I was running errands early this morning, trying to get everything done on the road while I only had one child. (The two “bigs” are both at preschool on Tuesdays and this is the closest… More
Once upon a time I was a young, twenty-two, newlywed who uttered the words, “There will never be deer heads hung on my wall.” Of course, I also was once a young, naive, fourteen year old who uttered the words, “I don’t think I want children and most certainly will never own a minivan.” And on that day God laughed and laughed and laughed…
I guess my point is sometimes we make downright ridiculous LIES to ourselves and don’t even know it. Because about three years into marriage, I caved on the deer heads. Which now, nearly seven years into marriage I ask myself, “Self, why did you even care in the first place?” It’s like at 22 I had completely disregarded the notion that I had married a younger Crocodile Dundee from northeast Georgia. The man came home with a bob cat once, for crying out loud. I mean honestly.
So now, (being a much more seasoned wife to my husband), there’s very little that surprises me, or that I don’t just shake my head, roll my eyes at, and say “ok honey…” After the first year or two of marriage and you know, 800 kids later, you kind of grind the sharp edges down on each other. Which sounds a lot like wearing eachother down, but in the best way possible. We are at a soft, steady spot in our marriage where we accept, and sometimes even find endearing the absurd of eachother. And some days we just are completely annoyed but love each other, so we let it be. Like, Brayde no longer makes mention of the ridiculousness to the very specific ways that I make a gallon of tea, told laundry, load a dishwasher, or scramble eggs. (I would like to say there’s more than one way to skin a cat on these topics, and you could.. if you wanted to do them incorrectly…) OR why I am sent into complete and utter overdrive on Sunday mornings. I just do. Until my feet hit the steps of the church I am a total raving lunatic. Its like, “I just need to praise our Lord and Saviour and hug our peoples necks, AND YOU YAYHOOS DONT KNOW WHERE YOU PUT YOUR TOOTHBRUSH?! WHY IS IT NOT IN THE BATHROOM!? SHOES!!?? HERES AN IDEA, CHECK THE CLOSET!!!” Because ya know, I’m chalk full of grace and patience just moments before singing praises to our Almighty. But, Brayde doesn’t say a word. He just rushes the girls in the car and has my bible and a cup of coffee waiting on me when I get in. (Just in case anyone is wondering, yes. The answer is yes. I completely married up and out of my league.) And when the man wants to go fishing or hunting or go do any of his many endeavours, I tell him to “Go and ride like the wind, bullseye!” Because those things just do not phase me. But then there’s the days when we have an argument, and days later I’m still scratching my head and going, “whaaa?”. Which brings me to my story…
This past summer Turner Mackenzie became obsessed with turtles… Which in a long series of unfortunate events, led us to getting a pet turtle. He lives in an aquarium which we inherited from my daddy, the keeper of all things. This is just who he is. If the zombie apocalypse begins tomorrow, then just head on over to my daddy’s house. There is everything to make a complete bunker, along with an aquarium and probably 72 extra rolls of duct tape… and maybe even an inflatable pool. You can have your own little oasis… You’re welcome.
So, a few days ago Brayde comes home from fishing with a slew of crappie, brim, and catfish. All of which I care nothing about, unless of course, I caught them myself.
Listen, I have inherited some of my husband’s interests over the course of our marriage. Fishing for huge monster stripers will make me jump up and down and giggle like a preteen asked to her first junior prom. Hunting? Yes, absolutely- if it’s exactly between the temperatures of 73-92° other than that, nope. No thank you. Hannah cares ZERO about being too cold or really, not even too hot.
But even though I didn’t catch any of these fish, I love my husband, so I caved and went to take a look. Listen, if he can can look at how well I organized the new Tupperware in our drawer and be tickled for me, then I can do this for him. (We don’t do gifts… this is our love language.. get off our backs, man.) But I absolutely mean this when I say, it may have been the biggest crappie I have ever seen in my life. I congratulated my man on his awesome catch and turn to go back in, when he stops me to ask where the water conditioner is for the aquarium.
“Hmm? Beside the turtle food, why?”
“Because I need to add more water.”
“Oh no babe, I just cleaned the tank and added more water Monday. The turtle’s fine.”
“No, the fish will never make it in that little bit of water.”
If you can’t tell, by this point, my brain has still not caught up to the fact that my husband wanted to KEEP THE CRAPPIE FISH IN OUR TURTLE TANK.
In his defense, it was, as I stated before, quite a large Crappie. Maybe even state record. But no. Just no. Noooooo. This is not Bass Pro Shop!!! I have enough mouths to feed! Not to mention that our turtle is an omnivore and Lord only knows what kind of a mess I would have in that tank if it got a hold of a fish. Actually, I do know. BECAUSE Hubby once put a baby bass in there, and there was nothing left except an awful stench and a fish head floating around hours later. So, NO to the Crappie.
So at this point, the fish never made it as a pet. I “won”, but that’s the thing with “winning” an argument. It never quite feels like winning. And then I felt bad, because Brayde and I just don’t ever really say no to each other about much of anything, really. So, I felt bad and told Brayde that if it meant that much to him. Then keep the fish. I didn’t care. But I didn’t want it to stink. Or breathe. Or swim. Or look at me. And thats when he told me that I was making his head hurt and to quit talking about it. He said some sort of mature, rational nonsense like, “You’re giving in with stipulations, and that’s not really giving in at all.” And he was right. Pshhh. “Ok fine, Mr. Feeney.” (Shout out to my 90’s kids 🙌). But I still didn’t want it to stink up my house. So, I kept my mouth shut and now a few weeks have gone by so I feel like I should tell somebody the hilarious stories which are my life.
Ps. In case any of you are wondering, we had a fish fry that week with hushpuppies and slaw. And it was jam up. And I’m fine with all of this. So, good day and Godspeed.
Words. I’ve always loved them. I love reading them, I love writing them, and if you know me at all, then you know I love speaking them. Writing releases something in me. It feels kind of like holding my breath for a really long time and then slowly exhaling. I’ve actually been contemplating the blog for a long while now; Two and a half years to be exact. I kind of kept hearing God nudge me, and I ignored Him or really, told Him to back off- I didn’t wanna. Don’t raise your eyebrows and get judgey… we all do, at some point, disobey or disregard God’s call.
•”It brings up too much…”
•”I don’t want to…”
•”Let someone else!”
•”Don’t make me!”
“My words don’t carry weight for anyone except me. I’m the only one who gets my words, or my life, or my struggles, or my successes. I dont want to be TRANSPARENT Lord, PEOPLE WILL SEE ME!!!” 😂 It’s easier to NOT put yourself out there. You can’t be judged as harshly when you keep all of your junk wrapped in a neat little bow.
•”No one will care! Why in the world would anyone care about reading anything I wrote? Who cares!?”
I do. Jesus does. I realize that those are the only two people that truly matter in this scenario. There are only ever two things to ask yourself when it comes to your dreams, or hobbies, or career, or goals. (1) Do I enjoy it? (2) Will it glorify God? If you can answer yes to both of those questions, then you should stop making excuses immediately and run! Some people have a call to teach, some to create, some to inspire, some to cook, some to love, some to build… some to write.
I had people tell me ALL the time to write, and it wasn’t until I had someone tell me that “God gives us gifts to use for his glory”, that I really started thinking seriously about it. My putting excuses on why I shouldn’t- actually started to feel like God was telling me to do something, and I looked him directly back in the face and said “No”. And let me tell you something… The Lord won’t let you get away with that for very long before He really starts to deal with you, so good luck.
•”I don’t write well enough. People will think I’m dumb. Or it’s dumb. Or my thoughts are dumb. Writing brings up too much I don’t want to deal with.”
If you dont know, I’ve done this before. A blog, I mean. I started one several years ago under completely different circumstances. I won’t go into great detail (right now, or ever again, I haven’t decided…) but it was a really painful time for me and my family, and I just wasn’t sure that starting a blog again was something I wanted to do, because I don’t want to face the past. But the past is exactly what that means, behind you. Everyone has something, don’t they? And should you deny yourself good in your future, just because of the bad or sad things in your past. Of course not.
And then, sometimes when I write my words down, it makes them real. I can’t escape the words or thoughts when I’m literally staring at them. And then I have to deal with them like God’s been telling me to. I don’t know about you, but working through things and bringing them to the light is not fun. I have to deal with my jealousy, or lack of faith, or yuck, or sin and it just sucks to be quite honest. That part is never fun. But walking in a new lightness and peace always comes after, though. The rainbow that the Lord always promises shines through and I get to walk with a new freedom.
So this is my push for you. Go ahead, start the business, or the blog, or the class, or the hobby, or the sport, or the thing. No one ever accomplished anything by doing nothing. Nearly every night I sing “This Little Light of Mine” to the girls, and I just thought it time, that it start being a living testimony instead of just a bedtime song. Don’t waist gifts or desires God lays on your heart. “Let it Shine, Let it Shine, Let it Shine…”
Normal, crazy Monday. I wake up get everyone dressed, fed, and out the door to school and work. Take care of the baby and toddler at home, shower, switch over one load of laundry, and load the dishwasher before picking the “big” (4 years old) up at preschool at 11:30. Bring them home, make everyone lunches, put all 3 down for naps, switch over another load of laundry and unload the dishes. I manage a to clean a bathroom before I wake everyone up. I do a re-fix of hair so they don’t look like a child of Wal-mart, and do one diaper change. Into the car, drive across town, drop off the eldest at dance class. Ok. Forty five minutes. I have forty five minutes to effectively grocery shop with the eight month old and the two year old until I have to be back to pick up the four year old. Game face, I can do this. Make it back in time, drop off dance tuition check that I forgot last week- get everyone loaded back into the car and back home at 5:45. I decide it will be “leftover spaghetti night” since I have to unload the groceries and everyone is starving.
Husband walks in and I kiss him. I put some of the spaghetti sauce in a microwave safe bowl and pop it in the microwave. Beep beep beep. Annoying microwave sound let’s me know the sauce is warm. I open the microwave door, but leave it to pass out sippy cups. Return to counter stick my ring finger in spaghetti sauce, nope- still cold. Slam the door back and start again. Husband comes back downstairs from showering, I ask about his day… Beep beep beep. Open microwave door, leave it to clean up spilled sippy cup, return to sauce- Dang!! Still ice cold. Slam the microwave door shut, restart the sauce. Feed the baby. Beep beep beep. Open the microwave, leave it to wipe the baby’s face, return back to sauce. “Dang it! What is going on with our microwave!! It’s not heating this sauce up at all!!!” My husband looks at me as if I have three heads, and calmly says, “Honey. You just stuck your finger in the cold spaghetti sauce from the fridge, for the third time in a row. You’ve never taken the other bowl out of the microwave…”
This people. This. This is what happens when you are already, A) one of those people who forgets to close the cap on your gas tank. And 2) a mother of any child, (much less the mother of three children, all who are under the age of five.) You want to scream from the rooftops sometimes, “I am fine! I am not insane, and I am a fully competent person under normal circumstances!!!” But for the time being, I am just doing the best I can. Which also makes me want to roll my eyes, because when I hear someone else say that, I automatically hear, “but your best still isn’t good enough.” Why do we do that? Why do we automatically cut ourselves so short? Granted, the best I can do still only wraps up to an average of a “7” on a “1-10” scale. And I probably hit that maybe, 70% of the time… See, here I go again. We have to stop. We have to give ourselves some breathing room. We have to stop the madness. I have to give myself grace. As long as I don’t go below a 7… I’ve decided I’m golden. Would I like to be a 10? Absolutely! Who wouldn’t? I know there are women out there that hit this mark. You know, like Mary Poppins. But for the rest of us “ordinary people” 7 is a great number. Striving for perfection is making me exhausted. I just want to not feel like im losing my mind. WHERE ARE MY BRAINCELLS GOING!? WILL THEY EVER COME BACK?!? Who knows? I sure don’t. But, I am teaching myself grace one day at a time- how to give it freely to others, but most importantly to myself. Because, #strugglebus.
Listen. First off- I wasn’t sure about this blog thing. But I am so tired of seeing other mom blog pages that make it seem as if their life is running so much more smoothly than mine. THIS CAN’T BE TRUE. It’s lies and I am sick to death of comparing my reality to someone else’s fiction. Which begs the question of why we dont feel good enough in the first place. I feel like there is power in transparency and truth. And maybe JUST MAYBE if we all start being honest with eachother, the comparing will stop, we will finally feel worthy, and we just might find our strength in numbers and friendships. This is not going to be a mom shame page. I will not tell you what kind of organic fruit bowl to feed your kid. Or what ridiculously expense ruffle blouse with the peter pan collar you just HAVE to get. Although I promise to share when I find something cute, and absolutely promise to share when I find a good deal on, well- anything. This is a jesus-loving, people loving, “let’s share this crazy life we all live in together” space. (Ya know, the same life where we pray someone else will sign up to bring the homemade cupcakes to the preschool party.) Life is messy and already just so dad-blame hard. So let’s love on eachother, uplift each other, and for the love of the land… just serve up some cold spaghetti, it’ll be fine. You are fine. I am fine. We are all FINE, OK!?