Skip to main content

We are satisfied...

So, Beth has given me this:


And apparently that implied that 1) she likes me, she really likes me and 2) that I must therefore and henceforth bare my soul. Rock. On. There are very few things I enjoy in life more than baring my soul and bringing forth some bits and pieces of honest to goodness authenticity. So, without further adieu, I bring you the following truths:
  • I honestly make the best egg sandwiches. No, really. I do.
  • Last night I had a temper tantrum around 4 a.m. and threw my son's empty baby bottle to the floor in a fit of exhaustion and disgust. Unattractive, but true.
  • From time to time I genuinely enjoy a little N'Sync, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, 98 Degrees and Jessica Simpson.
  • I'm really proud of my birth experience. I've been on a high ever since.
  • There are moments in every day when I think, "You are so fat."
  • When I get stressed or overwhelmed I sleep.
  • I have a favorite spot in my hometown to go to. I always feel closer to God there.
  • I used to make mud pies and "oatmeal" from the sawdust in my Dad's workshop.
  • The thought of baby #2 freaks me out.
  • I've been listening to "American Honey" over and over. Like for a week+
  • I drink a lot of milk. We buy two gallons a week.
There. See. Honesty.

And question: Why is it that when I am writing and misspell something and then throw it into Google to check said spelling, that I somehow end up spelling it correctly then?! Odd.

Oh, and I pass on the gift of honesty to:

Jamie, Jessica, Brenda and possibly my only male reader.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

{ IT'S YOUR BREATH IN OUR LUNGS }

I've been encouraged to write. Challenged. Read it on pages and in between lines. Heard it in a song. Write, write, write. The ones who know me so well... they tell me. "Where are you? Why aren't you doing this thing that you were given to do?" And... I don't know. I've got kids, man. I've got responsibilities and stuffed calendars and I just sometimes want to sit in my comfy pants and eat Starburst Jellybeans and binge on a favorite show. Sometimes... a lot of times... I think: what could I possibly have to offer? I can't even get caught up on laundry. I feel like I'm kind of a mess. There's not much inspirational about that.

But, I'll admit... when it's quiet? When I have space to hear the strum of my heart and the pounding of dreams racing through my head, like the agile feet of a runner, Reebok's smacking the asphalt? I feel it. I feel it right now. My spirit is knocking on a door I keep on locking up. Oh sure, pull the laptop o…

Tale as old as time: a different sort of review...

Is there any more beautiful notes than the first few tones of the dramatic prologue to Beauty and the Beast? When Disney released its animated version in 1991, my little ten year old heart was completely enraptured. Enchanted. I am never not moved by the overview of the roses, the squinting through brambles to see the castle aching and looming large against the sky.

Last night I swung by RedBox and picked up the newest version, since I'm like the only person on the planet who hasn't seen it, yet. I was ready for some uninterrupted girl time - just me and my mini Ben & Jerry's. I couldn't get the kids to bed fast enough (which is ironic, because I allowed them to stay up later than normal - the things we do as mothers that never make sense to anyone). I had my evening planned out and suddenly I had unending patience and energy. Funny how self-care works.

I settled deeper into my couch, held the ice cream close and got ready for an evening free of thinking and lists …

Your Love is Fierce...

I was so angry. So painfully, gut-wrenchingly, angry.
I didn’t know that’s what it was.
January was exhausting, sickly, draining. It clipped fast on the heels of December and holidays and before I knew it, what should have been a day to celebrate my beautiful niece, was a reminder that she wasn’t here. And I was a mess all day. Cried about everything. I had a purple heart on the calendar and I was destroyed.
I went to choir practice the following Wednesday. I usually always want to go. This week, I didn’t. I felt shattered and exposed and I knew that any song, every song, would set me off. I knew I needed to go, something deep in my spirit knew, but I was so apprehensive. One chorus. One bridge. One well-meaning repeat and I would be undone. I had been breaking and re-breaking in a thousand different ways since October. I was falling apart in every direction.
I had to leave during practice once that night. Went into the ladies room and sobbed so loud, before I could stop myself. My grief …