Wednesday Random, nesting style

today at 9 am I was supposed to have that dr's appt about fixing my Fallopian tubes.

it didn't happen.

instead at 9 am i am cleaning and organizing and purging.

it feels really great.

i'm sick.

like coughing up my lungs sick.  like, my head weighs 10 tons sick.  i had some Vicodin leftover from when i got my wisdom teeth out last year and they don't really do anything for me as far as pain, but they do make me not care.  so i took one a couple days into being sick just so i would not care that i was sick.

is this how druggies are born?

(i don't wanna know)

since i am sick i didn't go to bible study last night, instead i stayed home and organized our school books.  i bought a shelf from PW and i was planning to paint it and re-sell it, but realized it had a perfect place in my home and works beautifully for storing our school books.

i used to have just one junk drawer in my house.  josh thought one was too much.  imagine what he thinks now that one junk drawer somehow turned into three.

today i fixed that and made the three turn into one.

yesterday Sugar came upstairs to wake me and tell me Spice had puked.  i went downstairs all sick and sleepy and upon cleaning up the puke I puked too.  that was precious.  It was one of those times where you don't want to tell the dog to stop cleaning it up.  You actually want the dog to clean it up so you don't have to.  But the thought of dog eating vomit makes you want to vomit more so you just clean it up yourself.

You're welcome for all that.

Being sick is not my favorite.  Organizing sure is though.

The junk drawers in my house were these mini hoarding stations of the weirdest crap.  I'm glad I cleaned it instead of someone else seeing it.

Okay, done rambling.

You're welcome for that too.

Letting Go of a Dream

About three weeks ago I showered, shaved my legs and gussied myself up like I was getting ready for a third date.

Really I was just heading in for my annual exam.

We're going over my chart from the last couple of years and they ever so nicely pointed out that I've gained about 14 lbs since January.  They (one girl taking notes, the other my dr.) ask what I'm doing differently and I tell them I'm hitting the gym about once a month instead of three times a week.

And I'm still drinking the same amount of beer.

Apparently that combo leads to 14 lbs of weight gain.  Awesome.

Continuing with my chart she asks about my birth control and then says, "Oh, yes.  You've had a tubal ligation.  My favorite form of birth control."

And I say, "yeah, til you want more babies."

Then she lowers my folder and raises her head and says, "You want more babies?"

And I say, "Yeah, yeah I do."  And I went on to tell her about my tubal decision.  My worst decision to date.  (and lemme tell you, I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life.)

She tells me that once a month a fertility specialist from Seattle comes to their office.  That I could meet with him and talk about a reversal.  Would I like to do that?  Would I like to schedule an appointment?

For a brief moment I let myself play with idea of it.  What could it hurt?  Couldn't hurt anymore than I already do, right?

So.  Yes.  Sign me up for that appointment.  Let's have more babies!

And my appointment is October 9th at 9 AM.  I have all my medical records in my car just waiting to be handed over to this fertility specialist to better inform him of whether or not it's even a possibility.

But the thing is, my insurance won't cover a dime of this.  Not one dime.  And the consultation alone is $300.  The procedure is about $10,000.  Who am I to even consider this?!  I thought I'd just go ahead with the consultation.  Why not just find out it's possible or not possible?  But where am I going to just come up with 300 extra dollars?

I'm not.  Not at all.  Even cutting out the coffee (and I'm doing really well about that, btw) I don't have the money for something like this.

So today I let myself cry awhile.  And then I called Jane in Seattle and thanked her for scheduling that appointment for me but that I was going to have to cancel.  And she asked why and I told her and she thanked me for calling.

I'm right back where I was that December morning.  Feeling this weight of sadness.  I had actually started to hope.  I started to dream a little of the possibility.

And it hurts to let go of this dream.

my busy out of my comfort zone week

Whew!

This has been quite the week, friends.  Quite the week indeed.

And we still have a coupla days left.

The girls and I started back to school a couple of weeks ago and it's always my favorite when my mother-in-law asks the girls how school is going and if they're reading a lot and Sugar says, "no.  No we're not."

Awesome.  I'm sure that does her grandma/public school teacher heart a lot of good.

{sigh}

So I guess I'll just go ahead and admit that in the last couple of weeks maybe there hasn't been a ton of reading but yes there has been reading.  There's even been writing.  And holy cow, some math.  School is taking a much different approach this year in our household and so far we've had zero tears and only one bad attitude morning.  This is a miracle, folks, and I wish so much I'd started schooling my big girl this way from the get go.

Anyway, with school being back in session comes the flurry of activities.

Co-Op
Soccer
Choir

and for Josh and me, bible study in a small group.  {shudder}

So I signed Sugar up for soccer and poor Spice was a little too shy to join this year but she's been a trooper watching her sister and cheering her on.  We meet for that twice a week, Tuesday and Wednesday.  We've been doing that for a few weeks now and she's really been enjoying herself.  Last night I was a proud mama when she knocked a kid over and stole the ball from him.  Because last week, someone from the opposing team fell and she stopped what she was doing to make sure that kid was okay.  She's way nicer than me.

This week, on Monday, the girls joined Choir.  Oh, Lord.  Showing up to a church I don't know, filled with people I don't know, with a door God knows where and can I just say that I wanted to throw up.  What is my deal?  I swear the older I get the worse my anxiety is about crap like this.  I try to pretend in front of my girls that I have my shiz together because I do not want them to be anything like me when they are older.  But of course I waited til someone else got out of their car to see where they walked up to because from where I parked I could not see the door.

Door found, all was right in my world.

It's this sweet couple who leads Choir and they just donate their time and their talents to these sweet (assuming they're sweet) homeschooled kiddos.  The woman handed me a letter that says at some point they'll have each child sing in front of them on their own and all I can think about is what songs my girls know by heart.  Hells Bells?  Back in Black?  The soundtrack to Napoleon Dynamite?

You think I'm kidding.

My girls sat through Choir and we got in the van and they promptly told me, "that was sooo boring, Mom."

"But you LOVE to sing!"  I say in my uber convincing voice.

"Uh, yeah.  But to the songs on the radio.  Not that stuff."

Sigh.

Forever making grandmas proud, my girls.

So that was Monday of our week.

Then comes Tuesday.  Tuesday is soccer practice night.  And this Tuesday was the first small group bible study night for Josh and me. I did something I've never done before and I dropped my girl off at practice and entrusted her to the care of my friend Katie to take her home with her after practice because our small group started half way through Sugar's practice.  I may have been slightly sick to my stomach all day for worry about if the people at small group would like me.  And I kept thinking to myself, "do not laugh out loud.  do NOT laugh out loud."  Because I can laugh.  And usually at the most inappropriate times.  And loudly.  I also reminded myself not to talk.  Not to not talk too much, but to just not talk in general.

I mostly succeeded.

I had to talk when it was asked that would the person who brings snack for the night lead in prayer that evening.  I nearly stood up with a good loud, "HELL, NO!" but I kept seated.  Smiled.  And said, "no.  I will feed you, yes.  But I will never lead in prayer and probably just never pray at all."

Like ever, ever.  Amen.

And they didn't kick me out and I had a good time.  But I may have laughed and oops, oh well.  It wasn't ever at an inappropriate time.  Thank God.

What day are we up to?  Yes, Wednesday.  Yesterday.  Man, it feels like that day was so long ago.

Wednesday was just the day before today.  (The day I've been oh so scared of for the last couple of weeks)  Wednesday was Sugar's game and she did great!  Oh!  I forgot to tell you about our dog!

We got a dog.  A 1.5 yr old black lab who apparently is so obsessed with anything round that she absolutely FREAKS OUT.  I took her to soccer yesterday and she went nuts for all the soccer balls!  So Josh had to sit with her in the back she was just so excited and wanted to play with all of them and when there are nine (I think) fields going, that's a lot balls to play with.

So, soccer game was good.

Then I helped finish up some shirts with a friend and then we had dinner and yum.  It was 8 pm and I'd not really eaten all day, so I needed dinner.  I love food.  I came home and put the girls to bed and Josh and I went to bed and I laid there trying not to be nervous for today.  But that didn't work.  I got up around midnight to be sick and then again at 4 to be sick again and decided just to stay up.  Seriously a nervous wreck for today.

Today I had to help lead the homeschool co-op.  All I had to do was read a story to a bunch of 2-5 yr olds and then lead them in some exercises but oh my word I was such a mess with worry.  And now that it's over, I'm like, "really, Sarah?  All that sickness and ridiculousness and being short with your girls this morning over what?  OVER WHAT?"  Because it was fine and it was fun and I really like all those babes and those mamas.

Amber said yay to me for being all 33 and going to small group.  And I told her that I felt 13 and like the odd, ugly girl out showing up and she told me odd was part of my charm.

That's me.  Oddly charming.

I've done really big (to me) things this week.  Big things out of my comfort zone and it's been amazing and good and hard.  And the amazing and good didn't outweigh the hard, these things were really hard for me.  But how can we grow if we're always in our comfort zone, huh?

I learned this week that I can step out.  I can find the front door.  I can read a book to some kiddos.  I can sit in a room with a bunch of other adults without making too big a fool of myself.

And it's been good.

Really, really good.

Sticks and Stones

A couple of weeks was long enough to hold onto these words.

long thread of stitches

Thursday I told you about my hurting heart.  Let's talk about it some.

There were these words, these words typed out in black and white.  But they felt more like red.  They felt like fire.  And knives.  They burned and they cut deep.

It was like someone lives inside this head of mine, knowing every bad thing I think and feel about myself and they said, "yes, you are right.  you are all of these awful, terrible things. plus a few more.  and no one likes you.  they tolerate you."

I read these words, til there were too many tears to see the words.  And then I put them down.  Those 2.5 pages, I put them down.  And I kept saying, "no. no. no."  Then with shaky hands and sobs and snot, I picked them up to continue reading and I hurt so bad.  Hurt like I've never hurt.

Do we even realize the power of our words to other humans?  Do we even realize?

I sat with those pages all day.  Reading them over and over.  And my friend said, "are you going to frame them?  You have to quit reading them."

I wanted an epidural.  An epidural for my heart.

That night I laid in my bed.  The words next to me, tear-stained, and folded on my night stand.  I wanted them close.  And I don't know why.  I was scared that in the night Josh would take them.  He had told me I needed to burn them.  Get rid of them.  And be done.

Not yet.

So I laid there with my head on his chest, his hand on my head in this protective way that he does.  And I couldn't quit murmuring.  There were these song lyrics that kept coming to me and so I would try to sing them, and then prayer and then verses and more lyrics and tears that just fell.

I fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up with those pages, those words beside me and in my head but the amazing thing was that they were not in my heart.

I woke up feeling free.  Bruised and hurt, but free.  I would not own these words.  But more importantly, they would not own me.

Thursday was spent just kind of wandering.  Wandering about my house and my daily tasks and the girls just knew somehow that Mama needed to not be needed.  They took care of themselves, bless their hearts.

And my friends, they took care of me.  Bless your hearts.

Thursday morning Beth Moore tweeted, "When someone is cut to pieces, words of compassion and kindness loop together in a long thread of stitches woven by the caring hand of God."

I had friends send texts and emails.  One friend, one so sweet friend, knocked on my door, handed me Starbucks, hugged me and then left.  There was so much compassion and kindness on Thursday that my heart was overwhelmingly full.  I couldn't believe it.  I really could not believe it.

A kind word would come through a text and I would think how I didn't deserve it.

Grace.

The coffee and the hug?  Seriously, I just don't have words for that act of kindness and compassion.

Grace some more.

We went out of town for this Labor Day weekend and when we got home, in my mailbox, you won't believe this, but five letters.

Five.

Full of love.

And happy.

Instead of reading those 2.5 typed pages of hurt, I'm reading handwritten notes on colorful pages with wonderful handwriting.

Salve.

You have been salve to my wounded heart, friends.  I couldn't do these days without you.  These hard, hurting days, you make them doable.

My word how I love each one of you for being a long thread of stitches, for being Jesus to me these days.

Thank you.  Just, thank you.

bruised but protected

i fell while riding my bike two days ago.

i bloodied my knee.

bruised my wrist and elbow.

but i got back on my bike yesterday.

because you have to get back on.

you can't be afraid.

you cannot live life afraid.

yesterday i was a human punching bag.

assaulted with words.

i've had hurtful words, hateful words hurled at me before.

nothing like what i experienced yesterday.

i've never had my entire body shake the way it did yesterday.

i've never cried more tears.  i've never had my head and eyes hurt that way before from all the crying.

i've never ever hurt more than i hurt yesterday.

but today i'm up.

i'm out of bed and i'm going to live this day.

and love this day.

i won't live my life afraid.

for i have a shield around me.

psalm 3:3

{I'm so glad there's her}

In 1998 Amber and I walked together at graduation.  It would be eight years before I'd see her again.  2006 came and we reconnected.  It was God answering my prayer for a friend.  I needed a friend.  Once we reconnected there was pretty much no separating us after that.  Except when the summer of 2009 came.  And then we were on a break.  A miserable break for a year.  Where I didn't know what to do with myself.  And then 2010 came, thank God, and all was right in our friendship again.  

We all need that friend that even when it goes wrong, it can go right again.

Everyone needs a friend who will wear a prom dress with them in public.

Or even in private.

Like in a dressing room.

Everyone needs a friend who will drive 400 miles round trip with them to see Johnny get Baby out of the corner.

And to measure noses with Rolos.

Everyone needs a friend who will do dishes every time they come to your house.

And who will fight for you on FB when no one else will.

Everyone needs a friend who will cotton ball a truck on a freezing night.

Everyone needs the friend who will drive to see New Kids on the Block with you (at age 28).

And who will ward off the nice man asking if we need help since the hood is up, unaware that I'm attached to a breast pump that's attached to an inverter, that's attached to the battery.  And that's why my hood was up.  Everyone needs a friend who will take a picture of that moment too.

Everyone needs that friend you can double dog dare to answer the Layaway Dept's phone at WalMart.

And then ride bicycles with in WalMart.

Everyone needs the friend who will paint your toenails in the hospital after you've had some cancer and half your colon removed.

And who will buy you a Justin Bieber alarm clock for your birthday.

And everyone needs a friend who prom pose with you.

We all need that friend who will take care of us when we've had too much to drink, who will put you in jammies, put you to bed, and fill in the blanks the next day.  Or three.  And tell you that you were fine.  Just fine.

Everyone needs the friend who will go with them to buy a nursing bra.  And try to hide their shock that it's a size 36E.  Though the shock is not hidden well.

We all need the friend who will pose in Ikea.

And take more pictures in prom dresses at Ross.

And who will double dog dare you to wear your bike helmet for an hour of yoga.

We all need that someone to sit on a barstool with at our favorite bar.

And who will rock duckface with us.

We need a friend who understands acronyms and inside jokes.

DMW.  DCM.  HFMM.  JSYK.  PJAL.  PAWL.  *@*

And who will take even more pics in yet another dressing room with us.

Before having drinks even!

We need the friend who will tell us to shut our stupid face.

Who will hang out poolside or riverside.

And everyone needs a friend who looks cute in a sombrero.

We need a friend who sits beside us in church.

Who buys the baby blanket you were dreaming of.  And that baby at age 5 still loves that blankie.

We all need a friend who is willing to try on leopard print jammies in Target.

We need the friend who makes us laugh so hard we cry and snort.  Which sends us into fits of laughter even more.

We need the friend who will commit misdemeanors with us by stealing those orange cones on the side of the road.

Everyone needs a friend who will send us flowers when we've had a shitty day. and the card reads "!!!!!" and i know that those exclamation marks mean, "hey, it's been a bad day, i can't fix it. and these flowers can't fix it. but i'm thinking of you. and it's going to get better.  you're going to get better."  

We need the friend who loves us when we aren't lovable.

I have that in Amber.  I have all of this in Amber.

Today is her birthday.

And I'm so glad there's her.

I love you, Dorothy.  Here's to 33.

XO, 

Blanche

random words

a french press does not hold enough cups of coffee.

goldfish will eat sea monkies.

starbucks tastes so much better when it's a treat.

kittens will climb your pant leg.

5 yr olds will still pee the bed.

the price of groceries is ridiculous.

live animals are better than any toy.

i miss having carpet in my living room. i'd much rather vacuum than sweep or mop.

i love fb, but i believe it was the death of many of my favorite bloggers.

i have become the girl who takes pictures of her cat.

broken people say broken words.

i love my furniture, even if no one else does.

i miss my bicycle.

this is the inside of my bible.
casino vouchers & a bumper sticker.

family are often the toughest people to love.

family can hurt you like no one else can hurt you.

i'm ready for fall.  i'm ready for the changing leaves and cozy nights.

with the encouragement of a friend, i'm setting a big goal.  like, big.  huge.

i couldn't do life without my friends.

they are the family that choose me.

Haven't we always heard that it is better to give, than to receive?

Last week I was encouraged (yet again) by a post from Ann.  She encouraged each of us to go out that day and do some random act of kindness.

The girls and I had gone to Safeway where my local Starbucks is located.  While I'm standing in line there's a mama with two small children.  One is wiggling, trying to get out of his stroller.  The other, a little girl, who doesn't really wanna obey her mama.  It was getting a little noisy and oh how I felt for this mama.

We can try so hard to get our kids to obey us in public, but ultimately, it's up to them.  This little girl wasn't having it.  She did not want to follow her mama.

They end up behind me in line and the mama, speaking out loud to her kiddos says, "let's see if Mama has enough money for a coffee."  She's counting it out but there's not enough.  She starts to leave the line and leave the store and I call for her to come back.

"I'll buy your coffee.  What is it you order?"

"You'll buy my coffee?  But no one has ever bought me a coffee before."  She tells me what she'd like and I order her Vanilla Frappuccino and she says again how no one has ever done something like this for her before.  And that it had been a bad week (it was only Monday) that it had been a bad day.

We have our bad days, don't we?  And we need something as simple as a coffee to lift us up.

It felt good to do good.

As I leave with my drink I think about how much I enjoyed being able to do that for her.  How I want to do things like that more often.

This is going to sound so ridiculous, but that's okay.  I get Starbucks probably 4-5 times per week.  Often, Josh will too.  It used to just be a Saturday morning tradition.  Then it got outta hand.

I'm spending upwards of $200 per month on a drink that makes me happy for about 30 minutes.  While, spending $4 on one coffee, for one stranger is still making me happy a week and a half later.  I told Josh I want our coffee to go back to being a treat instead of an entitlement.  I want to be more easily able to buy a coffee or a meal for a stranger.  If I'm spending that $200 a month on me, I can't be spending it on others.

Today is day three without Starbucks, and my world has not ended.  In fact, I think it's opened up.

That Backpack

After I wrote about not understanding grace and therefore not being able to accept it, I received an email (or three) from my friend Chelsea.

Chelsea's my in my face friend.  Chelsea's my reads me like a book friend.  The chick can call me out.  She takes some getting used to but I'm so glad she's friends with me.  I need her in my life.

Her email basically said, "who do you think you are not accepting this gift of grace you've been given.  you idiot."

No, really.  It pretty much went like that.

I didn't reply right away.  My first thought was, "I don't think I'm anybody, don't you get it?  That's why I don't feel like I'm deserving of this thing called grace."  But I didn't say that.  I said nothing til the next morning, and even then I had to consider how to reply to her because she's not someone you can say pretty little words to.  She reads through your crap and she'll just call you out on it even more.

(note:  if you don't have a Chelsea in your life, you need one.  now.  Go get her.)

Josh had taken the girls with him to his parents on that Saturday morning when I was going to reply to Chelsea.  Since I didn't have children at home to be concerned about burning the house down or Sharpie-ing the place up, I decided to do both my hair and make up after my shower.

I know!

I'm blow drying my (now short and blonde) hair and I'm considering my words to Chelsea.  She had asked in her email if I had sinned as badly as Paul or David.  Asking whose sins I was comparing mine to.  But that no matter, goodie goodie Christian girl or not, it still wasn't enough.  That's why it's grace.

So I'm blow drying my hair and I'm thinking about Paul's and David's sins and how I've never killed anyone or had anyone killed, but David and I, well we've got some things in common.  And look how his story came out?  He was used by God huge even though he screwed up pretty big time.

Still blow drying my hair and I begin to think about my sins.  I start thinking about them individually when this picture forms in my head of a backpack.  A tattered backpack full of these bricks.  Each labeled with a sin of mine.  Names and places and faces and words and actions.  And this backpack is so, so heavy.  Just seeing this picture in my mind makes me tired of carrying it.

I finish my hair and my make up and I sit down at my laptop to email Chelsea about my sin picture.  I'm typing out this picture of the backpack and I tell her I'm tired.  And then, then I heard a voice that I haven't heard in how many months or years I don't know, but this.  This is what He said to me,

"You weren't ever meant to carry that."

I had to stop my email to Chelsea because I couldn't see the screen anymore.  There were tears like there haven't been tears.

I could hardly breathe.

My backpack.

He's already carried it.

He carried it and He emptied it.

Well if there's nothing in it anymore, why do I insist on lugging it around?

There's no need.  I have no reason to carry around those sin bricks and this shame and this mess of who I was and who I am.  I get stuck in this thought process that if I forgive myself for who I am and what I've been that it's like saying that mess was okay.  I don't want anyone to think I think I was or am okay.  That's why I carry it.  I carry it hunched over.

It's like carrying it with me is telling people that I remember.  I know.  I know what a I screw up I've been and am.  See?  I'm not forgetting, don't you worry.  I'm showing God that I haven't forgotten.  "See, God.  Here I am.  I've got this bag.  And I've got these sins.  And I'm not letting them go because.  Well, because."  But honestly, for so long I haven't talked to God at all about me.  Because how can you talk to Someone when you feel too messed up to talk to them?

I read words by CH Spurgeon just an hour after emailing Chelsea.  These words have been on repeat in my heart this week:

"You can stand before God as if you were Christ, because Christ stood before God as if He were you."

Reread that with me.

"You can stand before God as if you were Christ, because Christ stood before God as if He were you."

Are you picking up what Spurgeon's laying down?

Because I am.  And this is what I'm picking up and I'm freaking out ridiculously excited about it.

It's this.  God sees me as He sees Jesus.  God sees you as He sees Jesus.

God sees us as He sees Jesus.

Sorry, I'm not trying to yell.  But, okay yes I am.  Because this is a big deal.  For both of us.  You and me.  Maybe you've gotten this all along and if so, I'm really happy for you.

But you see, I haven't.  This is my 19th summer I've been a Christian.  And all this time I've never grasped, never understood just how God views me.  Not ever til I read those words by Spurgeon.  Oh my God, how He loves me.  Because Jesus.

Because Jesus.

I'm taking off my backpack full of sin bricks. 

Because He says I was never meant to carry it in the first place.

this week and this heart

for nearly a week now my heart feels it could burst at any moment.

i've had one of my happiest weeks i've ever ever had.  (yesterday was sorta poop, but that was because i was being a butthole)

anyway.  i've enjoyed my days and my kids and wifeliness.  well, most of my wifeliness.  he's not been home much, that husband of mine.  last night he got home at about 8:15 pm and was back to work at 4:45 this morning.

i want to shout it over FB to everyone that my man works as hard as he does.  i want the teenage girls that are my friends or family to see that A REAL MAN WORKS.  he does what he has to do to take care of his family.  pick your man wisely, girls.  for it is forever.  i want the men on my FB who are sloths to feel a pinch, too.

we had talked awhile ago about what he'd do if for some reason he were to lose his job.  i loved what he said, "if i had to work at mcdonald's to take care of my family, that's what i would do.  there's not a job i wouldn't take so i could take care of you guys."  and yet i watch others sit without a job because they feel they're too good for this or that.

irks me.  like IRKS ME.  take care of your own, please, instead of expecting a handout.

total digression.

anyway.  i'm proud of him.

so my heart.  it's been happy.  and i thank you, my friends, who read here and either comment, or email or phone call or text in response to what i write.  it means a lot.  it really does.  because for the most part, when i'm here and i'm typing, it's just trying to get my heart out and to no one in particular.  just to get it out before i suffocate.  and sometimes what i write isn't pretty, but it's always my heart and well,

sometimes that thing isn't pretty.

it can be hard or broken or hard AND broken.  and i think that's what you may have found two posts ago.

hard and broken.

i have this really great life and swear sometimes i'm hell-bent on trying to ruin it.  so when i feel like i'm making a fantastic mess of things i wonder why the heck God would love this.  this me.  and since i can't stand me half the time, okay three quarters of the time, i figure He prolly can't either.  i forget sometimes, okay, it's not that i forget, i just haven't really believed that He created me and can't not love me.

some days, when i am not lost in self pity and wondering why God would give me children when clearly i do not deserve them, i have a teensy glimpse of why He might have just done so. why He would choose me for them.  so i could have a teensy glimpse of how much He loves me.  these girls of mine, my word.  how i don't deserve them but oh how grateful i am for them.  because there's this fierceness.  there's this, no matter what you did, Sugar and Spice, mama is gonna love you with her whole heart.  they could never do anything that would cause me to not love them.

and how much MORE He loves ME.

and YOU.

it's ridiculous.  it's ridiculous how much we are loved.

and how all the shiz we do is covered.

COVERED.

the crap i did yesterday.  the crap i did today.  and you know there will be crap tomorrow.

COVERED.

FORGIVEN.

and so my heart.

it's just been so happy and free.  and it's helped me be productive and loving and kind.

these are all things i'm not when i'm feeling the weight of me and of my ick.  i can't be loving or kind.  and i surely can't do dishes.  or laundry.  but this week has been different.

even Sugar said at the dinner table two nights ago, "Mom was happy today.  It was a good day."  and Josh looked at me and smiled.

and if you know me, you KNOW i wanted to take those words to hurt. and dwell on how i've been such a horrible mama.  instead i chose to take them to heart and be happy.  because she'd seen a difference in me that day and for once it was a good.

there's more.  more to this heart change.  and as i'm able to process it and write it, i will.

it's good.

A 'Splinker' Memory

First, Spice calls sprinklers, "splinkers" and I hope she never ever starts calling them by the correct name.

A few months ago, back in the spring, we had gone to the bank.  Our bank has these huge trees and a really nice lawn.  It was a bit breezy and the sprinklers were on.  I told the girls I'd give them each a dollar if they ran through the sprinklers.

Sugar was all over it.  She ran out into the huge yard, smiling and laughing, and got soaked.

Spice, my tentative child, hung back.  We got in the van and she says, "but I want a dollar."  I told her how she could get one.  I could see her look from me to the sprinklers and back again.

"Do you want me to go through the sprinklers with you?"

She nodded.

So all four of us got out of the van and ran through the sprinklers at the bank.

It was fun and silly and Spice got her dollar for going through the splinkers.

i don't get it, that grace thing.

i've been thinking quite a bit about grace lately.

not so much that i'm in my bible learning about it, but while i'm out changing sprinklers or folding laundry, or while my hands are in hot, soapy water, i'm thinking about grace.

i don't get it.

i certainly don't deserve it.

i'm this huge mess.  more than you realize.

why He chooses to love me, forgive me, accept me...it's beyond me.  like, BEYOND me.  i can't grasp it.  i sin and i sin and i sin so much more.

and there's this thing called grace.

i feel like i don't have room for it in my life.  like i can't understand it, so i can't accept it.

does that make sense?

i don't know why You'd choose to love me, Lord, so sorry, but i can't accept it.

i make the same mistakes over and over AND over again.  why would He forgive my crap?

i don't know.  i need to change more sprinklers, fold more laundry and put my hands in more hot, soapy water and think about it.  think about grace.

The 14th Anniversary

I woke up with my heart beating fast.

Sweaty.

A panicky feeling.

Yesterday was a bad day with the girls.  Ugh.  I just wasn't very present.  I took them to the pool a couple towns over and watched them swim.

I stood there, alone.  Other moms talking to one another.  But I was by myself this day and thinking about what a loner I can be.

At one point Sugar came up and asked me to swim with her.  "I don't have any friends here today, Mom.  Swim with me!"  And I thought about how I didn't have any friends there that day, either.  So I got in and I waded around.  I had just showered and didn't want to get my hair wet, but I did go out with her.  She's feeling awfully brave in the water these days.  Spice, too.

But we came home and I felt yuck and I sat with my Jodi Picoult book.  I warmed up some hot dogs, cut up some carrots, handed them a Capri Sun and called it lunch.  They played Legos and ate their food and I'm not sure I spoke to them for the next couple of hours.

I went to my bed.  I laid there.  The girls came upstairs and put in The Princess Bride.  They settled into their movie and I went out and laid in the pool.

Josh came home and I grabbed dinner and as soon as I had finished eating I sat outside with my book.

Yesterday was the 14th anniversary of my dad drowning.

The day threw me.  Mostly the day before, but yesterday too.  I just end up feeling weird.  Off.  Like I'm not supposed to care or I'm supposed to care more.  That I remember him too much on that day or not enough.

So I was not a good mom yesterday, nor the day before.

And this morning I woke up in a panic that everyday is like yesterday and Monday.  Not all days are.  But many.  These days are just moving so fast and I can't keep up.  I feel like we're doing so much.  I feel like we're doing nothing at all.

Breathe, Sarah.  Breathe.

I'm realizing that I make everyday sound like a bad day.  Maybe I need to start writing about our good days.  Have those memories recorded.  We do have them.  I can be a good mama on occasion.

Just yesterday wasn't that day.

Case of the Mondays for Shiz

Yuck.

That's the only way I can describe this day.

House payment is due.  Other crap is due.  I had an unexpected trip outta town today that threw my normally scheduled day for a loop.

Everyone in the house is sick.

And crabby.

I'm probably the crabbiest.

I've been having dreams about my friends lately.  They leave me feeling ick.  Like there's something wrong.  Trying to fix it hasn't helped.  This is making me crabby.  Edgy.  Worried.

Our pipes are screwed up.  The washing machine is backing up into the tub.  The kitchen sink is not draining.  And my husband works 14 hours a day anymore and is, for some reason, tired when he comes home.  Fancy that.  So I hate to tell him this stuff is happening and that I need it fixed.  And if I thought I could take care of those things without his help, I would.

I can do a whole lot of the guy stuff around here, but when it comes to pipes I leave it to Josh.

For the last hour the kids have been disobedient.  Make that two hours.

On our way home from Yakima they were being naughty and I told them I was going to pull off the next exit and spank them both.  Then I realized I didn't have time for that.  (ain't nobody got time for that)  So I told them that instead of a spanking they were just going to go to bed when we got home and have some quiet time.

A few minutes later Sugar pipes up from the back seat, "can you just spank us instead?"  Kid is SMART.  A spanking is quick, quiet time is not.  So we come home and I say no, just go to bed.  And for the last hour they have been jumping off the top bunk of Sugar's bed into pillows.

There's been nothing quiet about quiet time today and my nerves are gone.  GONE.  It's now that I dream of daycare.  Or year round public school.  OR!  OR!  Boarding school!

Is it too early to mail order bride them?  Surely in some country girls marry at the ages of five and eight, right?

I'm dreaming of a throat that doesn't hurt.  Jeans that fit.  Boobs that are unaffected by PMS.  Obedient children.  Water and sand and fruity drinks and someone to serve them to me.

I also dream of a plumber.

Silly & Ridiculous

I painted this saying on a door in our living room.  

It very much suits this girl of mine.  

This girl, who today, turns eight.

She was three days old when we left the hospital.

And no one believed us that she was smiling that day.

However, she never quit.  She has smiled everyday since that third day of life.

She's an early riser.  A happy, joyful girl.

Sugar is silly.  And strong.  And serious.

This girl of mine is quirky.  Oh so quirky.

She loves to play outside, watch tv, be with her daddy, take long baths, go for trips, 

be with her daddy, go running, play with bugs, go to the park, eat, and did I mention she loves to be with her daddy?

She doesn't like school or green bell peppers.  Nor does she like chocolate chips in her pancakes.

For the last three years she has told me she wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up.  This doesn't surprise me.  She loves animals, is passionate about animals.  Yet strong when it's their time to go.  She's just so matter of fact about everything.

This morning when she woke up she came and snuggled with me and I told her the story about finding out she was coming into my life.  Our lives.

It's not easy to tell your girl of only eight years old how she saved you.  I tried, in ways she'd understand, to explain how much I needed her in that moment eight years and nine months ago.  If not for finding out I was going to be a mama, my life was on course to come crashing around me.

I needed this girl.

I don't deserve her.

God, I don't deserve her.

But I am so thankful.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.  Your mama sure loves you.

Thank you for being all sorts of silly and ridiculous.

there's a lot of fun in puddles

I have always been a huge fan of the rain.

Several years ago my friend Keri and I were driving our cars from Yakima to home on the freeway when there was this crazy downpour.  She pulled off the side of the road, me right behind her.  We got out of our cars and just stood in the downpour.

A couple nights ago the rain just started coming down here.  Josh, the girls, and I went outside in the pouring rain.  We watched the lightning and listened to the thunder and we came in absolutely drenched.

Rain is such a good time.

But the fun doesn't end when the rain stops.

It's just the beginning.

Rain provides puddles.  And puddles are too fun to resist.  There's just no point in trying.

On my bike ride last night I saw that there were a lot of puddles along the pathway.  I prayed they would still be around today so I could take the girls on a walk and play in them.

I asked the girls to put their rain boots on and of course they want to know why, where we going, who's coming with us, are we having snacks?  Can we not just put on boots without 20 questions?  Apparently not.

And so we walked and Sugar saw a puddle and I told her to run through it.

"Really!?"  Her big blue eyes grew even bigger.  She smiled and showed off what teeth she has left.  And off she went.  Little sister was more cautious.  And it took time but toward the end of our walk, she got in on the fun, too.

You didn't think I'd miss out on the fun, did you?  I had my rain boots on too.  They double as my snow boots in the winter.

I loved watching the girls play.  So carefree.  And just loving the mess.  Made this mama heart smile.

Housekeeping....want me fluff your peelow?

You have seen Tommy Boy, right?

Okay, good.  We were almost not friends anymore.

Yesterday after I blogged, I decided to play around with my design and font and such as South Africa.

You have seen the Miss South Carolina video, right?  Such as South Africa will not make sense if you haven't.  Please head over to YouTube, stat.  And watch it.  Poor her.

Anyway, whilst playing around with my blog, I added a little dealio to the sidebar so you can get my posts in your email.  I know I get super annoyed when I got to blogs day in and day out and nothing is new.  This way, you can come here if you'd like, but if you want, you can sign up and you'll get an email with any new blog post I decide to write.

I have a few that come to my email and it's kind of a cool deal.  Anyway, just letting you know it's on the left hand side of your screen.

You're welcome.

she talked me through my crazy. and i feel joy. with just a side of crazy now.

After months and months of wanting to and more importantly needing to, I went back to counseling today.

It's been a long road to get to this point of making the phone call and asking my counselor to meet with me.  I called her a few weeks ago, let it ring once and hung up.  And then I cried.  I've known I need to be there. I've known I need someone to talk to.

I have a husband and two best friends and I talk to each of them about different things but I don't talk to any of them about everything.

I've shut down and I've shut out.

I've internalized a whole lot.  And that's not like me.

The last couple of weeks have been hard.  HARD.  Like, if not for these kids, I wouldn't get out of bed.  Like, I hardly speak to my husband because I've found myself resenting him.  Like, I'm gone from home quite a bit during the day because I feel like I'm failing while I'm here.  Like, the other night I looked at the Tylenol PM bottle and wondered just how many I needed so I could just keep sleeping.

I've been nearing the point of combustion.

So Wednesday I call and I leave a message for my counselor asking if she'll pretty pretty please with sugar on top meet with me.  And she calls back within a couple of hours and I'm expecting to not be seen for a few weeks but no.  No, she has an appointment in two days.  And would that work for me?

Yes, yes it would.  I think I can keep it together a couple more days.

For the most part this has been one of my best weeks in a long time.  My friend Trevor is partly to thank, and a very long overdue conversation with the husband is as well.  I have been feeling healthy.  Restored.

Renewed.

And then BAM!  I'll get hit with some bad news or someone says the wrong thing or I remember something I didn't do or something I did do and I'm thrown for a loop all over again.

This week I have been trying my damnedest to find my joy again.  And the enemy.  Oh he's here to destroy me.

About a month ago my friend Katie suggested buying and reading the devotional Jesus Calling by Sarah Young.  And so I did.  I bought it.  A month ago.  And have I opened it?  Not until a few days ago.  And when I did?!  "Do not let fear dissipate your energy."  "The battle for control of your mind is fierce, and years of worry have made you vulnerable to the enemy."  "You are not alone in this struggle for your mind."

Are you freaking kidding me?

I was kinda dumbfounded.  These were words I needed.  Absolutely needed.

The mind is a battlefield.  Mine is constantly at war.  And I'm tired.  Oh so tired.  For the first time in a long time I prayed for myself.  I asked God to fight for this mind of mine.  To win the battle for me because I'm just so tired of fighting.

I'm so tired.

Monday was a good day.  Then I decided it's high time this fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants family needs to get on a schedule.  A fairly tight schedule.  So I write it out, not once or twice or even three times but four because I have to.  The first one is the rough draft and the second one needs some tweaking and the third one I messed up and needed to cross something off.  The fourth one will probably become five.

Anyway.

So there's this schedule that I started and later Josh and I were talking and he says, "I think we should have a schedule."  And I laughed.  Monday through Thursday we will stick to this schedule the best we can and Friday-Sunday will be much more relaxed.

Back to today.  To the counseling day.

Amber asked yesterday if I was scared.  I wasn't.  Til I pulled up and then the nerves hit.  What was I even there for?  What did I think she was going to solve for me?

I walk in and the place is still the same.  Calm.  Serene.  Welcoming.

And she opens the door and she smiles and I just love her and know it's good I'm here.

She sits in her chair and she has her mostly consumed, watery coffee drink in her hand. "So what brings you here, Sarah?"

I'm still wearing my purse and my legs are crossed and my hands are between my knees and my shoulders are slumped.

I raise my head and I look at her.

"I don't know how to do it.  I just don't know how."

She waits for me to continue.

"I don't know how to be a wife and mama.  At least not a good wife or mama.  I just want to know how.  I want to know what's expected.  What it's supposed to look like.  I want to know if I'm doing anything right because I sure know I'm doing plenty wrong."

It might have all been said in one breath even.  And just getting it out.  Just voicing my concern, my fear, a weight was lifted.

She smiles.

"You always have been too hard on yourself, haven't you, Sarah?"

And I know I have been.  But being too hard on myself doesn't mean it makes me try harder.  It means I feel defeated.  It means that since I know I can't do it all, I do nothing.  And then the guilt.

Oh, the guilt.

And that's when the sleeping pills are enticing.

My too high of expectations get me absolutely nowhere but down.  But I don't know where the middle ground is.  I don't know what this mothering, wifeliness, homemakerness is supposed to look like.  So for 15 years of marriage and eight years of mothering I've muddled through.

I've lived my days waiting for bedtime.

Whether bedtime for the kids or bedtime for me.  I just wanna make it to bedtime.

So I make it to bedtime and oft times I will lie awake and I will think of everything I did wrong in my day.  Or the day before.  The month or year or decade before.  And I will be ill.  And I will cry and cry and there's nothing that can be done to change what I did.  Or, what I didn't do.

That's where I feel I've failed the most.  In what I haven't done as a wife and mama that I should have.  So I ache.  I ache that I can't hold my babies more or read to them more or play with them more or kiss an owie instead of saying, "you're fine, don't cry."  I ache that I didn't interact enough, engage enough.

slumped shoulders.

heavy sigh.

even heavier heart.

"What do you feel is your biggest issue with the girls?"

And I told her that I feel I just don't connect well with them.  I'm terrible at spending play time with them.  I hate to play.  I like to do random, stupid stuff like the other day - Oh, the sprinklers are on at the bank?  Let's pull over and run through them and jump back in the car and race away.

But please, I beg you, children, do not ask me to play make-believe with you.

I talk and she listens.  She talks and I listen.

I tell her about my girls.  Their love languages.  I tell her that for five years (Spice's lifetime) that I have felt Sugar has been in the shadow.  Her sweet, baby sister has been quite demanding since birth.  Heck, since the womb.  And poor Sugar has taken a back burner to attention, affection, all of it.

My heart hurts typing that out.  It hurt earlier saying it aloud.

But sometimes the truth just hurts.

She gives me suggestions, ways to spend time with my girls.  "20 minutes.  Start with 20 minutes of one on one time with each girl.  Just that will put you ahead of most families out there."  Apparently I'm not the only one who has this problem?  Others do too?!

After talking over ways I could spend one on one time with them I felt a little better.  But then choked up.

"I know what to do from here, but how...how do I let go..." and I can feel the ugly cry making its way.
"How do I let go of the guilt from all the years I haven't been doing it right?"

She asks if I've ever heard of the devotional Jesus Calling.  I smile and tell her yes, that I just started it.  Just a couple of days ago in fact.  This book must be great, for Katie to recommend it, for my counselor to recommend it, for me to be reading it right now when God wants me to be.  I don't think it's a coincidence that I just started to read it or that both of them recommended it.

(maybe you should get it, too?)

There's nothing I can do about the past.  It's forgiven already.  I can't go back.  I need to stop holding onto it.  It's time to move forward.  It's time to get intentional.

"Sarah, I'm going to suggest something that I know will probably be difficult for you.  But I think it'd be really good for your family to get on a schedule."

And I just laugh.

Because she has no idea I just decided my family needed one.  That I've written one out.  I tell her why I'm laughing.  I know that God is affirming these choices I've been making in the last week.  And it feels good to finally be doing something right.

This schedule.  Scheduling in family time.  Scheduling in down time (I've wondered if my choosing to have a Quiet Time during the day is selfish but she was pretty adamant that no, it's not, that it is good for all involved to have a quiet time during the day).  And scheduling in some Sarah Refuel Time.  Like my gym time.

I can feel it's nearing the end of my session and I've been so encouraged during my time there, I feel equipped.  I feel ready.  But now I have to leave the office and actually implement these tasks and I can feel myself start to panic.

"There are going to be days where you mess up the schedule.  Where you didn't get time in with the kids.  But there's tomorrow."

sigh of relief.

I left the office and I felt like I could breathe.  I feel joy and I feel hope.  These are wonderful feelings when you've been feeling so dark and lonely and all strangled up inside.  The joy.  The joy feels the best in this moment.  Because like Ann Voskamp says in this post:

"If you don't fight for joy, it's your children who lose."

I'm fighting.  I'm fighting for joy.  For these girls of mine.

For this life of mine.

One acre in bits and pieces

I'm a big picture kinda girl.

I wanna see what it's all gonna look like when it's done.

I want nothing in stages.  I want all of it.

But then I get overwhelmed thinking of what it takes to get everything done.  So I do nothing at all.

Probably one of the biggest things (on a long list) about myself that I don't like.

I'm trying to change this about myself.  It started last year with a cycling trip I took (and never wrote about) and now I'm working on my one acre of property.  It's a pretty big mess.  Weeds.  Dirt.  More weeds.  A few cars.  Ugh.

I know what I want it to look like.  Neat and tidy and welcoming and home.

It'll probably take me years.  I'm slow.  I'm poor.  I'm not very strong.  I don't have the right equipment for the jobs.

But I started a couple of weeks ago with one area.  And I'm going to freaking work that one area until it is done and until I love it.  It may take all summer but I will not get ADD and move onto the next area of my property until this one section is finished - dammit!

(sorry...)

(not sorry...)

I really should wear jeans when using this.

Quite a few years ago we bought these cute little blocks to put down the north side of the house.  We bought like $40 worth and never bought any more.  For about four years they've looked like this.  Sigh.

I took them out (with the help of my sister) and we dug out sod and made a straight line down the house.  I'm going to lay railroad ties as the edge and plant flowers and bushes and ground cover.  And I will NOT move on to another area until this area is done.  It's about 40 feet long and maybe 3-4 feet wide.

My goal is to have this spot done by the end of June.

We'll see...