Note to self

The next time you want to have a pity party, look up.  Perhaps if you don't spend your entire day navel gazing you'll see the awesome things God is doing around you.  Perhaps instead of focusing on all that you have not done, take a gander at what God has done.  Remember, if your world is focused solely on yourself, it will be a small world after all. 

Repent of all that whining. 

Remind yourself of that day you thought you were too busy to meet up with your childhood dance instructor and her college aged daughter who were briefly in town from California.  Remind yourself how Henry fell in love with Cooper and Gracie enjoyed the fountains at Stony Point while you and Cathy joyfully laughed and stood amazed at all the goodness and mercy Jesus had shown you in your lives.  Remember how your childhood hero told you she was proud of you.

Remember to bear your gifts as gifts, not burdens.  What big thing has God asked you do other than love those whom He has put in your life? 

Oh, and remember to pick up some Diet Dr. Pepper.  Splurge on the name brand.  They are 4 for $10 at Target this week. 

Too stressed to be blessed

For some reason I've been very overwhelmed and stressed today. 

Stressed from having woken up again alone because Sloan left in the middle of the night to go to Chicago.  He was supposed to be home the entire week this week.  Apparently, his client did not quite get that it was wife week. 

Stressed from Grace having recently been diagnosed with Asthma (brought on by the 100+ temps) and now having to stay indoors all the time with my two kids who are driving me insane.  Literally insane.  I've heard tale of parents threatening to sell their kids to gypsies if they misbehaved.  Where are these gypsies and what sort of deals are they working?

Stressed from having to wrestle an alligator give Grace her nebulizer treatments every 4 hours.  She has seemed to calm down a bit.  Once, she even let me read my book while simply cuddling in my lap.  But now she wants me to sing to her and read books TO HER. 

Stressed because I do not like having to wait until the last minute to do things and no one seems to think like this and so I haven't gotten articles for the August Bethany Newsletter until yesterday.  Which wouldn't be so bad if I also didn't have work to do for my other boss now having been on a forced two week hiatus because an agent wanted some alone time with the manuscript. And forced two week hiatuses don't come with pay.


Stressed because Henry, who I once had to put in speech therapy, will not shut up.  If he sees it, he tells me about it.  And if I do not respond to him, he just says it over and over again.  "There's a construction site.  There's a construction site.  There's a construction site."  So I've become a regular Dave Hester just shouting "Yeaaaahp!"  every  now and again to pacify him.  I've tried explaining that simply because he sees something does not warrant an exclamation.  If he tells me one more time about the shoe on the side of the road on the way home from the gym I'm going to shoot myself.


Now, before you go commenting to tell me to hang in there and the like or commiserate with me because "you don't know how I do it with a husband who is gone all the time."  Let me say a few things. 

1.  God is gracious to me in that the reason I can "do it" with my husband traveling all the time is because I'm not given any choice.  And also, you should really wipe that judging look off of your face.  While I love feeling sorry for myself, I don't want you to feel sorry for me. It normally works well.  I'm just out of sorts a bit because this week's trip was a surprise and I do not like surprises. 

2.  I get it.  It's part of adulthood.  And it just plain stinks some time.  I don't want to put on my big girl panties and cook dinner and clip coupons and fold 300,000 loads of laundry and wipe asses and noses all day long.  I want to wake up well rested with a fully stocked fridge full of sodas with real brand names that aren't Dr. Thunder or Sam's Choice.  I want to go to a restaurant at lunch and order a fancy meal with the some type of fruit chutney on the side.  I want to actually leave my house to go to work so that at night I can relax or clean the house or heck, even fold that laundry, or perhaps, be with my husband when he's home rather than having to be on my laptop.

That, to be honest, is a REAL struggle. I'm coming head to head that maybe I don't want to stay at home with the kids, but I also don't want to miss things like Kindermusik and carpool.  And were I to get a job, all of the paycheck would be going towards childcare.  And it seems silly to go to work just to break even.  I can make no money right here at home.  Oh, wait, that IS what I'm doing...

3.  I should stop whining about the waking up alone part.  Because Sloan would rather be here.  I have friends who long for husbands, either future ones or ones who left, and I should just shut up. 

4.  And here's the real rub... it has become painfully clear that I've been attempting to parent and love my husband out of my own strength.  And I just can't.  And that pisses me off.  I would prefer to be God, not need God.  And even when I do recognize that I need God, it seems to me that what I want is not more of Him, but more of ease.  In frustration, I'm pretending as if He's left me here to fend for myself.  As if He has sold me to the gypsies. 

But that is just not the case. 

He has not left me here as an orphan.  He has come for me.  And is coming for me.  And is with me now.

I'd like to say that the very knowledge of that, and repentance of all that other BS has made things peachy keen.

It has not.

It's just made me less angry.  Less hard.  Which, I suppose, is the first step toward receiving God's grace. 

5.  When faced with a pity party, it helps if your husband calls from Chicago to tell you his front crown has broken in half and that he is now in Illinois with a tooth missing like some hillbilly.  A hillbilly with meetings this evening and all day tomorrow.  I'm hoping he'll post the pics of his smile on Facebook.  It has made me laugh all afternoon just thinking about it.  Good thing my Dad is a dentist.

A Real Conversation

Henry:  Mommy, we need green pigs.

Me:  Green pigs?  What?

Henry:  Gracie and I built buildings for the green pigs.

Me:  What are you talking about?

Henry:  (laughing)  You know, for the angry birds.  

Nice.  Me thinks Henry's had a little too much Ipad time.  And to answer your next question, yes, they did throw stuffed animals at the towers to knock them down. 

FYI--A Marriage License won't get you into a bar

For starters, it must be said that Saturday was bittersweet for me.  Sweet because my dear bestie R got married to a wonderful man.  The wedding was a celebration of God's goodness and many answered prayers.  Moreover, it was an excuse to get dolled up, paint my toenails, and wear my fabulous open toed black satin wedges and shake my money maker.  But bitter, because the aforementioned wonderful man is moving my dear R to Fredericksburg.

Yes, Fredericksburg is only about an hour away.  But still.  Lunch dates with her are going to get tricky.

That being said, we had a blast at the wedding and reception.  The highlight of the reception for me was the open bar the Father-Daughter dance.  R and her dad had choreographed a dance that included music changes, the moonwalk, and every other dance style you can imagine.  What was sweet to me was not the silly dance, but the excitement with which they both danced it.  I envisioned R's dad at the computer putting the music together and then the two of them in their family room practicing.  And then I thought about Sloan and Gracie in 25 years or so and of course, I teared up.
But then, after tearing up, I got my groove on.

Sloan gets a little embarrassed when we go out dancing.  Mainly because a) our closest friends all go to church with us and b) I like to spank things and shake things whilst dancing.  Bonus points for Saturday as R used to work at our church so there were a lot of pastors and the like in attendance as well.  But we had practiced our shagging skills and were impressive, even manging to double pretzel on several occasions and basically showing up everyone.  (Which, of course, is always my goal.  I asked Sloan earlier in the day about which earrings to wear.  He responded, "You do know this isn't your wedding, right?  That everyone's not going to be looking at you?)

Once we sent the bride and groom off for their Caribbean honeymoon (which is hilarious because their dueling gingered paleness is only dwarfed by the Cullen family), a group of us decided we wanted to go to Carytown and go dancing.

Sloan wasn't too eager to go as he was thinking of the babysitter for whom we were already getting a second mortgage.  (She arrived at 3pm.  It was now 10.)  But, he was a trooper and I was loudly adamant having had three one too many glasses of chardonnay.  Sooo...we all hopped in our car and our DD, my pregnant friend A and her husband D, drove off for the techno stylings of the DJ at NY Deli.

Except there was only one problem.  Having thought I was just going to a wedding, I didn't have my ID.  I didn't think it would be a problem; I clearly look over 21, right?!

The bouncer at NY Deli, conceding that he was certain I was over 21, still did not let me in the bar.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I lied and said I wouldn't even drink if I went inside.  But no go.  We toyed with the idea of going home, but the boys wanted to go inside, so A and I were troopers and decided to walk around Carytown.  (Which is super fun for a pregnant woman in heels.  What a good friend!)   The bouncer told me if I had any government ID with my birth date or a photo ID, he would let me in.  So I went back to the car to search.

Randomly, I found my marriage license.  (Don't you keep yours in your glove compartment?)

He told me that would suffice for my age if I just had a credit card with my photo on it.

"I brought my husband with me, why would I need any money?"  I said. 

The bouncer neither budged or was amused.  He explained that if the ALE came into the bar and asked for my ID, simply my marriage license wouldn't cut it and then he would lose his job.  I tried reasoning with him that the likelihood of the ALE officers targeting a 30 something suburban housewife was nil.  He also said that my facebook page on my phone nor a Baby's First photo book did not count as official photo IDs.  I offered to play him the tape of my wedding ceremony.  (Also found in my glove compartment.  And yes, I did make us listen to it on the way home.)

So Ann and I walked around Carytown.  We ran into W, a friend of our church's with some mental problems.  He used to live with his parents near the church and he could always been seen smoking in our parking lot between cups of coffee in the church gallery.  When his parents passed away, he moved into a halfway home in Carytown.  So it actually was a treat to see him and talk with him.  A, being the church secretary and all, was close to W and asked him for name ideas for her baby.  He entreated her to name the child something "Pizazzy."

Once we were finished speaking with W, we then found a bench.  (Meanwhile, a group of men playing trashcans and the like as drums set up right next to us.  So. Freaking. Loud.)  I slowly went from laughing about the situation to feeling sorry for myself and then onto anger.  As in, How-dare-my-husband-leave-me- out-here-and-go-in-there-and-have-fun-without-me kind of anger.  I sent him angry texts.  I'd link up a screen shot of our texting conversation because it's freaking hilarious, but it is riddled with curse words.  I did, however, at one point, angrily text him to "Pick up a hottie."  He texted

A kept saying darling things like "You both need to be gracious to one another" and "now why are you being insecure, that has nothing to do with your ID" and "Oh, I don't think you need to cuss so much about this."

And so, if you saw me heavy lidded with my head in my hands on Sunday morning wishing my eyelids weren't so loud when I blinked--that's why.

All that said, I highly recommend when you're about to get into a stupid argument with your spouse that is really about nothing at all you're just hot and upset and mildly intoxicated (those are the BEST fights!), it helps to listen to your wedding ceremony on cassette tape.  Of course, sometimes I think it was rather foolish of me to write our vows and to include "to repent and to forgive".  Augh.  Who knew we'd spend so much time doing that?

My Two Favorites

To say that my kids love each other would be an understatement. 

Gracie chases Henry into the pool until she is nothing but a tilted head and two little nostrils poking above the water.  When I grab her and tell her I wish she was more afraid, she simply says, "Blah, blah, wah, wah, HENWY!" 

This afternoon, during a playdate with Henry's girlfriend, A, Gracie was none too thrilled A was sharing the teeter totter with Henry.  Gracie shoved her chubby body between them, wrapping her arms around her big brother while the two four year olds giggled at how cute she was.  

If Henry makes a silly face, Grace is soon to follow.  Most car rides always end with me seeing two children in my rear view mirror with their thumbs in their ears, tongues stuck out, and heads bobbing to and fro. 

Henry enters Grace's room each morning joyful to see her, exclaiming, "Good morning, sweetness!" or princess or beautiful or lovely or precious or angel.  When Grace wakes up first, she toddles into his room, arms waving above her head, shouting "BUDDA!  BUDDA!  Wuv budda!  Wuv budda!"  (And while her chubbiness may lead you to believe that she is proclaiming her love for butter, I assure you, it is only her love for Henry that is this steadfast.)

When watching a show, each child has their own little chair.  But inevitably, they end up sharing the same one, cuddled up in each other's arms under a Thomas blanket.  That is, until Grace gets handsy and restless and starts climbing over Henry.  Then Henry quietly moves to the empty chair.  At which point Grace follows him and the game begins again. 

Grace can be a little pigheaded and doesn't share so well, but NEVER has Henry raised his voice or his hands to her.  He will kindly ask her if he can have a turn with Percy and she will pound Henry on the head with the train, screaming "No! No! No!"  To which he will calmly respond, "Gracie, no hitting and you need to take turns." 

Of course, then he comes to me and lets the whining rip, but with Grace he has endless patience. 

They also like to wrestle.  Gracie will tackle Henry and then they just roll around on the floor giggling, kissing, and hugging one another.  Henry will exclaim, "Gracie is on me!  I love it!"  It is only concerning when they do this out in public.  We were once at our local mall's indoor play place and someone commented on how "That little white boy in the blue shirt was playing a little rough with that baby.  Do you know who his mother is?"  To which I snarked, "One, that baby is the one who tackled him and two, his mother is her mother.  Who is also me and I say it's fine. "

Pumped Up Kicks

Everybody got new Chucks today.  

Gracie needs laces so she doesn't throw her shoes at me while we're driving down the road or at unsuspecting diners in Chick-Fil-A.  She now wears a 5 and a half.  Henry needed new shoes because the new shoes we bought him a month ago are now an ENTIRE size too small.  He wears a 12 and a half.  It's insane. 

Henry thinks they look like Mr. Lopart's shoes. 

I think they rock.

Channeling my inner Buddy the Elf

FYI--
If you are making pancakes from scratch, read the recipe carefully.  While 3 1/2 TABLESPOONS (rather than TEASPOONS) of baking powder will make the pancakes super fluffy, they will be bitter.  The kids won't mind, but you will learn that there are some things even loads of butter and gallons of maple syrup can't fix.

Current Events

A friend of mine posted on my Facebook wall that she was hoping I would post some witty comment regarding the whole injustice surrounding the Casey Anthony trial.  Well, before I say a couple of things about it, I have to make a disclaimer.
I really have no idea about any of the details.  I didn't watch one single minute of the trial.  I vaguely remember something being said about a smelly car a long time ago.  I think I'm maybe one of three people on the planet who can say this.  What I do know I've learned from other people's Facebook status updates and my friend Abbe who caught me up on some of the details the other day while we were at the pool.
For starters, I'd like to say that this is not because I'm better than you people who watch a lot of Court TV or whatever station it was running on.  I'm not.  I just don't watch a lot of TV.
No.  That's a lie.  I watch a lot of Disney Junior.  And typically, they don't run things about kid murders on the Disney Channel.  (Though I could be wrong, I really only DVR Handy Manny and Little Einsteins.)  I also tend to simply watch whatever is On Demand.  And lately that's been old episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras.  So clearly, my ignorance is not because watching parenting train wrecks is beneath me. 
BUT.... here are my two cents about the whole scenario...

It just plain sucks.
I put on FB that I didn't believe in Karma.  Because I don't.  Grace and Karma are complete opposites--they can't even operate side by side.  If I want grace, I have to be willing to see it given to others.  That may be offensive to you.  Heck, it's offensive to me.  But that's why the Gospel is Good News.  It ain't fair and that's just the way I like it.  And if you're honest, you're probably glad you don't get everything you deserve either.
That said, I also believe in a Sovereign God.  Who, in His time, will bring kid killers to justice.  It may just be that at some point she'll repent, and then, here's the real offensive part, I'll have to agree with God that the cross of Christ is big enough for her sins as well.  Because people, if Jesus' death and Resurrection isn't enough for a murderer's sins then we're all mother-effing doomed. 
I believe that little Caylee's death is so tragic that no verdict rendered would be enough to serve justice.  Even if they'd imposed the death penalty.  I think the only thing large enough to cover the murder of a kid is the Cross.  That's how broken I think this is.  So broken that only God can fix it.
I also kind of wish that instead of being glued to the TV, people had spent more time taking care of the children who are still in homes with abusive parents.  That perhaps we'd budget for more DSS case workers.  And more people would become child advocates.  That more folks would offer free parenting classes and that people would actually take them.  That Bethany Christian Services would be able to fund their SafeFamilies program in more cities. That hearts would change regarding adoption so that it wouldn't be seen as "giving up" but "providing for".  The ability to procreate, obviously, does not qualify one to become a parent. 
I also put on FB that I don't think Caylee cares about today's verdict.  If you do, then I'd ask you to reconsider your views on Heaven.  You think you're going to be in Heaven, with Jesus, in your mansion, with your big, big yard where you can play football (Touchdown!) and you're going to care what's happening on earth?  I think Caylee is finally being loved fully and perfectly by her Heavenly Father and I'm confident that that's enough to wipe away every tear.