What's wrong with this picture???

It’s December 30^th – five days past Christmas.  Christmas... You know the day where kids are up to their eyeballs in gifts.  Our kids are no different.  They have three sets of grandparents, nearly a dozen aunts and uncles, and a handful of cousins.  All who are thoughtful and generous.  And then they have a mom.  In spite of the abundance of love to go around (material and otherwise), year after year, I find myself traipsing all over town in search of those special things that each of my children have named on their lists.  Although I love to surprise my children with special treats, I always feel a degree of ambivalence as my heart questions, “Is it a bit much?”  After spending hours in the kids’ rooms making space for all their new treasures, this is what I found my three year old doing this morning:

I give up.... :-)

WARNING: PLEASE READ!

If I have received one “WARNING” email, I’ve received 1,000...

WARNING: Don’t get back in your car while pumping gas or you might blow up.

WARNING: Check the rear seat of your car before getting in.  You never know when someone might be back there.

WARNING: If you find a water bottle on the ground, don’t pick it up.  It may blow your hand off.

WARNING: Don’t stand too close to your car when you unlock it.  Someone may be lying under your car with a knife and slice your ankle sending you plummeting to the ground.

WARNING: Don’t allow a cop to pull you over in a desolate place.  It may not actually be a cop. Or if it is a cop, it might not be a good one.

And the list goes on and on.  Without discounting the severity of these warnings, I must now add one to the list that should never, UNDER ANY CERTAIN TERMS, be ignored.

 

WARNING: Never, EVER, under any circumstance, use your iPhone Bible in church. You just might bump the iPod button, inadvertently, of course, (even though you were TOTALLY reading the Bible and listening to the sermon, not playing on your iPhone) and send music blaring across rows upon rows of people who are now staring at you in disbelief.  As well, your brain might shut down due to panic and it may take you 20 seconds or more to figure out how to shut it off.  Or, you might be so discombobulated that you can’t figure out how to turn it off at all, even after 20 seconds.  Instead, you may have to run out of the church bringing music AND a choreographed panic routine to the other rows of people who may have missed the party.  And you might forget to grab your purse requiring the walk of shame to retrieve it later in the service.

This all brings me to my second equally as critical warning…

 WARNING: Never, under ANY circumstances, share your iTunes account with your 11-year-old daughter.  Cause then, if you are using your iPhone Bible in church and you accidentally bump your iPod button which inadvertently begins to blast music, it just might be Hannah Montana.

I still go on dates... Sort of

I didn’t have to set up a profile to meet this guy though I did pay a sizeable fee. 

His interest profile may not match mine exactly, but that may not be a bad thing after all.

We went out for a meal.  It definitely wasn’t fine dining.  It was a jeans and t-shirt kinda place.  At least it was affordable since he didn’t offer to pay. 

There was definitely no awkward on this date. He was completely relaxed around me.  He obviously felt no need to impress me which was actually quite nice.

I could tell that he liked me but he didn’t exactly whisper sweet nothings in my ear.  Unless, of course, shouting at the top of his lungs, “I gotta poop!” counts.

Similar to eharmony, I did learn the importance of managing my personal boundaries.  Especially when he decided to warm up on my lap. One thing led to another and next thing I knew, a rumbling on my leg was followed by a lively report delivered for all to hear, “I fawted on you!”

In case you couldn’t already tell, he was definitely an extrovert.  The life of the party kinda guy.  Though his extraversion did seem to make people feel a little self-conscious at times.  I (along with the rest of the diners) couldn’t help but stare at the poor, shy gentleman as he exited the restaurant.  His eyes darted back and forth as my date narrated (quite loudly of course), “Look!!  Him done eating.  Him leaving now.”

He didn’t dominate the conversation the entire time.  He was actually quite silent as he ate all my chips.

He was incredibly gracious.  He even thanked me when he confiscated my iced tea to replace his empty juice box.   He expressed appreciation for his cuisine.  Especially the apple sauce.

He was uninhibited and passionate.  He greeted most everyone with a big grin and expressed great interest in their activities.   

I’ll admit, the occasional sensation in my stomach was less like butterflies and more like knots.  I’m not used to being thrust to center stage.  I like to blend in.  The volume of his speech made that difficult.

While the meal wasn’t exactly candlelit, I left with a glow in the inner chambers of my heart that won’t ever fade.  I’d definitely go out with this guy again!

A Dog Fight of Epic Proportions

Why do I find it so difficult to be satisfied with the condition of my body?  Why does my home often feel intolerably lacking in décor and order? I retrieved the mail today.  Thumbing through today’s post, I couldn’t help but wonder if my lack of satisfaction had anything to do with this:

What do you think?

This has led me to my most recent mental meanderings.  We are daily bombarded with images and values that may or may not be helpful ... or ethical... or either for that matter.  Or they may be helpful and ethical but, in my current state, unachievable.  In fact, it would be clearly helpful for me to have a nice new table and chairs from Pottery Barn to accommodate my growing family.  As I think of the new hospitality frontiers served by my new table (that, in fact, is not mine at all) I think I can make a case for a MORE ethical me with my new table!!  (I should rehearse this line and try it out on my husband...) Truthfully, I know it’s not in the budget. 

So I leave you with my question today.  What type of relationship should we have with our culture and what are realistic expectations for us to put on ourselves?  I’d like to think that we can transform culture by living out higher values than what media and advertising have to offer.  On the other hand, I confess that I am far more impacted by these messages than I would like to be.  I’m guilty of piddling the day away lamenting flabby abs and a messy home.  And yet I know that I could be celebrating a host of things with lasting value such as friendships, family, and faith.  I could reserve concern for the things that really matter like justice, equality, and the welfare of others.    

I recall my growing up years and my father’s frequent insistence that I had two dogs living inside of me.  One was a bad dog and one was a good dog and they were engaged in a nasty fight.  He liked to contend that the dog that would win was the one that I fed the most.  

While the larger question continues to linger, for now, I think I’ll pass on thumbing through the magazines...

Body Booster or a Worm???

It’s not uncommon for me to wax philosophical after encountering the mundane.  I guess it seems to keep things interesting.   This morning it was the meandering thoughts that followed me pulling a slimy worm look-alike out of the tip of my body booster hair product.  As I yanked on the “head” of the slick little guy, nonchalantly extricating him from the tip of my Thicken Up, I considered how differently I would be reacting if it were actually a worm.  In fact, by all accounts, it shared every quality of a worm.  It had the texture of a worm, the shape of a worm.  Even the size of a small worm!  And, yet because I knew it was only hair product, I was cool as a cucumber as I flicked it off my finger.  I know, call me heroic!

As I watched the little guy fling to the sink and slip down the drain, I began to reflect on the power of our thoughts.  Often referred to as “cognitive appraisals” in the world of psychology, our thoughts about things play a fundamental role in shaping our feelings.  In fact, helping others alter the way they think about things is often a key task in therapy, demonstrating remarkable results in overcoming a range of psychiatric symptoms. 

As I observed my own personal bravery this morning, I began to reflect on my own life and I wondered... Are there other life issues where a shift in thinking could be helpful?  Are there places of anxiousness in my heart that would be soothed by a reappraisal?  

As I reflect, I imagine there are likely a range of misconceptions that I carry around.  Some probably result in little worries, and others, maybe not so little. And so I come full circle.  I recognize that I may need a little help and my reflections become a prayer.   

“Dear Lord, as I process and respond to my day, please grant me wisdom.  Help me to think about the details of life in the way that YOU think about them.”   

As I consider the kindness of God, I imagine Him whispering in my ear providing that gentle reassurance, “There, there, Julie.  Don’t let your heart be troubled.  That worm over there that’s crawling up your leg... The one that you are flipping out about.  It’s just a little body booster.”  

Philippians 4:6 “Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known to God. And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Frogs and Snails and Puppy-dogs' Tails

This morning, while waiting outside my daughter’s 2nd grade classroom, I observed a small boy returning from the playground in a frantic speed-walk. Making a beeline for his backpack, his hands were cupped tightly over his nose. “Oh dear!”, I thought. He must have a bloody nose. I readied myself to provide assistance. In watching, however, I quickly observed that the situation was completely under control. He swiftly knelt in front of his backpack, transferred the responsibility of his troubled nose to a single hand and utilized his now free hand to unzip his bag. He promptly retrieved a small pack of brightly colored, monogrammed tissues. With that same single hand, he nimbly opened the package, excised the decorative tissue, and transferred it to his nasal cavities never to reveal their contents. After a couple wipes, it became evident that the culprit was a mere booger of sorts. No blood involved. At first, relieved that he was not facing day two of the school year with a bloody nose, I quickly became intrigued. Such intensity! Such ordered care! He was clearly a conscientious little chap. I continued to observe as he conducted the final tidying to his nose, returned the tissues to his bag and retrieved one final predictable item: the hand sanitizer. Having smothered his hands in this germ eliminating substance, he neatly returned all items to his backpack, zipped it closed and returned to the playground. Walking, of course! NOT running.

Reflecting on what I had just observed, I recalled the countless times I have observed little kids with running noses. My mind quickly resurrected a familiar image. Starting with the elbow and ending with the tip of the index finger, he runs his arm across his nose and upper lip. His arm functions as a temporary home to the snot that is quickly transferred to its ultimate destination.  In a second, yet equally as swift motion, he cleans his arm on the side of his jeans. I begin to wonder. Is this type of boy a dying breed in our era of helicopter parenting? What does it mean to live in an age marked by parental anxiety, hyper vigilance, and an extreme aversion to risk and germs? Is the playful poem which rhythmically announces, “Frogs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails, And that are little boys made of” losing its relevance?

Merely days from giving birth to baby boy number two, I wonder about these things. I have become quite comfortable in my role as a mother to girls, but little boys still feel a little mysterious to me. Aware of my own helicoptering tendencies, I am unsettled by the image of the tidy little boy. I definitely value manners, hygiene, and conscientiousness. I must confess, however, that there’s something so sanitized about the image that it leaves me feeling uncomfortable. I wonder about the flip side to the bug-eating, body-function obsessed, dirty fingernailed coin. I fear that in hyper-managing those aspects of my boys and my girls, that the color and vitality that childhood brings to our family could get lost. And so I reconsider...

Even this girly-girl may have to admit that, perhaps, frogs and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails may not be so bad!

I hit the gym... and then I kicked it!

There are few things as frustrating as my thwarted efforts at exercise. I KNOW the innumerable benefits that come by way of physical activity and I long for all of them (better sleep, more energy, less stress, greater muscle tone...). Despite my knowledge of just how fabulous exercise is, these days, I’m lucky if I make it to the gym once per week. This morning reminded me why.

Saturday is the one golden day where I can go first thing in the morning before I’ve spent all my energy on work, kids, and being pregnant. Now don’t get me wrong, I still have to drag my butt there, but at least it’s within the realm of possibility. This morning, I did just that. I rounded the troups with unusual efficiency and precision. We actually made it to the car on time. Well, technically, we were 15 minutes late, but just on-time enough. I could still plan to make it within the first five minutes of step class and hope to discover a little sliver of space in the room to allow me to participate. The kids were buckled in and, with the exception of my untied shoes, I was ready to roll. I looked around to the faces of the little people I call my children and was filled with gratitude. “Kids... Thank you so much for getting ready so quickly today. I am very happy to make it to my class on time!”

It was at this point that I attempted to turn over the key that we might be on our way. That is, only to discover the battery was dead. Despite numerous instructions regarding the interior car lights, the two year old had apparently managed to turn them all on YESTERDAY leaving us stranded. Feeling deflated, I called my husband who was well on his way to soccer. He was gracious enough to return home and give me a jump. While we waited, me and my kids pushed the giant SUV out of the garage (not without incident, or should I say multiple incidents), located the jumper cables, and popped the hood. Within ten minutes, we had recovered power to our car and were on the road. As good fortune would have it, despite my extreme tardiness to the class, there were problems getting the instructor’s mic to work. Lo and behold, we were ALL ready to start at the same time. Relishing in yet another fortuitous moment, I thanked God for the chance to exercise.

As it turned out, I don’t think I knew what I was thanking God for. While pregnancies one, two, and three could tolerate step, pregnancy four cannot. The bouncing of my stomach felt like it might relocate the fetus to knee height. Worse yet, it was ripping every abdominal muscle and ligament I own. I hung in there with a pained grin. Having worked so hard to get there, I wasn’t leaving now! I struggled for a good 20 minutes until I just couldn’t take it anymore. My reasonable side forced the rest of me to admit that injuries happen when people do dumb things like this. I swallowed my feelings of defeat, choking on them like nails, and put away my stuff that I might “retire” to the stationary bike. I reluctantly accepted this “lesser” form of exercise only to discover that the trauma of the class rendered my body useless for even this. I struggled through five minutes of pained pedaling until I eventually admitted it was time to go home. Collecting my kids, I headed to the car, bathed in disappointment.

While there was a period in my life when I was young and it seemed as though I could do most anything and everything, days like today remind me, that that season has passed. My life is now subject to countless forces that are completely outside my control. As a busy, working, mother, I can’t have it all. That feels disappointing. As I reflect, I wonder if perhaps the task for me now is to learn to live graciously in this new reality with flexibility and gratitude. As challenging as life can be, it is also chock full of wonder and privilege, meaning and substance, connection and purpose. As I write, I admit that I’m not quite there yet, but I’m committed to working on it. AND it may be the only work-out I get!