No. I'm not dead. I'm intentionally not calling you back...

You may have noticed I’ve been blogging less. I’d like to say it is because I’m on vacation. Or that I’m busy living life. Or that I’m too busy writing the next great American novel. But that’s just not the case. There are some logistical reasons why this is happening and also some intentional ones as well.
Logically speaking, Henry gave up his naps in the fall. This was like a death to me. I no longer had three hours in the afternoon to blog, facebook, eat bon-bons, and ignore housework. I tried making Henry have quiet time, but this always resulted in a backslide of the potty training and let’s face it—pee pee pants and pee pee carpets add work. And I’m the poster girl for working smarter, not harder. So we read books, play with little Legos and tinker toys, and other things that prove difficult when Gracie is awake.

Gracie has begun to give up morning naps as well, so this has robbed me of the time to myself while Henry is in preschool. When this began happening, I resolved to use that time to go to the gym. Thankfully, she has been sick several times during the winter, so I’ve been unable to put her in gym childcare, thereby giving me a “Get out of going to the gym without guilt” card. At present, she is back to 2 naps a day, but that is because she has RSV.

We’ve also had a sicky winter. Puking. Coughing. Nebulizing and the like.

And Sloan got a promotion, which means he is travelling less and I’m getting to spend time with him at night more. I used to use the nights when he was out of town to catch up on blogging and reading, but now he is only gone two nights a week. And I like the fact that I like being with my husband more than I like typing on the computer.

However, I’ve also realized that with my getting a laptop and an Ipad, I’ve become attached (maybe addicted?) to technology. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing; it is not the technology’s fault. It is not facebook’s fault I now think in 140 character bylines. But it is MY fault if my children’s memories of childhood are ones of them playing by themselves while Mommy is on her laptop. Sure, I’m in the same room with them, but I am not with them. So I try to limit the amount my attention is divided.

I’ve also been getting more involved with Bethany Christian Services. I’m editing their monthly E-newsletter and writing articles for it. Some months it takes more time than others, but as I type this, I realize that I need to go ahead and write my “Letter from the Editor” blurb so we can email that puppy out. Nerts…But that busyness has confirmed to me that I’m using my talents for something that I’m passionate about. And more importantly, something I’m certain God is passionate about and so it is not a busyness that makes me weary.

I’ve also been taking this year to access and realign my priorities. My buddy Law-Momma often writes about the juggling act of being a working mother. But the juggling act, I suspect, is part of being human and not unique to working moms. We all juggle different roles, different dreams, different responsibilities and relationships. And the truth of it is, we can’t have it all. I don’t even believe we are supposed to have it all. We may want it all, but I’ve found that as I’ve stepped back from a few things (leadership in my women’s bible study, blogging less, saying No to some ministry opportunities I would’ve normally saddled myself up to out of duty, my goal of reading 52 books in a year), the experiences and relationships I am tending have grown deeper. Have been richer. I’ve become more intentional. And this, perhaps, is the point.

I want to not only accept the place God has me for now, but to cherish it. To stop looking across the way at the greener grass. To see that the grass is green where it is tended.

I don’t want to be known for being a great blogger. I don’t even want to be known for being a great writer. (Okay, I don’t HAVE to be known for that. But I won’t lie; it’d be nice if a couple people other than the folks related to me thought that.) I have the ear of the Creator of the world, the heart of the best man on the planet, and the teeny tiny hands of the best kids around. Do I really need any more adulation? Really?

My greatest desire is for my kids to know they are loved. By me and by God. Period. I believe that our self esteem can be traced back to the one who matters the most to us. For me, that’s God. And God thinks I’m worth moving heaving and earth for. He thinks I’m worth bleeding for. So I want that for my kids. And right now, I’m who is most important to them. So that’s what I want to be known for—loving my kids.

And yeah, I can do that through blogging. And working on my novel. And by diligently serving orphans to say, “See Henry and Gracie, you know how much I love you? That’s nothing in comparison to how Jesus loves you. And loves these kids. And loves me. So we have to let them know. We have to stand for them.” Because pointing my kids to what is right and good and true is loving them as well.

But I do have some posts in the works. I think about it a lot. For example, I’ve been thinking about and may just blog about the following in the near (or distant) future—

*How my son has “decided to be fwiends with” a kid in his class who “doesn’t talk good and doesn’t have any fwiends.” His teacher even told me about how she has seen Henry be intentional to befriend the Chinese boy for whom English is a second language. He does this by holding his hand on the playground and always picking him to be the goose to his Duck, Duck.

*The bonus of sick kids when it means lots of cuddles and Pixar.

*How my facebook newsfeed looks like a Planned Parenthood rally alternatively being protested by flash mobbing pro-lifers. And how I’ve never known anybody whose heart has been changed by being shouted at. And that what I really wish is that our culture would change its view on adoption, thereby making the issue null and void. That in the US alone, there are 140,000 orphans and perhaps we should stand with them. And shout for them. Or, here’s an idea, shut up and adopt them. (And, oh yeah, you buy a pet. Could you please stop comparing how you got your dog to how we received Grace into our family?)

*My continuing relationship with Gracie’s hair. Current RSV afro notwithstanding, I have begun to style it. This amounts to wonky parts, alien looking box braids, messed up coils, all ending up with me just saying FINE and putting it in toddler puffs because she won't sit still no matter how many goldfish I throw at her. She has more hair lotions and potions than I do. She sleeps on satin crib sheets. I keep all of her hair goodies in a purple and green tackle box. And, according to Sloan, there are anglers with their own ESPN shows whose tackle boxes pale in comparison to Gracie’s three foot tall behemoth.

So if you’re bummed that I’m blogging less, sorry. I’m going to try for twice a week, but just know that schedules and deadlines and self-imposed goals and the like make me itchy.  Any routines I adhere to are solely to keep my children happy and pliable to my every whim. (HA!)