The Trouble with Labels

A great discussion after yoga class this morning has had me wondering all day- what would you choose to be if you removed all the labels you place on yourself?

Seriously. Maybe they're characteristics of a particular season in your life in which others identified you- just adjectives from adolescence or childhood- and you just accepted them as permanent fixtures, adopted them as your very nature.  Or maybe they're self-proclaimed, true tendencies, and you wear them like a badge.  But let's think about it for a second.

I convinced myself I was made a certain way for much of my life.  I'm a procrastinator. I'm lazy. Incapable of finishing what I start. Naturally good at math, science,  and music, but too undisciplined to be great at any of them. Bad knees. Eating issues. Genetically incapable of being an athlete of any sort. Big boned with a slow metabolism (my favorite)... the list goes on.

It was true.  I was all of these.  But here's the deal- it's who I was and who I remained because I accepted those things and they became my excuses. I didn't struggle through them to be more of what I wanted. I instead struggled to accept them... and accepting most of them truly was a struggle for me because I didn't like some of those traits. In acceptance, though, they became road blocks that held me back, and I grew comfortable in my box just saying, "Oh, that's cool, but I could never do that. I'm too _________. I'm content where I am."  But I wasn't.

I didn't want to be (mostly self) labeled as lazy anymore, so I got off the couch to knock out daily "to do" lists and learned (ok, still learning) how to better manage my time.  I didn't want to be someone who didn't finish what I started, so I took one step after another to finish whatever it was. Everyday was a choice to counteract those habits I wanted to change. Am I still a procrastinator by nature?  Yes, but I don't like that, so I recognize the behavior and make a conscious choice to change it when I see it.

Of course, in all of this, I realize that my childhood dream of being an Olympic gymnast is beyond me now, but that doesn't stop me from bending over backwards, flipping around, and enjoying the movement my body grows more capable of everyday. At almost 37 years old, it's almost the same thing, right? I still have bad knees, but I don't let them stop me from making steps toward my physical fitness goals.  I just go slower (because it is important to recognize limits and not injure yourself.)

The hardest realization is when I find myself doing it to my children, describing them to people as this or that, and boxing them in, however unintentionally. I believe we are each given certain gifts we should nurture and develop, and we are absolutely led by certain traits. I encourage my kids to seek those out, but I don't believe they (or we) should be limited to activities, careers, etc. based on predisposition, genetic or otherwise.  I try to be very careful of my words now. I want my children to own who they are, but I want them to find the balance to know when to move if they want something more or different.

All I'm saying is this- if you want something, figure out what it is keeping you from it, and tear down that wall one small brick at a time. Be good to yourself along the way. The journey can be long and riddled with ridiculous opinions and hardships. But strip yourself of the labels, even just for a second, to imagine all that you've ever dreamed of being, and let nothing stop you in that pursuit, especially not your own perception.

Under the Influence of Little Boy Humor

Double-take at Target yesterday... I was *certain* I saw "pillowFART" while making my way to the home goods department clearance end-cap.

Every little girl's dream bedding, right? 😂

Now, it would've been a down-right riotous scene, if I had been in the company of my boys. Or at least, there would've been a greater display of appreciation for the mistake.  As it was, the woman perusing the cozy Snuggies at the end of the aisle thought I was unquestionably insane based on the hysterical laughter coming from this solitary soul.  I may have even snorted.

Apparently, this is the result of spending the entirety of my days with three boys between the ages of six and twelve.

Nooks and Crannies

When your place of residence changes too frequently you learn to define "home" solely by the intangible spaces you create in yourself and in between the people you love.  No address or physical place will do, for you cannot take those nooks and crannies with you when you go.

It is simply one lesson I have learned as a military wife.

We remain in one spot for a fleeting breath of a moment it seems- often only three years or less.  It is long enough to attempt to settle in a house always owned and decorated by someone else.  By the time our belongings are sufficiently scattered from corner to corner, the packing season has rolled back around.  Everything finally organized on our assorted-colored shelves or in our mismatched furniture must carefully be rewrapped, repacked, and rearranged in relabeled boxes.  Even now, our time here on Sandusky Court is up, and we are once again a family awaiting orders.

I'd say "patiently awaiting," however, patience has never been a forte of mine.

I'm a planner; living in limbo makes me crazy.  Truly insane.  But insanity must be tolerated, as this is our chosen life.  Fall homeschool registration, extracurricular activities, plane tickets and summer travel plans... even our small business future precariously rest upon our next move; every one of these tasks in need of being settled very soon.  Luckily, February is the promised month for receiving orders, and we know it is only a short time before the setting of our next chapter is written.

Try though I might, leaving always bears a substantial weight on my every thought as the days tick by.  It is not, however, the unresolved details that are the most taxing effects of our transfers, but the heartbreak that comes of the distance enforced in each cherished relationship built in these transient years.  They are, of course, our greatest blessings- chosen family always is- and so, it is a heartbreak worth enduring, with promises made for visits whenever circumstances allow.

Connections such as these are never broken.  They are the very filling of my invisible nooks and crannies affectionately carried from town to town, and that by which I create this, my unconventional definition of "home."

Practice is the Purpose

I find dialogue awkward.  That is, I find writing dialogue awkward.  There is a certain singsong-ish flow to a conversation created by voices and tones and facial expressions alone, involving senses much more complicated to convey in written word.  It is an art... and it is an art I am working to develop.

There is nothing quite so intimidating to me, in regards to writing, as transferring the lively characters dancing through my imagination and their exchanges to paper, except perhaps doing so poorly.  It is, however, in my experience, the very thing you dislike most or are most uncomfortable with which you should practice most ardently until you find mastery, or at the very least comfort.

Burpees are my best example in this moment, because so much of what I do now is relatable to the more palpable physical struggles of fitness and health. I don't know many people that don't have a love-hate relationship with taking a push-up and adding a "stand-up-and-jump" to it.  I realized very quickly in sweating through a workout that that which I hate most is where I needed the most training, and burpees were public enemy #1, as far as I was concerned.  The only way to beat them was to perfect my execution of them.  It's still a work in progress, but you get the idea.

I'm taking this approach to writing fiction, but more specifically written dialogue.  Practice practice practice.  Lucky for me, I have a blog as a perfect, and very public place to do just that.

I have spent many a night lately, as is evident by Little Wonders' explosion of random typed word-vomit posted, exercising various aspects of the art of writing.  I have scribbled notes on receipts, scraps of paper, and in several spiral bound notebooks tucked in corners of my home, car, and purse for years.  In the absence of pen and paper, I am grateful for a rather writer-friendly phone collecting my ramblings in electronic form.  I can't get enough, and honestly, it's about time I worked my way towards organizing this collection.

This is my explanation for what may seem like a blog full of words and posts lacking purpose as a whole.  Essentially, you are subjected to my self-assigned exercises.  I hope you find some enjoyment, if not amusement, in my nonsense.

And with that, I will leave you with last night's little assignment.  Five minutes spent creating an exchange between two beloved characters...

"Glow" 

(Another excerpt from a novel I have yet to write.)

He grinned and gently brushed her cheek, reveling and reeling in the residual waves of their love made. 

“You’re glowing again.”

Even in the shadows of the pre-dawn darkness, her smile shone in response. “It’s like the moon, my love, merely reflecting light from another source.”  She gave the sweetest sigh with a tender, blissful kiss. “It’s what you do to me.”

She snuggled into the crook of his arm as he found his way to the space beside her, like the final pieces of a puzzle connected.

“Oh no, love,” he whispered, taking in the honeyed scent of her skin. “It is all you.”

“Maybe,” she conceded with a wicked little giggle. “But then you are certainly the flint that sparks the fire within me.”

Of Injuries and Scars

I quietly sat on the x-ray table, lead vest heavy across my belly and spotlight aimed at my troublesome right knee. The tech making polite conversation as she gave me directions, "Turn this way, just a bit," and "Hold this up. Now, be very still."

I silently obeyed, holding my breath as she stepped behind the window and snapped the shot.  As still as I was, my mind careened around all the possibilities.  Another injury. 

It hadn't been but a few months since I was sitting in that very room with a similar limb affliction; one right shoulder, overworked and under-rested.  At least this time, there was actually an identifiable incident.  I had been reaching for a kettle bell mid-workout, between the running and the squatting.  I hadn't even touched that darn bell yet.  I merely stepped and reached for it, twisting in just the right way.  Or I suppose I should say, "just the wrong way," as there I sat.  It's silly really, and believe me, I felt the ridiculousness of it all in telling the doctor as he examined my angry knee.

I listened intently as he went over the diagnosis; a simple sprained knee to be cared for with a brace, some rest, and anti-inflammatories.  But there was more.  There were "abnormalities" visible on the x-rays. Well, who doesn't love to hear a doctor say that lovely fear-mongering word- "abnormalities?"  He explained the existence of what appeared to be some sort of calcification on what he felt was a knee far too young to allow such a presence.  I was left with a promised follow-up from the radiologist, and a possible orthopedic referral, dependent upon their closer examination of the x-rays.  Of course, I don't remember the exact details of his medical monologue.  It's funny how I always believe I will remember every word, but as soon as I step out of the office, my brain is wiped clean with the exception of all the questions I wished I had thought to ask.

In the few hours that have passed since the appointment, I've teetered back and forth between a high-spirited optimism and plan for a quick recovery, and a disheartening pessimism of being held back from the activities I love for any length of time.

It's a minor injury.  No surgery required.  What a relief!

Minor though it may be, it will still keep me from my routine.  Workouts are my sanity, my remedy for more than just a calorie burn and muscle toning.

Yes, but five days' rest is nothing.  And then I'll be back at it, rebuilding my strength slowly, smartly, but surely.

Unless this calcification business is more.  Then what?

Then, I'll work with it, and stop trying to fight against it.  I can accept my knees never permitting an inverted lotus pose.

Ugh... I was planning to start my YTT this week.  Lotus pose?  I can't even do child's pose right now.

But, my body needs rest.  I'll rest it, and then start next week.  That's the benefit of choosing a program which allows practice and study in my own time.

And round and round I go.  No, really... I am this insane.

In the end, all I could think was how maybe I've made a mountain of this minuscule thing.  A minor injury.  I've allowed it to make me feel broken.  I don't like feeling broken.  I don't care for exposing any fleck of my fragility, physical or otherwise, though I am quite aware of each flecks existence.

The truth is, my fear isn't about this injury or its subsequent recovery.  It gives life to a much more personal and emotional issue deeply rooted and boldly growing from old scars split wide open by setbacks like this.  Clearly, they are wounds that never really healed.

Many, many years ago, I gave up far too much far too easily, and it haunts me still.

One memory rubbed raw and resurfacing most recently, is that of my rather brief stint in the Air Force; four weeks of boot camp training followed by two months of "Medical Hold," only to be sent home for migraines. This is a story many friends and family know, though I've always told it differently than it actually happened.

The basics are the same. I had been aimlessly floundering after the chaos of life led me down an unplanned path. In an attempt to pull myself out of the muck and find any sort of purpose, I proudly joined the U.S. Air Force.  The day after Christmas in 2000, I traveled to San Antonio's Lackland Air Force Base from Houston.  I missed the initial TI verbal assault on the incoming buses, courtesy of a day long paperwork delay, but I was settled into my flight with all the usual "pleasantries" by the 27th.  I learned quickly and became the perfect little wall-flower, despite having the first bed just outside of the Sergeant's office and an easy target for a last name.  "Homer" had brought me nothing but grief since The Simpsons' debut in the fifth grade.  Fortunately for me, it went unnoticed amongst the 59 other girls in my flight.  By week 4, I thought I was golden, but the changes in diet, exercise, and sleep began to take their toll, and my occasional pre-Air Force migraines struck with a vengeance.  It wasn't ever long after Reveille that a daily monster would take hold of my poor pounding head.  I couldn't think straight, and suddenly "the perfect little wallflower" was missing marching calls and standing out like a cactus in the bare desert.  It wasn't pretty, and no one thanked me for the numerous extra "motivational push-ups" we were having to do in penance for my errors alone.  After several days in a row of brain torture and worry, I finally requested to go to medical call. The clinic doctor granted me a referral to the neurologist and an unwanted ticket to leave my flight for the "Medical Hold" Squadron until a diagnosis could be made and everything sorted out.  With this, I found my boot camp graduation delayed and my reserved spot at Shepherd AFB for my next phase of training given to another recruit, though I wasn't fully aware of it at the time.  Once again, my life's plans were shaken.

My first neurology appointment offered a migraine diagnosis, only pending MRI results to rule out worse possibilities.  And so my waiting began- waiting on appointments, waiting on paperwork.  Just a whole lot of "hurry up and wait."

A few weeks later, while making my way by bus to the base hospital, Wilford Hall, for my MRI and follow-up appointments, I passed the marching grounds where graduation preparations were in order.  My breath hitched.  It was my original flight's graduation day.  My graduation day... but not.  I maintained the military bearing as I was expected to display, but my heart broke right there on that shuttle bus as I watched the graduating flights march to the field in their dress blues- the uniform I was measured for, but never received.

It is here where the difference in the story I allowed people to believe and the actual truth diverge.

Perhaps it was riding on the emotional low of that bus ride when I felt my decision was made.  At my appointment that day, the neurologist made the official diagnosis and explained that migraines were typically a "no-go" for acceptance into the military.  He was, however, willing to make an effort to make a case for me to return to normal training along with a prescription to help ease the headaches. The choice was mine. Of course, I had certain anxieties about Warrior Week and other aspects of returning to training, but I truly couldn't see past those graduating flights marching all over my altered dreams to even consider amending the timeline to still reach my goals.  At that moment, I just wanted to go home.

And so, in the great disappointment of my imagined failure, I chose to truly fail by asking that doctor to send me home.

It took another 8 weeks for the paperwork to be properly gathered, but the decision had already been set into motion.  By the time I was reasonable enough to fully comprehend what I had done, it was too late. I told my family and friends that I wasn't given a choice, a fact most are reading for the first time only now.  The shame of disappointing them yet again with the truth of my ever-wavering resolve was too much to bear.  I couldn't shake my adopted role as a quitter, even if only I knew the truth, and it was my own fault.

I let that role rule me for decades, always letting that girl in the mirror forever harp on how I never finished anything I started.  So many times, I proved her right.  Then, little by little, I learned how to be louder and stronger than she was, taking one goal at a time, however small, and celebrating the hell out of it.

That nagging reflection is gone, but she is sadly not forgotten.  It is her ghost, her shadow I fear in moments of sprained knees and slightly-delayed yoga teacher training, knowing old habits are so easily resurrected.  I might be 36, but apparently 21 year old versions of myself still rattle me.

Still, I won't quit. Broken, sprained, calcified, torn, delayed... whatever.  I'll rest.  I'll get back up.  I'll continue moving forward, ever wiser, ever better.

Wait. Quietly.

This is no small thing I seek.

And so I will simply do as I’m told.

Wait.
Quietly.

It was in the stillness of an evening a few nights back that these words came to me, reverberating in the deafening silence as a critical answer to a question I’ve been forced to ask.

Waiting isn’t foreign to me. I am a military wife. We are forever and always waiting on something. In fact, I’m fairly certain “hurry up and wait” is the unofficial motto every military family has displayed in fridge-magnet form or cross-stitched neatly on a pillow. If not, we should. And though I’m typically not so keen to just wait, and certainly not patiently, this particular time, the words echoed through my body with the soothing warmth only peace can offer- a sensation these restless bones haven’t known for far too long.

Still, I questioned.

No, it wasn’t the “wait,” but the “quietly” that tripped me up. So, what did I do? I went straight to the online dictionary for the cliché writer’s definition search...

quietly- adv. 1. Making no noise or sound, especially no disturbing sound. 2. Free, or comparatively free, from noise.

Quietly. Not still. Not patiently. Not even silently.
Wait quietly.

Ok. My mission, should I choose to accept it… free from expressive noises of great excitement or grievance, I will move through my days in productive pursuit of the tasks at hand and tackle each one with a content heart. I will live and love each moment… and I will wait. I will wait faithful that in its time, this seemingly non-answer answer will work itself out. I will allow that initial peace to fill me and replace the sneaky doubt that creeps in with the passing of time.

I have my work cut out for me.

Wait.
Quietly.

Mission accepted.

Domino Toppler Extraordinaire

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I don't get that question much anymore, because, well... I'm 36. Grown. But don't you know, it still applies!I wear many of those proverbially hats people are always going on about. First and foremost, you can label me the typical wife & mother, of the "stay home" variety. We'll throw "tattooed and sometimes scandalously clad homeschooling momma" in there together, just to be more specific, and because it's fun to see the look of surprise on people's faces when slaying their vision of the stereotypical, sheltered homeschool type. That makes me a teacher, too, though I tutor more than my own spawn. And because that's not enough to keep my two hands occupied, I've passionately adopted the title of small business owner, times 2, making gourmet jams & jellies with my best friend, and building my own little branch of the most fabulous health & wellness company 'round these parts. Together, these make up only a small portion of the dreams I'm setting out to realize. My desire is to be the the most eclectic combination of all these professions, as well as yoga instructor, farmer, and writer. Interesting fusion, right?

Its a mouthful of an answer, too, so I've invented a better, all encompassing title, however vaguish it might be. For the sake of simplicity, and because I doubt the defining of who I am will stop with merely these fine adventures, I've chosen to designate my pursuits and achievements under the title of...

Domino Toppler.

That's right! I'm gonna set those little dominoes up one at a time, and then I'll knock 'em all down, insuring that each falls right into its perfect place, creating the flawless masterpiece of the run. I'm fully expecting crazy looks when entertaining anyone who dares ask what I do, but at the very least it would be an interesting conversation & far better than the "jill-of-all-trades" response. 

Further more, the one thing I've learned in life, and will be passing on to my unsocialized weirdos, is this... I define who I am, and I don't concern myself with the likes of titles others bestow upon me.

Fancy the Orchid

She was hidden behind giant leaves of green in the back corner of the department; a shelf of discounts that had lost their bloom. I caught sight of her, my favorite flora, and saw beyond the sunburnt leaves and lack of flower. Though certainly not in need of another of her kind, I scooped her up instantly, examined her, and placed her in my cart.

My husband playfully rolled his eyes at me when I brought her home and painstakingly debated which spot she would fill. I know he doesn't get it, nor do my children, who giggle and tease me. "How many do you have now, Mom?" But I can laugh with them. It is joy she and the others bring, even in the wisecracks.

Mere weeks after her rescue (because I am quite dramatic after all), with tender care & filtered light, this healthy girl is recovering beautifully with new growth- leaves, roots, & even an elusive stem. Her leaves still bear the scars of neglect, but soon no one will be able to see past her blossoms. And when those have bloomed & faded, she will still have a home to thrive and flower again in her time.

Love the Sting

Don't you love the very feeling of being alive? I have found that thrill this week in a few unusual places; ones that are generally points of complaint for some people, as my Facebook Newsfeed will attest, but at the risk of sounding completely off my rocker, I thought I'd share this and maybe challenge you to check your perspective, too. 
This week, I dove figuratively face first back into my typical health and fitness routine. It was back to a better controlled regimen of food consumption and intense, sweaty exercise after a vacation of choices that *mostly* reflected my lifestyle changes with a few not-so-much that left me feeling sluggish. It pains me to even admit it, but I am still learning on my journey to better health awareness after all. This trip only reminded me of why I have made the changes that I have, and reinforced my feelings of not "missing out" when I choose not to indulge in foods my body no longer craves, like fast food and donuts. So, I'm back home with lessons learned and ready to practice them... off to the gym I went, well fueled and ready to kick it into high gear.
Two days and three intense workouts later, I awoke this morning with every muscle in my body tingling with that delicious, post-awesome-workout soreness. And YES, I find it delicious! I wouldn't dare have you think I'm complaining... it is one of the best feelings in the world to me and far outweighs the pains I had while being overweight. With every gentle stretch to loosen up the tightness comes a twinge of soreness, and with it a sharp reminder that I am alive and that my body is capable of amazing things.
Don't like my example of working out? Well, I've got another one for you! How about the bitter cold winter that has rolled in with the icy daggers we like to call wind? Can you find the the joy of life in it? Go take a walk outside. Meander around the neighborhood or take a stroll in the park. It will most certainly leave you chilled to the bones, but love it or hate it, does that cold not leave you feeling so alive? Even if you find it miserable, the sting on your exposed face and the numbness in your fingers and toes- the very craving of warmth is proof of life, is it not?
Ok, so maybe I've gotten a little carried away, but my point is this... I refuse to take one bit, one second, no matter how mundane or painful, for granted, and I hope you don't either. Life is too short to do anything but appreciate the fact that you're living it, so find the joy and live it well.

The Waistline War

I have been engaged in a war with my waistline, the scale, and my overall fitness for as long as I can remember.  When I say this, of course, I realize the war is not so much with these things as it is with the woman in the mirror, but I've worked more diligently in the last 2 years than ever before to correct lifelong bad habits and to find a balance between either extreme where my health is concerned, be it over-eating or obsessing about calorie counting and exercise.  It has been a long journey fraught with chocolate, cheese, and all things sweet and fatty.  In fact, hardly a moment has gone by when I have not thought about food in some way.  It's rather embarrassing to even admit, but true nonetheless.  

Between a minor knee injury, missing a few workouts, indulging in a birthday cake, a few fast food stops, and the dang Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla haunting me in the freezer, I've found myself on a slippery slope this week.  My willpower has been paper thin and that evil, highly-critical voice in my head is raging at my reflection with no mercy in sight.  This fault-finding gloom will, of course, get me nowhere… or at least not any place I want to visit again.  It is in an attempt to shut that nasty little voice up that today, I am acknowledging (oh so publicly) the accomplishments I have made by taking you on a tour of my pound-shedding trek rather than waste another second fretting over how far I still have to go.

Please understand how difficult it was to dig up the following pictures.  First of all, I have always made my place behind the camera, so pictures of me were few and far between.  Clearly a result of the second and not so surprising fact that I wasn't (and still am not) terribly fond of the way I looked.  Nevertheless, and again reminding myself that looking back can be quite cathartic, I present to you the "fat pictures."

(Note:  It isn't that nasty little voice calling me fat in these pictures.  I think it is important to be honest with yourself, and the first step for me was owning it.  I was fat!)

I have tried every possible way of weight loss you can imagine, most of the time gaining the weight back within a matter of months, if losing any at all.  Crash diets, pills, and cutting out any one particular food group never worked for me.  It didn't help that I always seemed to have an excuse for my unhealthy ways of eating and (lack of) activity- pregnancies, c-sections, nursing babies, long distance moves- but really it was simply the overwhelming notion of how much I actually needed to lose that kept me from getting off the couch.  Seems silly in retrospect.

My weight crept up slowly over the course of 8 years and 3 babies, but it was in May 2012, tipping the scales at 215 pounds, I decided enough was enough.  I was on a visit to Texas celebrating my (slender) sister's college graduation, and my sister-in-law shared her weapon of choice in the battle of the bulge- an app called "MyFitnessPal."  It was so simple… well, in the way that it worked anyway.  It gave me a daily calorie allotment and provided an easy way to log food and exercise.  Because I was painfully aware of my ineffectual habit of overwhelming myself with too much change too quickly, I chose to focus solely on portion control and not concern myself for the moment with daily exercise routines.  Naturally, when realizing how many calories were in certain foods (because they are listed right on the back of the box!), I made wiser choices in how I "spent" my given calories.

The first several weeks were torture.  My will-power has never been particularly stout, but the "215" staring back at me from the scale below had been forever burned into my memory and gave me the 215 extra reasons I needed to stay strong and move along.  When I felt I had my calorie-consumption under better control, I added regular physical activity by joining the Y and participating in group classes, like Zumba and Boot Camp.  With the gradual habit changes and unyielding persistence the pounds began to fall off week after week, a couple at a time.

Shocking, right? It was just as I had always been taught- the most effective path to achieving a healthy weight is through (proper) diet and exercise!

It's been almost two years now, and I'd like to tell you I never wavered.  I initially lost close to 45 pounds before a move (and various other excuses) broke my MyFitnessPal routine.  I have gained some of those pounds back (and then lost a few again), but I remain determined to get back on the horse each time I falter understanding that my lifestyle is still very different from where I began.

After grueling weeks like this one, I do well to recognize how far I've come and acknowledge the achievements of every pound or inch lost.  That can't be done without sharing these more recent pictures… with the sincere hope you forget you ever saw the others!

Stepping Out in Faith

I'm thinking about doing something insane this next school year, and as with all leaps of faith, I'm pretty scared at the prospects of what I'm considering.

We have already decided to continue homeschooling with the Classical Conversations program.  We love the structure yet flexibility of both Foundations, the first level and Essentials, the second, and plan to continue through the Challenge A and B levels.  If you are considering homeschool as an option for your family, I highly recommend looking into Classical Conversations.

Here's where the crazy comes in.

The director of our area CC Foundations group is stepping down to start Challenge A for this same area.  Her youngest is aging out of Foundations and CC needs someone new to take over.  She approached me about the job, and I immediately said I wasn't interested... after politely giving her the most insane look possible.  Why would she even consider me?  We're fairly new to homeschooling, new to Classical Conversations, and new to Foundations- surely not qualified.  I was interested only in tutoring for the 2014-15 school year.

It came up in casual conversation over the last several weeks with a few of the other moms, all of whom paid me the great compliment of saying they thought I would be a wonderful addition as director.  Each encouraged me to at least consider the position.  Despite my attempts to remain reserved and low-key this year, these women saw something in me, and without even realizing it, I caught myself mulling it over as I washed dishes this weekend.  I set the glass in my hand down and gave Carlos a look of which I'm sure he is quite familiar.  It was my crazy-idea eyes; the same ones that led to MOPS leadership.  I think he laughed before I said anything at all.  His support is, of course crucial, and as always, God bless him, freely given.

This isn't the first time God has caught my attention just like this, in the everyday monotony, but I'm always surprised when He calls on me.  It often reminds me of Moses thinking Aaron would surely be better suited to saving God's chosen people from the grips of slavery.  He couldn't see past his own imperfections to imagine he could possibly be the one to do God's bidding.  I feel a little bit like that now.  It's terrifying.  I know I'm capable of fulfilling the obligations of director, but I'm worried I'm not up to it just yet.  Sometimes it feels so much easier just to be a member of the crowd rather than the one to step forward, but I suppose we rarely remain happy inside the comfort of our own little box for too long and I know for a fact we miss out on great blessings.

Admitting I'm interested is only the first step.  CC will have to approve, should I volunteer, followed by a great deal of training and prep.  This is a very big decision for us and one we will most certainly not take lightly.  Your prayers for clarity and sanity are greatly needed and appreciated as I make this decision with my family.

Winter Blues vs. Favorite Things

The winter has been hard and long this year.  My spirit is ready for spring, and so is just about everyone I know.  However, since "cold and dreary" has been thrust upon us yet again (though I have to admit I'm glad the white stuff was kind enough to stay away this round), I am composing a cheesy-yet-cheery list of my favorite things to shake the Winter Blues today.

1.  The little giggles of children.  First, because it is my favorite.  On a bad day, there is absolutely nothing that can make me smile like when my boys get tickled about something (or nothing at all, as is mostly the case with Julian) and giggle uncontrollably.  It is the purest sound of "happy" and should be listed in Roget's Thesaurus as a synonym for such.

2.  The company of friends & family.  My love language is "Quality Time," so no one should be surprised by my enjoyment of visiting with loved ones.  I would take a messy house and constant chaos over hours and hours of "me-time" any day.  What can I say?  I'm a people person.

3.  Music.  Do I really need to explain this one?  Music is magical, and therefore not something I could explain very well anyway.  I love all (well... most) music, from a little bird's song to the twang of Scott Avett's banjo.

4.  Foods that generally aren't considered healthy.  This one has been a blessing and a curse, as my waistline can attest.  Cupcakes, preferably red velvet immediately come to mind, as does Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream.  I'm also very fond of cheese and chocolate.  "May I have a helping of pure joy with a large side of calories and fat, please?"

5.  A good, sweaty workout.  Not something I can honestly say I've always appreciated, but after #4, I had to redeem myself!  My health and weight loss journey has been a long time in the making.  About 2 years ago, I weighed in over 200 lbs.  While I'm not yet to my goal weight, I have dropped more than 35 lbs. and I am far stronger physically than ever before.  I can tell you now- there is nothing quite like the feeling of muscles made of jello after a good, hard push-yourself in the gym!

6.  Accomplishments.  I am plagued by a terrible ritual of not finishing projects begun, and I'm sure I've referenced this nasty little habit before in my blog.  I fight very hard to overcome this almost daily, and I've learned to greatly appreciate the pride of accomplishing most any task.

7.  A good book & a comfy spot to read it.  My love of books truly began when I set forth to remedy the problem referenced in #6.  In desperation to finish anything, I made a rule- I would read a book and I would finish it.  It was simple and short-term... and I had to start somewhere.  That single accomplishment and the real-world-escape that book gave led me to another book, and then another, and voila!- a love of reading.

8.  The sound of water.  Raindrops falling.  Waves crashing.  Rivers and streams running.  Snow melting.  It would appear I just listed the tracks of a nature CD, I know, but I suppose they record it and sell it because others love it, too.

9.  The moon & stars.  A clear night in the middle of nowhere?  Yes, please!

10.  The perfect morning.  Coffee is most definitely involved here, and it hasn't gone unnoticed that a good day usually starts when I rise before the kiddos do.  It is, however, more about how I wake up as opposed to what happens when I do.  (Although, certain happenings can most definitely get me up on the right side of the bed, while others are sure to be the day's downfall. )

So there it is, ten of my favorite things.  It's no schnitzel with noodles, but I'm fairly certain Julie Andrews would be proud!

A Tiny Little Light

Pardon the understatement of the year, but documenting a walk through a dark place is not easy.  While I've read plenty of reflections of life's infamous difficulties, I haven't actually read too many blogs in which people share this part of the journey as it is happening.  Not to go all "cliche" on you, but hindsight is 20/20 after all, and it is much easier, though I'm not saying it isn't difficult, to share from a perspective of joy and lessons learned.  It's no secret I'm not there yet.  Sadly, I don't have much else to give you at the moment but my wearisome walk, but my need to get it all out is strong.  There will always be pieces I cannot yet share, whether because it is too personal or because it is not mine alone to share, but it is in the hopes of finding a healthy way out of darkness, and maybe being a little inspirational as I go that I continue to post.

The point is all to say (and reassure my loved ones) I am constantly in search of improvement; of a little light to draw me out of this funk I keep droning on about.  It is with high hopes I tell you now, when I awoke this morning, I found my fight, my motivation to wiggle free of this unhappiness that has such a tight grip on me.  I don't know what was different about today (and I hope I feel the same tomorrow), but I made a decision to not look at my children one more morning and be overwhelmed with the sadness of not providing a better form of myself for them.

Whether it is human nature, something genetic in me, or a learned behavior, laziness and complacency have always been some of my worst habits.  Simply dwelling where I am is far too easy of a trap and one I've been known to fall into every now and then, but I absolutely refuse to be stuck here anymore.  God has blessed me with many gifts and I have taken them, like a new toy a child doesn't want to use for fear of breaking it and kept them in their box.  But toys bring the most joy when they're played with.  So, too, should I find delight in my callings.  I won't let fear, laziness, or a combination of both keep me from the many opportunities currently before me.

For many, many years, I have collected thoughts and ideas with the ambitious dream of one day publishing a novel.  Long shot?  Maybe, but I have always wanted to write.  In fact, my mind is constantly producing conversations and scenarios for beloved characters in novels I have yet to begin.  I have gobs of notes for at least three different stories jotted on random slips of paper stashed in secret spaces around my house, all saved for "when I have more time."  Well, I don't have any more time now than I've ever had, but I can't waste another second making promises to myself.  It's a "now or never" kind of pursuit at this point... and I'm choosing now.  Just a little writing a few days a week- nothing too overwhelming.  It may take decades to finish, but progress is my goal.  Besides, why not put all this emotional baggage to good use?  We'll just call it a therapeutic journey for mending my bent and broken psyche.  I have a sneaking suspicion that much of writing fiction comes out of life's little experiences anyway.

So there it is- a promise made to myself for the world to see.  I'm counting on your accountability here, folks.

Hiding in Fredericksburg

All the schools and offices in the area have called for a "snow day" today, so I'm giving my kids a break from homeschool, too.  We're a week ahead anyway and snow sounds like a good excuse to take a day off!  So, I have a little time and thought I'd take a second shot at writing this blog entry.  I started a week ago, but just couldn't get my thoughts together in the right words.  Not sure I can today either, but it's clearly something that is still weighing on my heart and on my mind.

As I've said before, I am nomadic by nature, so being a military wife has worked well for me.  I like change and I have always enjoyed moving (not the packing part, just to be clear).  It's a chance to start over; to reinvent or build on who we are.  It's not that I pretend to be something I'm not in a new place.  On the contrary- I am always true to and real about who I am.  Settling in new towns has simply given me the opportunity to nurture certain parts of who I am (people are multi-faceted after all) and to have a clean break with the things I should or want to leave behind.  I am a very social person and have been known to overly involve myself and my family in activities outside of our home.  This is an easy pool for a stay-at-home mother to drown in, though I'm not sure I could explain that to you if you don't understand what I mean.  It is, however, always a balancing act between my family's needs and my own, and it is one of those things I will always have to work at.  In any case, moving every few years helps these seasons of life begin and end neatly and naturally.

When our new orders came this past summer to move just a few hours north, I decided it was time to slow down. I am the woman who was not just a parent of a child involved in certain activities;  I was the mother leading and participating.  A mere year ago, I was in charge of childcare for MOPS with plans to coordinate the group the following year, leading Julian's Cub Scout Tiger Den, an active Senior Consultant in Thirty One, and a helper with our church's childrens choir in addition to many other less regular activities.  Many of our week nights and weekends were spent running to extra curricular interests, mostly in opposite directions, and our family was no longer benefiting from these activities, but rather drifting apart.  I rarely felt like we spent any time together, even in places where we were all present.  A relocation was the perfect opportunity to refocus.  And so I made a promise to Carlos and the boys-  I wouldn't jump into anything right away when we settled in Fredericksburg.

Needless to say and quite uncharacteristically of me, I have found it far too easy to keep this promise.  I'm beginning to see maybe I've even taken it too far in the other direction.  After six months of living here, we have joined only our homeschool group and the local y, and I have limited our involvement even in these organizations.  My problem isn't in being involved in only a few things.  No, the problem comes when I admit I haven't truly invested in the lives of the people we have met, nor have I allowed them close enough to invest in us.  We are, of course, friendly at school and I chat with the other mothers as the boys work and play, but it is only small talk.  Beyond the doors of the church we meet at and the y, we keep to ourselves where these families are concerned.  You see, I have found the process of making new friends to be exhausting this time around.  I don't like the isolation I have created.  In fact, the urge to get out is just as nagging as ever, but I just don't have the energy or the attitude to actively pursue new relationships.  I'm afraid the social butterfly in me has flown away.  Believe me, I know how dumb this sounds.

Our only saving grace from my anti-social antics has been old friends that happen to live in Fredericksburg; a family that already knows us well.  They are one of the many reasons we chose to live here instead of closer to my husband's job in DC, second only to the cost of living.  When we need a little fun, we call on them.  It is not healthy to not have a bigger local support system though, and it certainly isn't fair to these family friends for us to become their burden and responsibility.  I know they don't feel this way, but I'm worried it won't be long before they do.

So, what do I do?

Well, I have no immediate desire to crawl out of this isolated cave I've stumbled into.  I wish I could tell you why.  I'm not really looking for advice, but owning up to my depression (let's be honest and call a spade a spade here) seems to be the best place to start.  Sharing this is far harder than you will ever know.  No one likes to admit their faults and imperfections, especially not on the world wide web, but I'm clearly getting desperate for motivation to move on.  I want better for my children, for my family, and for myself.  My only hope is found in the will I still possess to make it better.  For now, taking one day at a time is all I can promise and I hope in my next post I can share a more inspirational and encouraging side of myself.

P.S. If you see me on the streets of Fredericksburg, don't let me get away with small talk.

File Under "When I have More Time"

I guess it's been awhile, huh?

A brief moment on Facebook led me to the blog of a friend today and for just a moment as I scrolled through her frequent updates I thought, "This is cool!  I should start a blog.  Wait- I have a blog.  A very neglected and probably now removed from blogger blog!"  

I rushed right over and discovered just how long it had been- like over a year and a half!  Not surprisingly, blogger had updated its format (but not deleted me!) and my Little Wonders wore the neglect poorly with its warped template like makeup smeared after a good cry.  My dashboard showed several unfinished drafts of updates never posted, clearly displaying one of my worst traits; a habit of rarely finishing a project begun.

It certainly isn't that we haven't been busy.  Quite the contrary, though much of what we've done may not have been as exciting as other, more organized and super duper trendy blogs brag about.  It's not that I haven't had the itch to write either.  I always have plenty to say- just ask the hubs!  Luckily, fixing a template isn't cosmetic surgery!  The eternally pending drafts, however,  will sadly remain unpublished for the time being, some never to be (because I can't remember what my point was) and others "to be" later (ha ha- I know what you're thinking).

SO... I leave you now, with an updated look and a promise to return with something interesting to write.

How about a picture of the cutest almost-3-year-old around these parts to tide you over?  Here he is, helping mommy with laundry today...

Look Back

This was a Facebook game I posted in my "Notes" on February 4, 2009 titled "25 Things About Me," in no particular order. Came across it today. Thought it would be fun to take a look back and see how far we've come! (Updates in green.)

1. I love the Imagination Movers and I'm watching them right now- with the boys, of course. If you have toddlers/preschoolers, you know who I'm talking about. Their music is Groovy! :o)

What can I say? Phases aren't just for kids.

2. I haven't told my husband yet, but I've got baby fever again... BAD! I'm so ready to try for #3.

Addie. Need I say more? ;o)

3. I never thought I was a big-dog person. Now, I have 4 Greyhounds living in my house and I realize I'm really not a big-dog person- I'm a Greyhound person! (They're not dogs; they're Greyhounds! There is a difference!)

Our grey-babies (2 of the 4 above were our pets; 2 were fosters) were rehomed when the Coast Guard moved us to Virginia. Now renters, we weren't able to have 3 dogs; 2 over 50 lbs. "Broken heart" describes it best.

4. I have the best Chihuahua in the world, too! Her name is Juno, but she only responds to "Junebug."

Junebug is still the best Chihuahua in the world, although I should disclose that she is part Min Pin as well. She misses the greyhounds very much, especially in the chilly Virginia fall nights.

5. You know how some men are attracted to butts, boobs, or other "sexy" women features? Well, my boys will most likely carry their love for bellies (and I don't mean the 6-pack-abs kind) into their adulthood. Someday, I'll have to explain and apologize to my daughters-in-law!

I guess a "Belly Blog" is the only thing that will explain this one! Stay tuned for that funny story!

6. Coco will be starting Kindergarten in the fall. I'm pretending to be brave, but I don't know what Juju and I are going to do during the days without him!

Coco is in 1st grade now. My "Be Brave" moment this year was letting him ride the school bus.

7. Though I've failed at numerous Direct Sales opportunities (Party Lite, Stampin' Up, and Creative Memories), I'm giving it another go with Thirty One Gifts. Ask me about it!

I'm no longer doing Thirty One (my status is currently "inactive"), but it wasn't a failure. After a year of successful parties, a new baby, and a relocation, I decided to retire. :o)

8. My parents (all 4) were not perfect, but perfection is overrated. They made me who I am today- full of imperfections myself, and I'm OK with that. The most important thing I've learned? I've learned to recognize people's best qualities, as well as their flaws and love them FOR these- not inspite of them.

I'd also like to add that being a "friend" is about working through the tough stuff. You may not always agree or be happy with the other person. What makes you true friends is coming out on this other side stronger. Walking away is NOT an option! I am blessed to have a few of these.

9. I'm almost thirty, but I'm still learning new things everyday; including who I am.

I'm thirty-one years one month and two days old now, and I'd say I've learned more about myself in the last few years than all of the previous years put together. Your twenties are highly overrated.

10. The most difficult thing about being a military wife and moving around is knowing when to hold back- guard yourself- when meeting new people. That may sound strange, but I've learned being an open book is NOT a good thing. I've been burned by the most unexpected people/things.

11. One day, I WILL BE organized! Hopefully with the help of my friend's "Clutter Keeper."

It's a work in progress!

12. I have a lot of great ideas, but I'm horrible at follow through.

13. I love being a stay-at-home mom and wife. It is the most important job,... but I don't want to get lost in it.

Balance. I have found my balance.

14. I move furniture around on a regular basis to feel refreshed. I think it drives CJ a little crazy!

15. Thrift store shopping is the best! There's nothing like going on a "treasure hunt" with Coco and Juju.

16. I'll always have a special place in my heart for Texas, but I've really fallen in love with Mobile, AL!

I'm loving Virginia this time around, too! It was just so hard to let go of Texas and all our family the first time around that I don't think I gave VA a chance.

17. I didn't make a New Year's Resolution... I make resolutions everyday that I struggle to fullfill.

18. I measure success in happiness.

19. I read more now than I ever read in school. My favorite books are all "Chick Lit."

20. My favorite days are cold, clear winter days with a gentle wind- days just like today!

And today!

21. I'm a little jealous of the opportunities my younger sisters have, but mostly I'm happy for them and very proud of them! I hope they've learned from my mistakes.

But more than that, I hope they just live.

22. Someday, I will meet a certain little boy and he will KNOW me.

He's not so little anymore, but he does know me now. My world is whole again!

23. I love the sound of my children giggling.

24. I love the peace and serenity of a beach when I'm the only one there. No touristy beaches for me- something with a local feel to it, like Dauphin Island.

25. Every women holds a secret close to her heart. Mine is... you didn't really think I was going to tell you, did you?

No Words

I have tried and failed at all attempts to blog about the events and subsequent feelings of last week. There are currently 2 unpublished entries from yesterday and 1 from several months back just sitting in my Blogger dashboard hoping I will return to make some sense of the original words when I can't even make sense of the emotions.

Those who know me in the "real" world know the beginnings of this story from 13 years back when I was pregnant at 18 and due to deliver a baby boy in mid-December. Carlos and I were not married, but had been dating since the beginning of our senior year of High School. Not the ideal situation for 2 graduating teens, but life is rarely ideal. I cannot even begin to tell you the chaos that engulfed my heart and head with the decisions we faced. Still I put on a brave front and though I wanted desperately to be a mother, we chose to allow a couple I had grown up with to adopt him. They named him Zach. It may have been the most selfless thing I've ever done, as I've been told by many people, but it was, by far the hardest as well. The turmoil of emotions has never gone away; it has merely faded a little over time.

I thought I had made some sense out of it all, until about a year ago when my mom called to tell me that Lisa (my mother's sister's sister-in-law and the mother of Zach) had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Her time in this life was running out, and far quicker than anyone could imagine. I hadn't had much contact with her over the years despite my thinking at 18 that I would, but my heart broke and into so many tiny pieces. It broke for her, knowing she wouldn't see her children graduate, marry, or have children of their own- a thought that, as a mother, I could hardly imagine. It broke for the thousands of children who would never know her as their favorite teacher, as so many had in several elementary schools in the Houston area. But mostly it broke for the lives of her own babies, Zach and a daughter, Lydia they had also adopted not long after, now both 12 years old. To be 12 and losing your mother was a pain I could not fathom and it made me a little angry. My choosing her to be the mother of my son was nothing short of God's plan, but why now was she being taken away from him before her job was done? I struggled with this. I know God has great plans that we are not always privy to, but my human brain just couldn't (and still can't) comprehend the need for such sadness.

I would occasionally get reports as her illness progressed and her body grew weak. I prayed daily. I didn't believe it was unreasonable to expect a miracle, but mostly I asked for comfort and acceptance of God's will, whatever it may be, for the family she would leave behind. Consumed by thoughts of her struggle, old wounds were split wide open and, like a flood, I was engulfed again.

Last week, I got the call. In a few precious moments with her brother (my uncle) and her mother, Lisa had taken her final breath. Lisa was free from her pain and finally at peace. Now, in the wake of this loss, her family- her children, her mother, and her brothers and sisters could begin their grieving and subsequent healing.

With the family's approval, I attended the funeral services. I needed to pay my respects and I needed closure, same as anyone. It was just a bit more than awkward though. I had been told Zach knew he had been adopted, but he didn't know who I was. We had had one chance encounter at my cousin's graduation 2 or 3 years ago. Other than that, I had seen him only in a few precious pictures I had collected from random places over the years like Christmas cards sent to my grandmother or a Thank You note written to my mother. Meeting him, getting to know him was a day I had dreamed of since God created his tiny little life in my belly. I did not, however, want our introduction, as I was told would finally happen, to coincide with his loss or his grief. Though I had already waited what seemed like an eternity, it was inappropriate and it was not the time. Still, if I was honest with myself, seeing him would overwhelm me with joy, even if he didn't know me.

Flying is my very least favorite way of travel, but as I made my way to Houston, 8 month old Adrian in tow, I let the waves of sorrow and joy, confusion and fear wash over me. Again, I prayed for God's will and for the strength to swallow that sometimes over-sized pill. It's strange how a plane full of people can still be a peaceful and quiet place to reflect and can make you feel ever so slightly closer to heaven.

Thursday was the visitation. My mother-in-law kept Adrian and I was grateful. It gave me the opportunity to grieve without worrying about my little guy. Seeing Lisa was strange. She had been so sick and though I know they did their best to make her look like herself, it just wasn't the same woman I knew. My uncle had created a slide show depicting her life to display as people came and went. It was amazing and truly captured her spirit, lessening the blow of how her body had withered in the final days of life. It reminded us of what a happy and wonderful life she had lived though the consensus was that it had been too short. There was a bittersweet sting to the photos though. Many of them, of course included pics of Zach growing up. Seeing these and seeing him was almost more than I could bare, but I gained my composure by reminding myself I was there for Lisa.

The funeral was Friday morning, and though I would have chosen not to have Adrian with me then, I had no choice but to take him. It was a nice service where Lisa was remembered and celebrated by friends and family. I'm convinced every student she had ever taught would've been there if they could've been. Following the service, while waiting for the pallbearers to walk the casket out, we congregated in the foyer where I introduced Adrian to some of the family and I noticed Zach looking at me in a very different way from the night before. Seeing Adrian was like looking at a baby Zach. There was no mistaking their resemblance. I leaned over to my friend. "Jackie, he knows!"

Suddenly, I got really nervous. How would all this play out? And why now? I did my best to continue conversations and to act normal, but inside I was breaking. I had just convinced myself (and accepted) it would be Christmas before anything more happened- just another "wait for the right time."

But just before lunch at my aunt and uncle's home, everything changed. Zach's dad, Al said he wanted to get a picture of Addie and me with Zach. I thought he was crazy! He's a smart kid, wouldn't he figure it all out if he hadn't already? He insisted it would all be fine. Imagine my surprise when I came out holding the baby and Zach introduced himself, "Hi, Adrian! I'm your big brother!"

Is your jaw on the floor? Mine was.

The moment I had agonized over daily for years had just caught me by total surprise. There were no words. But there were plenty of cameras, and though I'm grateful for it now, it was a little awkward at the time. I don't know how many people were there, but it felt like we were surrounded. Incredible joy and relief swept over me, and I really struggled to contain this. I shared a few pictures of Carlos, Christian, and Julian with him and told him how long we had waited for this. It was a lot to take in. I wanted to steal him away from everyone there and find a place where we could just figure it all out, but thought better of it. (First impressions are important; let him find out I'm crazy later, right?) It wasn't easy, but I thought it was best just to leave it with that little introduction and give him some space and time to absorb it all. I think time might've been what I needed, too. Too many highs and lows in one day just isn't good for the crazies, if you know what I mean.

I came down from my high pretty quick that night. Fear set in and by the next morning I was down in the dumps again. What if it had all been too quick for him? Would it be unreasonable for him to have been angry with me? What if he didn't even like me? What if his only interest was to meet his brothers?

Let me tell you, there were about a million other questions that overwhelmed me and not many of them, if any at all were good scenarios. Anxiety, panic, fear... how much more could I take? It was then I called Shell to meet for brunch. I had to get out of the house and shake this off. In the few minutes that I had before Shell was meeting me, I made a last minute decision to visit Lisa's grave and search for some sort of peace and understanding about it all. I'm not sure I found understanding, but within an hour after brunch, Al called asking if I was interested in meeting the kids for dinner Monday after school. Did he really have to ask? Maybe this was Lisa's blessing. I told myself it was; I felt it in my heart. I wasn't going to fight this anymore. "Just let it happen, Nik!"

My nerves were shot and I was a total wreck when Monday rolled around, but my mom (my rock) was by my side when we strolled in (late) to the restaurant. Immediately, my fears dissipated and my nerves were calmed. Seeing Zach and Lydia again was just what I needed. However this continued, it had to be a good thing. I was left that night with a great happiness words cannot describe. I won't say I haven't had moments of darkness and panic since then, but what I can tell you is, though we may be the blind leading the blind here, we are moving forward. This is just the beginning; just another chapter and, baby, this is gonna be a good book!