What if?

"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as 

six impossible things before breakfast."

~Alice in Wonderland

If you are into personality assessments and jazz like that then you have probably heard of the Enneagram. If not, just suffice to say it's one of those tests where you answer a bajillion questions about what you "most likely" or "least likely" think, or believe, or say, or do, and then it gives you a number as to your personality type.

I'm an Enneagram 9.

I've taken various versions of the Enneagram multiple times and I am always, always a Nine.

I really don't know why I keep taking it because when I read the description of a Nine it's exactly me. I mean, like...wow, that's me. So maybe I keep taking it because I want to see if the test is fallible, or if maybe on any given day I might be less Nine-like than other days.

So far, nope.

I'm as Nine-iest as you can get.

Here is a brief description of Nines:

Nines are accepting, trusting, and stable. They are usually creative, optimistic, and supportive, but can also be too willing to go along with others to keep the peace. They want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent, simplifying problems and minimizing anything upsetting. They typically have problems with inertia and stubbornness. At their Best: indomitable and all-embracing, they are able to bring people together and heal conflicts.

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation

Basic Desire: To have inner stability "peace of mind"

Key Motivations: Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them.

"They typically have trouble with inertia..." That makes me laugh out loud every time. You know what a Nine's root sin is? SLOTH! Something I've been saying about myself long before I ever even heard of the Enneagram. In fact, I consider the sloth my spirit animal.

(And the fact that I say that with pride might mean I have leaned in a bit too much to my Nine-ness).

So, now that you know way too much about me and my peace-loving, conflict-avoidant, abundantly Nine-like ways, you may have every reason to disregard everything I'm about to say. 

You may read what comes next and think, "Well....yeah....but this is really just because you want everyone to get along, and don't like people fighting, and can't handle tension, and conflict, and hysteria."

You'd be right. 

However, it's also because I want people to be able to get along, and coexist peacefully, and allow others their dignity, and still be able to laugh together at the end of the day.

Oh, wait. That's basically the same thing.

Okay, you are still right. 

BUT....because I do know what it's like to feel all angsty and twisty and ragey inside, and because I really don't believe that is a healthy place to set up camp and hang out for too long, I have a suggestion for anyone who would like to take a break from Camp Frowny Face.

Before I share this, please know I'm really not referencing anything specific in today's world, politics, celebrity romances, or my own personal relationships. This is a technique that can be used in any number of situations and I've been known to employ it multiple times in a single day. I mean, that's kind of exhausting when that happens, but I'm just saying that while you might be inclined to think I'm writing about specific current events, I'm really not. This is just something I have been thinking about and today was the day I overcame my inertia long enough to sit down at the keyboard and write it out. 

That's how any of my blog posts happen. And why they are so infrequent.

The inertia is real, my friends.

Anywhooooo....Here is what I do when I feel myself slipping into that place where I cannot understand how anyone could possibly see this situation, or issue, or event, or person, or concept, or belief...any differently than I do. 

We've all been there. Somewhere in our heads every sentence starts with, "Who in their right minds would _______________?!" Or, "How can anyone think that ________________?!" Or, "I don't want anything to do with anyone who thinks __________________!!"

And we start mentally dividing people into camps. Of course we ourselves are sitting over here at Camp Always Right, while all of those other misguided souls are sitting at Camp Stupid People. 

Maybe you are more diplomatic and don't actually call them Stupid People. Maybe you even like or love some of those Stupid People but secretly seethe knowing they think ____________. But the bottom line is we have usually put masking tape down the center of this universal room we all live in and... lo and behold we happen to be on the side of all that is good and righteous, and everyone else is....over there.

I'm not being judgey because I do this too.

It's kinda human nature. 

Okay, enough meandering and over-explaining. Let me get to the trick.

It's great because it's only five words so it is really easy to remember. 

When you feel like you just can't deal one second longer with those people or that person who think(s) differently than you do, say these five words....

What if I am wrong?

Sit with that for a second. Or a minute. Or five minutes.

Don't start justifying or talking back to yourself or making mental counterarguments.

Just ask the question and sit with it. 

Then, take a trip down that imaginary alternate path. Envision what being wrong might look like. If you can't fathom any possible way you could be wrong in the big picture, is there something smaller you could consider? Is there one piece of the puzzle you could take out of the larger equation and study it differently?

Is there one small thing, or idea, or concept, or "truth" you could flip on its head and truly explore the idea of discovering you were wrong?

And if you were wrong, what then?

This can be painful. I've done this with some of my most deeply held beliefs. I've done this in situations where I felt wounded and irrefutably wronged (at least in my own mind). I've done this with my faith and it took days to recover from the sloth-fest that ensued as a result.

It's not easy to do it right.

But it's also the easiest thing in the world to do to get yourself unstuck.

I'm not saying that this will or even should change what you ultimately believe to be right or wrong. But what it might change is how you feel about the people or person you disagree with. When you make room for other perspectives, even just a little, you make room for the possibility of understanding...and maybe even, peace. 

For me, this is an exercise in humility. It is challenging myself to remember that I do not hold the key to all of life's truths and answers. I am not in possession of a crystal ball that allows me to see into the minds and hearts of others. I am human, and fallible, and limited, and self-absorbed, and short-sighted, and stubborn, and lazy.....and sometimes I. am. wrong.

It also reminds me how much I hope that when I am wrong, or other people think I am wrong, that those who love me will still always give me the benefit of the doubt and believe the best of me rather than the worst. 

I could be wrong right now and this is a terrible idea to suggest to someone else.

If I am, I'm sorry.

You don't have to do this.

Plan B is grab your favorite chips, adult beverage, something sweet, and a cozy blanket, and then watch Elf.

That should work, too. 

When all else fails....

How's it going?

Over the summer, I had many kind-hearted friends who wanted to know how I was feeling about our upcoming move. You'd think after answering the same question so many times I would have come up with a simple, rote answer.

I never did.

I was never entirely sure what to say and it often depended on the day, or even the moment. Sometimes excited, sometimes nervous, sometimes weary, sometimes I just wanted to scrap the whole crazy plan.

In the past month that question has been replaced with a new inquiry, "Soooo...how is it going??"

Again, I don't have a perfect elevator speech that can sum it all up in 10 sentences or less.

But the answer I most often come back to, even if only in my own mind, is simply that it has been exactly what I expected it to be. Meaning, it has been a little bit sad, a little bit fun, a little bit exciting, a little bit scary, a little bit lonely, a little bit easy, and even a little bit surprising.

It's been a mixed bag which is exactly what I knew it would be. You don't uproot your whole life and think you can just snap your fingers and instantly have the same continuity, routines, and normalcy you had in the place you lived for almost 25 years.

(A quarter of a century, people.)

So, the thing I just keep telling my thoughtful friends is that it's good, and we are happy, but it will take time.

I'm a great believer in the magic of time because I've seen it work miracles over and over again in my own life and in the lives of others. Things you thought would never be resolved, never heal, never change, never improve, and never grow- suddenly do.

But it's never 'suddenly', really. It might feel that way. Or it might look that way from the outside. But usually that miraculous turn of events is really the long awaited reward that comes from days, weeks, months, or years of waiting, praying, and never giving up hope.

He has made everything beautiful in its time... ~Ecclesiastes 3:11

If you know me, you know that the fall, and especially October, can make me a little melancholy so forgive me for a second for conjuring up a rather unhappy memory to make a point. I'll try to swing it around at the end and give it a happy flourish to close it out.

(That's kind of my signature move).

Anyway, when I was in grief counseling after the loss of our babies, I remember saying to my counselor, "I know I'm going to find my way through this somehow. I know I won't always be this sad. I really do feel confident of that. I just want to know when. How long? Give me a date and then I can circle that day in red on my calendar and just hold on until then."

As good as my counselor was, she never could give me that date.

And, of course, it wasn't a specific day, or moment, it was just a slow, quiet unfolding until you realize you are no longer clenching your fists trying to fight your way back to life. You look down to find your hands are open again, ready to receive whatever bounty the day has to bring you. Whether it be joy, or laughter, or even possibly pain again, you are no longer afraid.

So, the point is, I know what it is to wait.

What I'm getting better at is what to do in the waiting.

Yesterday, I took a leap I didn't think I would make quite this soon. I met with the principal of a small, Christian preschool/primary school about becoming one of their regular substitute teachers. I've always made it clear that I really only like "pretend subbing" and by that I mean I am only interested in substitute teaching at one small school where I can actually get to know the kids and teachers. That was the blessing I had in subbing at my daughter's school in our old neighborhood, and I knew I'd need to find a similar arrangement if I were ever going to venture into subbing in our new home.

And even though the sloth in me wonders why on earth I am not going to continue to just bask in my long, quiet days at home, the voice in my soul is telling me that level of isolation is not ultimately doing me any favors.

I mean, preschoolers, my friends! A tiny school full of babies with no one older than the fourth grade! It's like a dream come true. And the lovely thing is, it's a blessing for them, too. A small school like that has difficulty attracting substitute teachers and yet their teachers get sick and need vacations, too. They were all so delighted I was really interested in coming on board. I swear they all kept looking at me like I might be a mirage.

Sometimes waiting means taking time to rest and heal and be quiet. But other times of waiting require us to be patiently active. We start moving toward those things that allow us to use our gifts and talents, knowing that you never know where and when you might find what it is you are looking for.

So, I look forward to meeting my new young friends and in the meantime will continue to relish the luxury of my quiet days at home.

I've always been a big believer that the "sacred is in the ordinary" which is why I tend to be pretty content with a life that borders on some reality TV version of Groundhog Day. 

Sidebar: (Oh my stars. My life would be the most boring reality TV show EVER. Wouldn't you love to have watched me type this blog post for the past hour? Riveting.) 

But given my inordinate love for the ordinary and everyday, I was pretty happy to come across this quote by Henry Ward Beecher to back me up:

The art of being happy lies in the power

of extracting happiness from common things.

~Henry Ward Beecher

Thank you, Reverend Beecher. I will continue to do just that. 

Just a picture I snapped after leaving Annie's horseback riding lessons.
The fog had settled in on the hills and all you could see was pasture land, trees,
hills and sky.
I suddenly felt very grateful to live in a place where horses and open spaces are
a part of our everyday.
..."extracting happiness from common things."
Amen

All things new

It's that time again. A New Year, a new One Word.

I'm a bit late posting my word not because I haven't settled on a word, but because my mind has been full of so many words, and thoughts, and to-do's, and feelings lately...that I have been too scattered to put them down into any organized form.

You: So, what you're saying is that you write best when your mind is empty?

Me: Yes. Don't ask questions.

You: But, wouldn't having no thoughts imply having nothing to say?

Me: Shhhh..... It's complicated. 

If you want a more detailed explanation of my whole One Word approach to the New Year, you can read about it here and here. I simply do not have the mental bandwidth to re-hash all of that so links are going to have to do.

If you are really bored (or are trapped under something heavy and are looking for ways to pass the time) and actually clicked on those links, you will learn that in past years coming up with my One Word took a bit of effort. There was a sort of process, if you will, that I went through to arrive at my all-important, annual One Word.

This year, my One Word came to me in early December and never left.

The fact that it was so effortless makes me wonder if I am subconsciously cheating and just opted to settle for the first reasonable word that came to mind, (As opposed to the many unreasonable words that come to mind for me all the time like: Doritos, pizza, cookie dough, margaritas...yes, I'm hungry...and no, none of those would make a good One Word....or...would they??) 

Anywhoooo....as I was saying, my One Word came to me in early December and decided to stick around for the long haul.

Since then, there have been some seismic changes in my life, but oddly enough, I feel like my word still fits. So, maybe I wasn't cheating after all? Maybe this is truly the word I need in 2016?

So, without further ado... my One Word for 2016 is...

NEW

A tiny word but one that is just chock full of promise and potential. It's almost shiny in its aura of hopefulness and optimism. Except when it isn't...

See, I'm not always a person who enjoys new things. I can be pretty content to have everyday play out with the predictability of Groundhog Day, slightly tweaking things here and there until I can finally get things right.

New can be exciting! But new can also be scary.

New opportunities can open doors to blessings you never imagined! And sometimes you have to find your way to a new normal that you never dreamed of or wanted.

In 2016, my intention is to be more open to change. To embrace the NEW and not cling to the old out of fear or intimidation.

Don't get me wrong, I am well aware that new is not always better. In fact, my more conservative nature tends to lead me more toward the end of the spectrum that says new is rarely better (can we bring back the Betamax and cassette tapes?). I'm not throwing out anything of value in my life, regardless of how well seasoned. I'm keeping my marriage, my family, my friends, my faith... Nothing crazy is happening here. I'm just going to work on not having knee-jerk reactions to new possibilities in the year ahead.

This might mean saying yes to things when I would normally say no, or no to things when I would normally say yes.

It means allowing myself to be different and not getting trapped in an unyielding mindset of who I am. More and more I am realizing that we are always changing, always growing. In fact, I believe that we are created to change! So, who I have been does not dictate who I might be tomorrow, or next week, or next year.

I often catch myself giving myself labels- "introvert", "homebody", "someone who doesn't like change" (for example)- but these are all just mindsets for the most part. Sure, we all have God-given traits that make us different and unique, but I don't think God meant for any of those traits to resemble handprints pressed into concrete- frozen and unchanging for all of time.

Sometimes it's just a matter of stretching ourselves in the smallest ways, a little bit each day.

2016 is already giving me opportunities to live out my One Word- in ways that are both exciting and sad, scary and hopeful.

In the category of new things that I never dreamed of or wanted...

2016 will be the very first year of my entire life that I will spend without this beautiful soul's physical presence. My cousin, my playmate, my inspiration, my soul-sister, my buddy, my lifetime companion...

I know, I look very suspicious here. But trust me, I loved her right from the start.

Tracy taught me the art of vacationing and the importance of a beach beverage from a young age.

I met my husband thanks to these two.
Friends forever.

We raised this mob of boys together, and then the little Princess who tagged along later.

A million small moments and good times.
And, of course, only those two were ready for the pic.
Always camera ready!

No one has ever made me laugh harder.
(Try to ignore that my hair looks like David Cassidy.)
(Windblown is not my best look.)

Our whole family is missing this girl.

We called ourselves the A Team (silly, inside joke).
The A Team will never be the same...

"...and all the trumpets sounded for her on the other side."
~John Bunyan
I miss you every minute of every day.

There aren't enough pictures or words to convey what Tracy meant to me and the hole that has been left in my life (although we gave it a good try with the photos-we have A LOT). We already spent a new Christmas without Tracy and 2016 will be full of so many other new firsts. I pray I find a way to live them well, honoring her and all the people she loved so very much.

In the category of scary but hopeful new things...

The Sawyers are taking their road show east of the mountains.

I really honestly never thought I'd say these words.

We are moving.

Not until the end of the school year so it isn't imminent, but it's happening.

I don't know what to say about that quite yet, except to say to all of our friends and neighbors who we have spent our lives with for the past 24 years, we love you. We love this city. We love this neighborhood. We love this home.

And we will still be around. I promise.

And that's all I have to say about that right now (as I channel Forrest Gump) but I imagine there will be lots more words on this subject forthcoming.

And there will be whole bunches of NEW that will go along with it.

For now, I will leave you with my 2016 verse of the year:

Let it be so. 

Happy New Year, friends.

Let's make it a good one.

Free at last

Something very exciting is happening this week.

I've been counting down the days and circling this date in red on my calendar.

The waiting and watching and wishing is almost finally over!

Drumroll please...

My six month Boot Camp gym membership expires this Friday!!!!

(Fireworks! Trumpets! A chorus of Hallelujahs!)

If that isn't enough to bust out some Martina McBride and sing Let Freedom Ring at the top of your lungs, I don't know what is.

The relief is palpable.

I want to be clear, a lot of people really like this gym. I liked this gym...at first. I wouldn't want anyone to not check out this gym because of my personal feelings. It's just... I realized after a few months of it, it's simply not for me.

It's not the exercise, don't get me wrong. I have been very committed to exercise in various forms for over two decades. I actually like to be active and feel healthy and fit. I have not stopped exercising since my attendance at this class progressively dwindled down to zero. I have just gone back to methods of working out that I know work better for me. Because you see, this class taught me something very important.

At forty-five-almost-forty-six there are some things I am not willing accept anymore in the name of fitness.

They are, in no particular order:

1. Burpees.

2. Sprinting up hills.

3. Burpees.

4. Push-ups on street corners.

5. Burpees.

6. Running outside.

7. Burpees.

8. Running, period (for any distance beyond the width of a tennis court).

9. Burpees.

10. Being scolded for talking too much to my friend because we are affecting the "focus" of others when the music is at approximately a gazillion decibels and no one can hear anything beyond a two foot radius. (Eye roll).

11. Burpees

I think by now you have picked up on my main hot button issue. Because the truth is, I would have probably stuck with it even with #'s 2, 6, 8 and 10 But #'s 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, and 11 are non-negotiables.

There is really no greater indignity than the physical act of burpees. I will do planks, mountain climbers, push ups (just not on street corners), or squats until the cows come home (which could take a long time since I don't have any cows).

But burpees....shudder. 

Tell me to do 10 burpees in a row and you are risking eliciting something really scary from me. Like an icy stare. Or a dramatic sigh. Or visibly slumped shoulders and tears in my eyes. (I don't have much of a "scary" repertoire. Passive-aggressive is about all I can muster).

Still, it isn't pretty. Nor is me doing burpees.

So, that's it. My burpee days are done. And as God as my witness, I will never perform another burpee as long as I live. Even if I were to join some other class or gym or suddenly enlist in the military... I swear on Buddy the Elf himself that I will simply say, "No", should someone ever again try to tell me to hit the floor and crank out some burpees.

And if I have to, I'll top that off with a, "You can't make me."

'Cause you can't.

The gift of trying again

Last week, Annie and I were snuggled up at the end of the day watching The Middle and just generally kicking back. She noticed that I was writing something in the notes on my phone and asked me what I was working on.

I enthusiastically launched into a lengthy explanation of how I had been reading this book all about gratitude. I started giving her all of the nitty gritty about the fascinating research that shows how an intentional practice of gratitude leads to greater overall well-being and health. Because I'm a big fan of well-being and heath, I explained that I had instituted a practice of writing down at least three things I was grateful for each day. These could not just be general categories of gratitude, but specific moments from that individual day for which I was thankful. I went so far as to show her the special folder I had created in my notes exclusively for my daily gratitude missives.

God love her that she didn't fall asleep before I was finished.

Being the ever-kind and supportive daughter that she is, she nodded along patiently and gave me an encouraging smile at the end. But then I swear I saw the slightest twinkle in her eye when she patted my arm and said sweetly, "That's great, Mom. So....how long have you been doing this?"

I turned to her and we sat silently staring into each other's eyes for several looong seconds.

Finally, forced to respond, I could barely keep a straight face when I answered flatly,

"Two days."

We both collapsed into a fit of laughter.

It seems even my daughter knows my tendency to start things with great excitement and grand intentions, only to have well over 50% of them fizzle out over time. Sometimes, after not much time at all.

Let's take a trip down memory lane and look at some of the bold and wonderful initiatives of mine that never made it past the starting gate:

Chore charts, calendars, jars...(and any sort of chore management system you can envision)

Meal Planning

Family Nights/Family Devotions

Once-a-week Grocery Shopping (see Meal Planning)

Make-Ahead Freezer Meals (see Meal Planning)

Eating Vegetarian, Vegan, Gluten-Free, Wheat-Free, Dairy Free, Sugar Free

Technology-Free Sundays

I am sorry to say that the list goes and on and on. If my kids were helping to write this I'm sure that each of them could chime in with some brilliant ideas of mine that I've long forgotten.

Remember when Mom thought it would be a great idea if we all got up at 6am every morning and ran around the block 7 times while singing Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho?!

That did not really happen.

I swear.

But it could have. I've had some questionable moments...

Oh, and how about that recent idea of mine where I thought it would be such a great challenge to myself if I were to write a blog post every single day of October? Yeah....

I've explained before how I've come to understand that I'm a great Initiator, but a selective Sustainer.

I think I have to try things for a bit before I know whether something is truly worth my time and energy. Because for all my flakiness, the truth is, for every half-baked idea I let quietly fade into oblivion, there are at least an equal number of worthwhile endeavors that I have stuck with for the long haul.

So I haven't written every single day of October. But I wrote today.

And I have kept my gratitude practice going for over a week now.

And tonight, I will once again end the day snuggling with my daughter. That is a plan I can guarantee you that I will sustain for as long as she is willing.

Sometimes my ideas and plans and visions work out really, really well. Sometimes they don't.

But I keep trying.

One of my great ideas that actually did turn out really great.
(Whether they will admit it or not).
(Remember when Mom made us climb all the way up to the stupid horse statues....)
Good times.

The gift of laziness

It occurred to me that when I shared how I use October as a time to slow down and reflect, it may have sounded a bit noble and self-sacrificing. That in taking time for quiet and relaxation I am taking up the challenge to step out of the busyness and demands of life and boldly make this very counter-cultural choice. As if I am triumphantly taking a stand for simplicity and fighting against the inner compulsion to always do more, be more, and have more. I picture myself throwing off the shackles of ambition and perfectionism and instead daring to venture into the unknown lands of complacency and contentment.

I kind of wish that were true.

In reality, when I give myself permission to do less, seek quiet, read more, and rest, it's less like a personal challenge and more like the mothership is calling me home.

When I hear people say things like, "I prefer to be busy. I don't really know how to just sit and do nothing." I only hear the teacher's voice in Charlie Brown saying, "Waah, waah, waah, waah, waah..."

What is this language you speak? How can one not "know how to sit and do nothing?" I feel as though it is the very thing I was created to do. I can sit and do nothing like a BOSS!

People usually laugh when I tell them I am inherently lazy. I know they think I'm joking, and I understand why. I'll be the first to admit that my life does not have the outward appearance of being managed by a lazy person. I take great pride in that simply because it means that somehow I am managing to go forth most days keeping my slothful ways nicely tucked in and hidden under a veneer of competence and productivity. That feels like a pretty huge victory.

It always feels good when you can move about in public and safely assume your crazy isn't showing.

But seriously, I get it... I might not be lazy in the way most people think because in the end I always get done what needs to be done. I think the thing is that I am lazy but disciplined.

If I set an expectation for myself that my house needs to be tidied up and cleaned, then I will do just that. If I tell myself that some form of daily exercise is a non-negotiable, then I'll squeeze it in somewhere. If I declare that only savages would leave the dinner dishes sitting in the sink overnight, then I will muster the inner strength to restore the kitchen to an appropriate level of civility before retiring for the night.

I do these things out of a sense of discipline and because in spite of my internal desire to spend most of the day lying down, I do not actually want to live in squalor and on a diet of cold cereal and Doritos. (Okay, actually that sounds delicious. But, again, discipline....)

I make lists, lots of lists. And I take enormous pleasure in crossing things off those lists. Because you know what I get to do once everything is crossed off of my list?

Nothing.

And that is when I really shine.

My life mantra.

The gift of not running

This October I am trying to give myself time to do more of those things that bring me joy. Writing is not always easy and there are times it feels as if there is nothing to say, but I am always glad when I take the time to pound out some thoughts on the keyboard. So this month I am trying to write more- whatever that may look like. In keeping with the theme of October as a gift, I will be writing about daily practices, habits or activities that I intentionally choose for myself and others. I think. Hopefully. We will see how this goes...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I turned 40, I gave myself the gift of not running.

Before you spend too much time trying to puzzle out the metaphorical implications of what was surely a deeply symbolic gesture to myself, let me help you out. I mean I literally gave myself the gift of no more running.

I said to myself, "Self, you are 40. God willing you still have at least another 40 years of this life to enjoy and it is time to stop doing things you hate. You do not like running. You may stop. That is my gift to you. Love, Me."

And I have not run for exercise since.

I think it might be the best gift I have ever received.

It's not that I didn't ever get any satisfaction out of running. When I completed my first 10K there was a definite sense of accomplishment. There were days when my run actually bordered on some sort of feeling slightly below torture. And there were periods when running actually helped me to accomplish my aim of losing weight and increasing my overall fitness (which was always the only point).

But I was never a "runner". I never once experienced anything that could be described as a "runner's high". (Honestly, I am convinced that is a myth concocted by athletic companies in their quest to sell shoes.)

I was slow and plodding and pathetic looking in my running endeavors. I never set my sights above a 10K simply because I don't think anyone should spend more time running than it takes to watch a Law and Order episode. A 10K was already pushing the boundaries of that for me (which is why 5K's are so much more civilized) so anything upwards of that time and distance was off limits.

I spent a good chunk of my 20's and 30's attempting various versions of "running" (distance, intervals, HIIT etc...) but for the past five years I have woken up everyday and re-opened my gift to myself by saying, "You may do many, many things today. You will exercise and take care of yourself. But you do not need to run."

And I smile.

My walking buddy.
He gets me out even when it's rainy and wet.
Although, sometimes I think even he questions the sanity of the whole thing.

February lessons

I'm sick.

It was really only a matter of time since I have been subbing almost daily the past few weeks. That much subbing only means one thing, sick teachers. Sick teachers means sick kids. Sick kids means the classrooms are all thriving petri dishes teeming with all manner of bacteria and viruses. It's like an episode of Magic School Bus where all of the teachers and students become germs and have to do battle against bottles of hand sanitizer (Spoiler alert: The germs win).

Sidenote: How great was Magic School Bus? How awesome was Ms. Frizzle? How unrealistic was it that she had a class of eight kids? Do you know how awesome I would be if I had a class of eight kids? I could surely take my class on some magical adventures full of education and fun, too, with EIGHT kids. 

I digress.

Did I mention I am sick? I feel like I should clarify that again in case this little missive of mine wanders even more than usual. I am quite possibly feverish and hallucinating.

Subbing and the Bacteria Festival I've been cavorting in aside, I'm not surprised February has decided to kick me in the teeth. It's possible I might have ended up here anyway, even without the burning sore throat and aching head. I have a lot to gear up for this month and it's enough to make me tired by 8am even on my best day.

February is always a big month in our little household. Exactly 3 out of 5 birthdays in our family occur this month. Three birthdays in the shortest month of the year, and one of them is mine. That makes February a non-stop party on any given year but this year the birthdays are feeling particularly big. This year we are rolling in some new numbers that I am having a hard time getting my head around.

I almost can't even say it.

Actually, I can't say it.

Let's just say I have one leaving single digits (let me pause to mop off the keyboard from the waterfall of tears), one leaving his teens (I'm glad you can't hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth), and then there's me...officially hitting the middle of my 40's which means after this it's all just one big, not-so-long countdown to 50.

I cannot even.

Obviously my resolve to get out of yoga pants is going to hit some really big snags this month. I'm sure you understand.

These two...my February babies...killin' me.

You get it, right? I mean, you'll understand when I spontaneously start weeping in the produce aisle, right? Please just look away. It's best for both of us.

But in spite of the fact that I'm inclined to be annoyed at February for kicking me when I'm down with this little illness that mimics the Bubonic Plague; I actually think February was trying to teach me something.

Because when our kids get older and we get all sentimental, we start to have memory lapses of what the "little years" were really like. 

Don't get me wrong. I loved the little years. I love little ones, period. That's why I say "yes" every time I'm asked to sub in Kindergarten even though I know I will come home limping and exhausted and won't be able to speak full sentences to my own family, let alone cook them dinner. I just love those little guys. 

But when you reach this point in parenting it is so tempting to look back on those years with nostalgia and start saying grandmotherly things like, "Enjoy it dearie" to poor, sleep-deprived mothers who are trying to run their debit card as fast as possible in the checkout aisle while their toddler is grabbing at candy bars and packs of gum and their newborn is wailing for all she's worth in the Baby Bjorn and you just know that poor mama's milk just letdown as the beads of sweat start pouring down her face in the direction of her clenched teeth.

The little years are not easy. 

And they are especially not easy when Mama is sick. Remember Moms of Older Kids? Remember what it was like to be sick as a dog and still have to nurse a baby or entertain a toddler or cut up grapes or make mac n cheese while praying that he will keep watching Nick Jr. all. day. long? 

Oh, do I remember. 

And I thought of that this morning as my two who are still at home got themselves up, dressed, fed and out the door with almost zero input from me. I thought to myself what a marvel that would be to a young mother; the idea that her children would one day be capable of making their own breakfast, dressing themselves, packing up and getting out the door on time all while she STAYED IN BED.

Being sick is not fun regardless. But it is a heck of a lot more manageable when you only have to take care of yourself. You can take that to the bank and cross-stitch it on a pillow, I'd say.

So, thank you, February. Thank you for reminding me of the many wonderful things that come from having your kids grow up. Truly, the many, many wonderful things. I am going to keep this little lesson close to my heart as we hit each of these milestone birthdays. I will sing their ages loud and proud and, I promise, I will celebrate with a smile.

So....can we nix the whole flu bug thing now? 

Lesson learned. 

Please?

Alrighty then...naptime. 

And I'll be taking this one all by myself. Hallelujah.

P.S. Big, mighty prayers for any moms of little ones who are sick right now. May God send Mary Poppins down from the sky to tend to the children, Alice to cook dinner, and Rosario (Will and Grace) to hang out and watch TV with you. My heart is with you.

P.P.S. This is still killin' me...

Dream Medium

Am I the only one getting a little overwhelmed by all of the inspirational New Years posts, quotes, goal lists and otherwise Rah-Rah messages?

ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE!

MAKE THIS YOUR BEST YEAR YET!

LIFE IS NOT A DRESS REHEARSAL! (I particularly love the ones that throw in a dig about my mortality. That's uplifting.)

DREAM BIG!!!!

I am all for living with intention and purpose. I fully support anyone striving for and reaching their goals. I absolutely believe it is always best to set your mind on all that is good, excellent, lovely and wonderful (Philippians 4:8). I would much rather see people go into the New Year with energy and enthusiasm than with dread and dismay.

But...

What if I don't want to dream big?

What if I really just kinda want to dream medium? Or even small? Or even teeny tiny?

Is that so terrible?

First, let's just get out of the way that ANYTHING is not possible. No matter how badly I might want to (and I so badly do NOT want to) I cannot get up out of this chair and go run a marathon. I cannot. No amount of wishing or determination can make it so. I have not trained, prepared or planned to keep these legs moving at an above-walking pace for anywhere close to 26.2 miles. It will not happen. At least not today (or ever, just so we are clear).

I am not going to go to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow and find that Jack's room has been painted. (Yeah, I'm going to keep beating that dead horse until someone shows up here demanding to paint his bedroom just so I will stop talking about it. Sherwin Williams "Mindful Gray" looks nice. Just in case you were wondering.)

We are not children. We all know that in reality ANYTHING is not possible without adequate planning, preparation, skill, talent, opportunity and good luck. Certainly faith plays a critical role in the realization of any dream, but God gave us each unique gifts for a reason. He doesn't expect a duck to go out and try and be a wolf (thank goodness, because the duck would be eaten immediately). We gotta do the best with what we've been given. We have to be the best gosh darn duck we can be.

I admire the people today and throughout history who have dreamed really big dreams. People who shake up and transform the world. Truly, thank God for the big dreamers.

But I keep hoping that God didn't mean for every single one of us to shake up the world. I mean, if you have too many world shakers wouldn't we all start feeling like we are a bunch of kernels of corn in a bag of Jiffy Pop? Everybody exploding and bouncing into one another with no rhyme or reason until we are just a big pile of ideas and plans and programs with nobody left to simply cook dinner, or teach a Sunday school class, or meet a hurting friend for coffee?

Life is in the small stuff, too.

In fact, I would say most of life is in the small stuff.

I dream that this year my children will continue to succeed and be happy in school.

I dream that the children I teach at church will know that I love them and, more importantly, that God loves them.

I dream that my husband will reap a bountiful harvest from all the seeds of diligence, steadfastness and devotion he has sown.

I dream that we will all laugh a lot this year.

I dream the Seahawks will win the Super Bowl. (C'mon...I had to put that in there!)

I dream that both myself and others will be blessed by my One Word.

I dream that Ben will let me get another dog (what is wrong with me?!)

I dream that through my words and actions I will help to make my corner of the world kinder, safer and more abundantly joyful for everyone.

Those are my medium dreams.

I have this idea that maybe if enough of us dream and pursue and attain a whole bunch of medium dreams, those medium dreams will join together to create one big mega-dream! Don't you think?

I do.

I think that's how we medium dreamers make our own mark on the world. We each tend to our little corners of the world and pretty soon you add 'em all up and we circle the globe. One corner at a time.

Dream medium. I believe in you.

That word

A few days ago I realized that the hands of Father Time were ticking along and that soon we would be closing the books on 2014. I don't know what tipped me off first, the fact that New Years always arrives a week after Christmas, or my multiple calendars all faithfully counting down the last days of December, but at some point I finally clued in that 2015 is just around the corner. I'm quick that way. 

For me, the arrival of a new year means the arrival of a new Word. As in, a One Word resolution. Or, a Word of the Year, if you will. Call it what you like but for the past two years this has been my approach to heralding in the New Year in lieu of a more traditional list of resolutions. 

Essentially, the goal is to choose a word that will help you to grow or change or improve in a certain area and make that your focus. It's more about big picture thinking than a list of narrowly defined goals you are likely to abandon by Jan 10th anyway. I also choose a scripture verse that complements my one word and commit that to memory as well. My verses from the past two years continue to be of enormous benefit to me and I repeat them to myself often. 

You can read more about my previous words and verses here but suffice to say the past two years have had a similar flavor. While different in some respects, both 2013 and 2014 carried an intention to combat my somewhat complacent nature and encourage more productivity. And I have to say, I was encouraged by the improvement I saw in 2014. I'm still a work in progress, and Jack's room still isn't painted (ahem), but there has definitely been growth. 

(And I have come to the firm conclusion that until Jack can keep his room clean for more than five minutes when he's home, I think he deserves a room with spring green walls.) 

For 2015, I knew I wanted to go in a new direction. As much as I continue to wish I had a more task-oriented, Energizer Bunny personality, at some point I also have to acknowledge that just isn't who I was created to be. I get all the important things in my life done. My family is well cared for, my home is relatively neat and tidy (ignore Jack's room), I exercise regularly, I am a reliable and conscientious employee, and I make time for family and friends. I continue to strive for growth but certainly there are other areas I could devote my energy to. 

So, a couple of days ago I opened up my mind and heart and started asking myself some pertinent questions. There is no magic formula to arriving at your One Word, but these are the sort of questions I ask myself: What do I like about myself? Where do I struggle? What makes me feel happy? When do I feel lost? At the end of 2015 what would I like to be able to say was different this year? How do I want to be and feel different? What do I want more of in my life?

Many words popped into my head in the course of answering these questions. They were all useful, interesting words but there was one in particular that kept elbowing all of the other perfectly good words out of the way. And, in response, I kept shoving it back down. 

It wasn't that I didn't like the word, I just didn't know what I would do with that word. It didn't make sense to me. Or, deep down it did but it wasn't a word I wanted to have to spend much time with. Certainly not a whole year. 

So, I kept thinking and made lists of other words. Better words. Words that made sense. 

But it was still there. Quietly knocking on the door of my heart. That word. 

I decided to ask Superdad what he thought. Part of me felt silly asking for help in arriving at my One Word but who knows me better than the man who shares my life every single day, year in and year out? Plus, I knew he wouldn't just make something up to placate me. He would only give me an answer if he had one to give. He's annoyingly honest like that. 

I told him what I needed. I stammered out a bunch of rambling thoughts about my answers to my questions. How I want to feel more comfortable in my own skin. That I want to feel less burdened by the feelings and reactions of others. I want to own my feelings but let other people have theirs without feeling responsible for them. I want to feel less guilty all the time, as though anything that ever goes wrong in the world is somehow my fault. I want to stop thinking, and analyzing, and pondering, and worrying so dang much and just BE. 

I want to be free. 

Superdad nodded along to my painfully long stream of consciousness and when I finished he looked at me steadily for several looong seconds. Then he turned back to his iPad and said, "Okay. I'll think about it."

I went upstairs with Annie and we both got in our pjs. We settled in on my big bed so she could watch a show and I could read. She burrowed into my side and I opened my book. I didn't expect to get a verdict from Superdad quickly (if he would have one at all). I fully expected him to take a day or two to mull things over and then let me know whether inspiration struck. I figured by the time I heard back from him I would have figured it out on my own. I would have found my One Word. A word that made sense. A good, solid, sensible word. Certainly not that word. 

But then I heard my text chime on my phone. Superdad.

There was only this:

And there it was. That word. 

I stared at it and felt this odd mix of shock and relief. Shock that he had so quickly arrived at the exact word I'd been avoiding, and relief that maybe it wasn't so crazy after all. Superdad is many things but among his varied gifts and qualities he is most decidedly sane, sometimes maddeningly so. And yet, somehow, in whatever way it came to him, he was nudged by the same word that had been pestering me for days, refusing to go away. 

I wish I could say that was all it took, but even after what most people would consider a pretty crazy, clear sign, I still fought it. I decided it was best to seek counsel from two more people, what with three being such an ancient spiritual number and all. So I texted two dear friends who know me well and I knew wouldn't call the loony bin when I gave them the condensed version of my story. But even as I typed the words, even knowing they would never judge me, I still felt hesitant to tell them the word that kept popping up. That word. 

Their responses?

Wow. That's awesome. That's a good one. Yes. I get exactly what that means. 

Really? You do? Alrighty then...

And it was at about that point that I swear I felt the Spirit smack me on the forehead and say, "Look. I can't really make this any more clear without doing something that will completely freak you out like writing the word in steam on your mirror so could you just trust me on this one?!"

Yes. Gotcha.

So that's it then....my word for 2015 is Loved.

Gulp.

I still don't know exactly what I'm going to do with that word for an entire year, but I have a feeling it will come to me in ways I least expect. 

Maybe, for now, I will just try to take the focus off of always trying to do better and be better and instead live out of the knowledge that I am loved. Right now. Today. Just as I am. Unfinished painting projects and all.

Loved.

That's my 2015 One Word. Whether I like it or not. :)

My 2015 verse.
I like to create a graphic of my Verse of the Year for
the wallpaper on my phone, hence the strange shape.

On the inside

I know I can't be the only adult who feels like an impostor. I mean, how old do you really feel like you are? On the inside? 16? 18? 21? Maybe you are lightyears more mature than I am and you feel like you are even pushing 25?

Or, perhaps you are 25 in which case I'm not sure how old you feel...10?

I have no problem saying I am 44. Heck, I'm proud of that number because it means that somehow I have managed to go to college, go to graduate school, become employed, get married, and raise three kids all while camouflaging my actual existence as a barely 20-something. It means that somehow I have been fooling everyone for over 20 years into believing I am an actual adult.

Shhh...don't tell anyone.

But lately I have been having a hard time even feeling comfortable as my inner 20 year old because I keep seeing all of these 18...19...20...year old girls who look so freakin' effortlessly pulled together and cool! What is up with that? On my best day I have never looked as put together as today's average 18 year old girl. I was a bonafide ragamuffin as a child and never really outgrew it (you'll remember my issues with irregular showers and an inappropriate reliance on yoga pants).

The other day I ran into a 19 year old girl who went to grade school with my oldest son. I hadn't seen her in years but she remembered me and immediately gave me a hug and launched into the most poised, mature, friendly conversation I had had in days. As my head was spinning from the shock of that I noticed than in addition to her brilliant conversational skills (I had a hard time keeping up because I was so wowed by her girl-woman adorableness) she was also in just the cutest summer outfit and her hair was perfection and she managed to pull all of this off while making it look as though she had hardly given any of it a minute of thought.

Did I know anyone at 19 who was that together? Was I?

The short answer is, no. For sure I was not but maybe some of my friends were. Forgive me if any of my childhood friends are reading this thinking, 'Thanks a lot, Friend! I was totally all that and a bag of chips at 19!' but my memory fails me at times (which is how I know I really am 44).

Later though...after the wooziness passed and I texted my son to tell him he should really get in touch with this girl again because she is so stinkin' cute (he loved that)...my head cleared and I remembered that no one has it all together at 19. No one. Even the most adorable, smart, personable girl in the world. I'm sure on any given day, including that day, this darling girl battles hidden insecurities and hurts and wounds that can't be seen when you are only looking at hair, clothes and a smile. It made me want to go back and find her and give her another great big hug and tell you her, "YOU ARE SO AWESOME JUST THE WAY YOU ARE!!!" Which might have scared her a little so it's probably best that only happened in my head.

And then I look at my own little ragamuffin.

My daughter has inherited my less-than-put-together style. She is starting to care about her clothes but thankfully leans more toward athletic, modest styles then attempts to look "grown-up". She likes her hair long but would never brush it if I didn't tell her to. She prefers it down but mainly because she doesn't want it fussed with. In fact, 9 times out of 10, it's hanging in her face, something she scarcely seems to notice.

She never looks in a mirror.

She doesn't worry about getting her hair wet while swimming.

She doesn't mind getting dirty or sweaty.

She will sleep in the same clothes she wore that day and get up the next day and wear them again (until I tell her to change).

She is far more interested in figuring out what she wants to do each day and who she want to be then how she wants to look.

The other day I was grumbling about the chronic problem of her hair hanging in her face and she said to me quietly, "I don't think my hair should matter so much. You always tell me what matters is what is on the inside. My hair is on the outside." 

And in that moment I decided I was going to practice biting my tongue a lot more and fussing over hair a lot less.

How many more years do we have of her being so blissfully accepting of herself and utterly lacking in self-consciousness? How many more years will she spend all day playing in the lake without the slightest concern that her hair looks like a mound of seaweed on top of her head? How many more years do we have of her wanting the sporty swimsuit so she can play hard without a care in the world? (Hopefully forever).

Every mother and father hopes that somehow with conscientious parenting and unconditional love and positive affirmations our kids can escape the angst and insecurities of adolescence. But anyone who has any accurate recollection of those years at all knows the chances of that are one in a million. Because most of us realize that even though you hopefully leave a lot of that behind the older you get, that awkward teen lives on in all of us making herself known more often than we would like.

So, for now, I will try as much as I can to just let her be. Let her be messy. Let her hair fall in her face. Let her clothes be mismatched. Let her play hard and dream big.

I will let her be....Annie.

Our beautiful girl.

Conceding defeat

Today we all enjoyed the extra day tacked onto our weekend. While some schools are celebrating the beginning of a week-long winter break, all of our kiddos will be returning to class tomorrow. So today was a welcome respite knowing tomorrow it will be back to business.

Just before lunchtime, Tim headed off with a friend to roam around downtown. As I began to wonder how the rest of us might spend the middle part of our day off, I heard a key turn in the front door and in walked that increasingly occasional visitor known as our eldest child.

Hey! What are you doing here?

He strolled in, iced Starbucks drink in hand, and proceeded to chatter on about how work was that weekend, how empty the dorm is on this long weekend, the highlights of a business school mixer he recently attended, the upcoming meeting about studying abroad that he's going to attend, the reason he needed to grab his shorts for some dorm floor competition, the great car he got to drive at work, how bad the food is this weekend because they know everyone is gone....and on and on and on...

And Annie and I both just stood there hanging on his every word.

Annie kept sidling up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing him. Normally Jack has a pretty rock solid personal space bubble but he was being tolerant of her irrepressible affection. At one point I caught his eye and mouthed to him, "She misses you." At that he smiled amiably and magnanimously offered her a few friendly pats on the back and a small squeeze of her shoulders. She beamed.

After a bit he sat down at the computer so he could give us a visual of the best cars he had recently gotten to drive at work (he's a valet). Annie stood at his elbow and was either truly fascinated by all of his car talk or she was doing a darn good job acting like she was, because she didn't budge as he detailed all of the technical aspects of each car and had her listen to the sound of the different exhausts. I mean, really? But she didn't move a muscle and Jack just kept engaging her.

Jack: Annie, which one of these cars would you like to have someday?

Annie: (timidly) I think I like that one but I would want it to be blue.

Jack: Blue it is! Let's find you a blue one.

And she smiled with wonder as her big brother searched the Internet to find her the perfect car in the perfect shade of blue.

I was the one who thought maybe he should go farther away to school. I was the one who worried he wouldn't have a "college experience" if he didn't leave the city he grew up in. I was the one who thought there was something inherently problematic about being able to come home and do laundry and get a good meal every now and then.

I was wrong.

I was wrong on all counts. He is happy. He is having terrific experiences independent of us and home. It took some time but he has settled into his new life and is thriving. He made a good choice, a smart choice.

And today I realized something else. For the first time I really saw that by staying close to home, his much younger sister gets to continue to have her big brother as a physical presence in her life. That is no small blessing.

This is me, waving the white flag of surrender admitting now and for all time that I WAS WRONG. For Jack's sake, for Annie's, for his longterm career goals, for the sake of his beloved car that he would have had to leave behind...I will admit that Jack's intuition was right and mine was wrong.

And maybe, just maybe...I get something out of this, too.

Because I'll admit it, when he suddenly shows up at our front door with his bag of laundry and his colorful tales to tell, I always hope he might have at least two loads of washing and drying to do.... just so he will have to stay a little bit longer.

Betrayal

I can't remember if I have ever gushed about my sister here?

No? Well, it's about time then. 

My sister is hands-down one of my favorite people in the whole entire Universe (the world is not big enough, I had to go with Universe just in case there really is life on other planets). 

It's not because she is perfect. Being perfect is not a requirement for being one of my favorite people. Thank goodness, since if it were no one living in this house could make the list, including me. 

It's not because she is smart, even though she is. 

It's not because she is beautiful, even though she is. 

And it's not because she can do actual, for-real, military-style pull-ups and therefore could snap me like a twig....even though she can....and it scares me a little. 

The #1 reason she is one of my favorite people in the whole entire Universe is because there are scarce few other people who know me like she does and, remarkably, she loves me anyway. 

I know...that's sweet. But I'm about to put that love to the test. 

You see, if there is one thing my sister and I agree on 100% of the time besides the irrefutable truth that eating raw cookie dough is worth a small case of salmonella poisoning, it is our dedication to Lazy Parenting. 

Let me explain, Lazy Parenting is not the same as neglectful parenting or love-less parenting. Don't judge us too quickly. It simply means that if there is a path of least resistance available, we are going to take it. 

Get out of bed to make the kids a hearty breakfast on a Saturday morning, OR, stay in bed and let them scrounge around for granola bars and string cheese? That one is too easy...

Offer to take the kids for a bike ride and picnic in the park, OR, make a big show of conceding to let them ride their scooters up and down the hallway (like you've done something really generous and cool) while you heat up some hot dogs and read your book? Uh huh. This is where we start to separate the over-achievers from...people like my sister and I.  

But even more important than the careful investments of time and energy you make within your own home are the ones you make outside your home. This is where it can get really dicey. 

Lazy Parents are very careful not to over-commit, over-promise, over-extend and over-volunteer lest they should pull a muscle or have to give up their favorite TV show. They are the Kings and Queens of the Sign-Up Sheet Shuffle. You keep moving around that table, pen poised, carefully reading every volunteer request and checking your calendar for dates, all with the hope that by the time you circle that table for the 35th time all of the jobs will have been filled. Oh, really? Shoot. 

It's an art form. My sister and I keep saying we are going to write a book titled The Lazy Parent's Handbook but, well, I think you know why that hasn't happened.

And given all of that...given our conscientious dedication to this important life philosophy...given that we perpetually refer to that fake book which we are never going to write...do you know what a Charter Member of the Lazy Parents Forever Club absolutely, positively, under no uncertain terms DOES NOT DO? 

She does NOT agree to be the Team Parent for the High School Soccer Team!!!!!

I'm so ashamed (and exhausted already and the season doesn't start for over 4 weeks). 

So, you can see why this is going to be a true test of my sister's loyalty and devotion. I'll understand if she can't see past this horrible lapse in judgment. Who could blame her? It's obviously indicative of some tragic, hidden character flaw. I can't even look at myself in the mirror. Sisterly love can only be pushed so far. 

I will understand if our daily texts and phone calls and accidental Facetimes dwindle to nothing in the wake of Soccergate 2014. Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow. 

But I'll miss her. 

Just as soon as I have time to miss her....which will be sometime in May...maybe June. 

Did I mention this is a two year commitment? 

She shakes her head slowly in silent humiliation. 

We were so happy then...
Sigh...