Today

– Opening night for The Christmas Post was last night.  It went really, really well.  I’m not going to lie – I was a little concerned.  As of Saturday we had never made it all the way through the play.  There was so much work to be done, so many little details to be fine tuned that it seemed we might never get it all pulled together.

But God is good and we did it and it was a lot of fun!  There are still tickets available for the rest of the week – please come if you can!  We have spent countless hours over the last few weeks pulling this together and we would love to see a packed house every single night.

– Today, mercifully, we have the day off.  And I am thankful.  The muscles in the left side of my body have decided to have a party and have all bunched up so that turning from side to side, leaning for forward, picking anything up or moving in general has become a bit of a task.  I need a day to unwind, go to bed early and be with my family.

– Speaking of my family, my husband rocks.  Seriously.  He’s doing this parenting thing alone every night this week.  That’s a lot of work.  But he’s been great about it and I couldn’t appreciate it more.

– While this musical is great fun, it’s also a sacrifice.  I’m sacrificing my own time and, while I’m having fun, I’m also working really hard.  My husband is serving me and through his service, I am able to serve others along with all of the other members of the cast.  Service is hard – even when it’s fun.  It requires that we step outside what’s comfortable and easy and we sacrifice – we sacrifice our time, our resources, our sleep and more.

– I’ll be honest.  Service has never been really natural for me.  I’m very selfish, especially with my time and my gifts.  But I don’t think service is ever easy.  It really goes against our human nature.  I’m grateful for the chance to serve others this week.  It’s hard, but it’s fun and it’s rewarding!

– Switching gears…

– Sometimes this blogging thing stresses me out.  Particularly in weeks like this one.  I’m wiped, both physically and emotionally.  I don’t have a lot to offer my readers.  Yet I feel pressure to offer something quippy and funny.  I have to remind myself that I don’t have to do this.  It’s okay to take some time off.  The world as we know it won’t cease to revolve if I don’t write a post or two.

Will it?

– I’ve had this little issue with my shoulder for awhile now.  Like eight years.  Ever since I coached gymnastics a lifetime ago.  All that overhand spotting caused all sorts of craziness to take root.  And instead of having it looked at, I ignored it.  Until a few weeks ago when I realized I was having a hard time pushing elevator buttons without wincing in pain.  I headed in to see a physical therapist and since that time I’ve been wondering what took me so long to do something about my shoulder.  I have severe tendonitis, perhaps a bit of bursitis and who knows what else.

At some point I may see an orthopedic to get an MRI, but for now I’m sticking with my PT because he rocks and he’s nice and he has a great southern accent that makes me happy.

– Christmas is coming up in a couple of weeks.  I’m not sure if you heard.  It falls on the 25th this year.  Someone I know is not ready…she hasn’t even finished her shopping.  I’ll give you one guess as to who that is…

– Okay, this is the part of the post where I wrap it up.

Let’s all breathe a sigh of relief together.

I’ll be back next week with real content. 🙂

He gets it all

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He came to me yesterday as I prepared myself for dress rehearsal.  The musical is set in 1947 so I had on dark eyeliner, a skirt, lips so red they glow in the dark and hair so curly that I vaguely resembled Simba.

He looked up at me with big eyes, then a slow smile spread across his face.

“You bootiful, Mom,” he said.

“Thank you, buddy,” I replied.  My heart sort of melted at that point.

Then he grabbed my hand and gave it a tug.  “Come down here,” he said, pulling me to my knees.  “I wanna give you a hug ‘tause you bootiful.”

We hugged. 

Then I promised everything he ever wanted and more.  Money.  Cars.  His brother and sister’s inheritance. 

He gets it all…

Photo courtesy of Lulu Photography

Sleeping in beds with boys

It was early 2002-ish and Lee and I, along with Lee’s brother Eric and his wife Becke’, attended a conference.  It was held…somewhere.  The details are really fuzzy.  Wherever the conference was held required us to get a hotel room.  Because we were young and poor, we decided to share a room and to secure it on Priceline.

It seemed like a really good idea when we got a hotel room just around the corner from the conference for only $50 a night.  Score!  Until…

We got to our room and found that it had only one bed.  What to do?  We couldn’t change the reservation without incurring much higher charges.  So we did what any respectable couples would do in such a situation.

We all piled into bed together.

Eric slept on one end, then Becke’ next to him.  I slept next to Becke’ and Lee laid on the other end.  So as not to make the situation any more weird and awkward than it already was, we all slept fully clothed.  Four people, fully clothed in one bed makes for a hot night’s sleep.  Sometime during the night, Becke’ slipped out of bed, unbeknownst to the rest of us, and attempted to get more sleep on the floor.  The rest of us were not aware of this transition.

When the early morning sunlight mercifully streamed into the room, I slowly opened my eyes.  I looked to my left at Lee and smiled.  He was on his back, straight as a board, arms stiff by his side, snoring.  He looked wildly uncomfortable in his jeans.  Then I looked to my right, expecting to find Becke’.

And there was Eric, sound a sleep.  For a brief moment I was horrified as I laid all snuggled up to my brother in law.  But after a few moments of wondering how on earth I ended up sandwiched between both Stuart men, I started to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.  I sat up and looked down at Becke’ who was curled up on the floor.  She looked up at me and we both laughed.

That’s the only time I have ever slept with my brother in law.

This weekend we went to Arkansas to be with Lee’s parents and brothers and friends.  So much fun.

Except for the sleeping part.  I’ve already told you my kids are systematically trying to ensure I never experience a full night’s sleep again.  They were in full form this weekend.  It all came to a head on Saturday night.  Landon wet the bed (we had run out of pull ups and wouldn’t you know every night before Saturday he woke up dry) around 1:30.  He bolted up and cried, “Mommy, I spilled!  I need a towel!”  I got him cleaned up and back down in time for Sloan to crawl in bed with us.  I woke up around 3:30 to see Tia in bed with us as well.  Around 4:00 Landon crawled into our bed.  I didn’t have the heart to fight him on it so I put him on the end next to me.

And for the second time in my life I found myself sandwiched between two Stuart men boys.  Sloan, being a fitful sleeper, kicked me in the kidneys all night long.  Landon had his face right in mine and breathed on me for a solid two hours.  It solidified my need to do a better job brushing his teeth at night.

Despite the lack of sleep, we had a great time eating, laughing, shopping and being together.  It was, indeed, a Happy Thanksgiving. 

The Stuart clan

The Stuart clan

Photo courtesy of Lulu Photography

Thankful

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The pictures above are older as evidence by the cast on Landon’s arm and the fact that Lee and I are standing stop the Duomo in Sienna, Italy.  But they depict the people for whom I am most thankful during this season.

I’m a blessed woman.

Oh…and everyone slept all night last night.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  Landon got up at 2:00 but he went straight back to sleep and so did I.  It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep will do for your perspective!

I hereby officially love Tuesday.

Monday in Bullets

– My children are systematically trying to ensure that I never sleep a full night again.  This is the part of the mom blog where I’m supposed to say that it’s Thanksgiving and I’m thankful for the sound of their little feet pitter pattering through the house no matter how early it is…

I’m not gonna say that.  I want to sleep.  I want to sleep all night long without someone coming into my room for this, that and the other.  I’m tired today.  And a little crabby.

– In Landon’s defense, he has been dealing with winter illnesses for a couple of weeks now.  He’s had a cold, that’s morphed into upper respiratory issues on top of which he’s developed pink eye and has so far this morning puked twice.  Good times.  In the midst of that, we’ve moved him out of the crib into a big bed allowing him the freedom to traipse into our room at all hours of the night.  Because we’re brilliant like that.

– Yesterday we attended our church’s annual Family Christmas Workshop.  I love this event.  There are almost 100 rooms set up with different homemade crafts for the kids to make.  There are Christmas carols and cookies (so many cookies!) and it’s a great way to kick off the holiday season.  It also gives us several handmade gifts to give to teachers and grandparents.  Score!

– Speaking of our church, we are putting on a Broadway style musical in a couple of weeks and, if I do say so myself, it’s going to be amazing.  Wanna come?  Purchase tickets here.  Most of the front tables have already been sold, but there really isn’t a bad seat in the house.  And in addition to a great show, you’ll also get dessert!  All for ten dollars.  Please come!

– I have a fantastic giveaway up on STL Family Life today.  Seriously – you don’t want to miss it.  The bracelet I’m giving away is gorgeous.  I so wish I could keep it for myself.

– Landon is watching Toy Story 3 Monster’s Inc. right now.  I am letting him watch all the TV he wants today.  It keeps him still and near the puke bowl in case he needs it.  And it keeps me from having to follow him around the house hoping to catch his upchuck because, as we all know, toddlers give no warning before spewing. 

– I’m grateful to my husband.  He’s been amazing this weekend.  He helped me out so much in a variety of different ways and this morning before leaving he told me he knew today was going to be sucky and he was sorry.  I so needed to hear that.  I didn’t need a pep talk about how I could do this and how I would survive this day and how I just needed to power through.  I just needed to hear some acknowledgment that today, indeed, will be a sucky day.  What a guy…

– I’m going to sit down and take a nap on the couch fold laundry while Landon watches his movie.  Here’s to hoping he doesn’t yak on me while I sleep work.

– Go Monday – FTW!

How to go from reverent to irreverent without even really trying…

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If ever you ask my seven year old to pray before a meal, I suggest you make sure you’re not starving.  Because Sloan?  He brings it when he prays.  All I need is a tent and a white hanky and Glory, Hallelujah we’ve got a revival.

Landon and Tia, try as they might, have a very difficult time making it through one of Sloan’s prayers without sneaking a bite or four.  Sloan has been known to pray up to five minutes or more.  He thanks God for everything from his toys to the military.  He prays for poor people and for everyone he can think of by name.  He prays for his own attitude and, on any given day, could likely be heard praying that his sister’s attitude would change too.

Last night’s dinnertime prayer went something like this:

Dear Lord.  You are the Creator.  You created.  Everything.  God.  You are our Lord.  Thanks for being our Lord.  And for being our Savior.  Thank you for, um, the veterens (which he pronounces vechrins).  Thank you that they protect us and keep us safe.  Thank you for Mr. Nevil that he fought to protect our country.  We are very glad for them.  Thank you for the Army vechrins and the Navy and…um…the Air Force.  And all of the people that serve.  It’s just awesome that they do that for us.  Give them glory, Lord. 

We thank you for Jonri (our Compassion child), God.  He is poor.  But he’s not poor anymore because we can help him to not be poor.  And thank you that he will get Christmas presents.  We pray for all the poor people, God.  We pray that they will have food.  And toys.

Lord you are very great.  God.  Thank you for our family (lists everyone from grandparents to aunts and uncles and cousins). Thank you for all my friends (lists as many as he can think of by name).   And, God.  I pray that I would have a good attitude.  Thank you that I had a good day today and was nice and happy.  And thank you that Tia was nice to me today and we could have a little fun.

*It’s at this point that Lee and I are trying not to crack up as Landon, with his head down and his eyes squinted open begins grabbing food and putting it in his mouth, then clasping his hands together again while he prays and chews.  My grandmother would have told him he was going to choke for sneaking food during prayer.

We just thank you for everything you give us, Lord.  And it is in your Holy, Powerful Name we pray…In Jesus Name.

Amen

It’s not hard to understand why Jesus commanded us to let the little children come to him.  There is no holding back in the sincere prayers of a child.  I am always blessed by Sloan’s prayers, no matter how lengthy they may be. 

As soon as Sloan finished his prayer, we all echoed the Amen and picked up our forks to eat.  But wait!  Tia wanted to pray.  So we bowed again.  Her prayers are generally short, sweet and to the point.

Dear Wowrd.  Fank you dat we have a gweat famiwy.  And fank you dat you dive us dis food.  And…well…amen.

Amen!

Ah the reverence.  I was momentarily tempted to pat myself on the back for raising such wonderful, thoughtful children. 

Then I was humbled.

After the beautiful prayers, the meal took a slight downhill turn.  We picked up our forks again and Lee thanked the kids for being willing to pray.  Half of Landon’s plate was, of course, clean.  Everything was gone  except his meat…naturally.  I made beef stew.  It was delicious but I will admit…it didn’t look appealing.  Tia put it a…different way.

She looked down at the pile of meat on her plate and wrinkled her nose.

Is dis poop?!”

And thus, the reverence of the moment was totally gone.  Sloan cracked up and Landon looked with great disdain at his plate.  It took several minutes to convince him that I did not, indeed, prepare poop for dinner.

We started off grand, though, didn’t we?

The Journey

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No, I’m not going to bust out in a radical version of Don’t Stop Believin’.  Although if I still had make up on, it wasn’t 11:10 at night and my FlipCam was close by, I might have considered it.

Nope…I’m talking about a different kind of journey.  On Friday I shared with you the struggles and insecurities I’m feeling as my career climbs ever so slightly and the inner battles that wage within.  I received great, wonderful, supportive comments from many of you.  I also received a couple of phone calls and a few emails filled with encouragement.

All of this encouragement began squeezing at my heart, which then overflowed in prayer.  How am I to feel about all of this?  How do I respond to the obvious passions and desires of my heart when opportunity presents itself?  And how do I balance those with the obligations and love I have for my family?

A conversation I had on Sunday solidified in my heart my need for serious reflection on this matter.  I found myself encouraging a new friend to pursue her own passions.  I heard myself tell her that God doesn’t want us to live in fear.  He has given this girl obvious talents and passions and she yearns to pursue them, but there is that nagging little thing called practicality.  It is telling her that pursuing her passions, even to the glory of God, means giving up a tiny bit of security and safety.  Not that I think I know what’s best for her life, by any means, but I do know that when I see someone who longs and desires to pursue a passion I’m going to do everything in my power to encourage her to do it without shame and or fear.

I need to have a talk with the girl who stares back at me from the mirror…

Practicality is a good thing.  Practicality keeps food on the table and money in the bank.  Practicality makes sure that should your two year old topple off his stool in the middle of dinner, you can walk into an ER and get his broken arm plastered up without fear of losing your home to medical bills.

Not that we know anything about that, of course…

As we drove home from church Sunday afternoon, I relayed the discussion to Lee and I could almost hear his brain explode inside his skull.  Because he’s been telling me this for years.

I am trapped in practicality.  But the problem with my practicality is that it isn’t the good kind.  It’s not the kind that is really truly doing my family any good.  It’s really just my excuse to not try too hard.  If I don’t try too hard to succeed, I sure as heck don’t have to worry about failing.

Nice, huh?

Except it’s not.

The thing that baffles me about all this is the fact that I didn’t use to be this way.  This fear based practicality was birthed the second I became a mother.  Suddenly I found myself afraid to dream anymore for fear I might shove them all toward costly psychiatrist bills when they’re older.  Because we all know that it’s always the mom’s fault, right?

Here’s the thing: this is not the place we were designed to live.  This is not where I was designed to live.  None of us were meant to hide behind practicality – to use it as a shield to hide us from the world.  Sometimes practicality is entirely impractical.  It’s not always wise to be practical.  God didn’t design us to live in fear, insecurity and guilt.  He designed us to walk freely, unashamed and with passion.  And passion is rarely ever practical.  Think of the greatest leaders and innovators in history – very few of them operated in passive practicality.  Most of them threw caution to the wind and surrendered to their dreams.

Think of Christopher Columbus.  Sailing around the world was not practical, especially when the prevailing thought was that the world was flat.  But he tossed practicality over the side of his ship and sailed forth, driven by passion and a good deal of gumption.  Or what about a group of five men who, in 1956, risked everything to minister to a group of people known as the Woadani deep in the Amazon only to end up being brutally murdered by the people they so desperately wanted to help?  Was it practical to transplant their families to that region?  It could even be argued that that was unwise…unless you know the end of the story when Jim Elliot’s son returned and forever altered the future of the people who slayed his father.

Of course, wisdom must play a role.  But wisdom and practicality are different aren’t they?  Practicality is a dross around the neck of passion.  Wisdom is the wings which give passion flight.  Wisdom allows us to pursue passions with the knowledge that even if we don’t succeed (as the world sees success), we certainly can’t call ourselves failures.  Because how can we fail?  Hasn’t the battle already been won on our behalf?

Sometimes, of course, wisdom and practicality must go hand in hand.  It would be both unwise and impractical for me to pursue a career as a professional surfer.  There are a number of reasons for this, one of the more prevalent ones being I live in Missouri…not a lot of ocean to be found.  I also have to be sure that the things I pursue are supported by Lee.  It is not wise or practical to chase a dream without my husband’s full support.  I will never succeed that way.

If, however, I do have the full support of my husband and I step out in faith, wisely seeking direction along the way, then haven’t I already experienced success, even if I don’t accomplish that which I set out to accomplish?  What about the journey I took?  What about the things I learned on the path?  If the journey leads to deeper faith, new experiences and greater wisdom, then tell me where exactly the failure lies?

The truth that has taken root inside my heart these last few days is so simple, yet also a bit complex:  If I am willing to embrace my dreams, without guilt or fear, perhaps that alone is the success I am to find.  And what a journey that would be…

Don’t stop.  Believin’.  Hold on to that feeeeeeelin’.

Huh…look at that – the song fits after all.

Righteous.

Knocked Up

I shared this story the other night with a friend and I decided it was too funny not to blog.  So here you go…just another random blog about my life.

You. Are. Welcome.

I was 24 years old and pregnant with Sloan.  It should be stated that Sloan was a mammoth of a child.  He was 9.3 when he was born in July of 2003 so by June of that year I looked like I was going to explode.  I carried him one hundred percent out front and quite low so yes, I waddled and I got asked more than once if I was expecting twins.

FYI – Pregnant women don’t like to be asked if they’re having twins because the chances are greater that they’re not carrying twins.  If you are unsure, it’s best to simply not ask.

It was early on a June day and Lee needed to take my car into the shop due to a rather unpleasant sound it was making that was certain to cost us a large portion of our unborn child’s college fund so instead of being stuck at home for the day, I decided to run the few errans I had in The Pup.

The Pup was a little Isuzu truck we bought while we were rehabbing our house so that we could haul lumber and other large items to and from our temporary home – Lowes.  I believe we paid $500 for The Pup.  She was rusted inside and out and she shook rather furiously when you started her up.  She sputtered when she moved and she was drafty due to a rather significant hole in the floor board.  But she served her purpose well and we tried not to drive her long distances for fear that she might literally fall apart in the road and we’d be left manually pushing a Flinstones car up the driveway.

So on this fine morning, I loaded up The Pup and prepared to spend the morning out.

Did I mention I was great with child?  Great with child.  And for some reason, on this particular day, I decided to wear my hair in two long braids.  I was 24 so I could still pull off braids without looking totally and completely ridiculous.

Actually, I’m guessing that’s not true.  I probably looked ridiculous.

I also wore no make up and because my fingers were rather swollen I had on no ring.  But the creme de la creme of my little ensemble came in the form of my maternity shirt.  Because my protuding abdomen was so prominent, food and liquids attached themselves to it with great frequency.  As in, every time I ate I spilled something on my stomach.  So by the end of my pregnancy, I didn’t own a single unstained shirt.  And the shirt I chose on that particular day was white and had a long stain right. down. the middle.

I am nothing if not classy.

So out I walked.  In braids, with a stained shirt, to The Pup.  I had give myself a bit of a running start in order to get my gut up off the ground and into the slightly elevated seat.  It was quite the ordeal, in fact to get in and get the seat adjusted so that I could reach the steering wheel without it cutting off the circulation to the lower half of my body.

In short…I looked ridiculous.

I made my first stop at Borders Bookstore.  I waddled in and got my book and smiled slightly at the people who started at me with eyebrows raised.  I waddled back out, took my hop, step and leap into The Pup’s front seat and shimmied around until I was just right and continued on to the gas station.

Here I ran into an older man and woman filling up their boat on wheels.  The woman didn’t even try to hide her horrified stares.  It was at this moment that I began to feel a bit like a Zoo animal.  I also began to wonder what it was that people were staring at.

After I got gas, I headed to Mecca Target.  It was here that the stares intensified and I finally got the question.

“Honey, when are you due?”

“In three weeks.”

“Ah,” the woman nodded knowingly. “And you feel okay to be out walking around?”

“Um…yes?”

She looked down at me with a bit of pity in her eyes, causing even more confusion on my part.  “Well, good luck to you,” she said, patting me on the shoulder as she turned to walk away.  This woman truly seemed sorry for me.

I decided to make my purchase and get out of the Twilight Zone as quickly as possible at that point.  When I made my pitiful leap into The Pup, I looked up in the rear view mirror to make sure I didn’t have FREAK written across my forehead and when I looked I laughed out loud.

Braids and no make up with bangs hanging neatly across my forehead…

I looked seventeen years old. 

No wonder people stared.  I looked like a poor little knocked up teenager who’s boyfriend had left her with nothing but a stained shirt and beat up old truck.  This explained the old woman’s horror at the gas station.

I also explains why I have never worn braids again.

The End.

Thankful in November

IMGP5673My sister-in-law (who is all kinds of awesome) is doing a month long series in which she details that which she is thankful for.  Imagine that!  Giving thanks in the month of Novemeber…who ever heard of such a thing?

I, personally, love the idea of focusing on that for which I am thankful.  It’s so easy to get bogged down in the negative, in the business and craziness and OMGI’MNOTGONNASURVIVETHIS moments of life that sometimes I have to stop myself and remember the happy.

In general I’m not much of an Eyeore type person.  I’m thankful for that because with some of the heartaches that I have faced in the past, it would be very easy to be an Eyeore.  But then again, it’s that way for all of us, isn’t it?  We’ve all faced pain, heartache, trial, hurt.  We all have the choice to dwell in the pain, live in the past and simmer in the hurt.

Or…

We can move on, step forward and let the past fade in the distance.  For some, that’s easy to do.  For others, it’s much harder due to deeper wounds, harsher trials or simply because they are hardwired from conception to stew, analyze and think.

So today I’m focusing on the thankful.  I have been so bogged down lately that I really haven’t had time to stop and think and…thank.

Outside of the obvious (my husband and kids…what kind of wife and mom would I be if I didn’t mention them, right?) I’m thankful for where we are in our lives right now.  We’ve walked a bit of a tightrope in the last few months and it had every potential end in a stomach dropping plunge.  But, instead, the tightrope has slwoly widened and we are once again feeling a bit more secure.  Not comfortable, of course, as we are ever on our guard, but we have definately seen blessing in the last month.

I’m thankful for that.

I’m thankful for the memories I made travelling Europe with my husband where he snapped the above picture on our last day in Italy as I lounged in a park in Bellagio.  I was looking at the mountains across Lake Como and marvelling at God’s majesty, totally in awe of creation.  I’m thankful for that day, for that moment and for the many pictures that are seared into my brain from across the seas.

I’m thankful for the career I’m slowly but surely beginning to develop in writing, editing and social media.  I wasn’t looking for this and it kind of fell in my lap and I just have to say – I’m having the time of my life.  I’m still navigating the waters of what is feasible for me to pursue and what needs to be sacrificed as I also tend to my young brood.  But I’m thankful for opportunity, whatever it might be, that comes my way and I’m totally enjoying the ride.

I’m thankful for Nutella.  It’s just so very, very good.  On everything.  Including pizza crust, on which we slathered an entire can a couple of weeks ago and presented it to the kids as dinner.  Which leads me to the next thing:

I’m thankful that I can still please my kids with a Boboli Pizza crust and a can of Nutella.  I’m thankful that my seven year old still thinks it’s cool when I accompany him on field trips.  I’m thankful that my four year old still wants to hold my hand and sit in my lap.  I’m thankful that my two year old tells me I’m beautiful almost every day and then squints his eyes in a mischevious grin because he knows it melts my heart.

I’m thankful for my soft bed and thick pillows even though I don’t get to enjoy those as much as I would like to.

I’m thankful.

I’m also now craving Nutella.

I’m thankful that Target is only a couple of minutes away and they faithfully stock Nutella on their shelves.

What are you thankful for?

Cry me a freakin’ river

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 I’ve told you before…I’m a cryer.  Crier?  Yes…I think it’s crier. 

I cry a lot.

I cry easily, I cry loudly, I cry ugly.  And if I try not to cry, I eventually burst like a dam spilling my ugly all over whoever is closest to me.  Sometimes I laugh to cover the cry, which tends to make the cry louder and even more embarrassing.  I blubbered throughout my entire wedding ceremony.

I don’t know why!  Weddings are happy right? 

I’m off topic.  I’m reeling myself back in.  I said all of the above to lead into the fact that I cried this weekend.  I cried a lot, I cried hard and I cried ugly.  This is the part where you all need to feel sorry for Lee, the unintended target of all my crazy.

It started Thursday afternoon when Lee came home from work to find me wrapped in two blankets in front of the fire place trying to thaw out after a frigid morning at Purina Farms on Sloan’s field trip.  The conversation went something like this:

Lee: “So what’s the plan Saturday?”

Me: “Mom and Dad are keeping the kids overnight Friday night and are bringing them back Saturday around 3:00.”

Lee: “Well, I forgot to tell you, but the elders are supposed to do XXXXXXXXXXXXXX on Saturday morning and we’d really like our wives to come along.”

Me: “No!  I can’t.  That’s my one day off.”

And then…the dam broke.  It was a face in hands, over the top, Sweet Mother of all that’s Holy cry from the gut.  And here is why:

Every single second of my life right now is scheduled.  From the moment my feet hit the ground to the second my head hits the pillow I have things that need to be done and places I need to be.  Every single evening of the week is occupied and by Thursday afternoon I had been burning the candle at both ends for so long that I was dangerously close to burn out.

And I snapped.

Poor, sweet Lee.  He didn’t even see it coming.  Again my fault.  I haven’t been communicating because I didn’t want to complain since I’m the one that committed to all of these responsibilities and I hadn’t really communicated to him how desperately I needed a day to myself.  But being the Wonder Man that he is…and given that I freaked him out a bit with my impressive meltdown, he immediately told me not to worry about it, he’d go without me and youjuststayhomeandgetalittlerest.

Amen.

So I did and it was bliss.  I edited 30 pages of the book I’m working on, did six loads of laundry, got my house relatively cleaned up and never once changed out of my pajamas.  I didn’t wipe anyone’s behind or take out a single sippy cup.  By the time they all came home I was completely rejuvenated.

Until…

We decided to take down the crib this weekend and put Landon in a big bed.  Good grief, just writing that sentence brought tears to my eyes.  I took the mattress out of the crib while Lee went to search for a tool box and I just looked down into it and literally seven and a half years of baby floated through my head.

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 I remembered myself a brand new mom holding Sloan on the floor next to the crib because we had just moved in and I had no place else to sit.  I remembered walking in and seeing Sloan coo at his mobile hanging above the crib.  I remembered walking in to find a fat, happy little boy staring at me for two years until he was replaced in the crib by a tiny, precious surprise of a baby girl. 

I remembered buying new, girly bedding and excitedly putting it in the crib despite the fact that I had purchased “gender neutral” bedding the first time around.  I remembered staring at that sweet baby in pink for hours, her tiny little backside up in the air as she slept.  I remembered the sound of her climbing out of the crib before she was even two…

I remembered placing Landon in the crib and looking down at him, wondering if he really would be the last to sleep in it.  I remembered the long nights as I rocked with him in the chair next to the crib.  I remembered the dread I felt as I thought of disassembling the crib.

Then Lee came back in the room and sat down on the floor.  He stopped for a minute and looked around.  “This is sad,” he said.

Cue breaking dam.

I tried to laugh it off like, Hahaha- isn’t it so silly to cry over this?  But I couldn’t laugh and I turned away so he wouldn’t see my ugly cry face and I sobbed those deep, soul wrenching sobs.  Kind of like I’m doing right now.

Then Lee got all choked up, which made me cry more…and made me feel better.  I wasn’t crazy to cry.  It is sad.  It was time to do this, for sure.  But it was also sad.  That season of life went by so quickly and I’m not ready for it to be over.  Of course, it might not be.  There is always the possibility that we’ll have to pull the crib back out at some point…but for right now, that’s not the case.  For right now, that crib is lying in the basement, a reminder that life is flying by in solitary blinks.

Cry with me, won’t you?  It feels good.  And it hurts.

After a few moments of sobby sobs, I reigned myself in and handed Lee the screwdriver he needed.  Of course, my tears quickly turned to laughter…or at least mild chuckles…when we realized we weren’t at all prepared with a big bed to move Landon into.  We have to round up box springs, which we hadn’t even thought about when we decided to make this move. 

Oh and, incidentally, who in their right mind decides to move a child out of his crib the night of daylight savings?  I think we were so focused on ripping the bandaid off that we didn’t think clearly and logically through what we were doing.  So for now, the boy sleeps on a mattress on the floor, which suits him just fine.

And me?  I have a feeling there will be a few more tears shed over this little milestone.  Ugly gopher tears.  Lee – prepare yourself

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