[Semi] Wordless Wednesday

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Lessons for the Week[ends]

*Before you scramble around to put on a bra and sweatshirt so you can go outside to clean up the toys in the yard [that you should have cleaned up yesterday], make sure the mowers are actually in your yard and not next door. Because that's a lot of wasted energy for nothing. Although, I guess now I don't have to clean up the yard later.

*Being depressed about your own lack of close friends is one thing; fabricating the fear that your children won't have close friends is a whole new level of sad. And terrifying. And pointless. But no less real.

*Alcohol and I don't really get along anymore. We haven't for a while, but I need to admit it out loud. I'm getting too old for his antics.




 Today I am going to start immersing myself in the Word. I have been neglecting it for months for various reasons, all of which seemed legitimate, but which I think have been distracting me from feeding my spirit. Instead of taking a shower before Elijah's swim lessons this morning, I choose to sit down with my Bible. Maybe I won't get to read much, but it's worth a shot.

We stayed out late this weekend. Friday night was Wrigley's birthday party, which was wonderful. We went mini-bowling and then to Pie in the Sky for pizza. We didn't even leave the party until 9 p.m., so the boys were already tired for the weekend. Then last night we went to life group at 4:30 and followed it up with the young adults gathering at the Wilchers' house. We didn't leave there until 8:30 or so, then stopped for gas, so the boys went to bed late again. Wriston has been crying all morning out of sheer exhaustion. Elijah has been surprisingly happy, but I think it'll catch up to us after he exhausts himself at swim lessons. It's only 30 minutes long, but I think it will tire out his little brain. He loves the water, though, so I'm hoping this will be worthwhile and he'll gain some good skills. Let's just hope he can keep his hands to himself while he's in the water.

This week starts our real summer schedule: pool time (lessons are just this week), fun church events (dinner and a movie in the building this Wednesday), music class on Fridays, and occasional playgroups (the splash pad downtown this week). I'm liking not having to rush around to get Elijah to school, but I'm wondering if he'll tire of just me at some point. I guess there's only time will tell. I foresee a lot of Cars and Team Umizoomi in my next two months.

Christmas Traditions

We didn't have a lot of traditions growing up, but the ones we did have are some of my fondest memories. So I'm testing things out this year in an effort to start some of our own O'Dell traditions.

I didn't plan very well this time, because the same night we promised Elijah that we'd put up the tree is the last night a friend is in town, so I'm heading out for dinner as my boys sit down to eat, watch "Elf," and drink some hot chocolate while wearing their pajamas.

That all sounds so cozy, doesn't it? I used to babysit for a lady who said she was striving for coziness all the time. I think that's a worthy goal.

I think this year I get a pass, though. Elijah doesn't realize that we can decorate the tree tonight too, so he's content that we got it put up. Maybe we'll start another tradition - one where we decorate the tree three days after putting it up. Because that's going to be our first opportunity this year. :)

Sigh. I love Christmas.

Morsels of Wisdom

I've been asking God for wisdom. I have a long way to go, and there are days that I have to remind myself constantly to pray, and even then I can't find the words. Or I can't keep my focus long enough to form a "real" prayer. But these little nuggets have stuck with me recently.

"Pain then, if one could have faith in something greater than himself, might be a path to experiencing a meaning beyond the false gratification of personal comfort." (page 196)

"Job found contentment and even joy, outside the context of comfort, health or stability. He understood the story was not about him, and he cared more about the story than he did about himself." (197)

I read Donald Miller's book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. Um, yeah. It's exactly what I needed to read, just when I needed to read it. There are many more sentences that I wanted to write across my forehead so I wouldn't forget them, but I'll settle for writing a couple here instead. I hope I can live a better story.

"If your actions are causing someone - anyone - to walk on eggshells, the problem is not them. It's you."

I am striving to see my own sin, to create the best version of myself in Him, not only for the betterment of my life but for my kids' lives, as well. They will use what I show them to shape not only their own world views but their future relationships, with people and, more importantly, with God. No pressure, right? But that's why I must live a better story, why it's so important to focus on and improve myself. Some of the things I do every day are not good. They're selfish and, occasionally, rather detrimental. So I need to make sure that my actions are kind, welcoming, and joyful, and that I am conscious of all others in my sphere. Michael calls me considerate to a fault, but I don't really think that's possible. It's how I feel called to be.

"May our wrong days help us appreciate our right days."

Today has not been great. Yesterday was worse. Nothing truly bad has happened; everyone is just too tired and out of sorts. I'm low on patience, Elijah is low on listening ability, Michael is low on availability, and Wriston is low on communication. It's just one of those weeks, and it's only Tuesday. But when I texted a friend to vent a little of my frustration, she reminded me that tomorrow everyone and everything will be a little different. Everyone will be fresh, we'll all [hopefully] be a little smarter, and we will all have today to remind us how bad it could be. And I hope I can appreciate our good days more instead of just letting that be the status quo. Which leads nicely into:

"Manage your expectations."

I had really [REALLY] bad postpartum depression this Spring and Summer. I started seeing a counselor, and one of the first things she talked to me about was managing my expectations. It is truly impossible for me to have and/or do it all. Maybe someone else could - and that's great for them. But I am average. And I need to be okay with that. Then Michael and I started a marriage class at church, and the first lesson was all about - surprise! - managing your expectations. So I'm doing my best. I will not have the most friends, the cleanest house, the most well-behaved and good-looking children, the best interior design, the best marriage, etc., etc., etc. I just won't. But I can be the best friend with access to a pool. Or the best at wrestling with Elijah. And literally the ONLY one who can feed Wriston milk. And even if that's all I'm good at (and I really hope it's not), it's okay. I have a purpose in a much bigger story than I can even comprehend. And someday, when I stop being average and sit with my Father as His beloved child, none of this will even be a passing thought.

Punkins and Tractors and Cows. Oh, My.

Saturday we went to Walden Farm in Smyrna with Michael's family. Today we went to Gentry's Farm with playgroup. We had a great time at both places, but I think I prefer Gentry's. Much more open space, super clean, the workers were really friendly, and it was just one fee for everything, as opposed to having to pay for each little thing. There are advantages to both, though. Wriston basically just wanted to eat mulch at both places, but Elijah had a blast.

I didn't take many pictures, honestly just because I hate having my phone out and not feeling present wherever we are. But here are the few I bummed off Michael's dad and snapped as we were leaving Gentry's.

6 Weeks of Chaos

Well, we had a baby. An 8 lb., 15 oz., 22" long bouncing baby boy named Wriston Wade. Wriston was my paternal grandfather's middle name, and Wade was my maternal great-grandfather's middle name. (Their first names were Loy and Clancy, respectively, so we decided to go with middle names instead.) I think our Wriston will hold them up well.

And the best part? With him, I got my patience, my sense of humor, and most of my body back. It's like I'm a real person again.

I had him December 12th, we came home on the 14th, Christmas was a mere 11 days later and included seeing almost all of our families. My parents came down and hung out for a couple days, then returned the next weekend for New Year's (we were all in bed before 11 p.m., though). We spent the next couple weeks trying to get into a routine, although it was much more difficult than I had anticipated. The boys seem never to sleep at the same time, so that's a challenge. We have been more than blessed with great attitudes, though, so I will NOT complain -- Elijah has been an absolute JOY with Wriston. He calls him buddy, wants to help (but doesn't get upset when we tell him he can't), and has only shown the slightest sign of jealousy, and even that was easily assuaged. I am so proud of him. Michael traveled a little, and I realized that I am actually capable of doing this on my own. And just as I was starting to get a little confidence, my body decided to rebel.

Around midnight on the 13th, I started having really terrible stomach pain. This wasn't unusual during my pregnancy, but I had always chalked it up to the hyperemesis (and my babies having a lot of hair). The pain was pretty intense -- one attack while I was pregnant had me writhing on the floor and begging Michael to call an ambulance. This last one wasn't that bad, but it was pretty intense. I got up, took some fiber supplements and some Tums, and prayed for sleep. Eventually the pain subsided enough that I could rest, and I figured that this, like the other times, was a one-off occurrence and I would be better the next day. Too bad for me, the attacks lasted all. day. on Friday. After much searching on WebMD, a phone call to Bethany, and a visit to urgent care, I got an ultrasound that confirmed gallstones and guaranteed a quick surgery to have my gallbladder removed. I had to wait until the 18th, but out it came. My sister left her own family for 5 days to help take care of me, my mother came for 4 days, and then Michael left town and my mother-in-law came for 3. Because, you know, I hadn't used up all my favors from them when I was pregnant. Sheesh. 

A week and a half later, I am 97% back to normal, and soooooo ready to get back to my life... a life that doesn't revolve around my health and what I can't do. Not picking up Elijah for a week -- again -- may have been one of the most frustrating things I've been through so far. And poor Elijah... he must think his mother is a permanent invalid. He doesn't trust me much anymore, and we're re-learning our relationship. But that's an issue for another post. For now, I will pray for a smidgen of normalcy, a moment of undramatic, blissful quiet. Until it's not.

An apology and a request.

I'm really good at hiding my emotions. It's a gift, really, received from my dad's side of the family. Well, a gift and a curse, depending on who you're talking to. Don't show them your weakness. It could be used against you later in life. Pretend like everything is just fine, and eventually it will be.

It has been brought to my attention that this pregnancy has diminished my patience and my vocal inhibitions to almost nothing. That means that I say what I'm thinking as soon as I'm thinking it and, as bad as that already is, the things I'm saying aren't necessarily the nicest things I could come up with. And that means I have hurt some people's feelings in the last few months. Some I knew I had hurt immediately after opening my mouth; others I found out about after comments were made when I wasn't around. I can't really say which is more horrifying, because they both sting and make me incredibly ashamed of myself. And there's a part of me that wants to say, "Well, it's the truth; maybe you should just get thicker skin." And that, of course, is the root of the problem in the first place - my lack of ... sympathy? ... patience? ... something.

When I look back at this year, all I can think is one word -- terrible. Yes, yes, I know, I'm bringing life into the world, I know. It's a gift, and one for which I am so grateful that it brings me to tears. All I can think is that this baby is going to be a much-needed respite of joy in the midst of a pretty crappy time. But the realist in me is trying hard not to get too excited, because that's a lot of pressure to put on a baby. No one -- especially not a baby -- should be expected to turn things right again. That's something on the Lord and time can do.

Things since April have just been ... wrong. Compounding the sickness with a deeper depression than I've had in years and other issues of which I have absolutely no control whatsoever, and the whole year just seems like a colossal disaster. It wasn't, of course, but that's what it feels like now. And I have internalized everything in ways I thought I had resolved. If I tried to explain it all to you, I can almost guarantee you would ask me to stop talking, or at least look really uncomfortable and have nothing to say other than, "Wow. I'm sorry," because that has been the reaction of almost everyone I have tried to talk to about it. I feel like an idiot even saying it all out loud because it sounds so amazingly absurd. So I don't talk about it much. It's easier, really, and less stressful for those not involved.

But then... I end up saying something rude to someone who doesn't deserve it. Because I have no patience whatsoever for things that, at that specific moment, seem trivial to my twisted, distracted mind. It's like there's no more room to be polite. Which is odd, because I feel like most of the time I am polite to a fault. It's just been a rough year, and I don't know what else to say about it. Some of it is getting better, and some of it is permanently damaged, and I have no idea what the future holds. But all of it is enough to bring me to my knees on a daily basis, and can make me break down sobbing at any time, anywhere. And it has.

I fully realize that this is not an excuse for my behavior. But it is a reason. And if you are one of the people to whom I have been rude, I am sincerely sorry. I hope you'll forgive me. But I also ask that you give me a little bit of wiggle room. There is so much going on in my head this year that I don't have room to think about your feelings, and I am sorry for that, too. I will do my best not to put my problems on you in the future. And maybe, just maybe, having this baby will give me another gift -- the gift of my patience back, if nothing else.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Another word for "quitter."

Believe it or not, I'm a perfectionist. But not a typical one; I don't have the typical determination to get something perfectly. I want to be able to do everything perfectly, and if I can't do it perfectly on the first try, and without much practice, then I give up. I think I use "perfectionist" as another word for "quitter."

I've been thinking about this a lot because of a situation I got myself into. You see, I'm kind of cheap, and I decided that it made more sense to buy all of Elijah's clothes a little big, and that way I could get more wear out of them for my money. Well, maybe I'm not "cheap," per se ... I bought nicer clothes (Gap, Levi's, Janie and Jack, some Gymboree - almost all on sale), so that they would stand the test of time, but again, I bought a little big (I just bought 2T instead of going for the 24 month stuff that he'll be out of in the next growth spurt). It made sense at the time. Still does, in theory. The problem? Everything's too long. Especially the pants.

And so, Tuesday I attempted to sew -- true sewing, not just mending a hole in a stuffed animal or replacing a button -- for the first time since I was in middle school. I called my mom and asked how to hem the pants up a couple inches -- I just needed to hem them, because I am so smart and got pants with adjustable waists, so the waists were fine. She told me to use a simple whip stitch, easy peasy, and I'd be fine. I googled "whip stitch," found a simple how-to video, and was on my merry way. 

Too bad I started when Elijah was awake. After pulling my whole sewing kit out of his hands, oh, maybe 50 times, I finally realized that I only had one color of thread that would work -- dark blue -- and it would only work in the denim, which of course is the hardest fabric to work with (for me). I spent the next 30 minutes cursing in my head and ripping out the stitches after starting a grand total of five times. It was a MESS. I couldn't do a straight stitch for the life of me, and forget about it being small. I was so frustrated that I packed everything up and threw it in a pile and walked away. And then I pouted. For about 24 hours. I came to the conclusion that the doubters were right, I had no business trying to sew, and I'd just go to JoAn on Wednesday and get some stitch witchery tape and be done with it. If I couldn't do it well the first time, might as well just move on. I sent Elijah to school on Wednesday in pants with safety-pin hems, and when he sat down they became capris. I told Michael we had the homeless kid at school and tried not to be too embarrassed.

On Wednesday evening, Michael and I had a conversation about being proud of your spouse. I am so proud of him and all that he does, and we have friends who are just as enamored with their spouses' accomplishments. But then I stopped to think -- what exactly do I do that Michael can be proud of? Sure, I make sure he has clean laundry and a relatively clean house, but I have help with the cleaning. Can I say that I fit the description of a worthy woman from Proverbs? "She looks well to the ways of her household, And does not eat the bread of idleness" (31:27 NASB). After taking the boys to school this morning, all I accomplished was keeping the kitchen tidy and finishing a book, which I then returned to the library. If that's not idle, I have no idea what is. And what about verse 13? "She looks for wool and flax, And works with her hands in delight." Well, all I had was cotton, but you gotta start somewhere.

So tonight, after Elijah was in bed, I decided to have one more go at it. I picked up the pair of Target jeans I bought for $4.50, deciding that if any could look bad, it could be them, and I started to sew. And you know what? It ain't pretty, and the stitches are totally irregular, but darn if I didn't finish hemming those jeans. And because the wash is dark and the thread is too, no one will ever see it. Except for maybe my mom, but I think that's her job. As a mom, I mean. I haven't been this proud of myself in a while. And I know that, by the time I get to the last pair of pants, the stitches are going to look a lot better. 

Maybe I'm not a quitter after all.

Things I Couldn't Imagine

If you had told me five years ago that in five years I would be married and expecting a second baby, I think I might have laughed in your face. I couldn't have imagined that things could change so quickly. Nor could I have imagined saying the following things in my everyday life:

"Don't forget to book your zip car."

"Are you ready to eat? Then put down your frying pan and come on."

"Thank you for showing me that and not rubbing it on the couch. Now go show Daddy what's on your finger."

"LEAVE. THE DOGS. ALONE." -- This one is more about frequency than about the statement itself.

Nor could I have imagined that my son's version of "Jesus Loves Me" is much more fun than the original, if not as spiritually poignant:

"Jesus, Jesus... big truck! Jesus, Jesus... two trucks! Meeee soooo!"

I'm thinking about two different themes for Elijah's birthday party... I say party lightly, just because it'll be just family and no presents, so maybe Elijah's birthday gathering. He loves all things baseball and golf, and he is also totally in love with the book Go, Dog. Go! I'm tempted to do the book just because baseball stuff is easy to come by (and really, Wrigley pretty much gets dibs on all baseball birthday celebrations, so it won't be original at all). Anybody have any ideas on cute decorations? There's a "party book" out there, but it's pretty advanced for 2-year-olds. I was thinking maybe we could have some hats to decorate, but that's as far as I've gotten. Or maybe I should have no theme at all and just let the kids run around screaming like they did last weekend. Everyone had a good time, and there were no themes involved.

Worse Than 30, but Still Pretty Darn Good

I turned 31 yesterday, and it was much harder than turning 30. I don't know why, but it made it more real to actually be in my 30s, but it started off okay, so I don't think it'll be too bad.  My mother-in-law came down and stayed with Elijah pretty much all day. My friend Bethany took me out to lunch at Baja Burrito (yay for fish tacos!), I went and got a massage, and then Michael surprised me by coming home early from DC so that we could go to dinner.

I was researching a new exciting place to go eat, and kept coming back to one I read about on Urban Spoon called Belcourt Taps & Tapas. I was expecting a restaurant feel, and when we walked in to see high-top tables and stools, I was surprised, but we decided to get a couple tapas and then see how we felt. And oh, am I glad we did. We had fried artichokes with a lemon ranch sauce, white cheddar grit cakes with chorizo gravy, and a slider trio. Um, delicious. I probably could have eaten more, but we decided to get dessert instead -- I had chocolate chip bread pudding with a scoop of cinnamon ice cream, and Michael got a mango mousse/pudding thing that was so creamy I was a little jealous. But really, there was nothing to complain about. There was hardly anyone in there, so the service was awesome, and the music mix of Jack Johnson, Foo Fighters, Switchfoot, Nirvana, and Patty Griffin gave it an interesting little ambiance. I'm sure it's got a different feel when they have live music (and when it's not 5:30 on a weeknight), but I highly recommend it. Yummy.

This morning Elijah and I are just hanging out at home thanks to a nasty nose on him and the fact that I'm pretty much caught up on housework (it's amazing how keeping your house so clean just in case you have a showing can ease your stress about housework). As I started to write this blog, I looked up to see Elijah watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse from a new vantage point:

Guess I should start paying attention to him.

Is it a Spring Break break?

With the lack of new shows to be DVR'ed, Michael and I have been watching more movies and live t.v., and that includes awesome shows like Wipeout. And tonight we decided that my brother & his wife and my cousin Sean & his wife Trisha should totally go on it, because not only would they beat everyone else, it would be hilarious to see their reactions to what happens. Anyone agree?

Since returning from Mexico, I have slid back into a good rhythm with Elijah. That is, until yesterday. He woke up at 6:30 very unhappy, and it only got worse from there. Apparently he caught a little stomach bug, so it's been kind of interesting ... and messy ... for the last 48 hours. But he's in good spirits, and we're constantly surprised at his maturity. I was worried about his hydration, but he's asked for his drink regularly all day, and I'm just grateful that he can communicate so well instead of just fussing because he's thirsty. My little guy is a trooper, and oh-so-cuddly when he's not feeling great.

I'm still fighting with our card reader, but we did get a new camera in Mexico, so I think I'll start using that. The card needed for it is a lot newer, so I think it'll be easier to sync with my Mac. However, when we first got the new camera, we made the mistake of putting the card from our video camera into it, and by doing so, we erased all our videos. Which means: no Christmas, no first hair cut, no wrestling around with Daddy. I can only write about it now because I am only now able to fight the urge to sob when I realize what we lost. But, such is life. Lesson learned, and all that stuff.