stuck in my head

The Bartender Song was stuck in my head all day long yesterday. This did not drive me crazy because I actually get a kick out of that song. I can’t tell you exactly why but I think it has something to do with my strange sense of humor and the fact that I grew up in Lake City where losing your heart in the trailer park is a lot more common than in a place like Seattle.

notes from a recovering perfectionista

For starters, I almost couldn’t find my word document labeled “blog posts.” That was somewhat frustrating. This is what happens when I try to organize my files, when I try to organize much of anything, actually. I am awfully good at appearing to be organized, though. I imagine people look at me and think, “My how organized she is! She must get so much accomplished!” Maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe no one thinks of me that way at all.

The little-known truth is that I stink at most areas of organization not because I’m incapable but because I just really don’t really like me when I am organized. I tend to get a bit cranky and oppressive and that’s uncomfortable to me (not to mention the people I live with) so I just sort of turn around and head in the other direction, i.e., general disorganization. My closet is probably the one exception. All of the blue clothes are with the blue clothes and the white clothes are with the white clothes and so on and so on. I had a hard time deciding what to do with the few multi-colored items I own. Put them together in their own multi-colored group or go with the base color? In the middle of this dilemma I realized two things: 1) I have an inordinate number of black separates, and 2) I was probably overcomplicating the issue. I never knew you could over-think closet organization but then I could probably win an Olympic medal in over-thinking so if anyone could do it, I could.

I think…here I go again…that if I noodle things through long enough that I will inevitably discover the right answer and that my life will be beautiful and happy and essentially free from all pain and disappointment. I am beginning to see that this is not such an effective strategy. It seems to me that perfectionism carves out for you this tiny little repressive space and expects you to squeeze the whole of your life into it. Only not everything fits, so you have to start tossing out some things - good things like grace, and kindness, and your own sanity. I have become rather fond of those things so by default I have chosen to allow a good bit more disorganization into my life. I suppose there is some middle ground, some balance to be found between the two extremes. Maybe I will find it as I bounce back and forth between the two.

80's music rocks

The Foreigner/Bryan Adams concert Tuesday night in Jacksonville was completely random, fantastic fun. I think I should state for the record that I'm not a concert goer by nature. I've always been a bit of a concert snob, actually. I was forever thinking that the ticket prices were too high or that the act wouldn't be that good, or that it was a school night. I don't know what compelled me to change my mind about the whole thing. Maybe it's the fact that I can actually afford tickets now, or that I realize that no one ever sounds as good in concert as they do in the recording studio, or that I actually don't have a bedtime and there will be no exam tomorrow, or any other day for that matter. So with nothing to stop us, Shaun, George, Laura and I sent the kiddos to grandma's and set out for an evening of excitement and good ol' American rock and roll (only as it turns out Bryan Adams is from Canada and half of Foreigner is British, hence the name "Foreigner" - you learn something new everyday).

The evening started with a raucous performance from Foreigner. I've always wanted to use that word, raucous, now I actually have a reason to use it. Thank you, Foreigner. I was really amazed at how old everyone looked - and I don't just mean the band. I spotted about five people there under the age of 30. The guy in front of us brought his 8 year old but I have a sneaking suspicion that he was only there to see Bryan Adams. I think there was only one original member of Foreigner on stage and he looked positively geriatric - think of the professor from the "Back to the Future" movies, only instead of a lab coat, this guy was wearing a shiny satin shirt and skinny man-pants with white sneakers. Even the handful of babes that rushed the stage for the band's performance looked old, probably the same ones that were down there two decades ago, still scantily dressed. I wonder if it had the same effect. The band, for what it's worth, actually sounded good, really loud, but good. They played their biggest hits, the ones I know all the words to, fun stuff like "Jukebox Hero," "Urgent," "Hot blooded" and my personal favorite, "I Wanna Know What Love Is." We all sang along and laughed at our silliness. It was fun. You just can't beat '80's music.

Bryan Adams was a bit more laid back. He looked surprisingly well-preserved, especially compared to the previous band. Still having most of your hair is helpful. The show was pretty good but then I've always been a fan. I remember listing his song, "Please Forgive Me," as my favorite song in my Senior yearbook. "Please forgive me for listing that as my favorite song," that's what I'm thinking now. I was far too young and knew so little of the world and the music in it. I realize now that he actually has some much better tunes.

Eventually, the concert came to an end, that was good because by that time we were all a little sleepy. We loaded up in Laura's minivan and headed to the house stopping for bottled water along the way. We experienced a bit of a high school flashback, we got pulled over for speeding along the way - only this time we got off with a warning since we were in the school van and also because George is a probation officer (things you just don't have going for you in high school). And that was the end of our adventure. I was happy to be home and in bed by 12:30, content with the understanding that I was neither young, or wreckless, or needing to unwind. I guess nothin' can last forever.

best dad on the planet

This is for Shaun who is probably the best Dad on the planet. That is a tremendous blessing to me but, if I’m honest, sometimes it’s hard to live with a guy like that. I love my son, it’s true, but I’m not going to be nominated for “Mother of the Year” any time soon.

I see what a wonderful relationship Shaun is building with Seth and I’m awed by it. It’s like watching an acrobat fly through the air. You see him moving so precisely and in that moment, as you watch his skill so masterfully displayed, you realize just how clumsy you are. Sometimes I watch Shaun like that.

I’d like to think Shaun has this endless supply of energy but I’ve seen him get tired. I’d like to think he never gets frustrated but it happens sometimes. I’d like to think he never needs time for himself but he does. So what is it then? Something his parents did or didn’t do? Sheer will-power?

I was really curious so I asked him about it one day and he told me this: “I just knew that I was going to be a great Dad.” Translation: “Whatever it takes, whatever the sacrifice, I made the choice a long time ago that I was going to be there for my kid.” It’s not some lofty goal. It’s what he lives out every day.

Shaun, you’re my hero!

Seth, what a lucky boy you are!

Time for me to write again in what seems to be a monthly ritual at this point. If only I could somehow convince myself to eat chocolate at such a frequency! Today, in honor of Mother’s Day, I have jotted down some random thoughts about my life as a mom and a time that can simply be referred to as “before.” Enjoy!

Before I was a mom, I never really understood the sheer bliss or needfulness of a long, hot bath.

Before I was a mom, I could make it through a Halmark commercial without even thinking of crying.

Before I was a mom, I thought mothers who let their children wear brown shirts, red shorts, yellow rubber boots and winter gloves in public were in desperate need of parenting classes.

Before I was a mom, I never had heated discussions with Shaun about nap times, childhood nutrition, or immunizations.

Before I was a mom, I didn’t hide the fact that I was drinking Coke by pouring it in to a dark-colored plastic cup while turning my back so that the whole ridiculous act couldn’t be witnessed by anyone. (That’s right. We don’t let Seth drink Coke - maybe when he’s ten).

Before I was a mom, I slept soundly all night long without interruption.

Before I was a mom, I didn’t know anything about playgroups during which the topic inevitably turns to, you guessed it, nap times, childhood nutrition or immunizations.

Before I was a mom, I never really changed dirty diapers. In fact, I can only remember doing that once. I found out later that I put the diaper on backwards. For some reason, those people never called me back to babysit their kid.

Before I was a mom, I kept cleaning solutions containing chemicals that are harmful if swallowed in convenient, unlocked locations.

Before I was a mom, my face never beamed when I heard the word “I wuv ou.”

Before I was a mom, I never blew bubbles just for fun.

Before I was a mom, I never felt the joy of watching a wiggly little lamb steal the show by rolling down the steps multiple times in the middle of the Christmas pageant.

Before I was a mom, I never ran from room to room with a large foam sword yelling “PIRATES!” at the top of my lungs just because someone asked me to.

Before I was a mom, I couldn’t understand the wonder finger paint.

Before I was a mom, I could never fully appreciate the sacrifices my own mother made for me.

Before I was a mom, I didn’t make up silly songs about stinky feet, elephants, the three little pigs, or some combination of the three.

Before I was a mom, I never experienced the amazement of gazing into a little face and finding a little bit of myself looking right back at me.

Before I was a mom, I never snuck into anyone’s room and sat down quietly by their bed, just to watch him sleep.

Before I was a mom, I never knew what I was missing.

Here’s wishing you (and your Mom) a wonderful Mother’s Day.

scenes from a worship service

I took some time Sunday just to look around during the worship service. This is unusual for me. I generally try very hard to focus on anything BUT the people around me. People can be so distracting sometimes, completely interfering with my worship experience. (Did you catch the thinly veiled sarcasm there? I hope so. I am quite selfish, to be sure, but even my ego has limits - or so I would like to think). Just ahead of me these two wonderful older couples stood singing. They’ve been walking with the Lord for so many years yet there they stood, still worshiping God. A few seats over there was another ardent worshipper, singing her heart out, dancing, jumping, loving the Savior and shouting blessings to God. Just ahead of me, a young man took a seat behind his mother and began to pray for her. Then they embraced. She began to cry and hold him even tighter. Sitting beside me was Erica and her beloved, John. Too many memories flooded my mind - bible studies, long talks, all those emails. I’ve watched her grow up. Today I realized that we will not worship together again for a very long time. I turned to the right and I saw my parents, hands clasped together. I know what they have been through these past few years; that gesture was not meaningless to me.

The beauty of all these moments moved me nearly to tears. I am acquainted enough with the people in that room to know the hard times that some of them have been through. Some of them are still going through it, yet they praise the Father. They look expectantly to him. I felt in that service as though a window had suddenly flown open and through it I could see these people, not as they appeared, but as they truly are - the children of God. And in that moment, I sensed, if just for a moment, an inkling of the His deep, unending love for us all.

a quite heart

While reading the Psalms these words captivated me - “I have cultivated a quiet heart.” Out of context, I know, but the idea of a quiet heart struck me as amazing, beautiful, and sadly, uncommon, at least in my life lately. Lately…I wonder if I have I ever known it. I read those words again and again and then the next line, “Like a baby content in its mother’s arms, my soul is a baby content.”

My mind would say that life leaves little room for quietness. Things must be done. Quite is a sacrifice laid upon the alter of the god of accomplishment. But the Truth, thank God for it, moves beyond my arguments. It seems I have misunderstood quietness, mistaking it for neutrality or even inertia. Oh, but how horrible it would be if the only people fortunate enough to possess a quite heart were those who attempted nothing at all! No, there must be more to it than that. Perhaps quite is borne, not from lack of activity, but by presenting life as a whole and in detail to Christ. It sounds so simple. It is not.