Remembered

I want my kids to know me.

Not some perfect version of me. And not just the mommy side either.

I want them to know how much I loved books and what a great kisser I thought their dad was. I want them to know that like my mom before me, a favorite thing to do was curl up with a book or a movie and wrap myself into someone else’s story.

I want them to know how much I loved music and crazy, running out into the rain dancing.

I want them to remember seeing me laugh hard. I want them to know I was vulnerable and always the first one to say I was sorry.

I want them to know I meant it when I asked for their forgiveness.

I want them to have felt welcome in the kitchen as well as the den, never excluded from a certain perimeter around me and my daily life. I want them to remember we loved to be together. And that we didn’t have to be doing something special for the moment to have been special.

I want them to know they were enough. Just as they were. That they never needed to perform for us.

I want them to know we worked hard to dig ourselves out of our mistakes and lay a firm rock foundation forward. That their dad was a good man. That he was the kind of man who could make it through a long, day at work fueled by a small boy’s whispered, “I love you, daddy.” That even after 10 years he was still my best friend and the person I enjoyed making laugh the most.

I want them to know I loved words as much as air and would weave them stories plucked out of my own childhood rather than any book come bedtime.

I want them to know we delighted in them. We didn’t just love them – we reveled in being their parents.

I want them to remember how we learned to love what they loved – all their bugs and bears and lists  of animals and super heroes. How we became students of Noah and Micah so that we could cherish their ways.

Above all I want them to know that Jesus used them to mold us, to knock off rough and selfish edges and smooth angry, hard corners.

I want them to know that they were the gift and we rarely knew how good we had it.

I want them to know that all the words I package up here are a forever testament to having been their mother. And while it wasn’t the all of me, it was easily one of the best parts.

The hardest parts. The craziest parts. The deepest parts.

I want them to know I cared what they remembered.

Dear God, Thank You For My Job. . .

Dear God,

Most days I'm so happy to be staying home with my kids, and so grateful I can do it.  But some days--the dark, rainy, long ones with multiple meltdowns and runny diapers and piles of laundry and too many games of Candyland--I do long for a clean, well-lit office, a coffeemaker that's always on, adults to talk to, and a job with a clear set of goals and objectives.  What are my goals and objectives now?  Get through the day, and then get through the next.  Run the entire household--and because we're down to one salary, run it on a dime.  Be there for my kids--be the one who's there when they wake up, the one who helps them navigate the social frustrations of the park and library, the one who plays here-comes-the-airplane in the high chair and sings them to sleep for their naps.  I love all of this, and I chose it, even though I know it means no budget for new clothes for the next decade or so.  All I need, God, is a short witty reply when people ask me what I "do",  one that doesn't make me sound defensive, stupid, or like some kind of militant post-feminist mommybot.  Help me to truly believe that work is always out there if I want it, but for now, my work is here.  Thanks, God.

Amen

For This Life, I Am Thankful

I touched on this book a bit earlier this month, but wanted to write an official book review now that I'm all finished reading.

Let me start by saying this is absolutely one of my new favorite books—one that touched me to the core, and that I will read over and over again through the years. Ann has such a poetic voice that comes through in her writing and has a way of captivating your imagination. She creates imagery with every word and sentence, and has a way of making every day chores sound like a beautiful song. Every time I put down the book I couldn't wait until the next opportunity I had to read it again.

In a word, this book is about thankfulness. It's something so simple, yet underrated and undervalued. Through each chapter and story, she digs deeper into the necessity of all Christ-followers to cultivate grateful hearts. It's funny how God creates themes for different seasons in our lives—how he puts an idea or concept into our minds, and continues to make us aware of it everywhere. For me right now, that theme is gratitude, and it all began with this book.

As a personal challenge, I have started keeping my own lists of one thousand gifts—recording the little bits of life that I often take for granted, like the way the sun peeks through the trees as it's setting or the warmth of my littlest monster when he curls up and snuggles with me on the couch.

Here are some of my favorite excerpts of the book to entice you to start reading it ASAP (emphasis added)...

"Thanksgiving is the evidence of our acceptance of whatever He gives. Thanksgiving is the manifestation of our Yes! to His grace."

"I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the song of crickets on humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives. Why would the world need more anger, more outrage? How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is joy that saves us?"

"Haste makes waste. Life is not an emergency. Life is brief and it is fleeting but it is not an emergency. I pick up a coat and thank God for the arms that can do it. Emergencies are sudden, unexpected events—but is anything under the sun unexpected to God?"

"God is always good and I am always loved."

"Is worship why I’ve run for the moon? Not for lunar worship, but for True Beauty worship, worship of Creator Beauty Himself. God is present in all the moments, but I do not deify the wind in the pines, the snow falling on hemlocks, the moon over harvested wheat. Pantheism, seeing the natural world as divine, is a very different thing than seeing divine God present in all things. I know it here kneeling, the twilight so still: nature is not God but God revealing the weight of Himself, all His glory, through the looking glass of nature."

"All gratitude is ultimately gratitude for Christ, all remembering a remembrance of Him. For in Him all things were created, are sustained, have their being. Thus Christ is all there is to give thanks for; Christ is all there is to remember. To know how we can count on God, we count graces, but ultimately there is really only One."

I hope some of these exerts resonated with you. There were moments when I couldn't read the book any longer, I had to grab a piece of paper and start jotting down moments of my own. . .blessings happenning all around me that I never saw before. Things that I took for granted everyday, but challenged myself to never take for granted again. I resolved to see the world differently.  To see each and every thing as a demonstration of how much God loves me. It's totally changed my perspective. I've learned that when you are constantly searching for something to thank God for, you just BECOME thankful. It becomes a habit.  Almost second nature.  I've kept a journal since starting this book of all of life's little moments that have brought me to tears in gratitude towards God.  I thought I would share some of my own:

The sound of crickets chirping at dusk

Sunsets with pinks and purples and yellows splashing the sky

Affectionate kisses on the forehead

Songs that bring that lump in my throat in remembrance

Giggles and splashing sounds coming from the bathroom as BC bathes the boys

Listening to Stinker have imaginary conversations with his action figures

Toddlers pronouncing words wrong, yet so adorably

Running without abandon down the sidewalk, wind blowing across my face

The way I can make my husband laugh deep and out loud at my silliness

Knowing every little tickle spot on my sweet boys

Windchimes 

Lying on the driveway after dark, staring at the stars

Little boys flying around the living room in superman capes

The aroma of coffee brewing as I'm still trying to wake-up

Seeing scripture with "fresh" eyes

Blankets warm out of the dryer

Toddler smiles, stained by fresh watermelon on a summer day

Praying over my boys at bedtime with BC

Characters in books that become as close as friends

Butterflies dancing in the backyard

One thousand tree frogs serenading the night simultaneously

Rainy afternoon naps

Moments that remind me that life isn't all about me after all.

What are some of your "moments of thankfulness"?

Artwork Destroyed (Disgruntled Thoughts from My 5-Year-Old)

I can remember it all like it was yesterday, because that’s when it happened.

My mom had asked me to throw away my empty Yoplait yogurt wrapper instead of chucking it on the floor. And by “asking” I mean she launched into that grating dictatorial tone that the CIA should use for audio torture.

Any who, I lift the lid of the trashcan and what do I see? One of my paintings that I had painstakingly created at preschool after naptime and before outside play!! I called it, simply, “Rainbow.”


One day, this painting coulda bought me a house.

There it was, crushed, broken and inert. Five minutes of my life down the potty. Seeing it shoved into that cavernous reeking void made me lose it like only a true tortured artist can.

That woman is lucky I’m only allowed near the butter knives or I would’ve lobbed off my own ear, Van Gogh-style, in protest.

Here’s the thing: My mom knows absolutely NOTHING about art. Yes, to be fair, she has supported some of my major exhibits. My “Superman with Sun In Upper Left Hand Corner” retrospective that’s currently on display in the kitchen and my controversial “Traced Hands” series that’s still on exhibition on the refrigerator.

When I confronted my Irresponsible mom on how she could trash my cherished artwork at first all she could muster was, ‘I’m sorry.’ Yeah. Sorry you got caught.

Her excuse for destroying a priceless canvas? Apparently there just isn’t enough room in our house to display or even store all the art I produce. It’s true I am quite prolific. Everyday, in fact, I create between 6 and 15,000 pieces of inspired art. You know what I say? House isn’t big enough to display my genius? BUY A  BIGGER DANG HOUSE. Problem solved.

You Are Good Enough

There is this funny thing that happens when you start to do something that you previously thought you wouldn’t be able to do. It shifts your whole perception of yourself, turning thoughts of I can’t do this, into not just I CAN do this, but I WILL do this. But there is a lot that goes on before you even take that first step out the door and into the sunshine to run, and in a lot of ways just getting yourself to the gym or on the road in the first place can be harder than the actual pain of the workout.

I have experienced this to some degree with myself, but especially with a number of my friends, who see my active lifestyle and my drive – which has always existed in some form or another- to get outside and be healthy, and immediately say, “I could never do that.” When I try to get them to come hiking, running, or even to walk around the lake with me, their immediate reaction is, “You don’t want me to come with you, I won’t be able to do it.” They disregard the fact that I am an extremely slow runner, love to stop for water breaks, and am always the first person to run out of breath. They know this about me, but have still convinced themselves that it’s not worth even trying. Instead of trying to get better at something, they would rather sit at home than let another person witness them struggle. And I get it. Have I talked enough about how ridiculously I lack the stamina to even finish walking a 5K at this point? And everyone else in my life is standing around me in encouragement, saying “You can do this! Keep going! You’ve got this!” I can’t help but sometimes think, “These people must think I am so slow.” And that feeling sucks.

Somewhere along the way, and for a lot of people I think this happens really early in life, we reach a point where we are convinced that we aren’t worth the time and effort that it takes to be healthy. Not only are we told that it’s selfish to take personal time or to advocate for ourselves, but for most of us it gets to a point where we’ve neglected ourselves for so long, we feel like it’s not worth it to even try. This is a mom's biggest downfall.  Not to mention the concept of putting yourself out there is terrifying. For me, this happened in the weeks leading up to my very first 5K. I had never ran a race before, and I was (am) a ridiculously slow runner. I had been all excited when I signed up for the race, but in the days leading up I was so anxiety-ridden by my doubts at being able to run the whole thing that I almost dropped out. When I got to the race, I was so nervous that I almost started tearing up. (I know, what a wuss!) I wasn't scared about spraining an ankle or worried that I would get shin splints. I wasn't nervous that I would puke from exhaustion or have to walk, not run, most of the entire race. No, instead I was worried that though I may finish the race,  people would think I was slow.

The picture at the top of this page made me start to think about people’s perceptions of what they are capable of, but also of what they are worth. “You are good enough” can mean two very different things. It can mean, stop trying, you are as good as you are going to get. But I hope that if you are reading this and thinking, This sounds like me. I want to be that healthy person, but it’s too late/hard/ridiculous to start now – I hope that “You are good enough” can mean something different. I want it to mean, You are good enough to advocate for yourself, to trust that your friends will be excited to wait for you while you sweat your way up that hill, to get up early and go to running even though you can't jog for more than 30 seconds at at time (I can’t!), and to start believing that you’re worth the effort.  I'm so glad that I decided that I was. 

*To follow along with my journey to fitness and self-empowerment, skip on over to my new blog "From Couch Potato to Marathon Mom". Encourage me as I challenge myself to train for a marathon in less than one year! You can also gain support and inspiration for health and wellness on my new facebook page by clicking HERE!

Dear God, Denim is the Devil. . .

Dear God,

Wow, I can't believe I used to pay this much money for denim.  I've only been off the fashion market for two years now (as I fell off the trendy wagon with 72 lbs of extra baby weight. . .yes, you all heard that right!).  As I'm looking at these clothes, I feel like a sister from another planet.  Two hundred and eleven dollars for jeans that I can only wear with three-inch heels?  That's not going to happen.  I haven't worn anything higher that a clog in a year.  Nevertheless, Lord, here I am in the store, out without the baby, looking to fit into some normal clothes--or "new normal", I guess I should say.  Please bless my little shopping trip by shutting off the voices in my head, the ones saying "fat" and "flabby" and "no-waist monster butt".  Please help me to love and honor this new body--which created two lives, after all!--with jeans that won't break the bank or my self-esteem.  Send me a sign, Lord:  Somewhere in these racks there's got to be a decent pair of stretch dark-wash boot-cuts high enough to hold in this belly but low enough to make me still look hot.  Some that flatters this new "curvy" butt enough to make my husband think I'm sexy without actually making him want sex (or not too often).  Please show me a jean that won't rip out in the knees, because suddenly I'm on my knees a lot these days, God, crawling after my little men.  Finally, God, if you could locate that perfect jean on the sale rack?  That would truly be a miracle.  Thank you.

Amen

I'd Like To Thank The Academy. . .I Mean Google

For all those amigas who are savvy to the "blogging world" and for those of you who aren't, let me let you in on a little secret.  Google Search is Bananas!  I mean, really!  Let me explain. . .

You see, I like to stay fresh "in-the-know" as to how many page views I get, where the traffic comes from, SEO trends, etc. I blame this in part on my dabble in the marketing field in my previous life (B.C. = Before Children). And in gathering this information, it's been brought to my knowledge that people find my little parenting blog in the most hilarious ways. Google has become my best friend, in more ways than one.  As if I didn't need one more reason to adore it besides the fact that I use it daily to search for the most random of things, such as "previous hairstyles of Kelly Clarkson", "Thunder basketball players names", or "Why does my son constantly hold on to his wee-wee".  (Let it just be said as a side note that if anyone ever got ahold of my google history, many would be reassured that I am, indeed, a candidate for the loony bin!) Anyhow, back to the reasons why I love Google. Obviously people search for the most ridiculous things, I just never gave it a thought that in their quest to google some pretty off-the-wall stuff, that they would stumble upon "Miss Banana Pants".  My "keyword search results" are funny enough to leave me in stitches and bring tears to my eyes!  Let me just give you a sneak peak into my "Google Analytics" report.  These words or phrases are what brought some complete clueless folks to my little blog in the month of May:

"bottomless pants"
"how do I get to crazytown?"
"what do I do with a toddler?"
"mind-blowing facts about bottoms"
"what to do when I pee my pants"
"can I eat crayons?"
"I want to divorce my kid"
"is grouchiness hereditary?"
"someone in my office stinks"
"I want to be Dora the Explorer"
"kid's programming rots brains"
"honking mom's boobs"
"kids are lunatics"
"activities to tie up my toddler"
"I don't cook"
"amateur parent"

And my own personal favorite, and the key phrase that has brought me the MOST traffic in May. . . ."My Mom Has A Big Booty"

I'd like to thank the Academy. . .I mean Google for promoting Miss Banana Pants, for always being there when I had a random question about. . .life in general, and for the never ending laughs I've received in learning all the baffling ways these weirdos have came to know my little blog.  If you have found me due to any of the following keyword searches. . .This post's for YOU! :)