: The Mountain Goats.

Woo Hoo!

Ass Minus Ten Pounds

Last Thursday I was discouraged because I hadn’t lost any weight. I wasn’t too worried about it because I knew I had splurged a little on Mother’s Day when a few men made their wives a fantastically decadent brunch complete with Mimosa’s. Also, I ate my gift of chocolate covered raisins liberally (my favorite!!) all week long. Plus I had several Margarita’s a day in celebration of the warm sunny weather.

But still, it was disappointing.

Well, HELLO MONDAY! Perhaps I was bloated last week, because today I am two pounds down! Which makes a total of…. (drum roll, please)…. TEN POUNDS LOST!

And how did I celebrate? I worked my ASS OFF (quite literally, if you think about it)! Today on the Monotonous Machine of Monotony and on the treadmill, I discovered the ‘random’ button, which keeps my muscles and heart rate from getting lazy and into too much of a rhythm because I’m basically going up and down hills.

And? And! I JOGGED the last three minutes of my treadmill routine! Once I got over the distraction of my ass fat bouncing wildly like a pile of jello sitting on a washing machine, my endorphins were so high I was doing that cheesy grinning with my eyes closed thing.

Yes, thank you, thank you. I am warmly receiving your cyber pats on my back for a job well done.

Liturgy Piece: The Year of Melodic Shouting

The church I attend encourages congregational participation in the worship experience by providing opportunities for our congregants to share original poetry, responsive readings, essays, and songs during the course of the service.

Today I presented another piece as part of our worship service, only this time it was a collaborative effort between Bryan and I. Using a short essay I wrote, Bryan created this beautiful video.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. For me, it is a reminder of change, of progress, of hope, and of seasons.

Perspective

Talking to Daddy in California

I complain a lot about my life. I may not complain outwardly, but inside I definitely struggle with contentment. Ever since I scored a 9 out of 10 on the Victim Mindset of a Beliefs Inventory, I’ve been much more tuned in to those times when I’m feeling somehow cheated of something.

This afternoon while on the Monotonous Machinery of Monotony at the gym I recalled an interview I watched of Sarah Jessica Parker on the Oprah Show. It was shortly after she’d had her son, and Oprah was oogling over how great she looked so soon after the birth.

Sarah blushed humbly and really tried downplay it. Then she said something to the effect of how she is fortunate to have the means to make it possible, that she can afford a nutritionist, and a gym membership, and a nanny to watch her kids while she works out (well, she said SOMETHING like that, anyway).

There was just something about the way she carried herself in the discussion that made her seem not so disconnected from normality — that she knew her reality was much different from the reality of many women who watch Oprah, and that at any moment she may NOT have the means to all these advantages. She seemed humble and content.

In regards to Bryan traveling so much, I’ve had a couple friends who also have small children gasp at times and say, ‘I just DON’T know how you do it,’ as if I am more capable of survival than they are. It’s funny how some perceive me as being strong, when I perceive myself as being weak for not having the strength to do everything a ‘good mother’ should be able to do.

For instance, I’ll share a few of my dirty little secrets so you, the Internet, will know that I am truly no Wonder Woman for living days at a time with two toddlers and no Bryan:

First of all, he is compensated well for his new position, affording me to hire a teenager who helps me out two afternoons a week. I pay her well, and she helps me with chores relating to the kids, such as laundry and keeping their rooms clean. Secondly, I work out at a gym several times a week, which is a great stress reliever, AND they have childcare available so I get an hour break from them for that. Also, I order a lot of take out because I often don’t have the energy to pull together a decent meal at the end of the day. And finally, I’m contemplating hiring a cleaning lady to come once a month because God save the Queen if I ever picked up a broom.

At any rate, the point of this reflection is that I am realizing how fortunate I am to be able to afford these luxuries that help keep me sane while Bryan is gone, and I recognized that I am not entitled to these things. They are not mine. They do not belong to me, nor do I have a right to them. These luxuries are a gift for today, and tomorrow Bryan may be unemployed and I’ll be selling all my wares on Craig’s List just to buy bread.

And you? If you ended up in my position, outnumbered by toddlers while your husband traveled, His grace would be sufficient for you as well. You would survive. You would find the means or the strength or the will to make it happen because it would be what you felt called to do. I only pray that you recognize his grace in that situation sooner than I ever did.

Today I repented for taking it all for granted, and for complaining so much about how bad I’ve got it.

I repented, because I really have it pretty easy. I know other moms who live in small apartments, or who have no car, or who can’t afford a babysitter so she can see a movie with her husband. When I think of that, I wonder what I have to complain about, and I wonder why these women seem so much more content than I feel.

When I think of this, I feel wretched for the way my mind has played tricks on me.

Lord, forgive me.

Things That are Cheaper Than Therapy

My Garden Therapy has yielded results! I’ve never been happy with the bare ground under our dogwood tree. There had been a hosta to the left, but it never did well so I divided it and moved it to another part of the yard. Last summer I had also planted some alyssum as a border in front of the tree, but they didn’t get enough sun, either, and never filled out.

Scruffy Garden

While my dad was putting in the new drip system I transplanted my two rosemary plants from the pots I carted around during my apartment-living days, and placed them in a nice, sunny, south facing spot on the other side of the tree. In front of the tree I planted a drift of five astilbe which will produce pretty pink feathery plumes all summer. And back by the fence I transplanted a few Jacob’s Ladders from an over crowded spot. They’re ferns that will shoot up blue spires. At the very base of the tree I planted some ground cover to help keep the soil moist.

Pretty Garden!

As soon as I get everything planted in other parts of the garden, I will have a chance to secure the black tubing with some wire and hide it under the dirt.

I’m so excited and feel so productive!

p.s. do you see the five month dead Christmas tree in the background??? Perhaps I’m trying to beat the record?

Thinking

As predicted, you have not heard from me for awhile. Last night I chose to read some of the blogs in my RSS reader and not watch commercials. The night before that I took a hot bath with lavender oil and read a book. During the day I’m trying to stay busy doing the things I’m supposed to be doing, rather than distracting myself with writing posts, reading blogs, or not watching
commercials.

I’ve also been in a very poor head space, having lost my temper twice with Ruthie this week, and having launched into a volatile, all-caps, IM argument with Bryan on Tuesday. All of this required some serious garden therapy to clear my mind, and I was able to put new perennials in one whole section of my yard and re-route some of the drip hoses my dad installed for me.

Piling It On (And Taking It Off)

I finally made it back to the gym today after a short hiatus for puking children and yearly check-ups. I was encouraged to see I had lost another pound. At this rate – a pound a week – it will take me nearly a year to hit my goal weight. But my new doctor encouraged me that taking it off slow and keeping it off is far better than taking it off fast and gaining it back.

I wanted to tell her to shut up, but I like her too much for that.

Listening to the Good Voices

While working out on the monotonous machinery of sweat I spent some time in prayer, and I felt the Lord reminding me of the man who sat by the pool of Bethesda in John 5. Though he could be healed by the waters of the pool, he had by lying there, lame, for 38 years.

6When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?”
7″Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”

This is how I’m beginning to feel about my current state of mind – like I’m just sitting around wallowing in my anger and depression waiting for something miraculous to happen in me that will make it all different. And since it hasn’t happened yet, it must be somebody else’s fault that I’m still a bitter mess. But while I was on the monotonous machinery of sweat this morning I clearly heard God ask me the big DUH question: “Do you want to get well?”

So that’s what I’ve spent my morning chewing on. Do I want to get well.

How TiVo has ruined my recreational multitasking.

Peek-a-boo!

How am I supposed to get anything done anymore with all the commercials eliminated? When do I go to the bathroom? Grab a snack? Switch over the laundry?

When do I read the next chapter? The next blog? Or write my next post for crying out loud?

I can’t get anything done when compelled to fast forward through all the commercials!

And to top it off, I went to see a naturopathic doctor today who told me to exercise 5 days a week and go to bed by 10pm.

HA! I said.

In fact, I think I said, Ha! Ha! Ha!

So if you don’t hear from me for awhile, it’s because I’m working out. Or sleeping. Or Not watching commercials.

Getting Linky

drunkardsprayer

Tonight Bryan and I had tickets to see Over the Rhine at Neumo’s on Capital Hill. This band is probably responsible for our marriage, because as soon as Bryan heard that I even KNEW about them, he was in love.

They opened with Latter Days, which makes me cry whenever I hear it, so of course I had that big lump in my throat to keep swallowing down. Then, because they REALLY wanted to make me fall apart, they followed it up with I Want You to Be My Love (which I have written about before on this blog).

We had a great time, and had the added benefit of getting home early because this time around they actually opened the evening.

I spent some time updating my sidebar to reflect what I’m currently reading. I thought I would sneak in The DaVinci Code before I get to the next reading for my book club since the movie is or about to be released. I’m also curious about all the hype in the church world and the flack I hear Tom Hanks is getting for being a part of the movie project. Nothing burns me more than Christians objecting to art they know nothing about because they haven’t even seen/read/heard it. So I’m reading it before I offer any opinions, if I even have any.

And as usual I have a non-fiction I’m working through as well. The Cry of the Soul has been a great book for clarifying some of the things that trigger my anger. I’m not very far into it because the first 70 pages have already given me way too much to chew on. I’m a little overwhelmed. But good things are coming of it, and I can already see changes in the way I interact with Ruthie because of it. More later.

I Am Going to Make It Through This Year, If It Kills Me.

Seeing Red

This line from my favorite Mountain Goats song (called ‘This Year’) has become my mantra. I play it in the car as loud as the kids can stand it, and I sing along with the band’s signature melodic shouting as I drive around running errands. The very nature of their music releases tension.

I’m obsessing over a million thoughts in my head, and as I’ve written them all down over the last few days it’s turned into one long, slightly crazed collage of thought – all related, yet still in incomplete pieces. So now I sit and wade my way through the free write – an edit, if you will.

This blog has become a place where I sort out my thoughts, where the irrationality can be seen in black and white, and therefore named. I find that if I deprive myself of the release of writing, my mind becomes wound tighter and tighter until I plunge into a depression, unable to escape the confusion. Here is my attempt to begin naming what has been plaguing me.

Thoughts On My Children

I’ve been realizing lately that I associate all things FUN as being anything that doesn’t involve my children, and anything OVERWHELMING as the definition of being a mother. I dredge through my days as if these little creatures hanging off me are weights drowning me in the water, and I look forward to each moment I have without them.

This devastates me because my children are so. much. fun. Yet, I act so inconvenienced by them. I pray that my heart changes, that it truly becomes transformed, because I never want my children to think they are unwanted or burdensome. I want them to feel loved and secure. But specifically, I want to enjoy my children, and I want my love to radiate from me and be known through my actions, just like it says in 1 John 3:18, “Let us not love in word or deed, but in actions and in truth.”

Thoughts on My Recovery from Rage

This weekend I have felt great conviction that I have not been listening to the voice of God, that I have not even been interested in what he has to say to me. This conviction has been brewing all month, actually, but in my spiritual laziness I have busied myself with noise.

Prayer. Prayer. Prayer.

I keep hearing this in my head, not as a guilt trip to kick me under the table, but as a loving God calling out for me to know him. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). I complain about my life, I feign action against my sin, I seek to conquer my rage through my own understanding, but I am still trying to control what is happening.

I have forgotten how to listen to God, and I pray that a miracle of faith will urge me to seek him out in prayer.

But It’s Not All Bad

Today in a training I attended for leading recovery groups, we talked about how we can turn a relapse into something positive. Instead of feeling defeated by failure, I can view it as a barometer of trust – what am I still holding onto in my own strength? What do I still need to release control of?

I feel a lot like I do when I clean out a closet – it always gets worse before it gets better, because you have to haul all the shit out of the closet before you can sort, purge, organize, and put everything back together. I’m totally at the overwhelming messy part where the crap is piled up all over my living room and dining table, and I can’t seem to get to anything useful because of all the clutter.

I am sorting and purging.

I know the Word is in me, written on my heart. Though it may be buried deep under a Pile, God will draw it out and dust it off. And he will make it new.

Can I Turn It Off From the Breaker Box?

Master of Disguise

Yesterday after my babysitter arrived, Ruthie started throwing a fit over [insert ANYTHING] so I put her in a time out on a chair in the hallway where she immediately began crying and screeching at high octaves. But she was in the other room, so the rest of us continued our conversation.

When the babysitter found a little doll’s brush, she said to Thomas, “Can I brush your hair, Thomas?”

As if a switch had been flipped, the screeching stopped instantly, and Ruthie said in the most rational, matter-of-fact, calm voice, “Thomas doesn’t have any hair!”

Both of us snorted through our noses trying to suppress the laughter as Ruthie flipped the switch back on and continued her screeching.

What a Drip

I just went outside to turn on the drip watering system my dad helped installed in my garden yesterday. It was our first home project together. Ever. And it was strangely comforting and normalizing to have my father helping me with a home project. It was all his idea, too. He mentioned the equipment he had, he hauled it all down to my house, and he designed the layout.

Dad the Landscaper

The man has energy! We started out the morning digging up and pulling out weeds in my rose garden. From the moment his shovel hit the dirt until he drove away in his Land Rover the man never. stopped. moving. It just goes to prove how ready I am for a workup by a Naturopath to find the source of my lack of energy, because by hour two of hard garden labor I felt bested by a 68 year old retiree!

Thomas the Assistant Landscaper

Around 4:00 we came in and I gave him a soda for the road. I thanked him for coming, we hugged awkwardly, and we shared a brief unspoken look that communicated the deeper significance of our time together that day. I am blessed by healed relationships, changed perspective, altered expectations.