The Snow White Effect

"Want to know a secret?  Promise not to tell?"

Since this summer, I have seen Snow White about forty-seven times.  Because it’s a Disney movie, and somewhat harmless (save that one scene where The Queen gets totes weird and drinks that nasty herbal tea), I’ve permitted Reagan to watch it over and over…and over again.  Probably because it’s been a novelty until recently, she has fallen in love with it and never seems to get tired of watching the same events unfold.

So we watch it repeatedly, and often.  Most of the time, she is happily playing with other toys or coloring while it softly tells the story of the fair maiden, the film’s namesake, in the background.  She’ll occasionally stop to watch a particular scene, or dance along.  Despite her busyness, Reagan is at the age where she is absorbing everything around her, whether or not you could tell.  She pays close attention and she asks lots and lots of questions.  She wants to know ‘why’ to everything, and in her world, all questions have answers.  “Why does Dopey not talk?”  “Why does Grumpy not like to wash his hands?”  “Why does that old woman have that big bump on her nose?”  “Why does Snow White’s voice sound like that, all squeaky?”

“Why if The Queen doesn’t like the Mirror, doesn’t she just throw it away?”

It wasn’t until she asked this question – this particular inquiry about the Mirror – that I even paused.  And thought.  And wondered myself.

You’re probably already very familiar with this classic tale that is not an original Disney princess story.  Snow White is a young, beautiful, compassionate, patient, friendly, gentle, forgiving, understanding, but naïve maiden who is the step-daughter to The Queen.  The Queen, bothered by Snow White and in a show of power, demotes her to a lowly scullery maid.  As is the case in most fairy tales of this nature, the precious princess accepts her fate, but holds fast to her dreams of falling in love and escaping the life she is forced to live.  Even in the mundane, she sings and hopes and befriends. 

All the while, The Queen ruthlessly rules, wicked and willful to be the most powerful, and most beautiful, in all the land.  In her quest, she looks to an object – a ‘thing’ – to give her insight and information which she believes to be true.  It’s the Mirror who tells The Queen at her behest, whether or not she continues to maintain the status of ‘fairest’.  And The Queen asks daily.  Every day, she approaches the Mirror, hanging in a veiled room, “Magic Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

And it’s all good ‘til the Mirror tells her something other than what she wants and expects to hear and I’m telling you, The Queen is shooketh.

She’s set off into a tailspin of corrupt thinking and sinister plotting.  Instead of falling into tears and feeling ‘less than’ (aint no time for a pity party), she formulates a plan to simply do away with Snow White.  Because, I mean, logic.  The Queen commands a huntsman to take Snow White into a glade where she can pick wildflowers and ultimately BRING BACK HER HEART.  That is the proof required to show The Queen that Snow White no longer exists or threatens the things most important to The Queen.  Like outward beauty and stuff like that.

The huntsman takes Snow White to the woods where he is too overwhelmed by her compassion for another being – literally – to harm her.  She helps a frightened songbird, and it’s not until this point that he’s all like, “Nah, man, this is just wrong,” and tells her what The Queen has plotted.  Because of this, she’s apparently not safe at the castle, so Snow White flees and finds a cottage in the woods – with the woodland creatures’ help, naturally – and earns a new home with seven dwarfs who range in all manner of issues but are happy to have her nonetheless.  Eventually, The Queen realizes what has happened and takes matters into her own hands, mixing a potion to transform herself into EXACTLY THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT SHE YEARNS TO BE and sets off to do what the huntsman could not.  In the end, Snow White dies, but is revived by True Love’s First Kiss, and the dwarfs have a clean home.  Everyone wins.

But, back to the Mirror.

It seems, as far as my four year old understands it, that if The Queen had simply gotten rid of the Mirror that was giving her bum news, that none of this would have happened.  Snow White would’ve probably still been a scullery maid because The Queen was wicked to her core, and that much was just a fact.  It’s true that tossing the Mirror would have prevented the rest of the story from unfolding because Snow White would have never fled, and met the dwarfs, or eaten a poisoned apple, or died, or been resurrected by The Prince.  The inevitable happy ending would not have happened because the Mirror would have been deemed irrelevant, disregarded and ignored.  But instead, The Queen decided for herself that the Mirror was telling the truth.  If she had simply said, “You trippin’, anyone can see that I’m the fairest.  I mean, I’m looking at myself in my own reflection right now,” Snow White’s movie would probably have just been a Disney Short.

So here’s the rub: The Mirror provided news, but The Queen decided what she was going to do with it.

You and I do it every. day.

Every day when I wake up, as much as I hate to admit it, I go to the Mirror, which I hold in my hand, and ask it how things are looking for me that day.  “Slave in the magic mirror…Am I a good mom?  Am I pretty?  Does my husband love me?  Am I funny or valuable or smart?  Does my body look bad?  How about my make-up?  Do the girls’ teacher gifts and lunches measure up?  What did the other moms do?  How did the other wives act?  Am I talented?  Do I have anything unique or valuable to add?  Did this thing that I posted get a lot of likes or do people just hate me?  Because that’s obviously the alternative.  They either like my posts – which means they like ME, or they don’t – which means I’m irrelevant, oversaturating, overstimulating, annoying, thirsty, and pathetic.”

I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about, and you positively do not do it yourself.  Because, I mean, that just sounds insane.  Unhealthy, at best.

Lately, I have spent more than my fair share of time on social media.  I blame boredom and a need for interaction for the hours I’ve logged.  In my defense, I’ve tried to limit it to when the girls aren’t around, and when Britt and I aren’t hanging out (at least when he’s not also checking scores or scouting updates).  But I’m not going to be dishonest about it.  I’ve looked at Facebook and Instagram a lot, whiling and scrolling away the time where there didn’t seem to be much else to do.  We have a wonderful life and there is plenty to provide fulfillment, but in these last days as we anticipate the return to school, other activities have been exhausted.  So we’ve watched Snow White and read Facebook more than usual.

What I’ve found is that social media is like the Mirror: a really entertaining and seemingly harmless ‘thing’ that I can hold in my hand and take with me wherever I go.  It’s fun and sometimes even insightful, but it is also dangerous.  This is not a revelation specific to me; we’ve all heard this parallel before and likely read tons of articles and blogs (probably via Facebook links) as to why social media can be tricky for the heart and mind.  But, the fact is, we still go back to it; as far as I know, few of us have just gotten rid of it.  And what we see there lingers, especially for women.  I mean, I can’t speak for all of us, but I have a decent amount of experience.

This is what it’s like for me…  What I see, I internalize in the filing cabinets of my mind.  I might file posts as someone being funny, someone celebrating, someone seeking attention, someone needing help, someone looking for answers, someone taking a risk, someone acting ridiculous…the list is endless.  As ridiculous as it seems, I tend to measure myself against it.  “Well, at least I’m (not) ____.  I must be good.”  Or, and even worse, “Oh…I’m not doing/acting/saying/looking (basically, *enough*).  I must be bad.”  The things that we see may be similar or they may be vastly different.  It depends on what and who we follow and where we’re willing to let those things take us.  And how I file the things that I see is probably different than how you file what you see.  But you probably do see it, and you probably do file it.  And let me tell you this:

The mirror is lying.

The mirror tells a tale of perfection and hilarity and ‘with-it’ness, with profound bouts of goodness and insightfulness.  It says all lunches are Pinterest Perfect and so are the people who make them.  It says other women are better and funnier and more compassionate and more beautiful and more creative and more cherished and more spiritually solvent and more capable of styling their hair and THEREFORE, more valuable. 

Whether or not I believe what it tells me, is up to me.  It was up to The Queen and she failed.  She failed big time.  But can you blame her?  Because she did not accept herself for who she was (and own that person), she decided the Mirror was an oracle of truth and it consumed her.  She was a rancid person with a lack of character and a morally bankrupt soul.  She alone was responsible for her lack of decency and she paid the price for her transgressions.  The Mirror had nothing to do with that.  But the Mirror didn’t help that, either.  It made it so, so, so much worse.  The Queen was dependent on the Mirror telling her how and where she stood on the scale of social status.  “Am I the fairest?  Am I the most beautiful, inside and out?  I really don’t care how it happens; I just need to know where I stand.”  Girl was messed up. 

But I do the same.  Some times are worse than others, but I do it.  I look to social media to clarify things for me.  If I’m feeling down, Facebook does not help.  It confirms what I fear.  If I’m feeling up, I go there looking for affirmation.  While I keep the filing cabinets in my mind, I have to work very, very hard to not let them be relocated to my heart.  Because as much as I file, I filter as well.  You know how filters work because there are plenty to choose from.  They’re so handy when we want to soften reality.  So, it certainly does not help when the mirror is giving us news that is already filtered, and therefore, not even true.  I mean, think about it: a lot of what's on social media is already presented as a slanted reality.  We're all guilty of posting things like this because we're looking for the same kind of feedback.  I think, if we’re being honest, the truth is that we’re not always comfortable being raw and real so we use filters as a boundary to protect our true selves – what we put out, but also what we allow in.  Filters aren’t bad, but they’re also not real.  Being transparent enough to live an unfiltered life is hard work.  It calls on a level of vulnerability and maturity that I struggle with at times.  But I’m getting there.  I appreciate it when others do the same hard work and are willing to be themselves, unashamedly.  I respect them more and I feel more empowered to be myself when I see others owning who they are as well.  A dear and precious friend told me last year: 

“I don’t have time to be friends with perfect people because I just know I can’t live up to that expectation.  So I reserve my efforts and invest elsewhere, where I know I’m able to be myself but I’ll also be challenged to be better, on my own merits.”  

Those are such wise words.  Seeing filters for what they are allows us to get so much more out of life.  And if we’re sharing parts of our lives on social media, isn’t there greater value in being real through the celebrations and struggles?  These are the things I truly want to file in my heart.  I know where the key is held and I don’t ever want it being kept in someone else’s pocket.

Having been a woman, a wife, and a mom for a while now, I think I have a pretty good idea of what Snow White would have been like had she been a real-life person and not a fairy-tale princess.  She would have been hot, haggard, and hacked off.  She would have been aggravated that she was scrubbing those outdoor steps.  She would have rolled her eyes at The Queen’s insecurity, sighed, and wished The Queen would just get over it already so they could have a decent coexistence, maybe even a relationship.  She would have also seen The Queen for what – and who – she was and used that perspective to prioritize.  She probably would have been hurt that she’d been treated unfairly and unwelcomed, but she would have been thankful that there was another place that accepted her, once she found it.  No woman in the world is going to allow wild beasts into the house that she’s cleaning for any number little people, although I do believe Snow White would have found purpose in cooking and cleaning for the people in her life that she loved most, making a home they could share.  The real Snow White might help a stranger but she’d know better than to take candy from them.  And in the end, she’d likely wear sweats at home, not heels.  She would be real and flawed and honest and that’s what would make her beautiful and enough.  Had the mirror seen the real Snow White, what it reflected would have been a more human existence.

The ‘mirrors’ of our lives, whether they’re social media or other outlets, only serve as messengers of things that may or may not already be true.  They give us the choice as to what we’ll believe and reflect ourselves.  Will we be human?  Will we share our hearts?  Will we risk realness and be comfortable with what we see: whether we’re looking at ourselves or being shown the image of something else…?  Will we discern what we see and be responsible with what we allow into our head and hearts?  The mirrors can’t be faulted; they’re just relaying what they’re being told.  The real challenge and responsibility falls on us, as the ones who look to their reflections.  Choose your filters wisely.  How you filter your own life and the lives of others is a delicate balance.  Don't trust your heart and value to something that may seem absolute but is only a piece of fragile glass.  Because Snow White was filtered.

And sometimes, so am I.

And sometimes,

so are you.

Brave Heart

"Every man dies.  Not every man really lives."
- William Wallace, Braveheart

So, tomorrow is my birthday.  My 37^th birthday.  Thirty. Seven.

Now look, I know 37 is not old.  But I do FEEL old.  I thought it WAS old last year, when I was struggling with 36.  But when I consider that I hope to one day be 40, then 37 is much younger.  Life should not be lived based on how we feel, and in many ways it’s all about perspective.  And nothing gives you that more than having kids or growing olderish.

When our family grew by two more feet a little over two years ago, I finally gave up making New Year resolutions (or NYRs from here on out, because I am almost old and lazy).  Quite frankly, I decided that NYRs are stupid.  I realize this is harsh.  I know there are tons of people who look towards the start of a new calendar year like I do the freshness of a new pint of Cookies N’ Cream ice cream.  There’s a thrill knowing that you have something untouched and therefore, unscarred: a new start.  And it’s important in life to continue to set goals; I’ll agree with that totally.  It’s all very exciting (and in some ways, inspiring), but I’m already a professional at setting unrealistic goals for myself with the superior knowledge that I will fail in most of them miserably.  I do not need a holiday to help me do this.  (If you’ve known me or followed me on social media for any kind of time, you already know that I’m very comfortable being honest about this.)  I did, at one point in life, make resolutions – back in a time when I did not have children and I could focus more on myself.  But life is very (blessedly) different now, and my priorities are vastly different as well.  I am very okay with that.  So, with this proclamation comes the added acceptance that New Year resolutions are just not for me.

Up until now.   

                                 

I was recently talking with My Bestie about the upcoming new school year and impending fall season.  She and I are so grateful to have so much fullness in our lives, but it can get overwhelming if we stop and think about it too much.  So as we were commiserating, I told her that I always consider the beginning of a new school year the *actual* start of a new year.  Routines and schedules are newly established, everyone falls into a workable rhythm, the comforts of consistency become a fresh reality, and we seem to operate with a bit more grace.  I know the new school year is around 180 days and that is SO much easier to commit to than 365.  So, I treat the new school year like MY new year, because I am the one who does the majority of ‘dealing’ and this just makes it easier for me to ‘deal’.  Plus, the start of a new school year just HAPPENS to fall very close to my birthday.  So you probably see now where I’m going with this…

We talked about things going on, and things coming up, and before I even knew what was happening, My Bestie had convinced me to purchase an amazing new life planner.  A LIFE planner, y’all.  One that has space for all the life stuff.  {She and two other dear friends ganged up on me like a Loving Little Life Planner Peer Pressure Posse and I swiped my card and now my planner’s on the way.  I can’t wait to get it and color-code every single inch.}

There are many wonderful things about this purchase that only the Type-Aist of the Type-As can appreciate.  At the front of the planner, there are a few blank pages.  Like, nothing but lines and blocks and inspiring quotes.  And as I was trying to decide on whether or not to take the plunge, I looked at those pages and thought, “There’s nothing here.  What would I put here?  How am I going to fill this space?  All the spaces MUST BE FILLED.  How will I know what to put here without these spaces and lines and pages being LABELED with what they should be?”  This truly kept me up at night.  I NEED things to be clear.

And then, it dawned on me…I know EXACTLY what I’m going to put in these spaces.  It’s going to be my birthday gift to myself.  And this is it:

This is going to be my year of freedom.  I am ready and I recognize that I need to be humbly selfish and prioritize myself for a change.  And when I say ‘myself’, I mean my REAL self.  Because I am just over the alternative.  I am over it 100 of the percents: the need to be perfect, the need to be labeled, the need to be filtered, the need to worry or to be anxious, the need to have all of the spaces filled with meaningless stuff that somehow makes me feel like I'm doing this life right.  I am just not interested in that any more.  I can’t maintain it.  I want to, but I can’t, and the pressure to keep up with that image is just too exhausting, and frankly, it steals my joy. 

That became painfully clear to me this past summer.  For a while, I struggled with some feelings of insecurity and wondering if I was ‘enough’.  At some point or another, this plagues us all, and the summer months – with their sneaky, lazy, long, isolating days – were more challenging for me this year for this reason.  When things bother us, we can make the choice to internalize or rationalize.  I knew better, but I was vulnerable and so it seeped in.  It can do that if we’re not careful and idly spend our time scrolling through social media, where all of the perfect people post all of the perfect things – the perfect victories and projects and pedicures and date nights and children and marriages and moments that they have carefully chosen to post, because those things represent the best of themselves.  And I’m guilty of it, too.  (Helloooooo, Perfect Selfie post!)  But one night, enough was enough.  It hit me like a ton of bricks – just one super annoying post by someone I rarely see and I had pretty much had it.  WHY was I assessing my own worth against something so petty?!  It was an “Aha!” moment: a moment of heavenly clarity.  It reminded me that as long as we’re choosing, we must CHOOSE to set our sights on things above, not on what we see here on earth.  A dear friend once said that when you hit your mid-thirties, you just care less.  You’re not careless.  (There’s a difference!)  You just realize that the things you once thought were important just aren’t any more.  And this finally clicked for me.  There are only a few things that really, truly matter in this life.  Why in the world am I going to spend one more day concerning myself with chasing those feathers in the wind?  I’d much rather keep the ones in my nest secure.  One of the first things I read online after this enlightenment was a blog that gave me so much freedom.  The post is titled “Things I Do” and I absolutely loved it.  (Read it here! http://austin.citymomsblog.com/2016/03/22/things-i-dont-do/)  It was so, so liberating at the most critical time.  [Jen Hatmaker has also written an incredible, sure-to-set-you-free book touching on this very subject.  If you don’t already have a copy of For the Love, you can get one by using this link on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Love-Fighting-Grace-Impossible-Standards/dp/0718031822/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1472959126&sr=8-1&keywords=for+the+love  Believe me, the first few chapters will be your new spirit animal.]

Since I’ve realized that this new way of thinking is okay, my resolutions have been taking shape. 

And with that, I have decided.  I am not going to be THIRTY-seven.  I am going to be STURDY-seven.  I may be older, but I truly hope that I am also wiser.  With that wisdom I hope (and PLAN) to invest myself in only the very best ways - for me and for my family and for my faith.  I am “Shedding the Stepford” and I’m going to be all kinds of real.

So, HOW does a Type-A, fill-all-the-space, rely-on-the-plan, color-coded perfectionist go about being vulnerable and giving herself some freedom?  This is my strategy:

I’m still going to fill all my space.  It will be full.  But WHAT I’m going to fill it with is the real gift.  My spaces in my new life planner – the front pages, the ones that set the tone – will be filled with unapologetic statements of who I am, who I aim to be and what I want to do with this year.  They’re my resolutions, but I AM RESOLVED that I will keep them.  I really want to, and I really NEED to.  These spaces will be filled with my lists – my heart’s lists.  Lists like:

Things *I* do;
Things I don’t do;
Things I’m good at doing;
Things I want to learn to do;
Things I like to do;
Ways I’ll be investing my time;
My spiritual gifts

I’m not going to tell you the specifics in these lists because they’re mine and I own them; I am proud of and am challenged by them.  I pray that I’m able to refocus a few things based on these lists, and I’m trusting that God will give me discernment as I navigate life through THESE filters, not the ones I see in apps or those that society has so thoughtfully put in place.  If I feel like I need to say something, I’m going to say it.  If I feel like I need to lie something down because it doesn’t fit in my lists, like the original blogger said, I’m going to put it aside, maybe for now...maybe forever.  If it’s something that I really want to do and I can take on a new thing without compromising the other parts of myself, I hope I’ll have the courage to do that.  I also pray I’ll be brave enough to say no, because I intend to.

Yesterday morning, a Facebook memory (irony?) popped up in my timeline.  In a way, I feel like it was the Lord gently reminding me that evaluating life and organizing my heart like this is a good thing.  It’s healthy and hopeful and in some ways, the only way someone like me – who holds onto control so tightly – can be convinced to let go a little.  My resolutions may seem to be outside of the color codes of the schedule I’ve set for myself, but they may be 100% within the strokes He wants to paint on my heart.  The message was simple and I wrote it a year ago, September 3, 2015:

“Sometimes you have to look at yourself and say, ‘All of this that I’m carrying looks so heavy.  What can I put down?’  And then you do that.  You put it down and you walk away.  Even if it’s just for a season, you don’t carry that thing."

“Choose wisely.”

And so, with that, I’m filling my space with the things that matter.  The things that will make Sturdy-Seven one of the best years of my life.

Happy birthday to me.

"A person plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." 

- Proverbs 16:9

"To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn..."

Since the middle of November this is how I feel I've lived my life.:

Nice, huh? Yes, it's true. I like to put on a good front and pretend to have it all together (and I may have even fooled you a time or two). But the truth is, this hot mess has arrived everywhere for the past two+ months on two wheels like a woman with her hair on fire. It’s been fun.

Honestly, I don't remember when exactly I lost control of the whole world. But I do remember looking at our upcoming holiday calendar one day with fear and trembling knowing there'd be some priority shifts as we balanced Christmas busy with every-other-day busy. That's normal. But I haven't recovered and the day to day has continued to be nuts. It goes something like: wake up, feed the girls, work, feed the girls, crash, feed the girls, bathe the girls, put the girls to bed, crash, sleep, wake up, wash rinse and repeat. Notice I did not include 'do the laundry', 'sweep & mop', 'make the beds', 'wash the dishes' (or even 'load the dishwasher'), or 'dust', because frankly, time and energy to complete these tasks have been a luxury lately. When I've had time and energy I've spent both doing other things that - at the moment – have been higher priorities and therefore better choices. But regardless, time has to eventually be made, oh, say, once every year or so, to clean the everlovin' house. Honestly (and I hope I can be honest here), I just have not felt like doing a whole lot around my house low these past few months, and it has all caught up with me.

This is what it usually looks like.

Last week I made it to school on time all but one morning (and on that morning I was late by only 5 minutes - saints be praised). This alone deserves accolades because as you saw above, the mornings have not always been a friend to me. I do as much as I can the night before to prep us for the next day, but you can bet dollars to donuts that something will come up in the morning that will put us behind, and we leave a mess in our wake. On Friday I thought I'd beaten the system when we all left on time with smiles on our faces. But when I got to school I happened to glance down to see a crusty smear of banana oatmeal on the right front upper quadrant of my sweater (yes, there). I thought, "Cry-mo-ninny. I almost made it."

And this is just the tip of the iceberg, y'all.

I've recently begun calling my master bedroom "Monica's Closet" because I have taken to shoving things in there just to get them out of the main areas of the house. Britt and I have a reading nook off of our bedroom which we refer to as "Staging Area 3". This falls behind "Staging Area 1" (the love seat in the den where loads of clean laundry are usually piled waiting to be folded), and "Staging Area 2" (the kitchen counter where we obviously dump all things coming and going). We call these places "Staging Areas" because we like to pretend (or, *I* like to pretend) that the messes are actually just prepping areas for some next great big moment in life. Like, say, FOLDING the laundry and putting it away for once. We've made it as high as Staging Area 5 but that was during Christmas and no one can live up to the pressures of limiting it to 1 through 3 when gift wrap is involved. At any given point, we have an assortment of all four of our random belongings stashed in Area 3. As a matter of fact, as I type this I see an overstuffed Minnie Mouse, a pile of summer baby clothes to sort, a reusable shopping bag full of who-knows-what, a coloring book and tin of crayons, a stack of picture frames waiting to have the pictures updated, about 20 Christmas cards that I still need to mail (sorry, y'all), Reagan's pack-and-play, an old computer, and two mylar Christmas balloons (one of which is a nearly life size Santa and doesn't creep me out at 4 in the morning at. all.). On Saturday, my Mom came for a quick visit. I went through the house that morning with an oversized basket collecting random junk and unloading it in Area 3. I had been expecting Mom for over a week and this was how and when I thought best to neaten our little home. I figure I'll get to "the stuff" eventually. Nothing there is high priority, and it means the rest of the house is neat. But it took company coming to get it cleared. Britt walked into the den, saw the love seat, and said, "I totally forgot we HAD that!" And (full disclosure) I admitted to him one night last week that earlier that day I had just put trash BESIDE the bathroom trashcan because I was too overwhelmed to empty the can itself. We agreed this was a new low. (Don't even judge.)

If you know me, you know this is not me. I am not a procrastinator or a packrat or a poor housekeeper. In fact, I am a plan-months-in-advance, neat-freak perfectionist that gets the shakes when things aren't at least in some sort of temporary order. So, why am I admitting this, you ask? Why in the world would I tell you this when I would DIE if you saw it? Because it's real life, people. It is real, messy, beyond-my-control life right now. I'm in a perpetual state of searching for a brown sweater while the clock is ticking.

It's a season.

Britt has reminded me of this lately. (I just have to say, there is a special place in Heaven for this man. His mansion is going to be HUGE and CLEAN.)

This lasted for maybe 5 minutes.

Life is seasonal. Time passes much too quickly. We mothers have all probably heard the poem about cobwebs waiting because we're rocking our babies who don't stay little forever. And that's TRUE. They don't. They grow into kids who make messes and want to be fed and keep you busy and create dirty laundry and dishes and make you so happy your heart wants to bust wide open to the point you see past the crumbs on the floor because you are HAPPY.

And you are EXHAUSTED. Be honest. I cannot be the only one. I will just keel over and die this minute if you are telling me you never get tired or feel overwhelmed. Sure, you may have found your rhythm and I hope to one day myself, but for now I am wiped. It sounds great to say, "I let the dishes sit while I read my children a bedtime story." Makes me want to watch a Hallmark movie.  But that is not real life for me right now. My real life says, "I let the dishes from a passable dinner sit un-rinsed while I get the little girl ready for her bath and threaten my oldest within an inch of her life to get in the tub already. I wrestle them both like greasy piglets and get them a measure of clean and then leave the towels on the floor while the oldest dresses in too-small, mis-matched pajamas because she's worn the top with a tutu around the house the day before and now she can't find it. The better, matched pairs are still in the drier and after stating repeatedly that no one is going to see them or know any better, I throw up my hands and say, ’Whatever’. By now it is time to settle the littlest while the oldest colors and watches Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy, depending on how late it is. When the littlest is in bed and the oldest has had a prayer and exhausted all stall tactics about 45 minutes later - and I have told her if she calls out one more time I'm incarcerating a toy in toy jail - I finally shuffle back into the kitchen. Now it's time to clean up the littlest's bathtub and lotions, but first I need to switch out the laundry so I can sit the tub on the washer to dry out overnight. When this is done (another 20 minutes later), I glance down at the crusty dishes and inwardly laugh while I think ‘yeah, right’, then grab whatever's sweet and fall onto the couch.”

Can I get an ‘Amen’?

Here's the catch: I can stand this disarray.  I'll admit, there have been times I've wondered if I'm failing the girls by not making it a priority to keep a better house. I know what you’re thinking: “Great day, Melissa.  If you just took one afternoon a week to get things into shape you won’t have such a mess.”  And I get that.  I do.  Messes are cyclical like life is seasonal, and I accept that.  So, instead I don't lose sleep over any it, and here's why:

I'm a good mom.

This house won't always be messy but it will always be home. This is just a season. A season with Disney princesses and fairies scattered throughout the house and Little People on the countertops and stuffed animals on the floor by my bed. A season with Goldfish crumbs and silver glitter on every surface because of a snowflake craft.  A season where 6 year old toys mingle with 8 month old toys in a wonderful cluttered explosion of hot pink plastic.

This is the 'playroom'.  I mean, what is even the point.

Someone asked me last week if I had no restrictions on my life and could be doing anything, what would it be? I was surprised; I hadn't expected that question. But she shocked me even more by saying maybe I'm already doing it. And I am. I am the happiest I've ever been.  This place is full of messy and I am full of joy.

One day I will look around my pristine house. The mess will be gone and so will the girls. I'll be here in my tidy quiet and remember then what I am so blessed to already know now: it is better to be tired and surrounded by clutter and be LIVING than to be neat.

We sure do some wonderful living in this house.

"You Make Me Feel So Young"

On Wednesday, September 5th, 1979 at 11:16 pm, I came into this big ol' world.  Hurricane David was wreaking havoc on the southeast and just making it to the hospital was reason enough to celebrate.  For many, many years it seemed like it rained every year on my birthday.  I don't know if it's supposed to rain tomorrow, but I do know that on Friday, September 5th, 2014 at 11:16 pm (and not ONE minute before, mind you), I will be thirty-five years old.

Thirty. Five.

Now, thirty-five is not old.  At this point in my life, fifty doesn't seem old.  But in the context of ME (as in, "I am thirty-five years old"), it seems decrepit.  Emily's first grade teacher was born in 1987 and when I learned this, I died a little inside.  I was eight when she was born.  I was watching Shera, Princess of Power and turning Capri Sun boxes into My Little Pony stables while she was cooing sweetly.  It's just not right.

When I was staring down thirty and eying that decade of life I had myself a little fit.  I realized I wasn't going to be 'in my 20s' any longer.  For some unknown reason (probably me just being dramatic, honestly), I thought the best way to come to grips with this new reality was to take a little browse through Talbots.  I figured I'd be wearing those clothes soon enough and I should just know my options.  Bad idea.  Lovely clothes...bad idea.  I left almost as quickly as I walked in and promptly made my way out of there, past Coldwater Creek, to the Great American Cookie Company where I consumed an undisclosed number of calories.  

And then I had a moment of clarity...  I thought, instead of lamenting the passing of my youth, I could embrace it by reflecting on all the things I'd done and accomplished in my 20s.  It was no measly list.  It included: graduating college, getting married, tackling law school with my husband, having a very successful job in the marketplace, giving birth to our first baby girl, making a move to a brand new place and starting fresh...  Things a lot of people don't do by the time they're thirty, if at all.  This didn't (and doesn't) make me better.  It just offered some perspective.

I'll be in my mid-thirties tomorrow night.  On the downhill slope, clawing back up at the edge of thirty and slipping on down into those very 'established' years.  I'm resigned.  I'd rather be thirty-five than dead.  And you know, that is not all I've learned and come to believe in the thirty-five years of my adult life.  (Sarcasm.)

Here goes...

1) When you get dressed in the morning and leave your house, you are committed to that outfit for the day.  Choose wisely.
2) Just because leggings are in style doesn't mean you have to wear them.  The same is true for skinny jeans.  No one will mind if you skip these fashions and stick with bootcut.  
3) Some friendships don't last forever.  Some aren't supposed to.  That doesn't mean they weren't what they were supposed to be in their season, but seasons change.  Dress your heart for the weather.
4) You can be honest and still be kind.
5) Dean's French Onion dip is really just as good as French's French Onion dip.
6) Spring for the Heinz.  Hunts is crap.
7) Self tanner is a pain in the rear and as soon as you come to terms with your fair skin the sooner you'll be comfortable in it.
8) Sometimes the best reaction is no action.
9) If your order is wrong, send it back.  You deserve to get what you're paying for.  And be kind to your server because the error probably wasn't on them.
10) When in doubt, go with black.  
11) Your closest friends won't mind if you're nursing and will bring macaroons.  These are your dearests.
12) Reality television is all the drama you need.
13) Don't talk yourself out of getting up and getting dressed and getting out.  The world may need a little awesome that day and it may all be up to you.
14) You are not responsible for the happiness of others and you can't please everyone all of the time.
15) It is okay to say 'No'.
16) God made Betty Crocker so you could enjoy your life.  Add eggs, oil and water, then praise Him, saints.
17) If you can't afford a new outfit, buy new earrings and a new lipstick.  Instant makeover.
18) You can't always help how you feel.  You're a human with a soul and emotions so you will feel.  And that's okay.  
19) You are responsible for how you deal with your feelings.
20) Manners matter.  Don't forget that or them.
21) School. Pizza.
22) Start out the way you want to finish out and finish well.
23) Baby Powder is best left to actual baby powder and has no business as a candle scent.  If you value your olfactory senses just stay away from these completely and forever.
24) It's best to wait another few minutes to be sure there's no more poop.  Otherwise that value size box of diapers is gonna be gone real quick. 
25) If you say it, own it.
26) Your family is a gift and the most precious thing you'll have outside of salvation.  Be kind and gracious.  Nothing is better than living in harmony with your family.
27) It's okay to ride alone in your car and not turn on any music or call a friend.  It's okay to be quiet.  If you can stand being quiet with yourself you're probably doing just fine.
28) You'll think up the best quips and retorts while standing in the shower naked.  This is humbling.  Since popping off at the mouth usually makes a person look ridiculous, imagine saying what you're thinking when you're naked and I bet you won't say it after all.
29) A schedule helps but it's great if you can be flexible.  If you can't be flexible, at least be on time.
30) Step outside of your comfort zone at least once in life.
31) Keep your relationship with your spouse sacred.  Don't share too much.  Knowing you can trust someone you love with the deepest parts of your heart is priceless.  Being trusted with that is beyond.
32) Learn how to turn off the windshield wipers in your car or you'll just look like an idiot trying to play off all those quick windshield washes.  After about 8 times the jig is up.
33) Be the bigger man.  It's worth it.  At least you'll respect yourself.
34) If you can get by with a ponytail one more day and avoid the hourlong styling commitment of a shampoo and blow-out you should try it.
35) Don't be surprised if you get everything in life you've ever wanted by the time you're 35.  Just be grateful.

"So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom." - Psalm 90:12

"Just 'Eat' It"

I cannot cook, which is unfortunate.  Because, of all the domestic tasks I want to perform consistently well, this rates at the top of my list.  I come from a line of great cooks...  My maternal grandmother was a culinary queen.  And my paternal Grandma owned and operated a home cookin' restaurant for decades, for cryin' out loud.  She still cooks for family and it is always incredible.  Britt's grandmother was a fantastic cook (they still tell stories of her homemade tamales), and my mom and mother-in-law clearly fell close to the apple trees.  They both are fabulous cooks who make their mothers' meals, their own dishes, AND follow new recipes well.  This is what I call the "Kitchenette Triple Threat" since they can turn out great food regardless of where or what they're working with.

This is not my thing.

You'd think I'd have cooking in my blood but I am really limited to a few standard dishes I make in a pathetic little rotation.

• Mexican Chicken Dip
• Taco Soup
• Baked Pork Chops
• Baked Chicken

(At this point, no one should get too excited...all of these are Crock Pot dishes.  Do they even really count?)

• Taco Casserole
• Baked Spaghetti
• Chicken Pie
• Deli Sandwiches

The highlight of my cooking career has been at Thanksgiving when I've baked my own turkey and made homemade gravy, dressing and sides.  I've managed all of this twice.  We ate like royalty those two days and then it was back to reality.

Tonight, I made meatloaf.  Meatloaf with homemade mashed potatoes, fresh steamed broccoli, corn, and some freshly sliced watermelon.  I don't want to brag, but I do make a pretty mean meatloaf.  Now, I should note out of fairness that it is a very homely looking dish – “Humble Food” - and that is being incredibly generous.  But it tastes good, and really, I think that's what matters most anyway.

So, in honor of this rare occasion that I cook a 'real' meal, I'm going to share the experience with you.  Write this down.  Christmas comes but once a year.  

First, when preparing this meal, I make the meatloaf.  It's basically one pound of ground beef, one egg, salt & pepper, ketchup, Italian seasoning, and bread crumbs all mixed together and pulverized with a potato masher.  I have no idea how much of any of it I put in (other than the meat and single egg) but it usually looks like this:

Mmmmmmmm.

I pat this into a loaf pan and press it down so that it will bake evenly.  (Excuse me while I die laughing...  Who am I kidding?  'Bake evenly'?  I just really don't want it to be pink in the middle.)  This bakes at 350° for about 30 minutes.  I just keep checking it.  When it's done I make the glaze, which means I squirt ketchup all over the top and bake it another 5 minutes.

Check out those fork strokes.  Classic technique.

Next, I prepare the potatoes.  They're cubed and boiled to absolute smithereens.  Personally, I feel potatoes are ready only after they have boiled over and charred your stove top to the point that only Mr. Clean and his Magic Eraser completely undo the damage.  I believe this so resolutely that even Emily will ask, "Mom, did you remember to boil over the potatoes?"  She will grow up believing that's the only way to cook them and her husband will think she's nuts.  It'll all make sense when she explains "That's how my mama did it."  Bless.

They're ready.  Trust me.

After I drain the potatoes I add butter and milk I've heated in the microwave.  (Again, amounts are whatever I think looks right.)  Then I mix/mash them up with my KitchenAid handheld mixer.  (Be impressed.  This is the nicest gadget in my kitchen aside from a KitchenAid ice cream scoop, which I use.  A lot.)

The broccoli is a bit of a wild card for me lately.  I used to have this down to a science: broccoli florets, a half inch of water in the bottom of the pot, a pinch of salt, and a careful eye.  But two weeks ago I had a bit of a broccoli blunder and I'm - quite frankly - surprised the fam was ready to get back on the horse.  Apparently, I salted the broccoli twice.  (Insert dramatic eye roll here.)  I can only guess that's what happened.  In my defense I'm sure I was distracted by, oh, I don't know, a 6 year old and a baby.  Anyway, in addition to twice-salted water, the broccoli steamed a bit longer than is generally preferred.  So when I lifted the lid it wasn't a healthy bright green color and a touch soft.  It was a sickly green color and very limp and sad looking like I'd broken its' little heart, which makes sense since the broccoli tasted like it had been salted AGAIN with the tears of grief and mourning.  Britt and Emily were kind enough to not mention it until after I said, "I can't remember but I may have salted the broccoli twice."  To which Britt replied, "Good God" and Emily just looked at me like I’d told her unicorns aren’t real (which I actually DID have to tell her a few days later and explains how I recognized the look).  I had to endure further ridicule throughout the meal with statements like: 

- "Would you like some broccoli with your salt?";
- "The fly,” (that had come in with us earlier), “must've tasted the broccoli and died.  I'm pretty sure I saw x's over his eyes;" and, 
- "If your salt isn't salty enough just add some broccoli."

WHATever.

The final component of the meal – the corn - is actually the hardest part, since I have to be super careful to not cut my finger while I open the can.

In all, I think it was a success.  The meatloaf never slices so it ends up looking like a red ground beef mound but remember, we agreed the taste is more important.  And it really doesn’t matter anyway because we all end up adding more ‘glaze’.

Thaaaaaaaaat's better.  (Right?)

So.  Wise and/or Biblical parallel to this story?

 

Mark 14:8 – “She hath done what she could.”

Tomorrow night: Papa Murphy’s.