Category: Uncategorized (Page 58 of 188)

The List: 2012, A Summary

I cringe to review my progress on 2012 goals; I forgot to do a mid-year check, so some of these received no attention. A few of them saw huge gains, mostly because if I didn’t see progress, I’d crumple up in a mess. I needed it. I read a blogger who reviews his list each week and posts progress toward each goal…. I might need to consider something similar for 2013 as I begin composing the new list. But first, a review on 2012. 

1. Create more. If I can make something (sewing, crafting, activities outside of “play with your toys”) each month, I’ll feel like a supreme success. 
I’ll score this one a 6 on a personal level, a 1 on a familial level. I find myself crafting and making more gifts (I’m super excited to give Jack his this year! And I think – hope – Raya will be impressed), but for my own kids, I’m lacking. I’d love to make a playhouse, H-boy his own version of Jack’s present, all kinds of fun stuff I’m seeing on Pinterest and – let’s be honest – I have the time now. There’s big room for improvement next year if this makes this list. 

2. Complain less. I’ll be a better conversational partner because of it. 
I’d like to say at least a 5, but if I were to survey those I speak with the most, I have a feeling I’d be sub-3. Definite room for improvement. A moment of self-defense: I’ve learned this year I have a bit of an entrepreneurial mind, always looking for ways to improve or make things better. I don’t necessarily see this as a shortfall, but in smaller bits it may come across as complaining about the status quo. But honestly, I’m less about the “how stupid is this?” and more about the “can you imagine if we…?”. If using that perspective, I give myself an 8. 

3. Serve on a regular basis. I’m not sure what this looks like, but I’m doing my research. In my hopes to engage the community, I need to be specific that it’s not the community “just like me.”
At max, 1. Awful. I did do research and found that my time constraints were overwhelming my ability to follow through. Unless I find a place to serve that offers childcare, and it’s not between 12-3 (naptime). 

4. Write something beyond the blog
Based on how this is written – 10! I did it! I posted with one other blog. However, my intentions were for more than 2 posts… so I should honestly give it a 5 and hope to double it in the future. 

5. Do a bit of physical activity 5 days a week. My downfall is when this requires changing into a bra that prevents bounce. But I just found a 30 day “challenge” (thanks Pinterest!) that provides some movement and crunching that I can squeeze in at the end of the day sans post-activity shower. A few jumping jacks and crunches are better than nothing. 

6. Take more pictures
Epic fail. Zero. I think I left the camera home more often than I took it, especially during the summer months. I did grow slightly in my efforts with the iphonetography, but only when the kids were especially cute. I bet I didn’t even average a new picture a week – a week! – on the iphone. I’m going to look back it this someday and cry. 

7. Find new outlets to meet people in this community. A writers group, a running club for young girls, 
Dar la Luz, kids activities (parks & rec activities, the library)… there are possibilities out there if I choose to follow through. 
8! I did well! Partway through the summer I began helping with our co-op, Stone’s Throw, and really enjoyed my time working with others there. I still try to participate, though the meeting schedule is changing, and I intend to continue participating in various ways with it. I still wouldn’t mind meeting others in the other contexts I find myself often – H Boy’s preschool, the library, and church. 

8. Facebook less. If I really want to know what my friends are doing, give them a call, shoot them an email asking them real questions about their life or plan an outing to meet up. 
Ummm… 2? On a good day? Justification: I now use facebook as a major role in my professional life, so I can’t exactly ignore it. But on the personal level – which was really the root of the goal – I didn’t succeed. I have a handful of my friends that I call, but silly things like JOBS cause obstruction (and my evening hours are much more difficult to sit and have a chat). Perhaps a goal about connecting with friends each month would be worthwhile. 

9. Get dressed more. Working from home has a way of luring me into my comfy pants. Though I don’t need to go to the 9s, I could at least don pants with a zipper 3-4 times a week.
Boom! I’ll give myself an 8. Even now, when I don’t always leave the house, I change clothes mid-morning when the kids get dressed and always try to give an appearance to the mailman that I’m not spending the day huddled under the blankets. I never want to give an impression of, “Oh, kids sick again?” because I’ve not attempted to put myself together, even if it’s a ponytail. Every once in a while both the kids and myself stay in our jammies a bit longer, but it’s a treat we enjoy. 
 

The dental (and religious) abyss of young adulthood

Today I took a step toward personal responsibility and went to my dentist appointment. It’s not that I hate dentists or fear The Chair, but it’s been far too easy these past (ten) years to avoid making the call. I could blame the lack of dental insurance, but honestly, I was raised without such privilege, so I don’t feel that’s an honest factor (though dishing out large sums of money to hear that scraping sound was never high on my priority list). 

I ashamedly told the nice dentist of my ventures away from the dental world, however, he took to it kindly and mentioned that I was not alone in my period of living the prodigal. He said, “you just fell into the dental abyss of young adulthood.” 
So, apparently pastors and dentists can commiserate their vocational struggles with the similarities of their situations. The elderly pay the bills and you must meet their needs, while the young scamper away, unaware of their folly, no matter how many times they’re warned that their youthfulness doesn’t make them invincible. Then they return – “because of the kids” – with a mess to clean up, asking for an easy (and cheap) fix.  
And why do we become such wayward souls during our 20s? I think both pastors and dentists probably come across types who: 
  • feel like they do enough without having someone else invade their space 
  • don’t trust “the establishment” and figure they’re just out to get money
  • aren’t afraid of making an appearance, but rather they simply don’t make it a priority and thus never darken the door (*yours truly)
  • (please insert your own reasons for avoiding either establishment in your comments below.)
I sat in the chair for 2.5 hours with a (not-literally) God-sized hole in my tooth that only the dentist could fill. If I had neglected any longer, chances are I would have lost the tooth all together. There was not much exterior damage, just a shell of weak enamel chomping around, silently dying inside. 
The dentist did what he could to numb it before going to work. But all the excavating and cleaning and repairing -well, it irritates a situation which, though uncomfortable, is familiar. Now I have parts of my jaw and gums all flared up, who I originally thought were quite happy. It turns out that death growing in the hollows affects more than you realize. The overall condition of your oral health integrates with each individual tooth, cavity and crevice. What do you know, we’re holistic beings, not a group of compartments.    
It took more work to get me fixed up than the dentist anticipated. The depths of decay in my poor molar reached beyond expectation. Throughout the process he was kind and patient and wished beyond wishes that it wasn’t my “reintroduction” to dentistry. The road could be far easier with a cleaning or perhaps a filling on the upper gum. Better yet, a visit 5 years ago when we were breeding a slight crack would be optimal.  But no. I returned in full-fledged crisis mode, pleading for more Novocaine. Just make it all go away
I was released, numb, with follow-up appointments. It turns out that messes can’t be easily covered up, but rather need rebuilt. Most things in life don’t come with a one-dose fix. Our teeth – our souls – require constant care. And though I was a good brusher and even fit in a good frequent flossing, sometimes the basics don’t cut it. We need eyes other than our own, eyes trained to see below the surface, to take a look and guide us back to health. 
    

A live nativity

I remember after a particularly brutal football game my senior year of high school, talking with a friend who had endured a few hard hits. Mid-conversation he said, “What? Oh no. Now I’m crying. I’m crying! [Insert explicative].” The doctor diagnosed him the following morning with a concussion, the source of his tears. 

It’s not a bump on the head, but rather one on my belly, that seems to be causing me unanticipated tears.  For most of the afternoon. Without known cause. (Ok, we might be able to link it to watching a wedding-centered chick flick, but I don’t recall 27 Dresses moving me in same manner at its original viewing). 
I’m not an awful pregnant woman. I don’t puke. My ankles remain their normal size. My blood pressure stays steady. No glucose-related issues (if you ignore my craving for tart candies). Really, I get tired, cry a lot and love me some BK Chicken sandwiches, but otherwise I consider myself lucky. 
But even in the best of situations, an element of housing another being includes the frustrating challenge of loss of self. It begins small, with the loss of control over your own digestive desires. In the scheme, these are small adjustments for the sake of growing a baby. “It will be worth it,” we hear. And sure, meeting that little bundle does help ease the former discomfort. But honestly, that’s just something that people say when they’re not pregnant. 
The reality of de-prioritizing ourselves isn’t as simple as making a chiro appointment for the flaring sciatic. We don’t pee on a stick and magically, willingly endure even the mildest inconvenience with sheer delight. If you ask me, in the day and age of women learning and living as independent, strong, self-directed individuals, this giving of yourself to another meets, a tougher learning curve. Of course, marriage has been good practice at learning to consider someone other than yourself. But in that situation, it’s usually (or best) a two-way road, reciprocated and appreciated. 
In the role of motherhood, this sacrificial giving is a bit more one-sided. And honestly, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I’m the parent.  But knowing the role I’m supposed to play doesn’t ease the growing pains of becoming that person. 

Thanks to a recent post by Sarah Bessey (no seriously, go read it, I’ll wait… ok. Totally worth it, yes?), I’ve thought more about the spiritual connection of motherhood through our physical bodies. Today, the commonly quoted Romans 12:1-2 came to mind – Therefore, offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to him. This is your spiritual act of worship. And I couldn’t help but get caught up on on the word bodies. Christianity tends to be a very heartfelt-driven belief. But Paul doesn’t urge us to give our hearts as sacrifices, loving as an idea. No, he gets physical. Offer your bodies, and in so doing, it becomes something spiritual. It becomes worship. 
What can pregnancy – or enduring the haze following a sleepless night, or sharing stomach virus germs, or spending a year tied via breast to another person – possibly have to do with loving God? I think it might be everything. 
If we cannot give ourselves to this helpless being, how will we ever give ourselves completely to an invisible one? If we can’t wash the feet of our littles, will we ever stoop to another in a humbling position? God gave us a beautiful gift in the creation of families and community – He gave us the gift of practice. 
I’m only 4 years into this journey and still find frequent, frustrating episodes of selfishness rising up amid my best intentions to be a loving mom. Sometimes I just want to watch a girly show without having to send a kid back to bed. I wish for times of writing a blog post, thoughts uninterrupted by a little one that has yet again thrown her binky out of her crib. I want to eat my dessert without explaining why it’s mine and no you cannot have a bite without guilt.  
Loving in this context is more than your heart jumping, or even crying with pity for the starving children of Africa. Love means typing with a kid in your lap. It means cold food and early nights in. It means giving up dairy while nursing. Love takes on the physical, the right here. 
And in no other time of the year do I appreciate this experience more than the days leading up to God doing the same for all mankind. To think that God didn’t just love with a compassionate heart from afar … “oh, look at them down there, those poor humans. I hope someone helps them!” He loved right here, in the flesh. I’d like to think of it has his version of cleaning up puke in the middle of the night. 
Motherhood. Loving. Following Jesus. It’s not easy, but it’s good. It’s not automatic, but it’s grown. 
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