i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours...

i was inspired by another blog to do this... i thought it was so perfectly funny and refreshing to read another woman airing out her "top 5 quirks" of the year.  immediately i thought, i should do that.  and although i have many... oh-so-many things that make me quirky... i will name the top 5 i've noticed in myself this year.  in other words, they've probably existed in me for a long time... but i'm only now beginning to dust off the surface of my very crazy self.

i hope you feel inspired to do so as well.

1.) i'm sure every mother has their thing that they obsess over with their child.  for some it's body temperature... which i don't really care about, as my mother likes to point out every time she sees her grandson and thinks he's freezing to death (even though he's just fine to me).  for others it's a sleep schedule... and leif has forced me to throw my hands up in the air on this one.  i've spent the last 20 months of his life trying to figure him out and finally gave in because he is not like all of your perfectly sleep trained children (read... he is STUBBORN)  he fights sleep and i'm tired of fighting him to conform so i gave up.  as long as he takes a nap at some point and goes to bed before 9 (but preferably 8) i'm happy.  tonight i had him in bed by 8... he finally went to sleep at 9:30.

see?

i. give. up.

nope.  for me it's something else... choking... on food more specifically.

the child will be starving to death and i'm over at his plate sawing his food into tiny pieces because lord help us all if i have to perform the heimlich on him.  if he were to choke, i'd probably run around in circles asking myself if he qualifies for the infant method or the adult method.  it's so bad, that when others give him chunks of food, i break them into smaller pieces when they're not looking because i'm just sure they are the obstruction his little throat has been waiting for.

it doesn't help that a couple of times, when i've tried to relax about it, he's choked.  for instance, the other night he was in the bathtub and i was chewing on crushed ice from a cup (a pregnancy craving, i guess).  he likes ice too.  this evening in particular he was asking for pieces of ice and then watching what happened when they hit the water.  at first i was giving him tiny pieces, in case he stuck them in his mouth.  but after several pieces going straight into the bathwater i loosened the reigns.

bad move.

when he asked for another piece i gave him a larger piece so that it would last longer in the bathtub.  what did that child do, you ask?  plopped it straight into his mouth.

breath monica, i told myself, he's almost 2 years old, he chews on ice all the time.  

he's fine.  

you. need. to. chill.  

so i sat back and pseudo-relaxed while my little man sat there happily bathing and sucking on ice.  and then he gagged on it... the dirty rat.  just when i start to let go of my obsession he sucked me back in.

of course, he cleared it himself just fine and didn't even hardly wince.  i, on the other hand, was getting ready to pull out my iPhone and start searching for how-to videos on clearing ice from your toddlers throat.

he'll probably be the only kid in elementary school whose sandwich will fit in a tiny container instead of a ziplock bag because i will have cut it for him into small, bite size pieces.  not really... i mean, i actually let him eat a 1/2 of a sandwich this week without cutting it up.  i stood their in the kitchen admiring the mastery of his whole sandwich-eating-ability and patting myself on the back for being such a great mother.  he's so brilliant, i thought to myself.

but i'll still probably puree his raw vegetables.

just kidding... or am i?  :)

2.) my kitchen has to be clean when i go to bed.  i repeat... i can not go to sleep unless the kitchen is immaculate... well, that may be too strong of a word now that i have a child.  but even still, the dishes must be loaded (the correct way) into the dishwasher, hand washed items must be cleaned and on the drying rack, crumbs wiped off of the counters and tables and i would prefer that all of the days work, receipts, papers, etc. are tucked away.  i don't care whether you tuck them down your pants or put them where they belong... i just don't want to see them. (although this is why i have so many little baskets all over the place because my husband is the king of receipts and papers that i cannot get rid of).  i want the illusion of cleanliness.  it helps me to feel in control and able to handle what you throw at me.

the minute my kitchen gets "undone" i feel my soul start to itch and scratch.  i'm pretty sure my left eye twitches and i probably start giving the look to kjaer when i see him set things on the counter.  in fact, my high-metabolism man often eats an evening snack before going to bed and i just cannot understand how that certain dish can't make it into the dishwasher.  he sets it on the counter above the dishwasher... not in it.  when i see this, nearly every night, my blood boileth over.  i've tried to just quietly put it away or mention it in passing... but it's clearly not a quirk of his that he sees as very important because he just handsomely smiles at me and shrugs while he says i was going to take care of it later.  (i hate that word... later... blech).  and he probably has every intention of doing it later... but later has a different meaning to kjaer than it does to me.  later might mean tomorrow morning or three days from now.  but me... i want it done NOW (another quirk that will probably not make the top 5 cut).  

the kitchen is my domain. i am its ruler.  and it must be respected by all who enter.

3.)  number two reminds me of another thing that is quirky.  my house could have dust an inch thick on its furniture, floors that haven't been vacuumed in 2 weeks, laundry piles the size of everest... but if my kitchen and living room floors are swept i feel so. much. better.

i remember after i had leif one of my biggest frustrations was my house felt like it was falling apart.  i felt totally responsible for keeping it clean to my old standards (i think because i was home and not working).  these standards have sooo-ho-ho changed since b.b. (before baby) but i could not figure out how to balance cleaning with a brand new baby (and the increase leif brought in laundry, changing the sheets nearly every day because of my crazy milk supply, and just functioning in general!)  

one time, my mother in law had taken me to a doctors appointment (because i still couldn't drive).  when i got home i was a wreck.  i went to the bathroom and bled on our white bathroom rug and then i had to nurse leif, which at the time was like asking me to lead the entire nation in a prayer meeting.  i was very stressed out, sitting in the nursery trying to figure out how i could accomplish one thing that would make me feel better since everything else was a fiery disaster.   my mother in law had been kind enough to clean the blood off of the rug for me and she came in and asked if there was anything else she could do for me before she left. 

i couldn't help myself.  deep down i heard all of the wisdom of new-mothers-past whispering in my ears; when people ask what they can do for you, be honest and tell them what would help.

and yes, you guessed it...  i asked her to sweep my floors. 

i just knew if they were cleaner, i would feel better. 

and seriously, i could have kissed her feet for sweeping them. (still could)

she turned my whole day around with a broom and a dust pan.

i'm still so grateful for that kind gesture of hers.  she'll probably never understand what that meant to my fragile little self on that day.  

4.) strangely, in spite of kind gestures like that... i have a very hard time accepting help in any form from people.  some of this has to do with my control issues.  when leif was born people were helping by folding my towels and putting them away, folding his diapers and putting them away... just little jobs they thought i would appreciate.

and i really tried to appreciate them.

really... i did.

but nobody folds my towels and puts them away the way i do.  and only a handful of people know how to fold the diapers and stack them the way i like.  so, if you are kind enough to do these things for me, i'll appreciate your gesture... but i can only live a day or two before refolding and restacking these two items.  but don't worry too much, because i'll feel guilty the whole time.  i can feel my husband's eyes boring into the back of my neck as i busily refold things and i can hear him thinking they are just towels and diapers, woman!  let it go.  but i know he is very particular about other things like the exact cup he drinks from for each beverage he consumes, water spots on the bathroom sink and how to hang his clothes... so he can't be too hard on me.

the other reason i can't accept help is because i feel like i need to be independent all of the time.  i think this is a trait i've picked up on from my mom, because my dad travelled for work most of my life so she was responsible for everything.  just the other day i was getting stuff ready for my thirty-one mailing, working on washing and drying diapers, cleaning the kitchen (duh) and getting ready to leave for a lunch date with a dear friend of mine.  i already felt like a champ because i had asked for help (gasp) by seeing if kjaer could return something to costco he was unhappy with and pick up a few items there.  but i wanted to handle the rest... i was going to go to kinkos to run copies for my mailing, pick up more laundry soap (we have to buy a special kind for our diapers) and go to lunch.  kjaer very kindly took my copy and asked me how many copies he could make for me while i was out to lunch and i practically snatched it from his hands exclaiming i can do it, you don't have to. kjaer kind of stood there shell-shocked because he was just trying to be nice, after all, and here i was not letting him be nice to me.  i could tell from the look on his handsome brow that he couldn't understand why i wouldn't just accept his kind gesture and just let him help me out.

and then i found myself back peddling... copies are no big deal, i'll be going right by the kinkos store on the way home, blah, blah, blah.  but the whole time i was b.s.-ing i was thinking, what the heck is wrong with you?  you always complain how overwhelmed you are and here this man is trying to let you have an enjoyable afternoon with your friend while he shows his love for you by doing errands for you and watching leif.  

it's a sickness, i suppose.  very unhealthy.  

i definitely need to improve upon this before baby k2 arrives, because i'll need more help than ever and kjaer is my teammate.  

when i asked kjaer the other night about my quirks (because i was thinking about this blog) and i mentioned this one... he whole-heartedly agreed.  the speed in which his agreement came almost validated how bad i really must be.  

i'm working on it, people... really.

5) i'm terrified of antiperspirant and microwaves.  this has only developed in the last couple of years, i'm pretty sure because i witnessed the horrific cancer death of my father.  as i've walked away from that experience, much stronger and wiser in many ways... i've also walked away with several fears.  the biggest one being that i will get... or someone i love will (again) get... cancer.  if somebody i love has a weird sore or something weird going on (like when trooper was sick this summer) i go into crazy-cancer mode.  (just ask kjaer about the time he found me laying on troopers dog bed with him crying because i was sure he was dying of cancer... maybe i'll save that for another blog).

of course, i do the only logical thing... i blame it on antiperspirants and microwaves... even though there are sooooo many factors at stake (and clearly trooper doesn't wear deodorant... although his food IS by the microwave).  actually, i have to say i've always been a little teensy bit jumpy around microwaves.  that probably started back in the day of disney afternoons with my brothers after school.  we'd make snacks and watch tailspin and gummy bears while waiting for my aunt to come home to watch us.  one day i got the bright idea to microwave chocolate chips on a mound of peanut butter covered in tin foil.  apparently no one informed me about metal in microwaves.  well, a spark was thrown and i turned off the microwave faster than... well, i don't know... but fast enough that everyone and everything was ok.  when i called my mom at work to tell her of said spark, she quickly schooled me on microwave safety and probably breathed an audible sigh of relief that her daughter didn't burn down her house with her other more well behaved children inside.  

so ever since then i haven't trusted those things.  

when leif was born, my microwave conspiracy theory heightened.  every morning when i made my oatmeal before work, i would press start and take leif into another room... or at least scooch his high chair AWAY from that side of the room.  i'm particularly scared of kjaer's microwave i inherited through marriage, as it has the tendency to scorch something if you cook it the recommended way.  i have to cook it at reduced power (80%) for everything.  

i knew my aversion to microwaves had gone too far when i casually brought up said fear to my dear martha after dragging leif's high chair across the floor to nuke my coffee before leaving for work.  (see? we even say "nuke"... shouldn't that tell us all something?)  she kind of giggled at me.  then i proceeded to tell her i never prepared any of leif's food in the microwave.  i could tell she knew i was on board the crazy train when she asked if i prepared food for myself in the microwave and i responded... "well... yes..."  we both sort of laughed and i told her that in THIS particular case, it was better off left as "if i don't know about it, i won't care."  thereby giving her full reign of the microwave.  as long as we both understood that i didn't want to know because i knew i'd go a little crazy thinking about my little dudes brains getting "nuked".  

this is around the same time my armpits began to get sore in the lymph node region.  i'd sigh and toss and turn at night worrying that i had cancer of the armpits because of my deodorant. i'd google cancer findings on antiperspirant and scare the crap out of myself every time i'd read something else about it.  i'd rub my armpits and exclaim i had cancer to kjaer every day.  i couldn't understand why, when i went to buy kjaer's deodorant, HE could get it without antiperspirant and still smell like a dream by the end of the day... but the ENTIRE aisle of women's deodorant was antiperspirant ONLY.  i mean... i guess that just lends itself to the whole pressure of society on how perfect women have to be because they AREN'T EVEN ALLOWED TO PERSPIRE!  we started shopping for deodorant's without aluminum at health food stores, trying to find one that left me feeling as fresh as possible.  all i have to say about this endeavor is although my friends and family never said anything about my smell... i still felt not-so-fresh.  so i'd cheat and use my secret lavender which was chock full of aluminum and then spend all day worrying that i'd have cancer.  it was and is a vicious cycle.  

now that i work part time i wear my antiperspirant on days that i work and on days that i don't i use the crappy deodorant that doesn't work nearly as good as my husbands (don't ask me why) because usually on those days it's just him, leif and the people i run into at the grocery store who have to see me... and i don't know about you but they don't hug me when i pay for my groceries, so i'm ok with not smelling like a goddess on those days.  i still worry about my three days of using (sometimes 4), but figure that less exposure is better than 24/7 exposure.  

6.)  i have a terrible aversion to any sort of light after i've gone to bed.  i learned this after living with my dear husband... who wakes up in the middle of the night, goes out to the kitchen, turns on a light,  eats a bowl of cereal, comes back to bed and is back asleep in no time.  he does the same thing when he goes to the bathroom.  i mean, we're talking direct exposure to light, people!!  

i just can't even make sense of him!

i'd be laying in our dark room and the light in the kitchen would go on... i'd practically arch my back like a pissed off cat and hiss.  if light even touches my irises, i'm doomed.  i'm awake.  

for this reason alone, i mentally map out every environment i sleep in so that i can find my way to the bathroom, use said bathroom, and return back to bed without touching a single switch.  in some places (like my home) i've even done part of my bathroom trek with my eyes closed because of a nightlight or kitchen light that i thought was too offensive.  when leif was a newborn i could change his diaper in the dark or by light of a cell phone.  only on very rare occasions would i reach around the doorway into another room to turn that light on and close the door almost all of the way so that i could have a sliver of light to see with...  although, i would have fallen asleep standing up in broad daylight during those days as i was so exhausted.  don't know what i was so worried about.  it must be that it isn't even the falling back asleep factor, which sometimes plays a big part.  it's also just the sight of light when it's SUPPOSED to be dark.  it's just bad for business.  

i'm so bad that before leif was born, when kjaer would be going into our closet to get clothes early in the morning for himself he'd have to say "LIGHTS" and i would cover my head with a pillow until i heard the switch go off.  (he's up about an hour before me).  even now that kjaer and i have been living together for several years, he's so good at getting up and getting what he needs in the dark, shutting the door behind him and then turning the bathroom light on.  i still can manage to lay there, bothered by the light coming from under the doorway.  

the weirdest part about this is that i was terrified of the dark as a little girl.  in fact, i had to sleep with the hall light on until i was in the 8th grade.  is that even normal?  i always figured that most kids got over that fear earlier than i did.  

7.)  sometimes, when i run by myself... i count.  it's hard to explain and it's been such a long while since i've actually been able to run long enough to get into a rhythm (sigh)... but it's like i count my steps and breathing and how they synch up together.  it sounds, if i remember correctly, a little like one-un-un, two-oo-oo, three-ee-ee, one-un-un, two-oo-oo, three-ee-ee.  don't ask me to explain anymore... it gives me a rhythm, keeps my feet moving and my mind off of the work i'm doing.

well... there you have it.  my quirks.  those things you probably wouldn't know unless you were a fly on the wall. and yes, i realize that i originally wanted to tell you 5 but then the 6th and 7th ones sort of just jumped onto the page.  i can count, i just can't stop blabbering on about myself!   

but now i'm curious.

 i know we all have these little things others might find odd... so let me hear yours... if you dare. 

running (on empty)

so... it's been approximately 14 months since my last run.  it was a tearful day when i hung up my mizuno's and sobbed to my husband (who kept nodding and smiling because i was an emotional pregnant woman) that I JUST COULDN'T DO IT ANYMORE!  

not because i didn't want to... but because i simply couldn't.

i know some of you girls who somehow kept running through your pregnancies.  you amaze me.  if i had golden crowns and scepters, i'd give you one of each.  because this girl could absolutely not trot one mile further.  

it was quite a strange revelation for me.  i mean, i'd been running for 5 years of my life.  i'd completed three 1/2 marathons, a handful of 10K's and countless 5K's in very respectable form... but the minute Leif sprang into existence, my body sold me out.  it decided HE was more important... i guess it was right.  it only took me the entire first trimester to figure out it wasn't about ME anymore. 

sometimes i don't catch on too quickly. 

i think my last run was 4 miles... i can't remember.  i just remember that it was a sunday and i was so dog tired from trying to continue my running regiment that i slept the afternoon away and woke up with the sorest thighs i'd ever had in my life.  

while this might be normal for someone who doesn't run, to someone who ran these distances weekly for 5 years, it seemed a little strange.  i decided i could no longer go at that pace anymore. 

 hence... the quitting. 

well... maybe a nicer way to say it was... the pausing.  

so...

i resorted to lifting weights and dreaming about running.  during my pregnancy i'd have these amazing dreams about running.  i'd wake up refreshed and excited... and then i'd wistfully remember that it would probably be quite awhile before running was like that for me again.  

then leif was born and i had two handsome guys in my life.  but time flew out the window and i'd find myself thinking... will i ever get to go back?  it was a very scary thought because running has been my outlet for years.  i had started running in 2006 to get in shape for my trip to Israel and challenge myself physically... but then it became more than that.  i completed my first half marathon in 2008 with my dad, mom and handsome man cheering wildly for me at the finish line.  

little did i know that 9 months later my dad would be diagnosed with cancer and my life would seemingly spin into uncertainty.  during this time running kept me grounded.  it was my place to talk to (and scream at) God.  i remember in June, when we found out that my dad's cancer had metastasized, i went out for a run right before a rainstorm.  i was so upset i could hardly see straight.  i started jogging down my typical path and got about 300 feet away from the trailhead when the rain and thunder started.   i was so pissed off... not so much about the storm but about the fact that my dad was going to die.  then i started crying.  

and it wasn't a pretty cry... it was definitely an ugly cry.  

but i didn't care.  i threw my fists up and God and screamed... i was angry.  i wanted to know WHY.  WHY was i going to lose my dad?  i sobbed "why" over and over and turned around.  i sprinted home with feet that could have broken through concrete.  when i got back to the trailhead i just continued screaming why and sobbing.  i think it was an adult temper tantrum in the presence of God.  

it was OK, though... God totally understood.

and when i got home... i had cried it all out and had physically exhausted myself.  the shortest run of my life had become a pivotal moment to vent to God face to face... who had it all under control.  there was the real, vulnerable me... standing in front of God like a frightened child.  and He was there... His heart breaking right alongside of me.... filling me up with peace and mercy.

after my dad passed away, running became a place to pray for strength and to focus myself on the joys and beauty of life and the blessings i had.  it became a routine i needed to help me move forward... out of the pain and heartache. 

seasons passed and i began to heal... and though i'll never be the same... i hope i can say that i've become a better person because of what i went through.  i know it was only because of grace and mercy that i pressed forward... and God used running as a way to stitch me back together...

step by step.

so you see what it's important to me... right?
you see why i was devastated when i realized that i couldn't do it?

this month leif coltrane turned 7 months old!  SEVEN MONTHS!!!  i can't even believe how fast he's grown.  he's amazing... so smiley and giggly.  he raises one eyebrow at me just like his dad and has such a calm soul.  i love that kid...  just love him.

it also just so happens to be my favorite time of year to run.  i love the smell of fall leaves and the crisp autumn air.  i love afternoon highs in the 60's.  since i'm still breastfeeding leif there was just no way i could run before work like i used to.  i already get up at 5 to feed leif and get to work by 7:15 (OK, OK... i'm always 5 minutes late... 7:20).  running would mean a 4 AM wake up call... and i'm already tired as it is.  

but cool afternoons are great for me.  i can come home, feed leif and then leave for a run.  so about a month ago when the weather was just right (overcast, the air heavy with the smell of leaves) i decided

it.

was.

time.

since i had basically done nothing but work, laundry and take care of a baby for the past 6 months, i started from scratch, the way i first began running 6 years ago.  i have a book with a run/walk plan.  it's all based on intervals.  the first run is: run 1 min., walk 2 min., 12 times.  essentially, you increase the running time and decrease the walking intervals over a 12 week period until you are running a solid 60 minutes.  my running partner, B, and i always run intervals.  it's just that we'd do a 5 or 10 minute interval, walk 1 minute and do it again.  so that's my goal.  

the first week of runs were brilliant.  i came home happy, crunching leaves all the way.  i'd come trotting up to my house, rays of sunshine oozing out of my pores.  i'd kiss kjaer and leif and exclaim, "it's like i'm super-mom!!!" and hop in the shower feeling like a champ.  

the next week my running time increased to 2 minutes which added another mile and a half onto my journey.  this first big increase happened to take place on a very warm (80 degree) afternoon.  about halfway through i was sucking air and thinking WHY the HELL do i like this?

it was a dark, dark moment for me.  

i think my dog was thinking the same thing too.  by the end of it he was trotting very slowly behind me and i was practically pulling him home.  

it was a tad bit disheartening.  

the following week we were struck down with the stomach flu... and now we have some nasty virus.  so... needless to say, although i've been getting out the door... it isn't at the rate i imagined it would be.  i get a run in here or there, but increasing my intervals seems pointless because every time i get a week under my belt, we get knocked down with some illness and i can't run for the next week.

the problem is... i want to be in killer shape NOW.  i don't want to do all of the hard work it takes to get there.  i just want to snap my fingers, lose my last 15 pounds and be a runner again.  i want to lace up my shoes, start my garmin and run off into an oblivion without wondering how many more seconds until i can walk again?  

but that isn't how it works, is it?  it's the showing up every day, the sweat, the tears that define us... and not just in running... in life.  if we had our way and life came so simply... we'd all be walking around with heads as big as the moon and hearts the size of peas.  life was designed to mold and shape us through patience, perseverance and yes... humility.   (and trust me, chubby mommy thighs rubbing together and sucking air after running for 90 seconds is currently keeping me humble).   these are the things that make or break us... and i want it to make me so that each day i'm more refined and gracious than the last.

so... even though my tank seems as if it's out of gas.  even though i run two minutes (and stare at my watch for the last minute of every 2 minute interval whilst i wheeze away)... i'm going to keep on trucking.  in doing so i hope to find a part of my old self and pieces of myself i've never known before... all the while,  staying grateful, focused and grounded.  

well... that's my prayer, at least.

hot messiness...

the other evening, as i was standing in front of my loving husband and partner, i had a revelation of sorts.  it came when his face contorted as he stared at my baby belly, all decked out in my current favorite evening attire... a tank top, a holey gray sweater and velour pajama pants.  at first i thought he was admiring the beauty of motherhood, the miracle of how a woman can carry a living being inside of her... you know, something corny like that. 

but no... he stared, smiled a little and asked,
"how did you manage to get deodorant marks on the front of your belly?"

i tried looking at my tummy, but alas, the marks were below my line of vision (like my toes, knees, or underside of my huge belly, etc.), so i just shrugged because he and i both know the answer.  this is how i was made.  i'm a hot mess and a half.  it's a day in the life of me.  no bigs.

we had a good laugh and then i meandered off somewhere off in our house, wondering to myself just how much of a hot mess i really am.  i say this with true sincerity and humor... it's kind of something i've come to love and appreciate about myself... even if it's not perfect.  it's me and i'm ok with it.

for instance... the first time i went out and bought maternity pants, i was so relieved to be fitting into something so forgiving and relaxed.  on monday morning i was so excited to don my new attire, i felt like a new woman... no longer crammed into her old pants with a belly band.  i arrived to work, hair done, make-up pristine... even lip gloss, i never wear lip gloss.  i felt half-way decent looking.  another woman was chatting away with me.  as i turned to go about my business she called me back over to her and reached behind my leg.  RIIIIIIIPPPP!  she handed me a sticker, the big long sticker that proudly displayed the size of my pants to the world that had been running down the back of my hamstring.  ummm... yup.

but it's not just when i've been pregnant.  a couple of years ago i showed up to work with two different types of flip flops on.  a plain black one from old navy, and a fancy shiny one with glam on it on the other foot.  i didn't even notice until i was at work.  by then, it was too late and i had to work all day with little munchkins sitting at my feet asking, "mrs. K?  why are you wearing two different shoes?"  i don't know children!  your teacher is a complete airhead.  just listen to the story please and stop worrying about my feet!

once, whilst running with my running buddy and furry bff (trooper), i stepped on a stick with my left foot, which sent the other part of the stick shooting up in front of my right foot.  one second i was happily chatting with my dear friend, the next minute i was laying on the pavement... my dog looking worriedly at me as i laid there laughing. 

the best part is that not to long after that happened, i was running with my running partner and another dear friend and we were talking about said fall.  of course, my foot hit a clump of dirt and i was sent flying.  actually, it was more like i twisted my body and rolled onto my back like a turtle on its shell.  it was amazing and graceful all at once... at least in my eyes.  we laughed about it for days.

during my 2nd trimester, i got up in the middle of the night for a bathroom break.  (when am i NOT taking one of those?)  on the way back from the bathroom i tripped over my in-laws dog, who i had forgotten we were dogsitting.  fortunately, it was a gentle trip, i landed on all fours and started laughing to myself in the darkness. (don't worry, no creature... the dog or my unborn child or me, were harmed in the making of that instant) i don't even think kjaer woke up for that moment of glory.

but it's not just thrills and spills that make me this way...
 there's plenty of other little things that make me a hot mess. 

truth be told, i've always been a little like this.  even though my mother would claw anyone's eyes out who said otherwise, my elementary days were the epitome of hot messiness.  thick glasses, missing teeth, a perm with feathered sides and poofy bangs.  i was hot.  there was no denying it.  

in middle school and high school i got better at disguising my hot messiness.  but didn't most of us?  we spent (at least i did) most of the time faking our way through those years, looking as cool and pulled together as we could.  even in my later high school years, when i tried rejecting the mainstream stuff and going goth (or what i thought was goth), i was still concerned with covering up my imperfections.  i had to look like a cool non-mainstream girl who didn't care what others thought.  but i did, secretly, i did.

college was a whole new set of hot messiness.  those of you who know me, know that those aren't my most glorious years due to my own mistakes.  but nonetheless, they changed me and made me the woman i am today, so for that i'm grateful. 

as the last decade has whizzed by (i can't even believe it's been 11 years since i graduated from college) i've started going back to my roots.  you know... the little geeky girl with the perm.  and to be honest, i kind of like that deep down, i'm still her.  goofy, ditzy and just silly.  first and foremost, because it lends itself to many funny moments that keep me laughing.  secondly, it entertains those around me who love me.  i think my husband wouldn't know what to do with himself if i was perfect and pulled together.  i think he adores those moments when he shakes his head and says, of course you just did that!  and i smile back at him like, yes i did... but you married me so who's the sucker now?!?!?  

for the longest time i used to hide those pictures of myself, shameful of what people would think of nerdy monica and her weirdness.  but now i just know that it's how God made me... a little dose of sunshine with toilet paper stuck to her shoe. so laugh all you want at the hairs of mine that just won't smooth down, the piece of lettuce in my teeth; i'll be here all week... and the rest of my life... trying to embrace what makes me real and tangible.  i'm not perfect and the more i figure that out, the more i like who God made me... and thank goodness!

i mean, how else would you get a good giggle in if i didn't show
up to work with only one eyebrow penciled in?

peace and chicken grease