Move Your Feet

Well this week has been nothing short of crazy.  A mostly good crazy, mind you.  The week began with a notion to sell my old Honda.  This notion has been bouncing around in my brain for awhile now, but I never did much about it.  This time, though, I posted a few pictures on KSL and listed Taz (yes, I name my cars) for sale.  (Forgive the picture quality, my phone is ancient in technology years.)

It sold fast.  Very fast.  Much faster than I had anticipated, and as that wonderful car of mine drove away, I felt sad inside.  Silly, I know it, but I felt like some little part of me was driving away with that car.  Memories, really, and lots of them.  Now, for the purpose of this post, the only reason I have a picture of my car and its backside is for the license plate.
I was reminded of the meaning of that license plate this morning.

Last night was one of those nights.  And?  So was the night before.  And the night before, and the night before.  Sleep.  Oh.  Where did you go?  The mornings are the worst.  James usually wakes up around 4, and will usually go back to sleep by about 5:30.  Well, he did just that this morning, but he was also up most of the night.  For whatever reason, I always sleep the deepest in the morning hours.  This morning was no different.  I had been asleep for one hour when it was time for my other little man to be up.  Like clockwork, he came out of his room and crawled into my bed, waking me up.  Then James woke up, which is not usual. Jack said, "Oh!  Mom!  James is crying, get him!"  Enter groggy, annoyed, still halfway in dream state, angry bear mom.  I felt a little boil inside as my head was screaming, "NOOOOOO, I just want to sleep.  Please, go away, and let me sleep."  No such luck.  I had a 3 year old, and a 1 month old who both needed my undivided attention, and at the same time.

For a brief moment I pleaded in my heart up to the heavens that they would magically fall asleep.  If only I had a genie, yeah?  Again, no such luck.  Well, the tears came without warning.  I just started crying.  I thought, no.  Not today.  I can't do it today.  I need a minute.  More than a minute.  I need a few hours.  Me time.  I need me time, please, not today.  Then something happened.  That oh so wonderful voice inside my heart said, "Just move your feet, and I will do the rest."  Enter angry bear mamma wishing for hibernation.  Just move my feet?  Seriously?!  The notion of even moving a finger let alone my feet was astronomically impossible.  And?  At 7 this morning with almost no sleep, I didn't want to move anything.
"Just move your feet, Jess, and I will do the rest."
I looked at my ceiling, and thus to the sky.
Then, I moved my feet.

The rest of the morning followed as each morning does.  Breakfast for both boys, breakfast for myself, playing with Jack, and getting James to sleep.  Nothing special happened.  At least, nothing special to outside eyes who might view my daily routine.  What those outside eyes do not see, however, are the inner struggles that tend to bog a weary body down.  God knows what He did for me today, and as simple as it was, I owe him a great deal for it.

And so it is, no?  The license plate on my car came flooding to memory this morning.  KPNKPNN.  Keep on keepin' on.  Endurance, as big a word as it is, doesn't always entail a gigantic step towards a greater goal.  Endurance is often something smaller.  Something more intimate.  Endurance comes with those little, bitty steps we make each morning.  Those brave moments we take to breathe in, then out, and move another foot forward.  No matter the hardship we face, and however small it may seem to outside eyes, sometimes just moving our feet will help us reach whatever peace we need.
Sometimes the simplest steps are the hardest ones to take.
So take my lesson from this morning.  Just get up.  Move your feet.
And KPNKPNN.

10 Year Moment

Well hello blog.  It's been awhile since you and I had a nice chat.  The last entry we posted was about Jack and the beginnings of "the potty."  He is doing great now.  The great go potty on my own little man that he is. Other updates?  They are few.  James (the literal baby-waiting-to-enter-the-world-sitting-on-every-nerve-in-the-lower-half-of-my-body-thus-making-me-walk-like-a-duck child that he is) has not made his debut yet.  Cole is ready for him.  Jack is ready for him; as am I.  Or so I think I am.  Mostly?  Yes.  Mostly.

Life is life.  I was thinking about the date today.  Yes, September 11.  Most people can pinpoint exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news.  Me?  I was in my early morning geography class when my volleyball coach walked in and asked Mrs. Carper (the geography teacher), "Can I borrow your T.V.?  I want to watch the news about the towers."  Towers?  What towers?
The remainder of that day is a blur.  Every classroom had it on the radio, or on a T.V.  I was in the 9th grade.  14.  14?  How does a 14 year old comprehend stuff like that?  Now, at 25, I still don't know that I fully understand.  One thing I do know?
I did not see myself pregnant with my second child 11 years down the road.

Nope.  I was playing Jr. High volleyball with few cares in the world.  I had notions of where I wanted my life to go, and what I wanted out of it within the next, like, year?  A drivers license.  From there?  I don't remember, maybe a car?  I did think a lot about college, and what I wanted to "be."  I wanted to be a surgeon.  I wanted to help people, heck, I wanted to save people!  Medical Jess.  So yes, I made some goals.  But honestly?  I flew by the seat of my pants a lot.  Follow the wind, and your heart and end up exactly where you want to be, right?  Mostly?  Yes.  Mostly :)

I don't care who you are.  Everyone at some point in their life looks at the life they are living and says, "and I got here, how?"  We might ask it in general as a point of direction in wandering thoughts.  Or?  We might ask it in anger, or frustration.  We may say it with a very deep sense of humility, and gratitude.  We may think it aloud or in our hearts.  Regardless of how the question arises, it eventually does.  The biggest question about the question though is where we go from there?  I got here, how?  So, now what?

Life is life, no?  For me?  I am still in those pants, flying my way about with a little hope, a little planning, and a lot of faith.  One thing I do know?  My heart has never led me astray.  10 years ago I had dreams; I had plans.  I still have dreams, but sometimes?  Well, sometimes it is good to know that my mind doesn't always take full control of my life.  Sometimes it is comforting to remember that I listened to the deepest part of my inner self, and followed it.  Because truly?  Ten years ago I could have listened only to logic, and today I would likely be at some hospital in an operating room.  Not a bad thing, mind you, but not for me.  For ten years ago me?  Perhaps.  But for today's me?  No....
Instead I get to be with the man of my dreams, a beautiful 3 year old boy that is more like me than I care to admit, and another little man to fill my soul on the way.
Yes.  The heart was right.  And?  It usually is.
Sometimes we just need a little more courage to listen to it.    

   

Mini You

They say your children are simply mini versions of you.  Your parents laugh at what their little grandchild does while saying, "Oh, what goes around comes around!"  Jack has a variety of quirks, most of which I adore.  Others?  Well, I don't so much love them.  Jack is spunky, and mischievous.  Love.  He is hilarious, and outgoing.  Love.  He is caring, and loving.  Love, and love.
Now, something about Jack that I really don't love so much?
His stubbornness.

Enter Gram's famous words, "he is just like you."  I know I am stubborn, it is a fact that I am.  But why did Jack have to get that trait?  Example?  Eating dinner.  He is very, VERY slow at eating.  I can recall family videos, and stories, of my infamous pokiness at the table.  I don't remember why I ate so slow, but I have no doubt that part of it came from everyone wanting me to eat faster.  I get annoyed when people tell me what to do, or how to do it.
I know there is a little of that attitude in my little man....

Well, today's post isn't coming up because of Jack's lack of speed in eating.  No.  It is coming from a day spent in the bathroom.  Yes, the bathroom.  We have been asking Jack for months now about nixing the diapers.  "Hey, Jack, will you go potty on the toilet."  The response?  "No."  We tried to get him to go before his baths for awhile, or in the mornings when he woke up.  "No."  "No."  "Diaper."  "No."
Now, before I get crucified by anyone who says I am trying to train him before he is ready, explain this?  He tells me when he is "poopy" thus asking to be changed, and he hates being in a wet diaper.  To me that says, "I really don't like this whole diaper game anymore.  In fact, sitting in my own nasty is...well...nasty.  So do something about it, yeah?"  I.  Am.  Trying.

So, today was bathroom day.  We ran out of diapers (on purpose), and I said, "Jack, there are no more diapers. You have to go potty on the toilet."  Three hours, and no pee.  Nothing.  When a two and a half year old can go three hours without peeing after drinking more than 8 oz's of orange juice, I do believe said toddler knows how to "hold it."  Well?  He did finally pee.  On the bathroom counter.  Then again on the floor.  Then three more times in his pants.  He would say "oh no, pee!" and run to the bathroom, but every time it was after he had already gone.  He even danced around for 5 minutes saying, "I don't need to pee.  No."  I put him on the toilet anyway.  He sat there for about two minutes, said nope, and got down.  Then? He proceeded to pee on the floor.
Oh, motherhood.

.....Sigh..... He is sleeping now.  I put a swim diaper on him to contain whatever does come out as he dreams.  And me?  I am eating.  Again.  (Thank you Kristin for this Amish friendship bread!)
Whether my need for goodies be pregnancy, stress, or exhaustion induced I couldn't tell you.  Perhaps it is a mixture of all three.  Either way, I am all bathroomed out for today.  As such?  I will just take a moment and sit.  I will breathe.  I shall sit and breathe, and thank heaven on high that my boy still naps.
And then?
Well, perhaps I will smile a little more at how sincerely true, and honestly wonderful the phrase, "He is just like you" really can be.

It's the Matter

Today I have been thinking about family a great deal.  Family, you love them, yeah?  Particularly your crazy siblings.  Each of them came from the same halves to make a whole, and yet each whole is so very different.   But?  You love them no matter what.  It is true that no one can really make you more frustrated, but it is also true that no one can make you feel so complete.  Growing up my family was very close.  My older brother and I were constantly in trouble (luckily, he almost always took the heat...which is fair...he had the brilliant idea to begin with.) My younger brother and I had the best imaginations, and I might argue that we still do.  (Twin, he is my twin.)  And my sister?  She is my sister.  Little can be said of the relationship one has with their sister.  She is that kindred heart that steals your clothes, and makes you pee your pants laughing.

One may wonder why family?  To begin, family is really all that matters.  To love and be loved, to share emotions and thoughts with another, and have someone do the same with you.  It is true that life takes everyone along very different paths.  

For instance, my big bro is a body builder.  I for one did not see that coming from the string bean, mid-waist pant wearing, socks to the knees little boy I jumped off the roof with.  And yet?  Here he is.  My big, big brother.  Whom I affectionately refer to as Tubby.  :)

Then there is Matt Matt.  The dancer.  The amazing, crazy, fun loving little brother whom I love more than words can express.  I miss him :(  He is halfway around the world on a ship right now, dancing away to crowds of tourists.  My twin :)  

    

Then?  There is my Sissy.  My one and only, Sis.  She and I are so very, very much alike.  She is in another part of the country, striking her own way in a world that often tells you "it can't be done."  She is beautiful, and wonderful, and she is my Sissy :)  

There is something about each of them, something that cannot be defined.  Like I said, two halves of a whole.  Individual in our own ways, and yet strikingly similar.  As it seems, I am sentimental this morning.  As that is, I could go on for a very long time about my family, and not just my own parents, and brothers, and sister.  My own little family.  Cole and Jack.  Growing up we don't really realize what we have in our family.  We find ourselves fighting more than we do laughing, but as age comes, the fighting ceases, and the laughing increases.  With age comes wisdom, or so they say.  I believe it to be true, at least in a way.  I know now what my parents felt watching us grow.  Perhaps not entirely so, but to a degree.  

That's what life is all about anyway, isn't it?  Degrees.  We find wisdom and strength in something, we come to master it, and we move to the next step.  Sometimes we get stuck on a certain step, but patience brings with it vast amounts of experience. 

Wisdom, and learning.  That's what life is about. And that bottom line?  The end all be all?   

Families matter most. 

And that's all that matters. 

   

Consider the Sun

So.  Pregnancy?  It's hard.  I didn't necessarily forget how physically demanding it can be, as many have claimed may happen. The bottom line is that this round has been much more difficult than the first round.  I have heard all the momma sayings, and I know, I know, and I know.  Now, why would someone who considers herself to be an optimist start a post so not optimistically?  Keep reading.

To begin, I will simply say that morning sickness can be the equivalent of hell on earth.  And "morning" does not indicate that the ick feeling subsides once 11 rolls around.  Oh, no.  It's a lie of a phrase morning sickness is, but since the majority of women have it in the morning, they categorize the nasty to indicate such.  Anyway, now to be frank, I will admit that a very dark side of me emerged a midst the ick.  The toilet saw it, my husband saw it, and occasionally other people saw it.  I felt useless, I felt wasted, and I felt as though death itself was somehow embodied in the little growing plumb inside me.  I know a few others who's mental and physical state were worse through the first trimester, and I have found a great deal of strength from them.  The "if they can do it I can do it!" moments.  I owe them a lot, I do, and I hope they know who they are.

Well, since the glass has now been drunk, and you see it's half gone, I will ask, is it half full?  Or half empty?  Two weeks ago I may have thrown every food I wanted to eat but couldn't in your face whilst crying if you asked me that question.  But now?  Well, it's true.  It is half full and it always has been.  I just haven't allowed myself to see it as such.
Now, "morning" sickness doesn't bring out a bad side in everyone.  In fact, some go through what may be deemed a much greater trial than what I have felt in mine with a far greater amount of grace.  The facts in life are always facts, but the opinions of life are supposed to be changed from time to time.  My opinion that nothing could possibly be worth being this sick was changed with something very simple.  A sunny day.

Now.  I am not saying a nice spring like day will brighten everyone's mood no matter their circumstance, but for me I began thinking a great deal about why I wasn't handling what I was going through as well as I could have.  Or?  As well as I should have.  Granted, very few people find it easy to go day by day without eating, and throwing up a lot, but that's not the point.  The point is how I allowed myself to become bitter about it.  It was like a battle of the brain.  One side said, "Oh, it's okay, it will be okay one day."  And that was echoed by others'.  The problem with that?  It bothered me.  It still does to an extent.  I know.  I know it will all be okay.  I know I will be okay.  I KNOW that already, but knowing that doesn't help me right now, right here, in this small moment of absolute weakness.  So if knowing something doesn't always help, what does?
Simple.
Remembering that you know.

We all have moments of absolutes.  We feel we absolutely cannot see a way out of a mess, or absolutely do not understand when things will start to look up.  We absolutely cannot go on another day as we absolutely have nothing left.  It is in our absolutes that we find the most bitter tears, the greatest amount of helplessness, and the absolute feeling of being alone.  But then?  There is that sun, and yes, that sun has a double meaning.  It somehow finds its way into days of endless snow storms.  It manages to take weeks, months, or years of heartache and melt them away.  We still feel what we felt, but the warmth that illuminates a new resolution cannot be cooled.  It is always there, even when the clouds cover the warmth, it is always, always there.
Behind the snow storms and rain storms; behind every storm of every kind, regardless of intensity, the sun is always there.  There, waiting to shine on you again.  Waiting to warm you up.

No, the morning ick isn't done with.  Subsided some, yes.  Oh, but let me tell you something.
It is much easier to deal with when I let the sun in.  Yes that warm, wonderful sun.
There is just something about it.
Something about the Son.

You Are

I was writing in my journal just now, and I started thinking about my blog.  I thought, "Hmm, I really need to update that more."  Then it dawned on me.  I don't update.  I don't like to.  I am not an "update" writer.  I don't like to put down dates, stating what happened, when, how, or why it happened, and how I felt about it.  I do that sometimes, but truthfully when I write, I think.  Updates are simply moments that are copied and pasted from your brain to another form of memory bank.  A computer, a journal, a scrapbook.  Many such persons are good at that; I am not such a person.

Truthfully, I wish I could convey what I was thinking now through a form of visual art.  A painting perhaps, or a sketch.  But, as evidenced in posts past, I am not very skilled in that area.  I do my best to speak what is on my mind, and in my heart, but often times I flop out a joke, or otherwise stumble over what needs to be said.  I suppose I will begin by saying something about finding our greatest potential, and living true to whatever that may be.  In turn, I will begin with a story.

The holidays came and left, as did family.  A certain uncle of mine (whom I absolutely love even if he is quirky), and I spent a few hours just talking.  We touched on a variety of subjects, and one of them happened upon personality traits.  Said uncle went on to say that based on observation, he concluded that I would do very well in a job that caused stress; a job that pushed limits and required working quickly under pressure.  Aka, said above uncle, "Something in sales, or the medical profession.  Or, well, hey, motherhood."  Ha.  Motherhood, indeed, quirky, lovable uncle.  Motherhood.  Indeed.

I came home after that conversation with a lot on my mind, and Jack was among the lot.  As a mother, you do your very best to work well under the pressures associated with raising little ones.  I know many women who are far better qualified for the position of being a mother than I.  It pushes you to your highest limits, then it pushes you beyond them.  Frazzled, and often exhausted, we do what we know the best we can.  Advice is often welcome, all be it at times, annoying.  There are days when pajamas are the wardrobe of choice, attractive as they are, and days where a shower isn't an option until bedtime, if it's an option at all.  Some days the mirror before us shows a very disheveled, emotional, and in our own personal opinion, not very attractive looking, individual.

The point of this post is a simple one.  As a mother, and really in life period, we give everything we have, and more, to what is around us.  We give our best every day, and at the end of every day one of two things happen.  After we have overcome the exhaustion, and the stress of it all, a part inside us wonders if what was given really was all that could be given; or we end the day screaming inside that we cannot do anymore.

Life is exhausting.  Personally I cannot say that I have entirely silenced my own voice of inner doubt.  Some days it is very quiet, and the self assurance I feel concerning my life is solid.  Other days, it is harder to quiet my mind.  Regardless of which day today happened to be, one thing is certain.  In the eyes of heaven, and earth, sometimes the best that can be given is all that is needed, whatever that best entails.  If we are screaming at the end of the day, pleading for a greater inner strength, then tomorrow we will find it.  A very simple truth is found in this exhausting life; we are never left to our own devices.  We are never left to be the best we can on our own.  As days, or weeks, or even months of struggle may pass, the truth in the hardship is that they will indeed pass.  In the eyes of heaven we are wonderful, refined, and divine.
We are precious, and we always will be.