Say It Enough, You'll Start to Believe It
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An empty shell
Each room echoing with memory
Laughter, love, a haven
More than bricks and mortar
Each room a time capsule of life lived
Blessings fulfilled
We said goodbye and now we decompress
New memories await us.
Right now, though…
Wine awaits me.
Welcome to my new blog design! I decided a couple of months ago that it was time to give this space a little more POP! And Franchesca of Small Bird Designs was the perfect girl for the job. Hasn’t she done a wonderful job?! Hang on, hang on! I need to introduce you to my favorite feature!!!
Watch the header for a minute. Keep watching. Keeeeep watching…
Did you see it?!
Fran sent me numerous templates with different color backgrounds and I just couldn’t make a decision on which color I liked best. So I asked her if she could do all of them in a rolling header and POOF! She did it. She’s like my Fairy Godmother, she is. She’s gotten all kinds of telepathic hugs and high fives from me for her magical design.
I’m still working out a couple of little details, but mostly I’m just desperately happy with these new changes. And did you notice the picture of my van up top? See how the sun just gleamed off of it? It’s like the angels were smiling down on her hotness…
So I’m still in California. It’s been just an absolutely amazing few days. I can’t really describe how much my soul needed this break. I have been loved and poured into and fed and graced and blessed. I have written a lot – about 60 pages! I have edited. I have read and cried and laughed and slept. It has just been so wonderful here in Clear Lake, California (which, incidentally is one of the most beautiful places in America…you should visit!).
Today we visited a local winery for a lavender festival. Stunning is the only word I can use to describe it. I didn’t bring my camera on this trip (what was I thinking?!) so all I have are a few cell phone photos. But you’ll get the idea. I am immensely grateful for these five days I’ve gotten away. I will go home refreshed and ready to tackle next steps.
I actually just had to consult with Professor Google on what exactly Calgon is. It’s body fragrance…who knew?! I always assumed it was some sort of lotion for muscle pain similar to IcyHot or Bengay.
I was way off.
Yesterday was a rough day. I’ll mercifully spare you the details, but it was a knot in your stomach crazy kind of day. I really want my house to be the house that all my children’s friends come to. I like knowing who is here and what they’re saying and doing. But on knot in your stomach crazy kind of days…it’s just harder. The noise is louder. The work feels like work. The kids weren’t bad ( not all of them, anyway – there’s always one trouble maker), but I was tired and didn’t feel well and overwhelmed and the day felt long.
But today?
Today I am on a plane to sunny Northern California where I have the privilege of sitting in the presence of my dear friend Wendy for five whole days. Wendy and I met when we were both newlyweds living in the Dallas, Texas area. I will never forget our first phone conversation. Lee had come home from a Bible study the night before and told me about this wonderful guy he met whose wife sounded very similar to me.
“She likes to drink tea!” Lee exclaimed. My sweet new husband who was still baffled by my girly love of tea parties.
The next morning the phone rang. “I hear you like to take tea,” she said, her voice all warm and buttery and laced with smile. And that was the beginning of one of the dearest friendships of my life.
Wendy and I have only lived in the same town for just under two years but our hearts were knit tight together through God’s grace..and through our love for writing, tea and wifedom (that should totally be a word). We spent countless hours those Dallas years talking about our passion for writing and teaching and speaking and learning and loving and growing. And we drank a lot of tea.
I get to soak up my dear friend for almost an entire week and my soul soars at the thought. I also get to spend some time alone, releasing the characters in my head. They’re up there, churning and begging to get out. Sometimes I’m afraid of it, though. I’m scared of the story and of letting the characters down. Because the story in my head is beautiful and what if I mess it up? What if the trip from my head to my fingertips tarnishes the story and the people?
What if I fail?
These are my honest fears. I love writing, but I’m sometimes unsure of whether or not I have the gift to pull off the massive story I long to tell. Realistically, I know I’m not the best writer out there. I think it’s my lack of inner angst that holds me back…
Whatever the case, I know I’m not the best, but I also know that I have a story to share and I know I have the ability to tell it. I just really want to tell it well. This desire is why it’s taken me ten years to complete this book. I really don’t want to screw this up!
So I will write with full abandon this week. I will let go and try really hard not to go back and judge my work along the way. That’s a terrible, terrible habit. One should never edit her own work before she’s even finished it. Stephen King said so himself and given the fact that his book is the most inspirational book on writing I’ve ever read, I’m going to submit myself to Mr. King’s urgings and plow forward without looking back. My soul will rest in friendship (have I mentioned that one of my very dearest friends from here in town is joining us on this writer’s weekend away? How blessed am I!) and in solitude and in the joy that comes from allowing God to use my gifts and talents to His glory, because that is my deepest desire.
And when I return I will bid adieu to my home and embark on a new adventure. It is exciting, this tiny little life I lead.
I’ll be back this week. I have a something fun and special to share with you on Friday. Stay tuned.
Alternately titled: My Super Lame Post
– I have nothing ground breaking to say today. I probably shouldn’t even be posting. But I’m a blogging junkie so I feel the need to subject you to all kinds of random. I’m compelled.
– I’m sorry.
– I’ve gotten two solid nights sleep in a row. Break out the bubbly! I may or may not have taken a tiny little sleep aid to help make that happen. It became quickly apparent that if I didn’t do something to get more sleep I was not going to be emotionally capable of handling the move out of the house.
– Speaking of the move, we packed our first POD this weekend. The walls of my home are echoing now. And I am walking through my days singing this song on a continuous loop: 01 Sentimental Journey That’s me singing, by the way. It was recorded at a gig I sang at last January. And I can’t get the song out of my head, folks. I AM on a sentimental journey. I look at my empty house and I see my life. I remember walking through the front door with the weight of a newborn in my arms and the rush of new mom emotions in my heart. I see my kids first teetering little steps, I hear baby cries and giggles, I see toddlers sipping hot chocolate for the first time, I hear first words spoken and I watch the progression of my life as a Mom. I see our life so clearly for the last eight years in this sweet little house.
– Or maybe I’m just seeing ghosts…I dunno.
– In two days I’m getting on a plane bound for Northern California where I will spend the rest of the week working on my novel in solitude, catching up with sweet friends in the evening and soaking up some perspective as I step away from it all. The timing couldn’t be worse, but the trip was planned months before the closing of our house was and I can’t help think that God needs to get me by myself for awhile. Probably to get me off that sentimental train. So maybe the timing is just right.
– I’m getting my hair fixed today. I say fixed for a reason. It’s painfully crazy right now. Think two toned straw…that’s what’s on top of my head.
– A bulleted post leads to random, boring facts you never knew you wanted, doesn’t it?
– Father’s Day was yesterday. I hope that didn’t come as a surprise to any of you. Can I just tell you how blessed I am? I am surrounded by amazing fathers: My dad, my father-in-law and my husband. I have so much respect for these three men that sometimes I feel like I might burst. They are wise, funny, loving and precious and I’m beyond grateful for each one.
– I hear Landon stirring in the next room, which can only mean one thing: My quiet morning is about to implode. He wakes up sure that the world itself is going to come to an end unless he gets a drink immediately. There is wailing and weeping and whining galore until that sippy cup hits his lips, at which point he turns from devil child back to an angel.
– Apple juice has magic powers.
– I took the kids to the Botanical Gardens last Friday. It was a ton of fun and I got great pictures…until the sky turned green and melted into an ugly storm while the kids and I were trapped inside a glass encased building with Sloan huddled on my lap praying fervently for the second coming of Christ.
– I told Tia how babies get out of a Mommy’s tummy a couple of weeks ago. Her reaction was priceless. I’ll share the full story soon.
– This is the part of the post when I quit subjecting you to the random that is floating through my muddied brain. I’m off to fill that ever important cup of juice and begin yet another day of packing up my earthly possessions. Fun.
– I can’t think of a clever way to end this post I’m just going to leave you with this to start your week off right:
You’re welcome.
He crawled up in bed next to me and laid his head on my pillow. I rolled over, caught in that fuzzy state between dreams and reality. His soft cheek pressed up against mine, satiny skin dotted with freckles.
I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him close, breathing in deep the smell of little boy. Summer is in his hair – dirt, sunscreen and sweat. My eyes have yet to open but I feel his eyes on me, his breath smelling of apple juice. I squeeze him close and I hear his mouth stretch into a smile. His tiny little arm wraps around me and he returns the early morning squeeze.
Pure bliss.
“Good morning, buddy,” I say, finally forcing my heavy lids to part. He looks up at me with wide, crystal blue eyes and his tiny little bow tie mouth leans in for a kiss. It’s delicious and precious.
“I’m glad to see you,” I whisper in his ear. “How are you this morning?”
There is a quiet pause as his warm little body snuggles close to mine. Then he giggles – magic.
“I jus’ fawted.”
*sigh*
So how was your morning?
I never fancied myself much of a worrier. In general I don’t get too worked up over things. I may have a brief moment or so, when worry starts to overtake me, but I don’t usually dwell on it and, therefore, haven’t had to suffer many side effects of worrying.
Until recently, when cicadas began falling from the sky in droves and we got a contract on our house.
This process of moving out of our house has proven to be more stressful than I thought. I didn’t realize I was stressing out about it until the last few days when my stomach tied itself in a knot and my head began to pound. Yesterday, my neck began tightening up. I believe it happened sometime during my conversation with a storage facility. We are beyond blessed to have been able to sell our house for almost what we asked for it. But…
We don’t have another house to go to as of now. So we’re storing our stuff and staying at my parents apartment until we figured some things out. Another huge blessing! So I don’t know why my body is shutting down on me. My brain is fried, my neck literally will not turn and despite being wickedly tired I cannot sleep as I think of all the things I need to do during this rather bumpy transition.
What do we do with the dog?
What do I do about the mail?
You mean we need a new furnace?
How much will it cost to move twice?
Where do we store the piano?
You mean we need a new roof?
On top of those questions, I am also beginning to mourn leaving this house. I am a sap – a sentimental, emotional sap. Those who know me well know that, while I love a good adventure, change has never been my strong suit. This house is our first house. It’s the place we brought all our babies home to. It’s where first steps, first words and a mountain of other firsts occurred.
It’s home.
This neighborhood is wonderful. There are kids galore, all of whom are my children’s ages. I think of the little girl next door who taps on our back door every day to play. Sometimes (or a lot of times) it annoyed me, but she and Tia are the exact same age and I’m sad that they will no longer have each other as instant playmates.
I’m just kind of sad. And stressed out.
I know that this too shall pass. This flux of not knowing what comes next will be short lived. I’m not worried about the future. I know we’ll find a new house to make memories in and a new neighborhood with friends to meet. But it’s the interim that has, apparently, seized the muscles in my neck and chosen not to let go.
So on we go, marching forward to June 30 when we will say goodbye to the place where we became a family of five. What does God have next? We simply don’t know. I hope, for my sake, His plan includes some muscle relaxers and a massage…
And now, random pictures that have nothing to do with this post, but I just got some great shots yesterday and want to post them.
I am officially one more year older as of Saturday. I am 29.
Stop laughing.
I have to tell my children that because the two youngest can’t say their “Th” sound, which means “Th” sounds like “F” so when they say my age they place me well into a decade that I’m not prepared to enter.
When I was a 19 year old college girl, I began dating a boy who was, at the time, a senior. One night as we sat in his apartment, I asked him how old he was. “23,” he replied. And I almost had a heart attack because OMG 23 was so old.
One year after marrying my husband, we headed over to the home of a couple who was one life phase ahead of us. They had three young kids, a big house and were everything we thought we wanted to be. It was my birthday. “How old are you today?” they asked.
“23,” I replied. And they laughed. “Do you remember 23, babe?” she asked her husband.
“Barely,” he replied and I laughed along with them but for a different reason because OMG 23 felt so old.
Shortly thereafter I began having children. And I waddled around, 25 and knocked up. Feeling so old. Despite the fact, however, that I looked to be no older than a teenager in a very precarious position.
Then I hit 29 (where I have remained) and I finally felt at peace with my age. When you have three children and you’re under thirty, you tend to get a look or two. It’s a look of pity and wonderment. Three kids already, huh? I got asked more than once. So 29 felt right…it felt good.
So I stopped there. Mentally, anyway. The truth is, I’m only in my early thirties. I’m two whole years away from my mid-thirties so there’s really no need to acknowledge the thirties at all, in my opinion.
And there sure as heck isn’t any reason to tell my kids my age. Because if I do, then whenever they’re asked how old mommy is, their reply will be, “Mommy if fowty-fwee.”
And h@#^ no I’m not. I’m nowhere near the 4-number. I can’t be because OMG forty is so old.
Stop laughing.
Obviously, age is just a number and it’s all relative. Forty really isn’t that old, but in my mind, it seems old. I remember my parents turning forty, for cryin’ out loud. But whatever. The older you get, the younger old looks…right, Dad?
But I’m a long way from the 4 number so there’s no need to worry about that anyway. Moving on…
So the number may not be my favorite thing but, I have to say, that in my 29-ish years of life the greatest accomplishment I’ve had by far are these three:
I still feel like that little 19 year old girl floating on the cloud of youth (just the fact that I am compelled to refer to anyone under the age of 25 as “little” or “kid” is evidence of my age…) but I will gladly grow older because each year brings new joys, new blessings and the chance to watch those sweet kids grow.
I’ll take that in exchange for a few new wrinkles. But just a few!
Just please, don’t ask them to say my real age until we’ve had a little time to work with a speech therapist. Deal?
Stop. Laughing!
I am putting out an SOS. This is my Bat Signal, the rocks in the sand spelling H-E-L-P. I need you webernets! I am here on my knees…grovelling.
Our house has a contract on it. We’re waiting on inspection reports and will likely have a bit of negotiating to do, so it could all fall apart still, but in all likelihood our house is going to sell and we will need to be out June 30. That’s 30 days from now. Which means one very important thing:
I need to start packing.
I bought boxes last weekend to do just that. See?
I brought the boxes home – 11 small boxes, 7 medium boxes and 4 large boxes – and I excitedly set them in the kitchen, prepared to begin filling them with all our life’s treasures. Then I stepped back and looked around and my throat closed. I sat down in a kitchen chair and stared at the boxes.
A half hour later, Lee walked by. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged.
“Are you going to do something?” he asked, ever so gently.
“I don’t know,” I replied, my eyes glassed over. “Maybe I’ll start with the closets. I can at least pack up the winter stuff.”
So I carried four boxes to my bedroom and leaned them against the wall…where they still sit.
I don’t know where to start, folks. I just don’t even know where to start. I can pack up winter clothes, but that means going through the closets, which look like this:
Clearly, going through the closets is no small task. They are filled with clothes, many of which should probably be weeded out and donated. And I’m just not sure where or how to start. So I asked the packing fairies to come out at night and magically fille my boxes in an organized and efficient manner.
They haven’t responded.
It was suggested that I try packing up things I don’t use, like my fine china. That’s a much less overwhelming room to pack because there’s not much in it and I won’t be giving anything away. I just need to pack it.
But I’m nervous, because that stuff is highly breakable and fragile and I don’t know how to pack it in a way that doesn’t destroy it. I’m scouring the internet for special boxes and I know I should get packing paper and newspaper. I do have bubble wrap and a nifty tape gun, so I have the tools.
I just don’t know what to do with them.
I have moved before, incidentally. But that was back when we were first married and we lived in a little apartment and had17 possessions to our name. Packing a house?
I need a drink. A stiff one. And I really need those dang fairies to do their jobs.
So do you have any advice for me, internets? Where do I begin? And please, someone tell me how I’m supposed to do any of this with three rug rats under my feet!
I have a confession to make:
I haven’t always enjoyed motherhood.
The act of being a Mom came so naturally to me at first. When Sloan was born I was immediately comfortable with him. I wasn’t one of those neurotic moms who worried about every little cry. I didn’t care if people held him without washing their hands first and I didn’t freak out at every little cough or sneeze. I was laid back.
Except when it came to sleeping. I made that poor child take naps all the flipping time. Four naps a day for the first four months of his life, three naps a day for the next four and two naps a day until he was eighteen months old and he staged a morning nap coup resulting in me freaking out for a solid month before requiring he take a three hour nap every afternoon without possibility of negotiation until he turned four when he staged yet another coup and has refused to sleep since.
Okay I might have been a little neurotic.
I also required 12 hours of sleep per night and made sure bedtimes were rarely messed with. No wonder that child hates sleeping now.
Alright, alright – I was a lot neurotic.
But, neurosis aside, I was comfortable as a Mom. Babies are hard, but now that I’m on the other side of them I find myself snorting at how not hard babies really are. Am I confusing anyone yet?
The real work of motherhood starts when their reasoning ability kicks in. When you are no longer merely keeping them alive and sustaining them from day to day (or nap to nap in my case). Wait…you mean..I…have to…ya know…teach them? I have to raise them to be morally responsible, compassionate citizens of the world who contribute to society in a positive way?
*gulp*
I love being with my kids. I love doing the fun things with them. Going to the Zoo, playing at the park, going to the beach and the pool. I love to do the activity of life with my kids. But the day to day training that’s imperative to their development?
It hasn’t always been my favorite.
In fact, the day to day instruction has always been a bit daunting to me. The business of training them to be respectful and obedient. It’s hard! Give me a fussy newborn over an insolent toddler any day of the week. Can I get an Amen?
For those who know me well, you know I’m not what you might call a homebody. I don’t enjoy just being home. I like schedules and activity. I like to be on the go. I like to sprint through life. But guess what? It’s hard to sprint when there are three little ones whose legs aren’t as long as yours. My metaphor is getting a little rough, I know. Stay with me…
I’ve spent the better part of the last few months trying to slow down. I’ve cut out a few activities here and there and tried to pull back. I’ve tried to spend a little more time at home and when at home, I’ve tried to stop being so…busy all the time. I tend to equate down time with idleness. That’s not necessarily the case. Sometimes it’s good to sit and read a book to the kids in the middle of the day. It’s good for them and it’s good for me.
I’m finally beginning to enjoy the art of motherhood. The hard part. I’m even getting excited about it. I know, right? It’s about time. I’m looking forward to and excited about the process of training them. I look forward to praying for them and being with them. I’m so excited for this summer to just be.
I know it will be tiring and exhausting and hard. But I love the hard. I love the tiring. I’m learning to love the process. I’m learning to sit, to be still, to play Barbies, to have imaginary tea parties, to read books, to live every day life. I’m finally enjoying that part of motherhood a little more. Fewer schedules, more free time, more playtime. I’m slowing down my pace and finally giving my kids a chance to catch up.
This is a great place to be.
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