What Shall We Do with a Sickly Toddler?

Anna's very "two" behavior has been much better since last weekend. Now I don't have to chase her down to feed her; I only have to chase her down with a tissue bucket to catch all the snot flowing out of her.

Wait--these kid things get sick too? And I'm supposed to do something? Sorry, I'm not that familiar with this part of the job description.

Whether it started with our germs or with allergies, what she has is now very much like what made Aaron and I miserable in succession over the past month: nasal congestion, runny nose, cough, general misery. And although I'd checked her temperature yesterday morning and it was okay, it didn't occur to me to check it again until her bedtime, when it was over 101.

At that moment I realized: My kid is really sick, and I have no idea what to do.

Anna has never really been sick. No fevers, ear infections, nothing. So I couldn't remember where the Fever Danger Zone starts. What's the rule on calling the doctor? If her fever is over 101? 102? Over 100 for 24 hours? Under 124 while watching 24?

Always nice to feel both helpless and clueless.

Fortunately it also occurred to me that hey, they probably make medicine for that, and I had some on hand that she can actually take now that she's over two. Gave her some and checked on her later--fever was down a bit by the time we went to bed and quite a bit when I checked her in the night. (I also got instant advice and assurance via Twitter--viva la connected world!)

Anna was pretty wilted and miserable again this morning but perked up a bit as the meds kicked in again and she got her fill of sweet, sweet mommy sympathy and Winnie the Pooh movies. Well, almost. She can never really get enough Pooh these days.

Perhaps I'll let her watch a little more while I read Mommying Your Sick Child for Dummies.

Finishing Strong

Winter is over. Lent is over. Spring break is over. My trip is over. Easter is over.

And thinking about this the other day, I proceeded to FREAK OUT for just a few minutes.

Why? Because regarding all the many things which must be done and figured out for this whole "move across the country for seminary" thing, I am in exactly the same place as just after Christmas. Or so it feels.

Yeah, we have the house on the market (but few lookers and no sign of offers). We applied for financial aid. And I just suckered my parents into agreeing to take our pets, unless of course one of you wants them.

Other than that? I haven't sorted and packed much of anything. I haven't done Anna's readoption. I don't have any money saved. I don't have a clue how we're going to find, let alone afford, health insurance. I don't have a job or lucrative new freelance leads. I don't know if we need one car or two. I don't know how we're moving all our stuff (and car--or are we selling it?). I don't know how to rent out our house or when to decide if that's what we have to do or if I'd better hurry up and refinance it while Aaron has a job. We don't have a pastor to make leaving seem okay. And I don't know how to say goodbye.

Nine weeks of school. A few more weeks of wrap-up. Boxes, a truck, a plane, a townhouse . . . and what? What am I doing with myself over there in Michigan anyway?

I don't actually have a clue, and I'm kind of freaked out when I think about it. But I don't want that to be the defining feature of my home stretch in this place. I don't want to rob our youth group and Young Life kids by being so infected with my own form of senioritis that I fail to be present as they wrestle with theirs. I don't want to be so obsessive about research and details for the future that the present morning's gone, and then the week, before I've let my daughter go outside and blow bubbles. I don't want to stop caring what happens next to our church. I don't want to stop loving this place.

I want to reach the finish line. I want to run through the tape. I want to finish strong.

But sometimes--like today when we got really disappointing news--I feel like the road is way longer and rockier than it's supposed to be and I wish there was a shortcut, but there isn't. I feel like just sitting down on the curb and saying I quit.

I really need to believe the phrase that sometimes runs through my head: Now is the time to be brave. I really need those marching orders: Walk on. I really need that Easter message: "Do not be afraid."

Crazy/brilliant satirical/thoughtful Steve Taylor wrote a song in the '90s called "The Finish Line" that is clanging around in my head and heart right now. The lyrics alone don't capture the emotional power the song carries, but here is the climax--my prayer for our kids and our church, my hope for me:

Off in the distance, bloodied but wise
As you squint with the light
Of the truth in your eyes

And I saw you, both hands were raised
And I saw your lips move in praise
And I saw you steady your gaze
For the finish line

Every idol like dust
A word scattered them all
And I rose to my feet
When you scaled the last wall

And I gasped
When I saw you fall
In his arms
At the finish line

Deep breath. Squint. Walk on. Finish strong.

Here goes.

• Lyrics and background for "The Finish Line" at the Taylor tribute site SockHeaven.net
• Crappy bootleg live performance from Cornerstone 1994 on YouTube. Pretty sure we saw this show--memorable because I have never seen anyone so hyper onstage (here he is relatively mellow)--though at that point my husband was still just my stalker since this is where we met. Awww.

This Life Is Kicking My Life's Butt

Once upon a time I was going to write a post about how hard it is for me to catch up and keep up on things right now. That was yesterday. And Monday. And last week. And three weeks ago.

Ha ha ha ha ha, said my life.

I love all (well, almost all) the parts of my life, I really do. I love face wiping and hair doing and story reading. I love dodgeball and rides home and spirited discussions with teenagers. I love reading and re-reading and feeling like a manuscript is better now than when it came to me. I love helping our church move forward, helping my husband fulfill his call, and helping pay the bills.

But sometimes I don't love how all those parts all pile together, all the time.

I hate that my blog is all pictures and no words because I have so many words that it would take days to get them out and no days during which to do so. I hate that when I get behind on things, it takes weeks to feel caught up, if I ever do. I hate that I should be working on being proactive on many things but I'm just keeping up with the here and now.

This life, this schedule, is kind of kicking my butt right now. It's kicking the butt of the life it's supposed to add up to, because it's just a bit too much of a good thing sometimes. And I hate to say that, because there may be no more spoiled rotten kind of complaint in the world than "I have too much of a good thing." But it can feel that way sometimes--like I want all these things in my life, but I can't quite handle them all at once, all the time.

In theory and on paper it's all quite manageable. Sometimes I think about other people with more kids and Real Jobs and Big Important Things to do and I actually feel like quite the royal slacker. Then of course that theory of relativity goes out the window when something comes along to throw off schedules and we all get tired and someone skips her nap and I think Child, if you don't stop shrieking and get off that floor, I'm gonna throw YOU out the window!

(Dear social workers: I would never really throw my child out the window. There's a screen.)

All this to say . . . I'm really glad it's spring break right now. We've had a little bit of a break from the activities. But it is a big, busy weekend for our church search committee (please pray!), and Monday I realized it is going to be miraculous if I can get all the work I need to done before I go to Denver next week--and I need to, because I really need for that to be a vacation.

Our friend and Aaron's old boss would often say that youth ministry is not rocket science. But it's hard. That's how I often feel about what I do: parenting is not rocket science, but it's hard. It's hard because it's constant. It's not hard to understand; it's hard to do, hard to keep up with.

That's how all of life is sometimes. With all these things in my life that I love doing but sometimes still don't want to do, it's not the thing itself that sometimes seems like too much; it's the getting started and the keeping going. It's not the doing, it's the discipline--the doing it even when you don't want to part. That's true of everything worth doing: parenting, marriage, creating, working, being healthy, mentoring, praying, listening. Getting started or pushing through the mundane or difficult parts can be hard, but once you break through, there's a zone of deep reward, satisfaction, and joy.

So I'm digging deep for a little more gumption for the next six days: enough to work hard so I can enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done; to be present in the lives of the teenagers who come to our event and ride in my car; to listen to Spirit guidance above my own desires and fears; to be attentive and loving to my husband and daughter so we are family, not just people living in a house; to not just do but live this life.

And waiting on the other side of this week: Rocky Mountain High. I can't wait.

How do you dig deep and keep going when the constancy of life catches up to you?


P.S.: Sorry this is so long. Finding enough time to edit it would take me another three weeks!

My Triannual Emotional Meltdown

True confessions time: Yesterday I was trying to cornrow Anna's hair, which still takes me too long and frustrates me too much because I'm just getting the hang of it, and the movie of choice was not holding her attention. As she started to wander off in the middle of a row again, I yanked her back toward me hard as I barked "Sit down NOW!" loud and mean enough to scare us both to tears.

PARENTING FAIL.

And that was the good day this week.

Okay, I exaggerate; it hasn't been that bad. But it has been a long week.

Last weekend we had a lot of fun time with friends, but it was busy. Saturday we re-perfected the house for the house listing photo shoot. Then I tried to work at the pizza place--hey, it's not bad, it has an ocean view--and a freaking Miley Cyrus birthday party broke out. Nothing nurtures productive concentration like seven-year-old girls prancing around with fake microphones shrieking "I wanna be a rock star!" They are lucky the pinata they smacked five feet away from me did not resemble Ms. Miley herself, or I would have beat the snot out of it myself. Needless to say, I did not get as much done as I'd hoped, and I went into the week tired.

Sunday we had Frontline. Monday we had Young Life. Starting Tuesday Aaron had a problem with his blood thinners, apparently, that had him anxiously waiting to get in for a test and wondering if he should cancel a youth event. And since just the thought of blood and doctors is enough to make me woozy, I was anxious too. I've realized I've been tense and clenching my jaw enough to give me the splitting headache I had Tuesday.

And so it was that on Tuesday, February 24, 2009, 'round about suppertime, I had my Triannual Emotional Meltdown. I am usually quite even-keeled, but at a certain point I break and go batsnot insane. My husband is fortunate that it does not happen more frequently, because it is not pretty. It is almost as ugly as my Semi-Annual Murderous Anger Explosion of Doom.

The EmoMelt consists of a tsunami of tears occurring in unpredictable rise and retreat cycles. Since the tsunami is triggered below the surface of the unstable female, few signs and warnings indicate to the hapless husband that he should shut the heck up and, if possible, retreat to higher ground. The aftershocks may last as few as fifteen minutes or as long as 36 hours. Fortunately, occasional occurrences over the last twelve years have led my husband to develop a fairly sophisticated warning system, leading him to flee the kitchen area with little one in tow, saving him from almost certain death divorce.

The good news is that I did feel better after my EmoMelt, my later hair outburst notwithstanding. But these days are still busy, busy, busy and the future very uncertain, and I sometimes catch myself clenching my jaw or losing my patience or blinking for upwards of five seconds while reading, and I know I'm not yet winning the war for a balanced life and a peaceful soul.

But recognizing an emotional meltdown for what it is and learning to let it come and let it go--knowing that sometimes you'll feel better if you just have that cry instead of trying to hold it all together--for me, sometimes that is half the battle.

The other half is not causing too much collateral damage to unsuspecting family members along the way. I'm thankful I have a husband who gives me plenty of grace (and a wide berth) when I am overwhelmed and a daughter who swiftly demonstrates forgiveness through hugs and kisses and an insistent tug on the finger to go jump on the bed again.

As Lent began this week, I saw again how far removed I am from who I'm supposed to be. But I'm hoping to gain a little ground each day, even if only three steps forward, two steps back.

And I hereby declare: I'm giving up emotional freak-outs for Lent.

Jesus and my husband will be so pleased.

Making Goals: How Alive Am I Willing to Be?

"You can't make footprints in the sands of time if you're sitting on your butt. And who wants to make buttprints in the sands of time?"

Bob Moawad

As I've already mentioned, last week I wrote up two things: (1) my To-Do List of Doom and (2) ongoing and specific goals for various aspects of my life.

The first is pretty much what it sounds like: things that have to be cleaned up, cleaned out, fixed up, organized, and checked off in order to get our house on the market and get moving toward moving, as well as some paperwork type things like readoption and taxes and--oh joy! welcome back to my life!--FAFSA forms.

My personal goals are a revival of what FunnyWriterMommy and I used to work on together when we had our pseudo-accountability (pseudo because who are we kidding, we were still slackers) and writing times together. We'd taken ideas from a couple books we'd read and made it into this process of writing personal goals for all aspects of our lives: spiritual, physical, relationships, vocation, use of time and money, and so on.

Some of these goals were ongoing every day, week, or month: drink so much water a day, take a sabbath day each week, go on a date with husband once a month. Some were more specific tasks to be done in a certain time frame: this month I will finish reading X book, make gift for so and so, clean closet and donate old clothes, outline X writing project.

Then every quarter we'd get together and admit how much we sucked at meeting our goals.

So I figured, hey, I don't need FunnyWriterMommy around to suck at meeting goals!

Last week I finally actually sat down and thought through those areas of my life and prioritized some goals. And wow, do I have a lot of room for improvement.

I'm trying to trim the fat from my body and our budget.

I need to get the house ready to show, get control of my inbox, and get more productivity out of each day.

I'm confessing that I'm a freelancer who doesn't market, a writer who doesn't write, a youth worker/youth pastor's wife who hardly ever reads the Bible, a stay at home mom who barely plays with her child more days than not.

Hey, I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover, I'm a sinner . . . and I bet you are too. We pick and choose what "disciplines" we adopt. We grin and say everything's fine when we meet those acquaintances in front of the store, even if we're overwhelmed by what we left behind closed doors. We love to be loved, and we sin to be sinners, because the truth is we really like that truism that everyone has their weakness, because we really love having ours.

The thing is, a discipline is not a discipline if you only do it when you feel like it. That's a hobby. As my crazy drill sergeant math teacher would bark, "Discipline is doing what you are supposed to do, when you are supposed to do it, even if you don't want to." It's that last part we all make an art form out of denying.

But confession is good for the soul.

Discipline is good for the life.

I confess I've had too little of each, but I'm starting over again.

And I'll need you to help me do that again too. Again, and again, and again.

Because to fail at my goals? I can do that on my own. But to move forward, I can't walk alone. And I want to live a life that's not just keeping up but really going somewhere, whether I can see what's ahead or I'm feeling stuck in between.

"How alive am I willing to be?"*


I wanna see miracles
To see the world change
Wrestled the angel for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing 'Spirit, take me up in arms with You'
And you're raising the dead in me
___________________________________

It was a beautiful letdown
When I crashed and burned
When I found myself alone unknown and hurt
It was a beautiful letdown
The day I knew
That all the riches this world had to offer me
Would never do . . .

Easy living, not much like your name
Easy dying, you look just about the same
Won't you please take me off your list
Easy living please come on and let me down

We are a beautiful letdown,
Painfully uncool,
The church of the dropouts
And losers and sinners and failures and the fools
Oh what a beautiful letdown
Are we salt in the wound
Let us sing one true tune

lyrics from Switchfoot, "Twenty-Four" and "Beautiful Letdown"

*quote from Anne Lamott

The Weeklong Reentry

I think I am finally coming out of my post-vacation reentry fog. It always takes a few days after a long trip for me to unpack and unstack (because when I unpack, I stack, but eventually all the piles are in the way too), get back into a routine, and feel un-fogged enough to actually comprehend what people are paying me to read. Considering we got home last Wednesday night, I'm not setting any records for getting right back to it this time.

Thursday we kicked the tree to the curb porch; Friday I organized toys and we had the downstairs of this house spotless highly presentable. Then we celebrated Anna's birthday with friends, and inevitably there were presents, which meant more toys and paper strewn about for days (because that's how we roll). And dishes--who does dishes? Okay, we should. More often. So downstairs had to get re-cleaned-up over the last couple days too. Totally worth it for birthday fun, of course!

Meanwhile, upstairs? No clear path to, well, anywhere--suitcases and laundry and piles of Christmas goodies and wrapping paper were all standing around like Stonehenge reorganized itself into an obstacle course. Only today did I finish emptying the suitcases and put them and the wrapping paper away. I still have piles, but at least they're all in the office half of the room, where they're being made to feel at home by all the permanent resident piles of paper.

The sad thing is that this feels like a metaphor for my life sometimes--an obstacle course of messes I can't get motivated to start dealing with. Well, okay, that's a bit over the top. But until today's improved productivity, I have been dragging pretty hard since we got home. Tired. Unmotivated. Sugar addicted and sugar crashing. Unable to remove butt from couch in front of football. Depressed by thoughts of job and housing markets. Really depressed by thoughts of health insurance costs.

I hope and think it has been mostly due to getting back into the groove and caught up on sleep and urgent tasks. I did feel better and get more done today, and once I get some work off my plate I hope to take some time to take stock of what needs to be done before the Great Uprooting of 2009 and, more importantly, what my life should look like now.

There was a time when an inspiring yet practical friend and I got together quarterly to make and share goals: spiritual, relational, physical, and practical to-do list goals. I am badly in need of such an inventory. And an accompanying butt-kicker to make me accomplish all roughly 40 percent of them.

As much as there is to do, I think my biggest problem is figuring out where to start. But also I think I know the answer: I need to start by not trying to do it all. I need to start by stopping, by sabbathing. By taking time each day to listen to and love and be loved by my Lord again instead of always milling around in the aimlessness of figuring out how I can do and figure out all the things that I can never do or know.

All I need is everything.

Here's to grace in 2009.

Surviving Weekends; Alienating Babysitters?

That was a really long short full weekend. (Kind of like this post. Sorry. Everybody needs an editor and I'm too tired to be mine.)

Friday is normally Aaron's day off; he had to go in to work, and I went to church for a while to get some things ready for our big congregational workshop Saturday. (Then we had a really nice evening with friends, but that is beside the point because I'm trying to garner sympathy here, okay?)

Saturday I went to church at 8:00 a.m. (I know!) for our 9:00-2:00 meeting. I had to give the first part of the presentation, trying to act all smartypants with my PowerPoint and my statistics and my worksheets and my making the people hold up their fingers so they would remember what number group they're in (a very sophisticated business technique). We had a great turnout and everyone seemed pleased with the discussions, so I guess all went well--but that's just draining when you're largely responsible for making sure it does.

Rescued the babysitter, put Anna down for her nap, entered catatonic why-aren't-I-napping-too? state. Got Anna up and bundled us up for the youth group bonfire on the beach. We had about 25 people enjoying hot dogs, s'mores, football, and (in Anna's case) getting sand all over themselves. It was chilly at first but the wind actually died down and it was really nice to be out there. (Photos to come.)

I brought Anna home for a bath, and by the time Aaron got home she was running around like a crazy, diaper-clad Tazmanian devil: spinning, dancing, falling down, crawling back and forth under the dog, and doing her favorite cheerleading moves (the Irish Rumble). She was so hilarious! We just sat around laughing at her and shaking our heads at her insane antics.

Sunday we had church (again! in the morning, again!), then watched football, if that's still what you call it. Anna was a wicked combination of overtired and stubborn and didn't fall asleep until 4:00. I don't know what was up but after about an hour she woke up screaming . . . and pretty much didn't stop for an hour.

Aaron had to leave just after she got up and she FREAKED. OUT. and wouldn't settle down. She was in almost constant meltdown, falling apart at any little thing or no apparent thing. She didn't want to eat, wouldn't really let me eat, had no patience and a hundred demands. I had worried that the weekend would be too busy for her (babysitters and going places and teenagers--all beloved but exhausting) but wouldn't you know it? I couldn't skip Frontline because we would be splitting up the guys and girls and I had to be on the "panel" for the guys' discussion.

Somebodyerother's Law: The only time your child will need you to stay home will be the one time you cannot skip out on being somewhere else. Or to put it another way, if there is a function you must attend, your child will choose one hour before that function to FREAK OUT.

Now mind you I'm not mad at Anna for this. She clearly was overtired and needed some quiet time at home. I'm not sure if/how attachment factors into the clingyness and anxiety that seems to show up at such times but if us going off and doing things makes her feel insecure/needy, well, that's not her fault either.

So at 5:30 I called the lady from church who was going to watch Anna during Frontline and said I didn't know exactly what I was doing but didn't think I should take Anna to her house (where she's never been before). I thought maybe I'd go late and leave early and have somebody amuse Anna at church for as little time as possibly necessary. Now mind you we'd already had a little confusion and changing of plans that morning as to the evening's arrangements. So I felt like a real schmoe telling this lady who obviously now was all ready and excited to have Anna over that I wasn't going to bring her. But I really felt like if I took her to this new place and then left, there would be total meltdown that I would be paying for much longer than the hour and a half.

Anna did settle down by about 6:00 and I called back and said if you could come to church and watch her during the discussion part, that'd be great, and if not because you've written me off as a weirdo indecisive paranoid advantage-taking freak who can't understand the concept that you wanted to be at your house because it's not easy for you to get out and about, that's okay, I'll ask someone else who is there or whatever since this is really all my fault and problem anyway.

Okay, I didn't exactly get all that out. I don't know what I said but I hope it sounded somewhat humble and intelligible, and mostly I hope that she doesn't think it was about her or her house at all and will be willing to try again another night. It really wasn't--truly Anna was not in a good state and I didn't want her to think I was punishing her for it. But how do I explain the attachment issue connection when I'm not even sure if there is one? Objectively I think she was just tired but in my gut I think if I'd pushed it there maybe could have been some attachment implications. Or whatever you call her velcroed to my leg crying for three days. I don't know, maybe not, but I didn't want to put her (or me) through it.

People with attachment/adoption experience, what do you think? Am I fully or only partially nutters? I need some parental affirmation here!

Of course Anna was a bouncy little angel the whole time in the nursery, thus ensuring it seemed like she would have been fine anytime anywhere. Oh well.

The good news is that even though we had to be gone again Monday night, she had a grand time with the friend who came over and was good today despite being up late again.

The further exhausting and scary yet exciting news is that we had at least FIFTY-THREE high schoolers at our first Young Life Club on Monday, practically busting out the walls of the little clubhouse. May I remind you that this was the first club and there are only 225 kids in our high school--a fifth were there. And I'm pretty sure it was the rowdy fifth! Oh, lordy . . . what the heck are we going to do with them all?!

Whew. For some reason I'm tired. Thus I'm publishing this in its ridiculously long and wordy state. If you made it this far, you are now probably as tired as I am!

So This Is What the Weeks Look Like Now?

Yikes.

We are moving full tilt into insanity season around here. At least one of us has had something going on every night for ten days straight, and it's the same through next week with the exception of Friday. Young Life is starting up, Frontline is going strong, there's all kinds of school events, and these days we both have church meetings too. (Added bonus: Aaron's back is killing him.) I am trying to be organized by planning meals ahead so it can be something easy on busy nights, so I don't have to cut into my work time to get dinner ready, but I think we'd better get used to the kitchen looking like this:


Okay, clearly we're already used to this. But I do try to draw the line at cultivating mysterious fungi.

Anna was clingy and whiny and grumpy as all get-out today and I hope it's not because she's been with so many different sitters lately. I think she was tired and is getting another tooth. But Mamaaaaaa she says. Maaahahahahaaahmaaaa, noooooo, don't go to the bathroom without me, I'll diiiiiiiieeeeeeee.

It's really not her most charming mood.

Of course we took her with us for a YL meeting and she could not have been happier to run around and dance and play with everyone. You'd never know she'd been grumpy, unless you'd been in the van ten minutes earlier when she thought we weren't going to be joined in five seconds by Daaahaahaahdaaaaa.

What is this? Some sort of anxiety or missing us, or just a moody toddler?

I hope that if she's better rested tomorrow and I give her some extra attention if she needs it she'll be more mellow. Even extroverts need some quiet time. Or their mothers do, anyway!

Meet Our New Babysitter

Yeah, I know. I can almost see her getting dumber. Or at least losing the ability to speak in first person. Elmo make baby talk annooooooooying!


But she just might be spending some time with this monster (heh) this week because I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO READ A CALENDAR. I thought I was going to be really busy with work and things this week. Then today I realized that I miscalculated a deadline and October starts this week and I'm INSANELY SWAMPED. I have a ton of work to do and Aaron and I both have youth and church meetings and events scattered all over the place. D'oh!

And yes, I know I said back in the happy easy theoretical pre-toddler theoretical parenting days that I wanted to keep her off TV until she turned two (as recommended). We made it to about 16 months, okay? Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, as a bonus, I'm picking up a few Spanish words. It's like going back to escuela.

But do they have a course in calendar reading comprehension?

One of Those 48-Hour Days

Monday night it started. The fussiness. The crying. The angst.

Anna was probably tired from the busy previous week and day before, but she’s also been continuing to grow teeth, and diaper rash struck with a vengeance. (I don’t care what they say—those two are related.) When I made it upstairs for bed I was reintroduced to the laundry lying all over the bed and my corduroys from Sunday with someone else’s chewing gum embedded all up the back of the leg because I’d apparently sat in it and spread it all over myself and, earlier, my couch, which was far easier to clean than all those little grooves. I ignored them. Again.

Tuesday morning Aaron found Anna in her crib in a veritable flood of pee—pjs, sheets, blankets, everything. (Curse you, disposable diapers!) Had to wash everything including the child. Diaper rash was not better, nurse was taking her time calling back, and to top off Anna’s continuing mood, she also had the runny nose we’ve all been having from the spring pollen coating settling upon our region. And you just know a 15-month-old loves having her nose wiped.

On the bright side, she took a really long nap.

This morning we had our ungodly early YL planning meeting, and then I decided I’d start some laundry and finally face the gum-on-the-pants issue. Picking it off was kind of nasty, but it finally occurred to me to use Goo-Gone. It was then that I discovered, in the hall closet, that the shelf was covered in leaked ammonia I’d bought ages ago on a make-your-own-cleaning-products kick. It really didn’t smell clean, though. More like someone peed Pine-Sol. Resulting in a surprisingly powerful contact high.

There’s nothing like going to clean up a mess and discovering another, much worse mess, is there?

Sometimes it’s just one of those days. Those long, long, long days. It’s just another Manic Monday . . . through Wednesday.

Happily, the rash and the girl’s mood have improved greatly today, and life goes on in all it’s messy, ironic, whirlwind glory.

My Cup Runneth Over and Maketh a Big Mess

Warning: Transparency Alert.

Disclaimer: I'm not out of hope and I don't dislike motherhood. In fact overall I'm surprisingly fond of it, but that's a story for another day. This is about these latter days and how they've taken their toll.*

We were joined in church yesterday by the missionaries to Cambodia who our church supports and whose grandmother goes to our church. Jeremy preached and besides telling stories that made me want to go back to Ethiopia, he used an example of a pitcher of water pouring into a cup sitting on a saucer sitting on a plate. The pitcher is God; he's always pouring and pouring his grace. We're the cup; God pours into us and it overflows into our family/loved ones/the things we hold most dear (the saucer) and then into the larger world, the people and places we touch in ministry/life (the plate). But if you put the saucer or plate over the cup, nothing gets into the cup. It stays empty or drys up.

Hmmm.

I'd say I am feeling dry, except it's more like drowning. There's grace all around me and most days I can even see it, but sometimes it feels like instead of drinking it in, I'm just flailing around and making a mess.

These days I am giving a lot to Anna, and that's a good thing. It's worthwhile and usually it's enjoyable. Sometimes it's downright fun. But it never, ever stops. It's just so constant, this mothering thing.

That might be okay if everything else weren't constant too. But it is, and over the last couple weeks all the demands of life, mine and ours and everyone else's, have been engulfing and overwhelming me. Sometimes I feel like I work thirteen hours a day and accomplish nothing. Too many to-do's and not enough done. Too many bills and not enough money. Too much conflict and not enough communication. Too many needs and not enough helpers. Too much work and not enough play and one dull boy and girl crashed vacantly on the couch with no energy for either.

Another day, another dollar. Two steps forward, three steps back.

Days and weeks like these can leave us feeling perplexed. What are we doing wrong? Why did God bring us to this spot? Am I doing enough? Am I doing too much? What if the money runs out? Is it my fault? Will it ever get easier?

Some of those questions I know the answer to; I just need to remind myself or hear the truth again. Some of them we'll never know the answers to. And for some of them we just have to play our hand out as best we can.

It's not like I haven't been here before, and knowing me, I'm sure I'll come back again. I'm thankful God gives more than enough grace to smooth over my ups and downs. Deep down I trust His work is not done in me and around me. I want to be a Psalm 27 girl:

I am still confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the LORD
in the land of the living.

Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.

(verses 13-14)

But let's get real: My confidence falters sometimes, with so much riding on it. I try to be strong and I just take on too much. My plate gets full and my cup gets blocked and runneth over and maketh a big mess. (And then leaves that mess in the kitchen for several days hoping it will clean itself.)

So yeah, I'm a Psalm 27 girl, deep down. But some days, in all honesty, it comes a little more naturally for me to be a Matchbox 20 girl: I really, really just wish the real world would stop hassling me. And you.

Please don't change
Please don't break
The only thing that seems to work at all is you . . .
I wish the real world would just stop hassling me and you

*Mmm, what I really need right now is some Good Dog Bad Dog for these latter days. All I need is everything. Will there ever be a time in my life when I can't come back to these lyrics? I submit that there will not.