peace restored...

you guys... lately i don't know what in the world is happening, but it feels like everyone is hurting.  

oh.my.stars.the.hurt.

nearly every day a tragedy or worrisome situation is whispered in my ear and causes me to clutch my heart in grief.  it feels as if the last christmas tree was taken down and with it went the last ounce of hope or joy for awhile.  i mean... there's joy in some places... there has to be... but lately it feels like it is eclipsed by a dark cloud.

kjaer and i have both been carrying home these stories in our hearts, like fragile pieces of glass; sharing them with each other and then praying over them at the dinner table.  but i have to admit, after what we've brought home to lift up over the past two weeks, i've gotten sucked into the dread.  

here's a little tidbit about me i bet you could've already guessed: i've been known to get a little worried from time to time. (!) i've experienced a few of my own tragedies in the last decade and it's often hard for me to separate myself from other people's situations.

so i became overcome with fear last week... more specifically jan 11 and jan 12.  it was very messy and borderline crazy-person-behavior.  i began to think that because other people were experiencing tragedy that my own was just around the bend.  this is a very dangerous place to be in your mind.  suddenly you are picturing the worst possible scenarios for every moment of your day.  it's all conjured and pretend... but you believe it could be true.  it's all very erratic and intoxicating... like you're drunk on grief and fear.  

so right about the time i was at my breaking point, i decided to pray (because, why do that first... am i right?  geez, when will i learn?) and take it to Jesus.  there was a lot of selfish whining and pleading (because fear and worry make you do that too) begging for the protection of those i love and requests for peace... LOTS of requests for peace.  when i removed myself from the pile of tears i was on the floor... i didn't feel more peaceful or less worried... just tired from all of the drama i had immersed myself in so selfishly.  so i asked for a sign and went to bed.

i feel ashamed to write this,  knowing the hurt that people i care about are in.  here they were H.U.R.T.I.N.G. - and here i was, perfectly unscathed, begging to stay that way.

it's in our nature i suppose.  but it doesn't make me feel better about it.

the next morning i was still feeling a little uneasy... like the roof might collapse on me or something.  i was eating breakfast with my beautiful children and decided to crack open their new devotion book.  i had gotten it for Christmas with the intention of reading one every day with them (seeing as how they are dated that way) but had already failed.  I'd made it to January 2 and it was January 13.

so i read january 3 to leif (why skip the days?  i'm not getting graded on this!) and he loved it.  we talked about the pictures and then he asked to read another one.  so we read another.

i was getting a little nervous that he was going to ask me to read 365 straight days of devotions to him.

but he didn't.  he did, however, ask for another and turned to two specific pages.  (i later went back and looked at the dates out of curiosity and they were, quite spectacularly, January 11 and 12.)  i closed the book and told him we could read those another day.  he opened the book, flipped through it back to those two days and demanded in his most bossy, almost-three year old way to read them to him.  the two titles read this way...

Jan 11... King of the Earth

"How awesome is the Lord Most High, the great King over all the earth!" Psalm 47:2

Jan 12... Don't Worry

"Don't worry about anything, but pray and ask God for everything you need." Phil 4:6

pregnant pause... inhaling peace.

there, staring me in the face, was my sign.

My dearest Monica,

I'M in charge of everything, don't worry... just talk to ME.
Love and kisses, GOD.

so here's the thing.  our world is broken.  we all experience pain, loss, sickness and grief during different seasons.  no one can hide from it.  none of us can ever have pain free lives.  BUT, our joy comes out of pain.  the tears we cry can heal our wounds and grow us into something more incredible than we were before.  

and like my aunt kathy said, when she took my scared little face in her hands this week so i would look her square in the eyes while i sobbed through terrified tears,

 "DO NOT LET FEAR ROB YOU OF YOUR JOY."

the heart?  it can be deceitful sometimes.  it can get us wound up tighter than a corkscrew over nothing but an idea... an IDEA.  no facts to go off of... just an idea that was whispered into your mind by fear.   and fear can make you do things that just make no sense at all... or NOT make you do things.  

i read an interesting fact the other day that an African impala can jump to a height of over 10 feet and cover a distance of greater than 30 feet.  However, in the zoo, they can be kept in an enclosure with a 3 foot wall.  They will not jump if they cannot see where they will land... fear. 

Faith is the ability to trust what we cannot see, and should we choose to live with faith, we are freed from the frail prisons that entice us with fear.

so today i'm giving the fear back, over and over again, to my Creator... the King of the Earth.  i choose faith.  i stayed home sick today and sent my kids to daycare because i wasn't feeling 100% and needed to rest.  when i was washed over with fear that something would happen to them, i laid flat on the floor like some crazy lady and said, "take it God... it's too big for me... take it.  don't let me yank it back." 

and then i decided, i'm going to bask in the joy of an empty home for a few hours... blog, nap, take care of myself.  tonight, when the energy and noise return with the arrival of my precious family, i'm going to bathe myself in the clatter and hum of our little brood.  it doesn't mean i'll never worry... knowing me, i'll worry all of the time.  but i'll do my best to lean on the One who told me not to worry about today.  i'll concern myself with how i can be the catalyst to those hurting around me with problems like brain tumors, homelessness, starving bellies, other peoples children who don't feel loved... and how i can possibly make a difference.  after all, i wasn't called to be on the earth to worry about myself... i was called to minister to the broken.  

today i'm choosing to take a leap and have a little more faith than yesterday.  today i choose to turn my back on fear and live with joy.

some of many moments of joy from 2014

toilet for a table...

ok, so... don't judge. 

i've already shared my struggles with weight and food with you all several times.  

since henley's birth, i've lost 75% of my pregnancy weight, but I have that damned last 25% to go.  and i'd love to tell you it's my last 5 pounds... but it's more than that.  don't pry too much.  i'll disclose if you truly care and want to encourage me.  but leave me alone to eat my damn carrot sticks in peace if you want to know for any other reason.  and if you're a REAL friend, you'll let me whine about how fat i feel even though you think i'm looking fabulous compared to the me you saw  9 months ago.  i want to live in my loathsome head right now and i'm too stuck in it to see myself for who i am... so don't try to argue with me.  i'll just smile and nod and go back to my dark, chubby cave.  

anyways...

it was fall break a few weeks ago.

fabulous fall break. 

which also means i'd abandoned any sort of weight loss regimen and had indulged in the finer things in life that week.  as i began to near the end of my diet vacation,  my anxiety began rising... deep down i knew that feast of a week was soon to be famine and my very cells were screaming more! more! hurry!  get as much in as you can!!

one evening was particularly stressful for me.  we were decorating pumpkins, henley had hardly napped all day, kjaer and i were having one of those serious conversations that almost turns into a fight and doesn't but it sucks anyway, we were still not sure who the hell was going to watch our kids the following week because our beloved daycare was closing... 

i was stressed.  soooooo stressed. 

so i thought, "i know, i'll eat a piece of cake with lots of icing!  cake fixes everything temporarily."  i had frozen some from henley's dedication and it was calling to me from our freezer in the basement.  so i sliced myself a lovely corner slice with ample buttercream frosting while trying to simultaneously clean up dinner, keep henley from fussing and help paint pumpkins (though kjaer was mostly in charge of that, thank GOD!)  my job was to play defense when henley would try to put her non-toxic painted hands into her mouth.  i kept staring at my sugary, sexy icing just spilling off of my cake.  i wanted to eat it so badly.  but i knew i'd be busy for another couple of hours (until both kids were down) and i just couldn't wait any longer.

(and yes, our children were naked... or as leif says, "naken" which kjaer always calls "naken bacon" and it makes my heart melt a little).

so when it came time to wash paint off of henley, i carried my slice into the bathroom with me to eat while she played in the tub.  

if you are already judging me... read on at your own risk and i don't want to hear from you how disgusting i am.  i'm already aware of my shortcomings and i find them a little bit funny in a sick twisted way (hence, why i'm sharing them with you).  

so the first problem (well, second problem if you consider that a piece of cake being eaten in a bathroom is a problem too) was that as soon as i set my plate down, my fork went flying through the air and landed behind the toilet.  

Lord knows what could be on that floor... so i ran through a quick mental debate.  the floor was just scrubbed a week ago, leif doesn't have bathroom rights in this bathroom, i have lucked out with one of those very clean men who never leave a mess around the toilet.  the disgusting pros kept growing.  but i knew i couldn't get up and get a new fork, because i had an eight month old who was fussing and needed to be quieted by warm bath water and floating alphabet letters.  and because i wisely chose to cease the crying at once and put her in the water, i couldn't leave her.  she's sturdy, but she's still a freaking baby that can tip over with the slightest change in air pressure.  so, i picked up the fork, wipe it vigorously with a towel and told myself it can't really be THAT bad... right?

what's the saying???
“No matter how bad things are, you can always make things worse.” (Randy Pausch)

so, i was watching my mostly stable daughter gnaw on a foam letter while taking my first bite.  if you know me, you know i eat the cake and filling first and save that delicious, sugary, decadent frosting for last.  it's my favorite part.  but right as the first bite on my fork is headed for my mouth, henley took a spill.  

i threw my fork aside and to catch her before she went under... staring sadly at my piece of cake as it slid down the side of the tub and the crumbs spilled onto the bathmat.  henley was fine... but i was not.  i knew i should just concede and wait to eat my cake until she wasn't sitting in a tub full of water.  but i continued to look jealously at that piece of cake during the rest of henley's bath, commiserating that i didn't even get 10 freaking minutes to myself to indulge in dessert (let alone go for a run or have a night out with my own husband).  before i could stop myself i had opened the drain and henley was curiously watching the water drain away from around her little chubby thighs so that mommy could have her way.  

i then took her out of the bathtub, wrapped her in her little monkey towel, stuck her in my lap and i ATE that damn piece of cake like a BOSS.  right there on the bathroom floor.  

as i was licking the last bit of frosting off of the fork, i came to my senses and realized all of the disgusting atrocities that had occurred in that span of 5 minutes.  and while i could have sat there a few more minutes, feeling terribly sorry for myself and the depths to which i have fallen...  i shrugged, got up, put my dish in the dishwasher and thought, thank God for things like cake on days like today.

being a mother has surfaced so many new pieces of me that i didn't know existed.  if young, childless monica had read this blog post, she would have thought, what the... i'll never act like that crazy woman when i have kids!  just like i used to think snotty things like that about other peoples kids before i had kids like... my kids will never act like that, it's disgraceful.  

kharma is a b*&$% my friends.

i now have a 2 1/2 year old little boy... who has the biggest heart and happiest soul i know.  BUT he also is an independent and strong willed 2 year old... and can be a rude little booger at that.  sometimes, after he has matter of factly yelled at some poor unsuspecting soul YOU DON'T TALK TO ME i float above my body and look down thinking... this is what you get for judging others... judgy mcjudger.  i literally have no idea what to do and feel like a failure.  i just want to drown my sorrows in cake and hope it all works itself out without me having to figure out a way.

i'm coming to find that in the glory and blessing of being a mother... there is also the part of motherhood where we find ourselves crouched on the dirty bathroom floor eating cake.... wondering things like: when will i get 10 minutes to myself or when will i figure out what it takes to change my children's rude behavior or when will i finally snuggle into the nook of my husbands arm for the night or when did i last brush my teeth and comb my hair?

but then i remember that i also have moments where my vivacious two year old lays his hand on my cheek during naptime and whispers ever so sweetly, "mama... you are my sunshine," and i can muster up the moxy to keep moving and try my best.

so for all of you mommies out there who find yourselves at a low point, take heart.  our babes give us those profound and beautiful moments to counteract all of the terribly messy ones we find ourselves sitting hopelessly in.  and for those times when it still isn't quite enough... there's cake.  lots of cake.  so grab yourself a slice, pull up a bathroom rug and indulge with me as we figure out this messy, hysterical... and yet beautiful thing called being a mama.

the underpants dance...

i didn't plan on potty training this early...

in fact, i've been counting on not potty training early.

ever since leif was about 18 months i'd get the occasional, "aren't you going to potty train leif?  isn't he old enough?" and i'd smile sweetly (while scoffing internally) and say, "no, i've heard not to even try with a boy until he's 3. plus, i think having him in diapers while i'm nursing a little one is probably best because he can wait until i'm done."  

it. was. THE. perfect. plan.

i had it aaaallllLLLL worked out.

but then a funny thing started to happen.  leif would wake up with dry diapers or get on the potty every once in awhile when he was running around naked.  

hmmm, showing some signs of readiness... it's ok to let him experiment, i'd think.
and when he's 3 we'll go for it.

i'd watch other mamas try dutifully to have their kiddo out of diapers as soon as possible while i happily used our diaper sprayer to spray the tar out of toddler sh** into our toilet and think, thank God for a diaper sprayer!  i'd NEVER make it to 3 without that bad boy!

then, about a month ago i went to a consignment shop to pick up some winter clothing for leif.  i walked by the potties and thought, well, it never hurts to expose him and let him explore.  but i am NOT going to potty train him.  so i bought him a potty and a few pairs of 3T underwear... thinking he'd fit in them by the time he was 3 1/2.  never hurts to be prepared... for potty training after 3 years of age.  

he didn't even seem particularly interested in that little potty while we were at the store.  he was too busy running around playing with things he shouldn't (and perhaps certain costumes his mom dressed him up in because she couldn't help herself.)

but i brought that toilet home and BANG... he wanted his diaper off.  

awww.... how cute, i thought.  i'll let him explore.  but i am NOT potty training him. i just don't have time and besides... i'm nursing an infant right now.  it's just not convenient for me.

he went potty... everyone cheered and clapped. 

then i went to put his diaper back on and he looked me square in the face and said, "no thank you."

so i played along with his little game... dead set that i was NOT going to (did you hear me?  NOT GOING TO) potty train him until he turned 3.  

but he was obsessed.  he woke up the next morning and asked us to take his (dry) diaper off so he could go potty.  

and then he went.

and ate breakfast.

and asked to go again.  

crap!  i thought.  crap! crap! crap!

so i did a little online research and thought, well... perhaps i'll let him explore a few hours in the morning and few in the afternoon when we're home...  but i am NOT potty training him.  i'm not shoving kool-aid down his throat and locking us in the kitchen for the next 3 days.  i don't have time.  i don't want it that badly.  

by the way... i have no problem with those potty training methods that others use... kool aid and such.  i don't care if you potty train at 1 year or 3.  seriously.  i'm just lazy.  i already have to watch a wild two year old while nursing... i didn't want to run said wild two year old to the bathroom with one boob hanging out.  it's just not my style.  i am already exhausted... i don't want to be hanging topless over a potty (more than i already am) and exhausted.

plus... cleaning out poopy underwear is WAAAYYYY worse than cleaning it off of a cloth diaper.  at least cloth diapers can easily be removed without dragging the poop down his legs or it falling out with a sickening thump.  i don't know why no one has told me of the horrors of potty training... everyone has probably repressed their memories of it... because it's traumatic.  for reals.

about 5 days later i'm telling miss robbin (his daycare provider) about our exploration of the potty world.  she had me bring him some underwear just to see how he did.  he had a poop accident but did stayed dry all day.  i declared (with relief) well, he must not be ready.  that's 3 accidents in a week.  DARN!  i'll just try again when he's 3!  robbin reassured me that poop was the last to master and that i really shouldn't stop because he was ready to do this.  

but i'm not ready to do this! i told her.  

and she said (with a laugh) it's not really about you, though, is it?

.

.

.

.

sigh.  

i guess not.  but i wanted this ONE thing to be about me.  it feels as if everything in my life for the last 3 years has been about my children.  couldn't i have this one thing?

n.o.p.e.

so just in case you're wondering... my brilliant little boy potty trained himself in about a week in a half.  the other morning kjaer and i were enjoying a conversation after breakfast when we realized it was deathly quiet.  we peeked into leif's bathroom and there he was taking his morning dump.  "i had to poop!" he grunted, and then he got back to work.  

we just stared at each other.  that kid is seriously amazing.  

well, so much for me waiting until leif was 3.  he had other plans.  he potty trained himself a few weeks before he turned 2 1/2.  my co-sleeping rockstar of a son also decided he was no longer sleeping in our room (he's been in our room since he was a baby because it's the only way any of us got any sleep).  a few days into his potty training fiasco he crawled into his toddler bed and declared, "i'm sleeping here tonight" and he's been in his room ever since.  (even though i wasn't quite sure he could tackle two big milestones at once and nearly fainted from panic... he rocked it.)

you know?... in this game of motherhood i've always felt a little awkward because my choices for leif have not been what "everyone else" seems to be doing.   i'm not going to lie, i've felt a little judged... (and it could totally have been self perceived) as if people have been walking away from me laughing under their breath.  but these past several weeks have been a vindication of sorts for me.  my little rebel of a son, who has never done anything the way it's "supposed" to be done in our culture, has just proved to me that by meeting his needs (which were plentiful and high) my husband and i have developed a brave, independent little guy.  and my hope is that as these milestones keep rapidly approaching, we continue to read his signals instead of our own or everyone else's so that we can elevate him to the amazing man we know he can become.  

but i will tell you something... i am NOT going to teach him how to use the tivo remote. 

  

a woman has got to (feel needed and) have some boundaries.

(btw... i'm very proud of him and i'm excited he is potty trained.  i know all of my complaining makes me sound rather ungrateful.  he's a rockstar... and i'm his mom!  couldn't be prouder!)

when it counts...

usually every july i post a little tribute to my dad... last years being the most famous... 

this year i was having trouble getting started when i happened across the journal i kept while he was sick and after he passed away.  as i read it i was instantly transported back into a memory that had catapulted to the front of my brain shortly after he was gone... i thought i'd pass along the story that was so typical of my dad.  funny how i had forgotten about this until i reread it.  glad i wrote it down to remember... and re-remember- again.

may 5, 2010

was taking a shower the other day when the most random memory came upon me.

i was 16, interviewing for a job at the Gap (swoon).  i didn't have a car yet so my dad had driven me there and patiently waited in the mall on a bench. (ironically, it was at the Old Buckingham Mall... which i live 1 block away from now)  i wore a black baby doll dress with yellow sunflowers that i had borrowed from a friend and it was my very first job interview... 

and a weird interview at that.

it was a group interview... totally nerve wracking.

they even made me assemble an outfit, to my horror.

i guess i hadn't realized you actually had to be fashionable to work there.   

before the interview was even over i knew i wouldn't get the job...  and it was a teenager's dream job. 

by the time i left the store my heart was broken into a million pubescent pieces.

i walked out of the storefront and straight into my daddy's arms... a ball of tears.  it was like he knew i would be exiting the store in tears and he needed to have his arms open just for me. he was my harbor and i just soaked up his love as i cried about my impending rejection.

then (i think) he took me for ice cream...

that or i've inserted it into my memories because it seems the sort of thing he would do.

it is one of the happiest of my sad memories because even though he spent a lifetime on the road as a truck driver away from us, it seems to me he was always there when it really mattered... 

and i can't picture a better person to console me in that moment than him.

ramblings of a pierceless wonder...

you guys...

i lost my crap the other morning..

and not just a little.

lost.it.

as in, stomped off to my room, threw myself down on our bed and howled until i could howl no more.

kjaer and i used to call these sorts of days D-days (daddy days) after my dad died.  it was a code word to tell him it was basically pointless to try and make me happy... because i just needed to be sad and have myself a good cry and move through the day with puffy eyes.

that's what the other day was... a D-day.

if you asked me why... which is probably what you're wondering... i'm not sure that i could even tell you.  i mean... i know the incident that set the whole emotional downslide into motion, but it's really a cacophony of thoughts that have been running through my mama brain for weeks now.

that morning, the minor straw that broke the camels back was that i was sitting in our beautiful sunroom trying to wake myself up after a lo-o-o-o-ng night.  i can't really describe why the night was so terrible... but it was.  it was one of those nights where you are sure you probably got some rest in there, but it came in increments of 30 minutes here, 20 minutes there.  henley, who is usually an awesome sleeper, was moaning and groaning the way a baby would if they could toss and turn.  i had pulled her into bed with me around midnight and after two hours of (refusing to get out of bed) trying to snuggle and nurse her into submission... i finally gave in and went into the nursery, changed her diaper and nursed her in the chair.  she was dead asleep in less than 5 minutes.  when i went back to my room i put her in her rock and play... because even though i love having her in my bed, it was 3 AM and i had hardly slept at all.  the minute... i kid you not... my head touched the pillow leif started wailing for me from his little mattress on the floor.  kjaer was sleepily trying to get up and get to him... but i was up so i decided to be a martyr i suppose.  pooooooor meeeeee, i'm a mama and evrrrrrrry bodyyyyy neeeeeeeds meeeeee.  after throwing a mini fit into my pillow...i went and laid with him on his mattress and promptly fell into a restless sleep until 5.  when i woke up i tiptoed back to my bed... exhausted and ready to soak up a handful of hours of good sleep.  about 20 minutes later henley was ready to eat again.  so i pulled her back into bed and fell asleep nursing her.  i then i had weird dreams about my daddy... whose anniversary of his death is this week.

 so... i could feel i was fragile that morning already.  kjaer was playing with leif in the kitchen and i had taken henley with me outside in the backyard to let trooper out.  as i was out there i just sunk with henley into the grass... it was like i just needed to feel the earth beneath my feet, the grass between my toes... something to ground me.  henley seemed perfectly happy sitting in the grass and so we sat... avoiding the clamor that comes with a two year old boy who has just had his whopping 12 hours of sleep.  then i got up and moved into our beautiful sunroom... soaking up some sunshine and trying to absorb my dreams from the night before.  i just wanted to idle there for awhile.  sink into my surroundings and enjoy this place i call home.

so i'm sitting there... and leif comes running over delighted to see me.  he's in his santa claus jammies, eating a bowl filled to the brim with strawberries.  his blue eyes are sparkling and he has the silliest shock of bed head in his beautiful red curls.  he keeps climbing up into my lap and down, pushing and poking at my sack of potatoes that i loathingly call my body right now.  i don't mind so much... he's so happy and sweet and kind.  the whole time i'm thinking... 

damn, that kid is one amazing masterpiece.

and then he cracked my phone.

the back story is that my phone has been broken a few times.  we have some service plan that replaces it absolutely free... so i shouldn't really care...  except that the employees of best buy mobile are starting to treat me like i'm doing it on purpose.  i hate it.  i hate it when people assume the worst about me because i am not THAT person.  and then they always replace my phone with a refurbished phone with more problems... and it usually takes 3-4 refurbished phones until i can get one that acts like a good phone should.  so i'm sure it looks to them... on paper... like i've had my phone replaced a gajillion times over the past two years... when really it's been my fault (or leif's) about 4 of those times.

so... leif picks up my phone... which i had purposely moved out of eyesight 5 minutes earlier so it wouldn't be tempting for him...  but somehow he spotted it, picked it up and it slipped from his hands.

i didn't curse... though i wanted to.

i just sat there.

and then i became leif's jungle gym again.  he's crawling and poking and prodding and he won't leave me alone.  only now it isn't cute.  it was then that the cork popped off... i couldn't handle it anymore.  i moved leif aside and ran off to my room like a school girl and threw a big crying fit in my bed.

so i'm sobbing on my bed... telling myself that i just need a good cry.  but as i'm crying, the intensity with which i'm doing so is ramping up.  i feel like i mentally floated above my body and looked down on myself and saw the craziness unfolding there... and i starting flipping through all of the things that are making me upset... because i knew a phone that could easily be replaced couldn't matter this much.

first of all... we have been battling a diaper rash with henley for almost 3 months now.  finally... FINALLY... we figured out that she has super sensitive skin and can't even wear the plastic covers that go over her cloth diapers (and disposables have the same effect). so now i have to switch over to wool and fleece covers... which are much more involved than the little plastic covers that we have come to love.  and wool is expensive... so it's like we're having to make another small financial investment right before i have to send two children into part time daycare and we're already cinching up our belts.  it's a learning process and i just want it to be simple like cloth diapering has been with leif.

and speaking of those two kids going into daycare... one of them REFUSES a bottle.  she is the easiest baby i have ever met... except with this one crux.  everyone is telling me not to stress... but our daycare provider keeps nervously asking me if henley is taking the bottle yet... like EVERY time i see her (we still bring leif once a week in the summer) and it makes my blood pressure jump.  i feel so... pressured.

i don't like pressure.

and then yesterday (*Sigh*) i remembered that i hadn't put my tongue ring back in from my visit to the dentists office last week.  i was feeling particularly self conscious... looking like a ragamuffin.   and not the cute kind... like all of my girlfriends with the cute yoga pants and tank tops and doo-rags.  no... as in giant maternity shirts fresh with spit up stains and water from lanolizing some wool covers, unshaven legs, crazy hair and glasses.  so i decided to put my tongue ring back in that i had discreetly tucked into my wallet when they took x-rays at the dentist because i thought it would make me feel a little bit like my old self.  it was the only piercing of my many at the dentist's office that i thought, "oh, i'll just do it when i get home."  well... by the time i had remembered, the hole was closed.  i tried to go from underneath and above.  i thought about just ramming it through the new skin.  and then i could feel my daddy laughing at me from up above... because i had promised my parents years ago that when i got married i would take it out for my wedding day and never put it back in.  then my daddy died (around the time i got engaged).  as my wedding drew closer my mom reminded me about "that stupid tongue ring" and my promise.  i told her i didn't recall making such a promise and laughingly reminded her that she couldn't prove that i had because the only other witness was dead.  

she didn't think i was very funny.

but now here i sat... not one shred of me feeling attractive... and this stupid tongue ring... which must've had signified my beauty and youth was being rejected by my tongue. (who's laughing now, right?)

you wouldn't think it would matter after 15 years... but apparently i had a lot of identity tied up in it.

suddenly all of my sex appeal... or what i had left of it after having children... was left on the counter in the bathroom and my emotions were plummeting.  so i did what any depressed and unsexy mom would do.

i went grocery shopping looking like a total wreck.

i mean, i figured i already felt like crap... let's just get this shiz over with.

and then i'm catching my reflection in the dairy cases and thinking, so it's come to this, has it?

here's the thing, people.  it's not really about a phone breaking, or a tongue ring that won't go through it's hole.  it's about me feeling so unlike myself that i cling to these tangible things that i perceive as "attractive" or "cool" about me.  my iPhone isn't fat or greasy... it's sleek and stylish.  my tongue ring doesn't have lumps and bumps where it shouldn't... it is young, hip and sexy.  i don't have to worry about putting them on diets or squeezing them into too small clothes.  they don't have to wear clothes that are wayyyyy to big for them either.  they are perfect, unchanging, tiny little objects that i've staked my value on because i've forgotten who i thought i was... or as leif so sweetly proclaims i "got-for" who i was.

i've read the inspiring blogs and articles my mommy friends post to facebook... hell, i repost them too.  the ones where the mommy's are proud of their tiger striped stretch marks, their soft bellies and cellulite.  i've even been moved by some... the other day i put up a picture of myself on facebook of me at the zoo with my kids... even though when i looked at it i could feel my insides churn at the sight of myself. i've been inspired to wear a swimsuit and not miss out on making memories with my children this summer... except all i have right now is a damn, old lady looking, maternity suit that i feel like crap in.

if i only had money... yes, money would fix all of this.  money and being skinny.  

and probably wine... lots of wine.

but here's the truth.  here's the revelation i'm having.  yes i want to be the mama who doesn't care what others think and embraces who she becomes.  i will be that mama... just not today.  today this mama also needs to grieve what she's lost.  i've lost my athletic body... it's somewhere under these giant nursing boobs and post-partum belly.  and even though i've been watching what i eat and have started running again... the boobs and belly are still there.  my loving husband... who knows me all too well... likes to remind me that i just grew a tiny miracle and it'll all come back with time.  he strokes my hair and tells me i'm lovely and not to worry and i want to clench my fists and stammer through gritted teeth BUT I WANT TO FEEL SEXY AGAIN, RIGHT NOW!!!!  

even more unfair than losing my image of who i was... is that i lost my daddy and our (greatest accomplishments) babies will never know their opa on this side of heaven.  well... i say they'll never know... but leif seems to have some sort of spiritual connection with him.  he tells me when we pull up to oma's house "opa is here" or when my mom was watching the kiddos so i could nap when henley was born he looked up from his toys and quietly said, "opa went bye-bye." just yesterday (this probably is also contributing to my emotional train wreck) he pointed to a picture in a book we were reading and said, "that's an opa."  and wouldn't you know it... it looked just like him... bald head, happy grin and plaid shirt... even though leif has maybe seen 2 pictures of my dad in his life.

my dad was the original safe harbor before i fell in love... the OG.  if I had D-days like this before he was gone, i would crawl up into his lap and he would anchor me.  he was the earth beneath my feet and the grass in between my toes.  he may have thought i was crazy or a bit nutty, but i was also his daughter... one of his masterpieces too.  so that softened the insanity surrounding me, i'm sure, and allowed him to let me take shelter under his wings for a speck of time while i recovered without too much scrutinizing.

now i have a husband, who my daddy passed his mantle onto rather dramatically, and he is also trying to figure out this parent thing.  he's waking up next to this hormonal, puffy woman who goes all sorts of batty when her tongue ring hole closes and her iPhone cracks.  he probably doesn't recognize me in all of this either... but he does a fabulous job of holding down the fort while i take a D-day to sort through the emotional mess that is me.  he's my harbor... where i dock my little boat and wait out the storm.  but i'm also his harbor... so that makes it a different type of relationship than what my dad and i had.  we have to take turns losing our crap and picking up each others broken pieces... and i think we do a damn good job at it if i say so myself.

but i haven't fully gotten to the revelation yet, have i?

it is this... sometimes we all need a D-day.  a day where all that gets accomplished is having a good cry, making the bed and then watching a movie.  a day where we stand with mouths agape as we stare at the scary role of parenthood and wonder if we'll ever survive.

but a D-day is also something else.  it is defined as an important day for an operation to begin.  it's a day to pull yourself up by the bootstraps (in my case, after laying in a puddle for a bit of time) and take on the role that's been gifted to you.  a day to accept your challenge and strategically move on.

so for me... this means i need to accept that i'm not as hip and skinny as i once was (or thought i was).  accept that my daddy's physical presence is gone from this world.  accept that being a mother is stinking h.a.r.d. and trying to be a good one and a rockin' wife can often leave me feeling like a waste of space by the end of the day.

the operative word in all of this is acceptance... of who i am and what i'm becoming.  acceptance of the woman who stands in front of the mirror at the end of the day with no tongue ring, a chubby mama belly and a gap between my two front teeth when i smile.  because that woman can conquer mountains.  that woman does the best she can every single day by the grace of God.  and though there are failures, and tears (and childish temper tantrums that involve wailing on my part), and hiccups... it is ultimately the operation at hand... and nobody said it'd be perfect.

so i tell myself it's ok to fall into a mess of tears and sobs every once in awhile.  but after i've exhausted those frustrations, it'll be time to lace up those boots and get a move on girl. 

 throw your arms around those who love you, lean in and press on.  

and one day i'll look back on this challenging season of my life and see it for all of the splendor it really was... the chunk of time where i got to know and love myself for the beautiful mess i am... and embraced it.

foxy lady...

apparently i not only can endure 3 days of unmedicated labor, complete 3 half marathons and make pad thai... but i also can rescue our cat from a snarling beast.

ok... it wasn't snarling...

but quincy almost died and i saved him.

period.

(.)

a few weeks ago i had awoken around midnight to leif falling out of bed in some strange manner.  after rubbing his back and getting him back to sleep, i asked my man if quincy had come in yet for the night.  he sleepily told me no and rolled over to go back to sleep.

quincy not coming in at night is to be expected around this time of year.  sometimes he refuses to come in during the warmer months when we beckon him at dusk.  he's lucky i've either been a nursing mama or pregnant the past few years and have get up every few hours throughout most nights.  he gets second and third chances frequently to come in.

so it's not unusual for quincy to be out do god-knows-what during the wee hours of the morning.

i went out on our front porch and clapped.

that's how we call him.

we clap about 10 times really loud and then call his name.  i'm sure it drives the neighbors insane.  (i don't really know why our cat comes to a clap... but kjaer discovered this quickly after he brought him home from the cold, hard streets of aurora... colfax to be precise.) so, we clap.  i usually give him a few minutes to abandon the poor mouse he's been torturing and hop a few fences to get home.

anyways...  i'm standing there in the dark... with this gut feeling that i need to wait a couple more minutes... when all of the sudden i see a fox run past our house in the middle of the street.

i had two thoughts:

woa!  cool!  a fox!

then...

crap!... a fox!

i wonder if quincy is nearby and the fox spotted him! 

so i walked to the end of the driveway to get a better peak at what the fox was up to... because now that i knew a fox was out and about i couldn't leave my cat out there (at least until i was sure the fox wasn't after him).  the fox had stopped cold in front of this house about 3 doors down and across the street.  he was staring at something... though i didn't know what, and looking curiously at me.

all of the sudden, he turned and ran a couple more houses down... and here comes quincy, bounding out from underneath a car and chasing after him.

dumbass cat

i'm sorry... i can't really think of another word to describe our brave and valiant feline.  he thinks he's soooooo tough that he can go after his own predator.

well, the minute i saw quincy's fluffy tail chase after that fox i freaked.  this was a pretty good sized fox (about the height of my dog who weighs 45 pounds)... and i knew it could easily take quincy out.

so then i was a dumbass

i don't know why i thought it would be a good idea, but i called quincy again...

clap, clap, clap

quincy immediately stopped his pursuit and turned around

i then saw the error of my ways... because once his back was turned to the fox, i KNEW he was in trouble.  and what made it worse... it was my fault!  at least before i clapped quincy was keenly aware of where the fox was.  but now he was distracted and i was the idiot who did it.

he then proceeded to walk....

W A L K

up the street to me.

now you have to understand... he was about three or four houses down the street and he's taking a sunday stroll up to me... like, oh hey mom, you rang?  i was just out, chasing foxes and stuff.  what's up?  did you see me chase that fox off?  he won't be messing with the kirkegaard's anymore!  it was such a proud little strut that he was doing... and isn't pride always such a thief?  his pride was about to cost him.

meanwhile, ol' foxy loxy starts stalking him from behind.

i didn't know how i was going to explain to my husband, who loves that cat more than anything, that it was my fault our cat got eaten by a fox because he had to turn around a brag to me.

if my cat could speak human i would have screamed RRRRUUUUUUUNNNNNN STUPID!

but quincy doesn't speak human... that or he pretends not to understand...
which is also pretty likely.

so i bolted down the street and scooped up my adoring, purring feline... who seemingly had forgotten that he had just been playing cat and mouse with a fox.  when i looked up, the fox was about 10 feet away and still on the prowl.  so i started power walking back up to my house, reprimanding quincy the whole way.

you almost were toast!

(nervous glance over the shoulder... yup, still a fox)

what were you thinking?

(another nervous glance... DUDE!  IS HE STILL FOLLOWING ME?)

when i got to the front door, that fox had followed me all of the way up to the grass in our front yard.  i'm not sure if he was planning on snatching quincy from my arms, or if he just wanted to see where that feisty little cat lived.  either way... quincy and i made it into the house... quincy totally oblivious to what had just gone down.

i deadbolted the door and stood there holding my adorable, idiot cat with adrenaline pumping through my veins.  i couldn't believe what had just happened.  i went into the bedroom and tossed quincy onto kjaer, loudly proclaiming I JUST SAVED OUR CATS LIFE!

so there you have it.  i'm a freakin' hero.  i stared a fox dead in the eyes whilst holding a fluffy appetizer for him and won.

but let's hope that's the last time i ever have to do that again.

love wins...

this blog was originally written around valentines day... but i didn't finish it (for an obvious 8.1 lb reason named henley!).  i didn't mind... i figured the following month i could finish it and post it for our anniversary.  that didn't happen.  so here it is... several months late.  

let me let you in on a little secret about kjaer and i...

we were destined...

had you told me ten years ago today that i would marry the man standing in front of me... i would have probably fainted in ecstasy and laughed in your face all at once... and that would be AFTER picking my jaw up off of the floor.

because it was about ten years ago that i sat with my mother, totally frustrated by the male species and ready to swear off men and be alone for the rest of my days.  

my life had been a series of unrequited infatuations with boys who paid no attention to me.  i have always wondered why this was... i couldn't figure out why some girls had the boys lined up around the block and why i was always their "cute friend" who couldn't seem to snag a boy if she tried.  i had recently experienced this with a couple of guys who had i really liked and who ignored the fact that i was even datable material.  

i was really beginning to think that something was wrong with me.

you hear me?

w.r.o.n.g.

i mean... how could i be so invisible to the male species?

so i was whining about this to my mom... who challenged me with what seemed like an absurd suggestion at the time.  she said, "why don't you ask God to reveal your husband to you?"

i laughed... probably snorted a little.

and then i went home that night and prayed my guts out.

i think i even cried... it was an act of honest sincerity and desperation.

that night i dreamed about a handsome man with a beard and when he hugged me, my face went into the safety of his chest.  in my dream i couldn't make out his features very well, just his beard.  i woke up feeling a little unnerved, thinking that i had dreamed my spouse was going to be Jesus.  and well... that made me feel a little... awkward and unholy. 

not that i ever feel holy... i'm just sayin'...

when my mom asked me about it i said,

thanks a lot mom.  now i just feel like a pervert because apparently i'm going to marry Jesus.

and, to make it worse, it was one of those dreams where i woke up in love.  i seriously walked around for days feeling like i was in love with this person already, even though i didn't know who they were.  some friends of mine suggested kjaer because he worked with me and he was the only person i knew with a beard.  but honest to the G.O.D., i did not even make that connection.  

several months later, kjaer asked me to go watch a meteor shower in the middle of the night and the rest is, as they say, history.

it wasn't until i was married for a few months already when my mom reminded me of that dream and i realized that God had been revealing kjaer to me.... not Jesus.  and wouldn't you know... when he hugs me, my face goes right into his chest.

so... he's literally the man of my dreams... if you catch my drift.

but he snuck up on me like a thief in the night because we were friends first...

i think i hooked him into being my friend when i came to school my first year of teaching with a BRAND NEW CAR.  i didn't really have a ton of friends yet but i really wanted to show someone my NEW CAR.  the hallways were inexplicably empty except for this handsome fellow i had talked a couple of times with.  somehow this came up when he and i passed in the hallway and he, very enthusiastically said, "well, i'll go out and see your new car!"  so we marched out to the parking lot at 7:30 in the morning for the big reveal.  i was twittering with excitement.  it was my NEW CAR and somebody (especially a handsome somebody) cared!

i can't even imagine what went through kjaer's head when we arrived at said NEW CAR.  i'm not sure what he was expecting... but i doubt it was an old 2 door Toyota Tercel.... which by the way... was THE nicest car i had owned to date and i LOVED it!  it had most of it's paint AND it's dashboard wasn't cracked... now that's high class!  AND it had my faceplate stereo installed in it... so i was living the dream.  he seemed really excited about it and i got the attention i was so desperately craving.  but i'm sure he went back to his classroom, shut the door, and bent over clenching his gut in fits of laughter.

see... i had judged him all wrong.  i thought because he had this sexy beard thing going on with longer hair and because he was a quiet, introverted artist... that he wouldn't judge me and my taste in cars because i assumed he wasn't interested in cars.  what i didn't know, and what i've come to learn over the past 9 years... is that the man is a car freak.  he knows so much about cars that i sometimes find myself pretending to know what he's talking about because he's so stinking smart about them i can't even follow his train of thought.

it's a little surprising he wanted to date me after that.

actually, it's a little surprising we got married after that!

anyways... at that point in kjaer's life, marriage was something he wanted no part of.  kind of like my aversion to scary movies.  he didn't want to think or talk about marriage or even acknowledge the possibility of it... just enjoy life.

so, it was a little stunning that he wanted to date me.  because... to a woman, at least a woman like myself... dating, if all goes well, leads to marriage.  and even though i told myself i wasn't going to concern myself with stuff like that and just enjoy our relationship... after a couple of years my brain was beginning to wonder if he was the one.

and we dated for awhile... quite awhile.

we have been married 4 years now... so you do the math.

sometimes this got frustrating, especially because we both didn't know where we were headed as kjaer wrestled with letting go of his aversion to marriage because he loved me so much.  but now i see that those years of dating have really solidified this thang we've got going on.  some of the brick walls that so many of our friends encountered after getting married had already been tackled by us before we were married because we learned to communicate through them.

and i'm not saying this makes our marriage better than anyone else's...

i just am seeing the greater purpose to it now as we enter this phase of life with babies...

because... you guys... i've never done anything so challenging as being a mama and a wife at the same time, in my life.

january 2014

if i could just be a wife... i could nail it.

if i could just be a mama... i could na--... well, that's a lie.  i need kjaer to be successful in that too.  i have no idea how you single mama's do it, but you deserve mad props!

to be both requires something more in me that makes me reach waaaaaayyyy down to the soles of my feet and give everything.... so much that sometimes i feel like i have nothing left for anyone, including myself.

and i'm sure kjaer would say the same about being my husband and a daddy at the same time too.  this newest challenge of having a family often overshadows some of the necessary time it takes to cultivate your relationship.

 but back in january i had a moment.
 we were watching the bronco game on the couch and i looked at him.  and in that split second, i really saw him again.

do you know what i mean?

i saw his strong jawline and his gorgeous eyes that made me so weak kneed nine years ago and i felt this explosion of love come surging out of me.  i lovingly grabbed his hand out of nowhere and said something really mushy to him... though i can't remember what it was now.  (he sort of looked at me like i had gone off of the deep end).  i couldn't believe that 9 years later i was sitting next to him, our two year old running around at our feet and me 9 months pregnant with our second child, happily married.  it was almost like it all was a dream...

or... like the matrix... my husband would excitedly exclaim.

because i, for reals, have myself a good man.  i have someone who loves me... and i mean REALLY loves me.  he's seen my giant, pregnant body naked and he STILL loves me (even i had a hard time loving that).  he's sat with me while i've sobbed uncontrollably about the smallest, most insignificant details and he STILL loves me.  he's followed me quietly into the deepest, darkest pits of myself and he STILL loves me.  he has been my rock during the most trying times of my life and he STILL loves me.  he has tenderly picked up the pieces of my broken heart after the death of my father when i thought i couldn't....

i repeat

COULD.
NOT.

go on anymore and he STILL loves me.  he let his bachelor pad get slowly taken over by the dreaded woman's touch... and do i even need to say it?

yup!  that man l.o.v.e.s. me.

sometimes it takes a little friction for me to remember this.

like a couple of months ago, i came downstairs totally burnt out from being mega-pregnant and mother to an almost 2 year old whose two hour bedtime routine was wearing on me.  i was feeling so wretched... isolated, alone, tired, jealous.  and i spewed forth the tears and the qualms... sometimes aiming my little darts at kjaer.  looking back, i suppose i was mostly just an exhausted person complaining and needing to be heard.  and i truly think that kjaer is the only man that God placed on this green earth to cope with this sort of behavior.  not that there's anything wrong with the feelings i was having... just how i was reacting.

sometimes i feel like i am like a bumpy texture on a wall
and kjaer is the special tool that smooths me out.

do you feel me?

he diffuses.  he loves.  he listens.

and then he goes to bed because doing all of that makes him really, really tired.

and i'm left thinking, damn i'm so blessed.

so blessed that he cares enough to do the hard work of being married, to get his hands dirty, and be my partner in crime for life.  so blessed that he walked out to that tercel with me one day back in 2003 and didn't humiliate me.  so blessed that he overcame his fears and took the plunge with me one perfect day in march of 2010.  so blessed to help him raise our children so that they can grow up to have his integrity, loyalty and passion.   so blessed that he holds me in the safe harbor of his arms and loves me and our children so intensely that he sacrifices bits of himself every day to make our lives better.

that, my friends, is the man i love.

that is the man of my dreams.