The Sabbatical

The Sabbatical

I’m in a weird place these days.

It’s a funk, to be sure.

I’m at that place where everything is overwhelming, small problems are huge, and the things that make me irritated are…all of the things. I’ve become unkind, irritable, and scatterbrained. I’m in a constant state of insecurity and feeling lonely.

There are many explanations as to why this is, but the biggest of them is this – I miss Jesus.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve let myself get busy, distracted, and distant.

It’s summer break, so both of my kids are home together all the time and fight for 90% of that time. Not to mention that it’s sorta hot here on the surface of the sun in Arizona and we are in survival mode.

My life has been out of balance lately, and lots of things have suffered – one of them being my writing.

On Being a Super Mom

On Being a Super Mom

This weekend was the women’s retreat at church.

You know, the time when nearly 500 women hand their husbands the reins and a few already-cooked meals, and for some – the number for the doctor and directions to the nearest emergency room, and all of the children – and then giddily flee to the mountains. They’re loaded down with coffee and junk food. They ignore the fact that they will be sleeping in bunk beds like convicts because they will be sleeping. alone. so just whatever.

One mom in our cabin lied to told her husband and kids that we weren’t allowed to have cell phones, so not to even bother calling her. PERFECTION.

The cabin hostesses made Pinterest-worthy crafty things like our initials to hang on our bunks. We were welcomed with open arms and genuine smiles. We all looked around at each other that first night with wide unbelieving eyes that we’d all made it.

At the Plate

At the Plate

Well, I have a confession to make.

I’ve been battling some anxiety lately. Feelings of not being good enough, impending sense of doom, you know that kind of stuff. No big deal.

It’s something I’ve always struggled with, and sometimes it hits me harder than others. I withdraw from the world, I shut down when I start to think too much, and I stop writing because then I might really have to face my feelings.

A few minutes ago, I figured out what I think is the root of this bout of anxiety – my boys.

Newly Legit

Newly Legit

When we were brand new parents, Ty told me that he always considered “seven” to be the number. THE number.

When you’ve been married seven years, you’re pretty experienced. You’re out of the honeymoon phase and you’re into real life. You’ve been through a lot together already. You can now dole out advice.

If you have kids who are seven, you have been parents for a while. You did the whole bottles and diapers stage, you’ve been through toddlerhood, and you’re even into elementary school. You’re legit. You also are allowed to advise.

Well, it happened.

You Just Will

You Just Will

I don’t know what’s going on in my life lately, but I know so many people who are about to have babies – all but one of them for the first time. Two of them are going to be my nieces! Just. Can’t. Deal.

I am for sure done birthing children. But it makes me think back to when I was having my boys and what it was like.

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It’s a crazy thing, to give birth. You grow a little human inside your body for months, selflessly letting its presence alter your food preferences, sleeping habits, emotional capacity, foot width, ability to balance or think straight. And then the world acts like it’s no big deal to shove it right out of your body (“Women have been doing it for centuries!” “Your body was meant to do this!”).

Can we all just be honest with these women? Growing a human is hard work. Birthing a human is hard work.

And for 2016…

Well, it’s here again. The end of the year. How did this happen? I’m suppressing panic.

Last year I wrote about my goals and what things I wanted from this year.

I did a great job with most of them. I could still work on being more present, but I think that will be a lifelong goal – I’ll never arrive completely. But I will keep trying. Add it to 2016.

I was awesome about going to bed at 10:00 once a week for….like one month. I don’t know, you guys. I think I need to just accept that I’m a night owl and learn to make the best of it. I mean, I have read all of the wisdom from morning people – go to bed earlier, no electronics before bed, a calming bath before you fall asleep (or warm milk – just gag), set your alarm clock for five minutes earlier every morning.

Let’s just be honest, people – five minutes earlier every morning just means I buy myself one more snooze per day. Why interrupt my sleep like that? It’s just plain wrong.

So I’m back with new goals this year – ‘tis the season, right?

When Pillows Aren’t Comfortable

When Pillows Aren’t Comfortable

As I type this, it is the middle of the night and I find myself on the couch under the glow of my Christmas tree lights.

I can’t sleep.

All I can think about are my two boys sleeping comfortably on their pillow pads next to my bed as a special treat.

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I was reading a report about refugees a few weeks ago. There were so many heartbreaking numbers, reports, and pictures. But the observation that left me sobbing in a ball on the floor of my bedroom was that many of the refugee children would not use pillows to sleep.

Finding themselves sleeping on the ground in the forest or the cement warehouse floor or the dirt in a tent, many children would refuse a pillow.

Since My Santa Confession

Since My Santa Confession

Two years ago, when I was just a few months into the blogging world, I wrote a blog post about why we don’t pretend that Santa is real with our kids. It’s my most read and shared post of all of my blogging career.

So this Christmas, I thought that I would do a follow-up post. But this time, I would like to let you in on some insights that I have learned from letting my kids in on the secret of Santa.

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I would love for this to go without saying, but I feel that I should remind you all that the fact that we don’t “do” Santa does not mean that I judge or look down on anyone who does.

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