I Am Not a Blogger

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Here’s a little bit of everything to catch you up, people.

2014 has been pretty great so far. We’ve been able to have some fun as a family in the unpredictable Florida weather, we’ve eaten a ghastly amount of cookies. I’ve learned-slash-admitted a few more things about myself. It’s been like having tiny lightbulbs flicker on while I do laundry or take a shower or talk to someone (I’m an external processor all.the.way.). It’s been a month of mini-epiphanies. Nothing huge or world-rocking, more just “hmmm, ya, I think that’s true/good/ok”.

Some of my gleanings:

-I am horrible at waking up.

-I am a professional guilt-carrier.

-The shared freedom in both of the above reminders is the realization that sleep is SUPER important to me (this is one of those “duh” kind of ideas, but my stubborn brain has tried to convince me that I can still run on four hours of sleep–a la college days–and happily take care of a family the next morning) aaaand that guilt sucks. It’s just stupid. And I tend to feel it most about things that truly don’t matter, like whether or not I woke up early in January. Fugget about it.

-Cookies made with oatmeal and applesauce–never mind what else is in them–are completely acceptable for breakfast. And your children will love you.

-People are walking miracles. Cue the sappy music, but c’mon! Good grief. Tons of miracles walking around. Seeing this truth is slowly growing a longer pause in my unthinking and graceless words.

-I complain. Even if it isn’t always out loud. It’s grody. The seeing miracles and living in and living out grace thing, though, gives me far fewer reasons to whine.

-I’ve been reading more and writing a little less. Not on purpose, it’s just worked out that way.

-I really love reading and I really love writing.

This podcast, listened to in three parts–while cooking dinner, cleaning up, and after kids were tucked in for the night–was so well timed that I goofy-grinned while shredding cheese that evening. I’m not a blogger. I love reading blogs and I love writing them, but I’m not a blogger. I am a writer. Even saying those words, thinking them, typing them out, makes me feel arrogant (or like I’m setting myself up for embarrassment), but I think it’s true. No matter what weird phases I’ve gone through, those two things, reading and writing, have been my constants.

-Blogs with tips, projects, and daily posts are amazing. I love visiting them and have learned some wonderful things from them, but I can’t do it. I’m far too flighty and forgetful to write something worth reading every day. Aaaand exhale…I did it. I admitted that I am not “good” at blogging. I don’t have a writing schedule or tons of helpful advice. And, when I have time to write in the evenings, all I really want to do is read, sleep, talk or watch The West Wing (we’re on Season 3 in case you’re wondering–pleated pants and shoulder pads for days).

-I don’t know what this blog will become or if it will fizzle out entirely. I never say never anymore. For now, I’ll keep reading, talking, and writing. I don’t know what about, but if I think it’s worth sharing, you’ll hear about it. Promise. Just as soon as I finish ooone more episode of West Wing.

Oh, and the “goal” for February is to be extra aware of and picky about what’s going on our calendar. Making space for that Philippians 4:8 stuff.


Egos and Asphalt

Last Thursday was one of those days: I woke up early, did my exercises and said my prayers; I fed our two adorable daughters a healthy and delicious breakfast and dressed them in coordinating outfits (not matching…didn’t want my effort to be obvious); my bag was packed for the day’s errand-running and I even had my green reusable grocery totes…all before 9 AM. The planets were aligned and I was feeling pretty darn good about things.
Fast forward two hours later and I was literally screaming at my seven-month-old (which thoroughly confused two-and-a-half-year-old Sweet Girl T) to make sure she stayed awake on our drive to the emergency room. Ya. That was pretty much the end of my Martha Stewart run for the day. Long story short, Baby K’s bumped head was completely fine, but my pride had taken a beating.
My perfect morning, my baby and my ego had all landed in the Costco parking lot with a “thud”. I’d done it again (not the baby-dropping, the ego thing). Not two days earlier I was reminded of how big and in control of things God is. Everything that is mine physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually is from Him. I can’t take credit for it or improve it in any way. I had forgotten it all in record time.
My morning, my baby, my joy, my health, my friends, my dreams, take your pick; none are possible without the God who designed my life. Our trip to the hospital served as a swift reminder of my weakness and His goodness. When Baby K was wailing and I was calling Hubby, driving to meet him and trying to reassure Sweet Girl T, it wasn’t my day-planner that was hearing my prayers. It wasn’t my clean house bringing me comfort. And color-coordinating outfits weren’t saving anyone.
Last Thursday, pride literally came before the fall. Last Thursday, God reminded me for the umpteenth time that I need Him. Always have; always will. Breathe in; breathe out and remember that (well, at least try…I’ll do the same).