Embrace Me

No, that’s not a command. At least not to you.

It’s an admonition to myself.

It’s something each of us should say to ourselves, because we deserve to be embraced by the person who lives inside our own bodies, to be loved by who we ourselves are, just how we are. No matter how we are.

Look at these pictures of me:

I’ve written quite a lot about weight issues. I’ve had them most of my rememberable life, spending most of my life feeling fat. Sometimes I really was, and sometimes I wasn’t. I think we all have a time we look back on when we know our self esteem suffered yet we’d love to pop right back to that body we had before and we know we’d appreciate it now like we didn’t then.

I know that I really am fat now. I’m almost at my heaviest weight ever, just within a few pounds, and I’m not happy about it. I’m flat out aggravated with myself for once again thinking I’d have a summer when I’d not be self-conscious in a bathing suit but instead finding myself fatter than the summer before. I feel like a hypocrite because over the years I’ve posted blogs and statuses and participated in support groups and invited people to traverse their own journeys as I travel mine, losing weight and having people celebrate each pound as it came off, just to find myself back at square one, or even square negative 50 when I gain more weight back than I lost. I know what it is that must be done to lose weight, but so often lack the motivation yet again for one reason or another to do it, so I’ve yo-yoed back up the ol’ scale.

But what I’m really dealing with is this: Does this change me as a person? Does being fat rather than being thin (which I’ve never really been) make me less valuable as a person?

I don’t know about you, but I worry sometimes what people think of me. More specifically, I actually worry that people are going to see me and see how much weight I’ve gained and think that I don’t matter as much or that I’m less of a person (ironically, being literally more of a person) than when I looked better. I worry that they are going to scoff inside their minds or feel repulsed, and wonder what in the world happened in my life to make me get so fat. Heck, maybe some people do think some of these things, but I think these worries and fears are mostly coming from a place of self-doubt. Because a lot of the time, when I do see people, they don’t really look at me with revulsion. They don’t treat me any differently than they would if I were gorgeous. Well, at least they don’t treat me with the disdain I sometimes fear.

I was inspired to write about embracing myself partly because of a few pictures people have posted on social media of me. For many years, I have wanted to control the pictures that people see of me. I have an extremely attractive friend and years ago when we lived in Newport News I told her that she looks like a model in all her pictures, and she told me, “It’s all about the angles.” I’ve found it to be true that some angles are imperially more flattering than others. Some angles make people look better than they really look and some angles make people look worse than they really look. Inside my mind, I guess there have been times in my life when I don’t picture myself as heavy as I look when I see full-body pictures of myself, especially those that other people take when I don’t realize they are taking a picture. Those where I’m not hiding behind someone or something or holding the camera myself at a “good” angle. It’s been really easy to get depressed when I get the initial shock of seeing a candid photo of myself that I didn’t control, and my first instinct is to not let anyone see it.

But that’s me.

I’m not talking about my opinion. The person in those pictures is me.

It’s ME.

Should I not love me, or should I be utterly disgusted with myself or think that the entire world at large puked in their mouths a little bit when I appeared because I’m fat now? Should others stop loving me? Just because I’m fat? Really? Because that’s how a lot of us think or treat ourselves whether we admit it or not.

My kids love me. I know they do, and the way I look is the person they love and accept as their mother. I’ve just thought about that a lot lately. When I first saw Anna’s pictures of me, especially, I wanted to gasp inside, kind of wanted to cry, but then I realized that that person is who my kids love and they love me the way I am, and I should, too.

Now, let me clarify something, and this is one of the complicated parts of my thought process. This is not one of those “Fat and Loving It” posts where I just declare that I’m fat and I’m always going to be fat and that’s okay and if you don’t agree you can kiss my butt. I mean, I AM saying that you should love yourself even if you’re fat, but personally, I still know that I need to do something to get a grip on my weight and work toward becoming healthier. I weigh nearly 240 lbs. I am blessed that God has His hand on me and my stress test and echocardiogram results were normal and the doctor even said they were good, like my heart had good rhythm (thank God), but I had to have those tests because I had weird chest pains a few months ago. He did point out that my heart beat was a little fast, but I’m out of shape and being in a doctor’s office makes me anxious. I also have diabetes. I’ve got asthma and probably sleep apnea because I snore like a daggone chainsaw and I didn’t used to have that problem before I gained so much weight. I wake up sometimes with my body popping, or aching, especially if I’ve lain in one spot for too long. Sometimes when I roll over, my stomach is so big that it reminds me of physically holding it to move it over to switch sides when I was pregnant. Let me get REAL real here, and if you don’t like too much information, skip to the next paragraph. Sometimes I feel stiff and achy, especially in the mornings, to the point that it is uncomfortable just to wipe after using the bathroom. And there are parts of me that I haven’t seen without a mirror in YEARS because of my gut blocking my view.

But ANYWAY… Despite these things, I have got to learn that being heavy and having these medical or physical issues don’t lessen the value of me. I’ve let myself be held back from a lot of things in my life because of my self-esteem, or lack thereof. I’ve worried so much about what people will think of me, and a lot of that worry boils down to me feeling like people are going to judge me because of how I look. I often shut my eyes when I’m singing in church because I have worried what people think of how I look. I already have a double chin and I feel like it blows out like a pelican when I sing (it probably does) and that makes me so self-conscious that I’ve held back my voice when singing at times because people might think I am an ugly singer. I’ve hardly EVER danced, even when I had a teenage body. I was wayyyy to scared. I love dancing and have always wished to be a good dancer; I love to watch people dance and have often daydreamed about doing dances and looking supercool, but yet when people have tried to get me to dance, I literally feel epically panicked. Most of the time I’ve refused entirely. Don’t even talk to me about eating in front of people. I mean, I do it, but I wonder if people think about me eating and how fat I am, like they are watching me grow fatter by the second with each bite.

Okay, so now that I’ve given verbage to what could be a mental issue (don’t we all have issues of some sort?), let me say this. I’m in the final stretch of my 30s. Lord willing, I’ll be 40 in just a few months. But I’m not really dreading it. I’ve come to realize that I’ve spent entirely too much time worrying about things. I’m not saying I’m done with worry and that I’ll never worry again because it’s not that easy, although it would be nice if it could be flipped off like a switch. But I am trying to see my value as a person that doesn’t hinge on what I look like. I’m trying to make some changes in my mind even before I start back to earnestly making changes in my body. One baby step for me was dancing with my children in front of people at their school recently. I went to my daughter’s 1st grade celebration last week and toward the end, they invited parents to come and dance with their kids. The old (young) me would have totally passed in sheer mortification, but my children wanted me to groove with them, and although I may have looked like a giant bouncing ostrich, I got up and I danced with them despite people snapping pictures or taking videos. They had a ball and it was fun, and I really don’t think they even thought that “Fat Mom” is dancing. They just knew MOM was dancing with them and it was great fun. Another baby step is allowing pictures to be taken of me that are not selfies. (I invented selfies eons before they were called selfies. Okay, I doubt I did, but I took them when you had to send off film before you could see if they turned out.) Another step tied to that one is to love what I see when I see pictures other people take rather than to be depressed and let it ruin my day. I’ve been taking a second and third look at those pictures that sometimes initially make me want to cry, and I think of how my kids are going to want to remember me and this is what I look like at this time in my life, so why not just accept that fact and love myself like they love me anyway? I wish I could put into words how I feel about this. I used to never want to get into pictures because I hated seeing pictures of myself, but I read a blog once a few years ago that a heavier person wrote and how she had the epiphany that her kids would want her in pictures with them because that is who they knew and loved as their mother and they deserved to have her in the pictures for them to love and remember even after she is gone. (I’m paraphrasing, and I reckon this whole blog is piggybacking that notion, but it’s not just the pictures.. it’s doing things I didn’t before because I was afraid of what people thought of how I looked.) Another baby step for me is singing while looking at people and connecting like the third grade inspired me to do the time I sang for them after days or weeks of them begging. And singing for people more often when asked, even if it’s just for a few on cue, which has sometimes been hard for me to do. I’m trying to do more of these things I feared before, and even do them fat. Because I am starting to embrace me.

My children embrace me. My family and friends embrace me. My coworkers embrace me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be embraced romantically again, but that’s alright. My GOD embraces me.

I embrace me.

And stiff, popping, awkward heavy body and all, that feels pretty darn good.

 

 

I Turned My Head for Two Seconds…

“I turned my head for two seconds…”

Boy, is that a phrase I’ve uttered a time or two or twenty as a parent. Maybe all you perfect parents haven’t ever said that, but I bet like me, you have plenty of times.

Your kid go in the kitchen and spill milk or juice or flour or cereal or sugar or diaper rash cream all over the floor while your eyeballs were averted for two seconds?

Your precious tot go play in the toilet water while you were looking at your phone or washing dishes for two seconds?

Did your ornery little munchkin go hide in the clothing rack at a department store when you were checking a price tag for two seconds and make you feel the panic of your life when you thought he may have got in the elevator to go to the bottom floor (or out into the street) without you?

Maybe you’ve been on vacation and your kid ran ahead of you to go to the bathroom at a restaurant before you could get up from the table, and instead ran outside and got in the car you thought you locked and you searched for him for 2o minutes and almost got the police involved before you saw him happily turning the wheel pretending to drive.

Maybe your kid is highly intelligent and got to talking with some teachers or something during a field trip and you left without realizing he wasn’t still with your group and you had to go back and find him, just hoping he was still there where he was the last time you saw him before you turned your head for two seconds.

Maybe you were tying one of your other kids shoe or something like that for two seconds when your kid slipped away and got into something he shouldn’t have and got hurt.

If these things or anything like that has happened when you turned your head for two seconds, does that make you a bad parent? Because I sure don’t think my young friend whose kid spilled stuff all over the floor is bad. I definitely don’t think my dear sweet coworker is a bad Mom for finding her son in the bathroom needing a good wash of the ol’ hands. I sure as heck don’t think my Momma is a bad Mom after my brother hid from her at 2 or 3 years old and caused her heart to drop. I know for a fact my sister in law isn’t a bad Mom even though Douglas gave her and my brother the scare of their lives. You know that I can’t judge Mary the mother of Jesus, the woman GOD chose as good enough to bear His own son on Earth, for leaving Jesus talking to some scholars when they got out of Dodge.

I can’t judge the mother of the child who crawled into the gorilla enclosure at the Cincinatti Zoo. Know why? I DON’T KNOW HER. I don’t know what was happening when that kid got in there. But I sure do know that kids can be fast. Kids can be sneaky. Kids can do things in two seconds that would make your head spin. It doesn’t mean that people aren’t “watching” their kids when freak things like this happen. That’s what this is, you know. A Freak Thing.

An accident. A tragic, heartbreaking, Freak Accident.

I marvel at this day and age of social media, how anything and everything can make one an instant celebrity, for the good (Chewbacca Mask) or the very bad (your kid got where he wasn’t supposed to go at a zoo and a member of an endangered species got killed because of it). People can comment their two cents worth (like I am) for all the world to see. People say absurd things, like the family should be shot. Or because of this incident, they should have their kids taken from them because they obviously don’t care.

People who don’t care about their children do not take their kids to the zoo to enjoy a day with the fam. They don’t spend the money to make memories to cherish if they don’t care.

I don’t think that Mom is perfect. But I sure don’t think she was simply careless, or inept.

Things happen. Accidents have happened in mine and my kids’ lives that I’m glad the world can’t comment on. MISTAKES have happened in our lives that I wish I could take back. Times I’ve lost my cool and screamed and yelled over what eventually felt like nothing. Times I’ve went weeping to wake my children up and apologize to them for going off the deep end, and to let them know that I love them so very much. I’ve failed many times as a Mom, but I don’t think I am a BAD Mom.

I am utterly devastated and heartbroken that that beautiful creature was shot and killed. I don’t think he wanted to kill or attack the boy, and in fact, the scared shouts of the crowd might be what agitated him to the point of dragging the boy around. But I do realize that despite the human nature of placing blame, of pointing fingers to pin the fault on someone, sometimes things happen and they are just things that happen and it is what it is. If I was there and turned my head for two seconds and one of my babies quickly shimmied into an enclosure before anyone could stop it from happening, and kids almost have a magic power to do this, I’d probably be panicked and screaming. If I saw my child being drug around, despite loving the animal and being sad for it, I’d want my baby safe and sound above all. I am sure the boy’s mother is devastated about all of this, including the death of that gorgeous gorilla.

She will live with guilt for the rest of her life. She’ll live with the what ifs of motherhood for the rest of her life. But hopefully, she’ll live with her baby boy for the rest of her life, too.

I know you perfect parents might not understand what it feels like to turn your head for two seconds and have your kids do something that causes your heart to drop, or worse yet, get hurt because you had your head turned for those two precious seconds. Or two minutes. Or however brief amount of time your head was turned that your kid might get into SOMETHING, even if it wasn’t something that caused a tragic and heart-wrenching death of a beautiful endangered animal and generated a plethora of media attacks on your character that would consume your soul. You may not know what that feels like.

I sure hope you never will.

And the Question is…

Yesterday morning, my son asked me to play Jeopardy with him on his Wii. In the realm of game shows, Jeopardy is my all-time favorite. I grew up in a family that loves to heckle Alex (or contestants) for talking too much, who consider it a crime to have clues left uncovered on the board and issue despicable blame those aforementioned when it happens, and who don’t deem it necessary to phrase our responses in the form of a question. We also had other Jeopardy quirks, like if someone said the answer first and the other knew it was right, the delayed responder would give a different answer in defeat, just to have given something. Unless you were my old man, who would unabashedly copy the right answer and then do a self-congratulating fist pump as if he originated it when it turned out to be correct. I frequently got accused of cheating because I’d read ahead in the clue and spit out an answer as fast as possible, and I would always defend myself by saying it is not cheating if everyone else has the same opportunity. We all always claimed to have thumped everyone else.

We. Love. Jeopardy.

So, of course, when Lukas asked me to play, even though I seemed to remember that that game disk was unfortunately scratched, I said, “Yes.” Even though when we first got it a few years ago, when Lukas wasn’t as fluent a reader as he is now because he was so little and he required me to both read all the clues and give him the answers,  I still said, “Yes.” Because I love my son and I love Jeopardy, and even though Wii games aren’t usually my thing, sometimes I will play them with him just to connect because they are HIS thing.

The reason I am writing about this is that Lukas completely inspired me in that 20 minutes or so we played before the disk reached the error part from a scratch or whatever and we had to get ready to spend some picnic time with our family anyway.

Lukas immediately buzzed in on EVERY. SINGLE. QUESTION.

Without hesitation.

Whether he knew it for sure or not, he jumped right in there to give it a try. He didn’t doubt himself. He wasn’t afraid of being wrong. He clicked the buzzer and gave it a guess if he didn’t know the answer (and considering he is 9, there were many he didn’t actually know). Sometimes I’d tell him the answer if I knew it and I had time before he clicked. Sometimes he clicked before I said anything. Sometimes I told him the wrong answer. Sometimes I told him the right one, or he just guessed it, or he actually knew it, and that always thrilled him. But the big thing to me was that he was willing to try on every single one.

I think it speaks a lot of our Jeopardy genetics since we always tried every question when I grew up watching Alex, even in his mustached days, which was decades ago at this point, it seems. But to me, it spoke a lot more.

How many things in my life have I not attempted to do because of the fear of failure? Because of the fear of looking foolish or being wrong somehow. Because I didn’t know for sure if I would succeed or if I had it all together or if I would look alright or sound alright or BE alright?

There are a lot of things I haven’t tried. There are a lot of things I HAVE. But I tend to over-analyze everything and sort out the what ifs of all possibilities before I just jump right in, before I click the proverbial buzzer to shine a spotlight around my name and draw the attention to me.

So what would the Answer be if my life were like a cool game of Jeopardy? What would the question be? What would YOUR answer and question be?

I don’t advocate making rash or unwise choices, of course, but I guess I am speaking out that we should not hold ourselves back in fear. God has given us a sound mind, not a spirit of fear. Lukas wasn’t afraid to click in on every single one of those questions because he knew that whether he was right or wrong, it would at least be fun to try, and he knew I wouldn’t judge him for being wrong, that I love him and I would even help him, and that I would celebrate with him when he was right.

The Answer that is coming to my mind right now is this: “I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

And what is the question?

“What can you do… and what are you waiting for?”

 

 

 

Purpose Matters

“Purpose matters.”

That’s something I told my kids when I was trying to wash dishes this evening and they were generating a cacophony of sound in the living room: Emmy singing random lyrics louder and louder as Lukas (who claims to hate singing) admonished her to quit and retaliatied by projecting a loud angry rendition of the Batman theme designed solely to drown her out. I tried to talk them gently into getting along, but when I would answer his infuriated, “Emmy!” with “Lukas!” he would point the verbal finger at her. I told him she was singing because she likes to sing, not expressly to bug him, but that he was doing the Batman theme in that deliberately obnoxious tone to irritate her, and that there is a difference in what they were doing, even though both of them were being musically loud. The reason you do something counts.

Purpose matters.

I read a verse in the Bible to these babies just last night that reminds me of this. It is Proverbs 16:2, and the Easy-to-Read version that comprises their Children’s Bible says this: “People think that whatever they do is right, but the Lord judges their reason for doing it.”

I have always said that there are things people do that, to me, what makes them wrong or right is the purpose behind the action, not necessarily the action itself.

(For example: getting tattoos. There are some who believe that tattoos are sinful, and in my opinion, if they are convicted about it, then they should not get one. But to me, it is all about intent. I think that getting tattoos alone is not the sin, but the reason for getting them matters. If one gets a tattoo as an act of rebellion against one’s parents, for example,that is where the “wrongness” would enter in, in my opinion. I have three tattoos myself and I didn’t get them in rebellion or to worship idols; I’ve been a Christian practically my whole life and I didn’t feel convicted about getting them. I do think there are some things that are sin across the board, but God is the judge, not me.)

ANYWAY…

Reasons for actions do not always deal with sin. Sometimes people do things that are GOOD, yet God knows the heart and knows the purpose for these things as well. Some are done with genuinely good intentions; the reason or purpose is to help others, to spread love and joy, to make someone else feel better, which feels good to yourself in the process. But some good things might transpire with an ulterior motive on the inside, whether to impress someone else or just make yourself look good. I think that doing good can yield good regardless, but the purpose for doing good, really for doing anything, is something we should consider in our hearts:

Why do we do the things we do, or why don’t we? Why do we say the things we say, or why don’t we say some things sometimes? And beyond reasons for my actions or lack thereof, what is MY purpose? That matters, too.

I was trying to make my kids behave today, but telling them that purpose matters has left a little pondering in my own heart, a little reminder like the Word last night that purpose matters. I want to do everything in my life as unto God’s glory. I want to be able to take care of my family, especially my children. I want to be a light and witness to the world that spreads joy, positivity, the value of forgiveness, and most of all LOVE. These are things that matter to me. Beyond the reasons for my actions, I want my own purpose to matter. God knows my reasons for doing what I do, and He also knows my purpose, and I pray that He will help me to understand both and let them be good ones. Amen.

The Bangs are Back…

Like most people, I’ve had various hair-dos over the years:

Baldness as a baby…

curls and/or pigtails as a young child..

. 

poofy bangs in the 80s..

.      and 90s… 

… and long grown out bangs and all in the early/mid 90s and beyond…

I eventually got it chopped and experimented with a variety of lengths…

But after I had kids, I settled for plain ol’ medium-length hair with no special style around the time. I usually pulled it back in a ponytail or clip since inquiring little hands wanted to tug or eat my locks regularly….

About 3 or 4 years ago, I really needed a change. I wanted to change my hair to match the change in my life’s circumstances. My kids were old enough to leave my hair alone most of the time, I didn’t have a significant other, increasing numbers or gray hairs were reminding me that I’m getting older, and I just wanted to do something for myself to spice it up, at least on the top of my head if nowhere else. So I got my hair dyed nearly black, and I got bangs:

I’ve kept bangs since then to one degree or another, even if I haven’t always kept the dark hair…

I have just felt better with bangs, for some reason. But as it goes if you don’t keep up with them, my bangs got into that awkward in-between stage. Where they were too long to really lay on my forehead right like proper bangs, but too short to really be those wispy side-swept bangs that always look so perfect in hair commercials, and actually never really worked for me anyway because of the thickness and texture of my hair. Still, I was in a dilemma. To cut, or not to cut. Should I keep bangs or let them grow out like I had before? Did I need a change in my life again?

Well, let me tell you what it honestly boils down to. I’m a grown woman who used to be a teenager with insecurities in high school. I did not really enjoy high school. (*GASP!!*) When I myself was a student, I was  not of the popular ilk, I hated cliques, and I always kind of felt “less than” because I wasn’t a cheerleader and I felt like I lived perpetually in the shadows of “the chosen ones,” because every single guy I had a crush on at my high school in those years liked someone else.  EVERY ONE. I never had a boyfriend in that time from my own school. There was a guy I met at revival at my church that was my first date, but I drove and I paid and we were late for the movie because I was confused about the time. I only saw him a couple of times, and besides that movie, those times were at my church. Guys were just not interested in me back then. But what does this have to do with me choosing at 38 years old whether to cut my bangs or not?

This:

I teach at the high school from which I graduated. It has given me a new love of the place, and I try to use my experiences to help steer the students I encounter now. I try to guide them into knowing their worth, into being kind to all others, into making good choices. I am a grown woman and the experience of life has endowed me with something of a tough skin, but still…. it’s high school.

And I am female.

So when my students informed me a few weeks ago that someone posted on this thing called the “after school app” that they like Ms. Herrell’s bangs, it took me a little aback. My bangs at the time were just entering the awkward stage, but I hadn’t thought of growing them back out yet. I just hadn’t made time to cut them because every time I’d thought about it was after I’d already done my makeup for the day and it was too late (because the little clippings would stick to my face and eyelashes and require wiping off, etc etc…. too much hassle when you’ve done everything else). The reason this app had come up in class was that it’s basically horrible and had caused trouble for another high school since a student there had made threats on it. From what I understood up until the point they told me with glee about the mention of my bangs on this app, it was more or less a gossipy thing where people went to slam others or stir the pot, so to speak.

I knew whomever made this post was surely being facetious, and I said so.

(By the way, this word, facetious… it titillated my students. They got a vocabulary lesson that day. On facetious, not titillated. I will probably refrain from using that one with 10th graders. But I digress…)

The students laughingly tried to say it was a compliment, that it was a nice thing to say. They liked my bangs. But this is high school. This app had just been taken down to prevent further downloads because of the ugliness it represented, and I just simply knew better.

And I let that affect my life. I let that enter my consciousness enough to rethink my bangs every time I looked in the mirror. I had already begun being a little self-conscious about them since they were in that imperfect stage, but that just put me over the edge and I seriously started to consider growing them out, so for the past couple of weeks, I’ve brushed and blown them to the side like so:

It isn’t the most horrible look, I reckon, but the thing is that every time I’ve done this, I’ve thought of that post and I knew inside that this was the reason I was growing my bangs out. I was letting some pee-anty little post get inside my self-esteem enough to think I had to change. I was letting high school get to me instead of letting me get to high school.

This morning, I blow dried my bangs straight down after my shower and I saw them completely covering my eyes. But it was right then that I could really see. I could see what was happening. I have been having some self-esteem issues already because I know I’ve gained back a lot of weight that I need to lose (again). I have things in my life that weren’t and aren’t perfect. I know my hair might not be perfect, but I’ll be dipped if I am going to let what kids might think of me dictate how I think of myself. So whether someone likes my bangs or not, I got those scissors out and I cut them. I cut them myself, and I know I didn’t cut them perfectly straight across, but you know what? That’s life. My life has been choppy at times, but I get through thanks to God. He can take my imperfect life and make it into something I love.

I love having bangs. It kind of makes me feel a little younger. It made me feel better about myself when I got them a few years ago, so why not do or have something that makes you feel good about you? I even like them when they are imperfect because it reminds me of the bigger picture, the one that matters, not just the selfie variety. I’m not saying I won’t ever grow these bangs out again because change is good, when it’s on your terms or when it is a change that the Lord works in your life. Cutting my bangs today was about a lot more than hair: it was about not letting the opinion of others rule my life. It was about liking myself just how I am, because God loves me despite myself, and I should, too. The bangs are back.

New Year’s Resolutions 2013

Happy New Year 2013! I am starting this New Year off right, with excitement about the birth of possibility and a positive mindset about what is to come. As I do every year, I am making resolutions that I hope I will keep. I pray this year will be a blessed year, not only for me and my family and friends, but for everyone who reads this and those who don’t.

When I start contemplating New Year’s Resolutions, my mind usually slips toward the typical variety. Because I’m fat and out of shape, I think about eating better, exercising, and losing weight. Because I tend to generate clutter, I think about becoming neater and more organized in my home and life in general. Because I have financial issues and also feel I haven’t realized my potential yet, I think about trying to find a job with excellent pay and better benefits. Because I have dreamed of being an author, I think about finally writing a book and making the effort to get it published so I can give the first signed copy to my third grade teacher, Mrs. Ella Arvon, who is probably in her 70s now, still waiting. Because I have a problem with procrastination, I think about earnestly trying to get stuff done early (or at least on time) instead of always waiting until the last minute and stressing under the time crunch.

All these would make fine resolutions. Again. But (and I’m looking at YOU, weight loss), when I break them, it makes me feel like a failure. And I am resolved NOT to feel like a failure this year. Even if having to make resolutions in the first place implies that I’ve failed to keep something consistent in my life in the past, I am going to stay positive about them and spin them in a way that might make it easier to keep the resolutions all the year through instead of just until about March or so. Or February. Or tomorrow. So here they are (and I mean all of these with an understood LW attached. You who know me well know what that means):

1. I will get divorced this year. Yeah, seriously; it needs to happen. It is beyond time to go ahead and make it final and cut that particular piece of red tape out of my life. I’ve been separated over two years and without going into detail, there is NO chance it can or will work out. (I am NOT going to sling mud on here. Staying positive!) But anyway, it just needs to end. Period.  

2. I will communicate meaningfully with someone every day, somehow. I’ve made resolutions like this one before, but I’m giving myself a broader spectrum of options to accomplish it this year. I aim to write someone a note or a letter every single day this year, whether it’s an actual letter or card I mail, stamp and all, or an email that someone can enjoy amongst the store ads, spam, and newsletters cluttering his or her inbox (or is that just me?). I guess I could also include chats or personal facebook wall posts (as opposed to the “send this to 10 people…” variety, which I tend not to participate in anyway). But bottom line is that communication is important so I resolve to communicate meaningfully with someone every day.

3. I will write something creative every day. This is different than the writing I spoke of above. I am a writer and this kind of does line up with the author resolution I described before I started declaring my “real” 2013 resolutions. I would love to actually write a book and make moves to get it published this year. It would be SO meaningful to give Mrs. Arvon the first signed copy of a book I wrote since she said those many years ago when I was a child that she knew I was going to write books and she was going to be the first one in line to get a signed copy. I have clung to that all my life, even in the throes of procrastination or fear of failure that have prevented me from making this a reality. But I feel sure it WILL become a reality, and maybe this will be THE year. But in any case, I want to write every day. Whether I work on a novel, write in this blog as I am doing right now, jot a poem or song lyric in a notebook or other scrap paper. Just something creative to get me closer to my lifelong goal of being published and making Mrs. Arvon’s predictions come true.

4. I will get rid of at least SOME clutter. This is broad and serious for me because as much as I want everything in my life to look good, from my house to my body, for some reason I have always had a problem with being messy or sloppy in my personal life. (Ironically, in my professional life I have tended to be pretty organized in OCD-like proportions, from archiving and labeling tapes when I worked in news editing, to bills facing the same way when I worked in banking, to leaving notes on top of organized piles of work in teaching.) Anyway, we just have so much stuff in our house, and I would like to pare it down because I have always admired people’s homes that look “put together.” I don’t really need a white-glove-tested castle because I feel comfortable in homes that are obviously lived in, but I want a certain neat ambiance in every room of our house, to where if someone drops by, I don’t have to worry about them thinking of the show Hoarders paying us a visit. Ok, it’s not THAT bad but we do need to clear out some clutter and make an effort not to hold on to things that have no place taking up space in our home (like junk mail, which I used to stockpile on the dining room table when I lived in Virginia for months before I would go through it and toss the crap out. WHYYYY?? That junk shouldn’t have merited a place anywhere but the garbage or recycling bin.) My body is cluttered up too, with more fat than I’ve ever had on me. Why do I do this to myself year after year? Whenever I make a resolution to exercise every day or lose at least X number of pounds, it seems I end the year being heavier than I have ever been. Self sabotage maybe? I don’t want to put a lot of pressure on myself to where if I don’t do something one day I feel like I’ve failed and might as well just throw in the towel altogether (which has happened to me before when the pressure was off once the resolution was broken). I stay so busy all the time that unless I start making myself get up at 4 a.m. every day to work out before work, it might not happen every single day. And if I’m being honest, I’m just not ready to commit to getting up at 4 yet. Maybe someday I will. But I do want to at least take those proverbial baby steps again toward making healthier choices to declutter my body (and mind and soul and house). I think I will breathe easier all around, literally.

5. The most important one: I will strive to be a better person. This one sounds a lot like what many people resolve to do, but I do think it is an important goal for everyone. There are many ways we can improve our lives. I try to be the best mother I can be, but like all Moms, there are moments when I feel like an complete ogre, moments when I feel pushed over the limit of my patience, moments when I feel sorry for myself and my kids that we don’t have a father figure (for them) to help us all out. But I am determined to be everything my kids need in a parent. They are healthy and happy and they know they are loved, and that is so important to me. With God’s help, I want to be able to provide everything they need and many things they want. I am trying my best to raise them right, raise them to know and love God and to be kind and considerate of others. Raise them to cherish reading and education. I want to make an effort not to freak out over things when I feel stressed, not to let my fuse be short. I want to be a better Christian, which I think I sometimes take for granted since I’ve been a Christian for most of my life. I tell people sometimes that being a Christian doesn’t mean you are perfect. I am so glad for forgiveness because I have failed many times. But I want to  strive to get closer to God than I have ever been, to read my Bible at least on most days, and to teach my kids Bible lessons the way my Mom taught me. I want us all to hunger for God. I want to be a better person to other people as well, to be able to show kindness and compassion to all around me, to pay it forward by helping however and whenever I can, without expecting something in return.

Now, today I have succeeded in keeping some of my resolutions already (writing an email and writing a blog), I am going to keep the one about being a good mother by playing Lincoln Logs with my son. I earnestly pray that God showers this year with blessings, so much that we cannot contain them.

Happy New Year!

The Importance of Holding Hands

Sometimes, when expecting the ordinary, unusual events unfold and lead to a thwarted catastrophe. Most people call these situations “close calls.” I figure we’ve all had them, some known and some unbeknownst. How many times has something potentially devastating almost happened, aged you 10 years in a matter of seconds, or nearly caused the proverbial heart attack? How many times has something almost happened that we didn’t even realize, and may never know?

Knowing all close calls would probably compromise my sanity, because an event happened before my eyes this morning that still has tears burning my eyes and my heart fluttering achingly in my chest, for a mother sees what might’ve been as surely as she sees what was, and whilst praising the Lord for that merciful hedge of protection, still she grieves, she sobs, because close calls are TOO close when it comes to her children.

I was the first to arrive at the bus stop this morning, using my Mom’s car since I couldn’t find my keys right away (unusual event #1) The bus has started coming 10 minutes earlier (usual event #2) and I wanted to make sure we didn’t miss it. My friend arrived a little bit later and pulled up right beside me (unusual event #3) to ask if the bus had ran yet. (Normally we all line up behind each other parallel to the driveway going into the residential area  rather than sit side by side with someone parked in the road.) Other mothers arrived and eventually the bus did too and pulled off. I hurried out and went around to open Lukas’s door. He didn’t immediately jump out  until I told him to (unusual event #4). My friend’s vehicle was blocking the bus driver’s view of us. I told Lukas to hurry and went on around the back of my friend’s truck to go toward the bus, which was sitting where it always pulls off, and I thought Lukas was right behind me. NORMALLY I hold his hand when he jumps out of the car and walk beside him to the bus. Today I did not because I was trying to rush over so she wouldn’t leave him. I turned around when I crossed the driveway and realized he wasn’t behind me and called, “Come on, Lukas!” My other friend told me he’d went around the driver’s side of OUR car for some reason. At this point, the bus driver was beginning to close the door because she hadn’t seen me yet so I was saying, “Come on, Lukas! Come on!” I was already beside the back side of the bus, and it blocked my view of the road to the hill on which we and these other mothers live. As I was calling for my son to Come on, another mother’s truck materialized in my eyes. She had buzzed across the road without me even knowing she was there, because she had not been there a few seconds prior. The time froze for me in terror, for I knew my son was about to run out from behind my friend’s vehicle that was beside mine, and in those milliseconds I knew he would not be stopping to check the road since I had been beckoning him to hurry. I started screaming, “No, no no!! Wait wait wait!” I saw him run out and I saw her buzzing forward at the same time, seemingly near the crosspoint of a perpendicular path, and thank my mighty God in Heaven, she slammed the brakes and he curved his body as he ran and they did not collide. It was a close call.

I know that Jesus protected my baby boy. He was literally within a foot of catastophe, inches from what could have ripped him from this world, and thank God, IT DID NOT HAPPEN.

But.

I know — I SEE! — I see what could have happened. It has played a constant loop inside my mind, plaguing me today. I’ve wept so many tears that my eyelids are swollen. Felt my throat cramp up in misery and my heart, oh my heart aches. As they say, that was too close for comfort. I am so grateful and therefore comforted that he is ok, yet still hurting inside thinking what the alternative outcome could have been. Thank God Thank God Thank God it wasn’t what was!

This is the second time in as many weeks that Lukas has ran out in front of a moving vehicle. The first time, at the dollar store, I’d paused on the sidewalk to fish my keys from my purse and as we were only parked about 3 spaces from the door. In an eye’s blink he ran toward the van, jumping off the curb as a couple of older ladies were pulling into the spot next to mine, narrowly missing him. It frightened us all, knowing what could have happened, and we all gave thankful praises to God. I fussed at him and told him that is why I tell him not to run in parking lots or in roads. I broke down and wept with him in the grocery store and explained why I’d been so upset, that he could have been killed or hurt. Today, I didn’t see the person about to buzz across the street because she wasn’t there when I had crossed, and I would never have expected her to come since she hasn’t been there when I’ve been there this year. Ironically enough, she doesn’t like me but that is another story. Anyhow, everyone always has to walk over to the bus the way we went. It is a road we’ve literally crossed dozens of times. Other mothers and kids were even standing there waiting on their bus. I thought Lukas was right behind me in my efforts to hurry so our bus people would know we were there.

I would have known for SURE if I had held his hand. I normally do, even when there is no way anyone is coming across that road, and no one usually does when a school bus is there picking up kids. Some may say I coddle, but I like holding my kids’ hands when we cross a parking lot or street, and that is for my own sanity. How I wish I would have today, so this loop would not replay. Yet I am certain that Someone WAS holding my Lukas’s hand when he ran out to go to the bus.

So now I choose to play the image of what actually happened, which is that my boy is fine and no one was hurt or killed. God protected us once again. Like he protected me and my Dad when our gas tank drug the road on the way home from a piano lesson many years ago. Like He has protected my nephews and sister in law in cars and on bikes. My Mom when driving to or from work or in surgery. My Dad in the mines. Like he has protected my brother on countless occasions. I am so grateful for that, more than I can ever say, thankful for the hedge of protection I pray will always be around my son and my daughter, and myself, during long, healthy, happy lives.

Jesus, may my children always walk hand in hand with You, even when they don’t have their hands in mine.

Random Quips

My sweet daughter has not felt good this evening, crying with what appears to be a double ear infection twice so far, so instead of writing something profound tonight, as I need to get some sleep, I am going to share a few random snags of conversation I heard yesterday while subbing. Gave me some chuckles, especially since from my point of view it seemed so random since I wasn’t in the flow of the actual conversations. They’re probably all “You had the be there” moments, but they were funny to me. 🙂

1. In reference to someone in the Zach Morris Band (might have that band name wrong) who had a full beard in a video we saw on tv: A cute girl said, “That’s impressive.” A burly boy chimed in, “I’d love to have that brown beard.” These spoken in utter reverence.

2. “The only thing I hate about Charlie Brown is that they sing too much.”

3. In discussing the way people look back on their high school days and often wish they’d done something different, I said I’d be more outgoing. A couple of other kids said what they expect they’ll be looking back on. One boy said, “I’m gonna look back on it and wish I would have headbutted one less person.”

4. The same guy who hates Charlie Brown’s singing said something like this:  “I don’t care what anybody says. Jesse James is a bada$$… {his friend interjected}… You’re thinking of Jesse James the outlaw. I’m talking about Jesse James the biker dude.”

5. Same guy to me: “You know what I like? I like Pizza Face.” (We were talking about musical instruments, bass vs. guitar. ???)

6. One boy, who looked remarkably like Justin Bieber to me, came into the classroom and stopped and did a little dance at himself in the window. I said, “Did you just dance at yourself??” He said yes and did it again, and invited me to do it too. I declined. I had thought that he absolutely didn’t act like JB. Until then.

7. One boy offered to help me when I couldn’t find a stapler. He said, “I love to puppy dog ear things.”

Fashionista

Fashionista

I see Project Runway in my future, Lord willing.

Don’t scoff. I know that you don’t equate “Style” with me. I’m talking about my daughter. My three-year-old baby girl. She is a Fashionista. It started when she was a baby, as you will later see in my pictorial review. Maybe she did get it from me. After all, when I was 16, I looked this good:

Vogue.

Of course, I jest. But seriously, my daughter is into clothes. Into looking cute and being girly. Today she even dressed her 5-year-old brother. Well, she picked out his clothes, underwear and all. And he put them on! Even though he’s older, he usually tries to get me to put his clothes on for him, be it laziness or just wanting to be babied. (He CAN dress himself.) But today, the winds shifted and he put his own clothes on, proud of his sister’s fashion prowess I guess. Here is what she chose for today:

Emmy's Fashion Choices

For Lukas, she went classic. White T-shirt, Jeans, Cartoon underwear. For herself, she was torn between pajama shorts and pants and decided to wear them both. The shorts were in various places throughout the day. On by themselves, on under her pants, on over her pants as the picture shows, and on her head as this picture shows:

What versatile shorts!

My son has had some fashionable moments too, courtesy of me. Emmy would be so proud of this one. I decked him out in our favorite color. Pink is IN:

My favorite color.

Here he is forging his own fashion:

Cool Baby Lukas!

Pirates are always fashionable.

Who needs clothes to be fashionable?

Fashion means sharing clothes!

Strike a Pose!

Easter 2011

Notice the fashionable leg lift!

Both of my kids amaze us every day! Emmy is such a Diva, which I suppose is required of a Fashionista such as she! But she’s also very much a sweetheart. Here is a little taste of the little Darling over the past few years:

Miss Independent

Pink is In.

Cool Baby Lukas!

Pirates are always fashionable.

Who needs clothes to be fashionable?

Fashion means sharing clothes!

Strike a Pose!

Easter 2011

Notice the fashionable leg lift!

Argh. I cannot figure out how to make the pictures I already posted get out of that gallery nor how to make the pictures go where I want them on the page. I will have to consult Lukas. He is a Techie…

It’s Like Riding a Bike

Ready to Ride

I learn life lessons from my kids all the time.

The other day I took them to the outdoor part of a local Community Center to ride their new bikes. My 5-year-old son has a little more experience actually pedaling, thanks to Big Wheels. My 3-year-old daughter usually uses her feet Flintstones-style on riding toys but she got the hang of pedaling right away and I was so proud of them both. But still, the inevitable transpired in short measure, the possibility of which incited me to buy them ultra cool Shark and Kitten helmets, respectively speaking. They fell down. More than once. When it happened they expressed discomfort momentarily in the form of Mommy-attention-getting whines and declarations of having boo-boos, but IMMEDIATELY they got back up and hopped on their bikes again. No stopping them. No stumble, no fall was going to keep them off their little Huffies.

Emmy especially had some dramatic moments during her first big ride. She was a little fearful when the wind was blowing hard enough to move her backward a few inches. She is hugely independent and at times when I tried to help her by steering, pushing or pulling, she beligerently declared that she did not need my help, yet within seconds of realizing she wasn’t getting anywhere on her own, she humbly requested my help. I kept my hand on the bike when the speed gathered on a small decline would have sent her careening off the course, probably plumb toppled over. I helped steer her over bumps and potholes and rocky areas of the path. I let go of her at times when the path was a little straighter to see if she could make the right decisions to get her bike going forward, the way it needed to go. But I was ALWAYS right there by her side while we traveled. Sometimes she wanted to do it all on her own, but she always knew where to turn for help, and she knew I would come right to her and be right beside her when she needed me, and even when she didn’t think she needed me.

What does this remind you of? It really reminded me of our relationship with God. We act just like that with God, sometimes wanting to forge our own path, maybe even going so far as to think we absolutely don’t need His help, only to realize in mere moments that we need Him to move us, to hold us up when life’s road gets rough, to pick us up when we fall down, give us some comforting love, then dust us off and get us going forward one more time. It reminded me that I need to have that grit and determination that my little ones are loaded with, a quality I admire so profusely. You expect kids to whine and mine do sometimes. They do often. But adults do the same thing and we don’t even realize it. We might not physically throw ourselves on the ground and kick our legs as we spin ourselves round in angry donuts because things didn’t go our way, but we do that spiritually, emotionally, and mentally, don’t we? Things get tough and we want to give up. We throw in the proverbial towel or steep ourselves in apathy. We think we might as well quit if we make a mistake, especially if it happens over and over and we feel conquered and defeated by whatever issue we struggle with. But that isn’t how it should be.

We should be like these little ones when a cold wind blows and we stumble and fall. Don’t wallow. Get back up! It’s ok to cry a little if it hurts, but don’t remain in your pain!! Stand up, pick that sucker up, get on it and RIDE. And remember that God is there to help you steer, and to get you on the right path again whenever you need a little push.

"Let's Ride!"