Expectations

So there's been a lot of honesty around here recently. I don't know...maybe it's baby hormones making me say things I don't normally say. Anyway, at the risk of becoming a bore (I know people are used to the funny antics of my kids...this blog has never been terribly serious.) I felt like I had another something I've been learning recently that I just needed to share.

For a very long time, probably about midway through college, I've been known to many as that girl who runs. Not that this is a bad thing, running is a huge part of who I am, and something that I adore, so it's expected that people would know me that way. No different than knowing other people by distinguishing hobbies and characteristics. (sn: this is not a post where I whine about labels.) I've been known to stay relatively fit and slim even through carrying 3 hooligans...running through most of the pregnancies and loving it. It's definitely a part of who I am...working out and staying healthy...going paleo and all that jazz on top of it.

The problem isn't so much with that last paragraph, per se. It's more with my heart, so read that: it's not the world's fault...it's mine. Another part of who I am, is I'm not a person who likes to disappoint. If I say I'm going to do something, I'll probably die trying. Or sob hysterically about how I let myself and everyone around me down. Billy and I watched the movie Pain & Gain with Mark Wahlberg, where his character repeatedly says, "I'm a doer, and I believe in fitness." Billy laughed and now regularly quotes that at me because, well, if the shoe fits. So as you may be starting to see, this leads to a very exhausting combination for a girl who just can't not do what she is supposed to do, or what she thinks she is supposed to do. I  just don't let myself off the hook, or let myself rest...hardly ever.

So at the beginning of this pregnancy, when we were told it was twins, I remember the relief that washed over me when I really started to think about the pregnancy. (Sounds weird, huh? Relief? Twins, lady. Are you crazy? There was a lot of panic, but there was some relief, too.) I remember thinking, I will HAVE to slow down. I'll probably HAVE to look like a house, no one in their right mind will expect me to be fit and slim and running when I'm growing two babies, I may even get  stretch marks and not be able to wear my beloved two-piece bikini at the beach anymore, and I'll have a good excuse. There is no way in this world I'll be able to keep doing what I am always supposed to do when I'm pregnant with twins.

Then, we found out we had lost one of them. These last few days, after some of that sharp grief has faded a bit, I caught myself thinking along these lines: (kind of shocking myself, although I hope my blunt honesty isn't shocking to anyone, but liberating and encouraging) now this pregnancy is no different from my others, and I have to keep plowing ahead, never resting and not letting myself slip up with eating right and attention to staying fit, and running as far and long as I can. I'll have to maybe even run to the hospital this time to deliver the baby. (Ok, totally kidding there.) I felt the weight of so many expectations that I place on myself returning to my weary shoulders. I have this act to keep up after all, right? (Even if, as I've said before, fitness and health is something I really do love.)

I'm not going to say this is anyone's fault but my own, so again, please don't read this that way. The idols of my heart were placed there by my own hands, and no one helped. But I am realizing how much of an idol I let "being a doer" become. It's really not about running, and fitness, and health, etc. (Cuz trust me, I think taking care of yourself is a great habit, one that honors God and the bodies He created. One that I plan to continue. Being lazy and unhealthy is something I think just hurts us in the long run.) It's about the fact that I see myself, and the way other people see me, as too important. I mentioned all this to Billy and he said (wording changed so my mom won't cringe) to forget what people thought, myself included. Because the way I see myself is pretty delusional sometimes, and blown completely out of proportion. He lovingly told me that I'm really not that important.

So, all this blabbering and pouring out of some really close-to-my-heart stuff is mostly just for my own accountability I guess. If I kept it where it was, I'd probably keep on doing it. Keep on hitting the ground running, literally, every day, even up until delivery of Baby B. Keep on refusing to say, "um, hey...I need some help." Keep on being too proud to admit I'm tired. Keep on being angry when my jeans are too tight or I get a stretch mark (or a lot) or my belly isn't the only thing growing. That said, don't be surprised if you see me running, or eating #paleoparttime, or out with all 3 kids and a huge belly alone...I am still a doer, and all this is still part of my personality and I love it. But on the flip side of that? If you see me eating cake for breakfast once in awhile, or I sleep in on a Saturday morning instead of running 10 miles, or I just decide that I'm going to wear muu-muu's until July, or that it's just too hard to take all 3 kids to the dentist/doctor/grocery store by myself for once...remember that for me, that's about as tough as a 10 miler would be for a lot of other people. ;) So feel free to cheer me on.

Gymnastics Day

Literally about half of the days out of the week, Merrick wakes up and asks me: "Is it gymnastics day?!" Ever since he started taking the class about 8 weeks ago, thanks to a birthday gift from my family, he's been a fan. I wasn't sure how he'd take to it...sometimes he can be a bit of a...free spirit maybe? He likes to wander, and do his own thing, and I was picturing meltdowns over him trying to "do his own thing" all over gym class and well, it was kinda scary.

So far the biggest problem at gymnastics has been Jericho. And I know you're thinking of all kinds of ways that I can restrain and entertain a 2 year old, but you've never dealt with Jericho when Jericho is on a seek and destroy mission. It's an unstoppable force of nature that weighs 34 pounds and is stubborn as a mule. He runs out into the middle of gym class at least once or twice a class. And that's when he isn't soaking himself and other gym-goers with the water fountain, or trying to hide in the bathroom. If there was room I'd put his defiant behind in the stroller...but it's usually pretty crowded in there. And I'm sure handcuffing him to a folding chair would be frowned upon...not that it ever crossed my mind.

This past Monday was the final class for the session, and Merrick decided to go out with a bang, and I  caught a glimpse of him scaling the rope hanging from the ceiling and was impressed with how far up he climbed. He's pretty strong for such a wiry little guy. He was pretty impressed with the medal they gave him, a fun little surprise we didn't know was coming. He's literally worn it everywhere since Monday, and showed it to everyone. He's already discussing his next class, so I'm thinking it's time for me to get a job that actually pays something to fund his new hobby. My current employer(s) sure is cute, but the pay around here makes minimum wage look good. ;)

Counting

I typically refuse to set New Years resolutions. I just know in the past, and from so many people around me, they don't stick. If someone wants to do something, or not do something, a New Years resolution probably isn't going to stop them. You have to really decide you want to change a certain thing more than how badly you want to be comfortable...and that doesn't happen necessarily on January 1st.

I'm not knocking people for making an effort and setting resolutions. I think that's better than not even trying. And some people do carry them out, which is even better. I just haven't had good results in my own life. Big changes have happened when I just finally got fed up with the way things were...and that can happen in any month of the year. 

This year is no different...I didn't set any resolutions. Exactly. I happened to come across a challenge, a dare I think it was called, while reading Ann Voskamp's blog. (Yes, yes, I'm a little obsessed with her writing right now. It's just so needed...just makes sense of things that didn't make sense before.)

Anyway, the dare is simply to count 1000 gifts throughout the coming year, usually 3 specific things each day to look for and document (although there's plenty more if you're really looking)...like for example yesterday was "something I'm reading, seeing, and making". The point is just to be aware, to notice, to be thankful for the everyday gifts that make you aware of the One who gives them.

So I decided to try it. I don't want it to be about checking three items off my list and making sure I've gotten that done. Even if I'm not meeting the daily guidelines, if I'm being more aware of the daily graces I'm so used to hurrying past, I'll call it a success.

The Terrorist Turns Two

I think I'll probably be calling Jericho "my baby" no matter how many more babies come into our life. Billy tells me already that Jericho is NOT the baby, and has been dethroned. (I promptly told him to not to use such rude words around the baby.) I am going to give you the I love all my kids the same speech right now, because I totally do and don't want to sound like a jerk, but I think something about Jericho's big, mischievous brown eyes just inspire a person to let him get away with murder. Maybe that's just me, though.

 I totally recognize as well that this giant child could use a little discipline in his life and I'm probably not doing myself or him any favors letting him wreak terror on the house. (He's really not that bad, he just thinks he's really funny...and doesn't take me seriously because he IS funny and I sometimes laugh when I should not. Definitely should not.) I think the fact that he still pretty much refuses to talk except for caveman-ese only I can understand doesn't help solidify in my mind that he's plenty old enough to suffer the occasional wrath of his mama for his wicked ways. But then he grins at me with those dimples and gap teefers...you see my problem. Maybe my New Years resolution should have been "ignore Jericho's sweet talking ways".

Anyway, aside from the fact that I need to develop some immunity to big brown eyes and dimples, this giant baby of mine, absurdly, turned two yesterday. I feel like it was just yesterday that I almost gave birth to him in the bathtub at home because, well, I didn't know I was in labor and he just was born so stinking fast. I still vividly remember hearing the nurses say "he's a big boy", and thinking surely they must be confused because we aren't really big people around here. He got here so fast we forgot to tell anyone we were even going to the hospital, except my brother and sister in law who came over to keep the kids. I'm glad we at least remember to tell them. ;) 

He has brought so much joy, laughter, and backaches to this house. (His siblings would probably point out he also takes things like their toys and food...but they don't get to write this blog.) He weighs as much as his 4.5 year old sister and wears the same size shoes, and 4 pounds less than his 6 year old brother. He's no joke. And he's stubborn as a mule so if he doesn't want to be held onto well then you, sir, are taking your life in your own hands.

We are so grateful for this guy. (I still want to call him baby, Billy. Hmph.) Grateful we get to be his parents,  watch him grow, and for the opportunity to teach and love him and just enjoy the unique and precious soul he is. Jericho Hawk of the big brown eyes and dimples, this mama loves you so. And you'll always be my big ol baby. Happy birthday!

New Every Morning

So, I've been scrolling through Facebook today (I'm writing this the day before it will post...so yesterday.) and seeing everyone post glowing reports on 2013, and how much they are looking forward to 2014. I've been a bit cynical about all that patting on the back of 2013, if we're being honest. If I'm being really honest, which I think I have been to extremes lately ;), I really wasn't a fan of 2013. Me and Billy were talking the other day, and were saying that 2013 (even aside from the loss of one of our twins) was probably THE toughest year we've ever had that we can remember.

I sound like an old grouch right now, and so I want to specify that there are countless things I'm grateful for, and I didn't spend every day of 2013 thinking about how much I hated it. Just looking back on it, there were a great deal of struggles for our family. I felt like I couldn't even quite catch my breath. Every day I'm grateful for the health and safety of my precious family, and the home we have, the food we eat, the God we serve, but that doesn't mean it wasn't tough. I hope I can admit that without sounding like a pessimist. ;)

I struggled though one of the worst seasons of depression I can remember in a long time early in the year. It's always been a part of my life, but this particular time was a pretty crippling blow. Thankfully God showed me more of Himself through that time, so I know that it wasn't without purpose. But it still makes me shiver in the remembering. Next up, Billy switched jobs. I think in the long run it's going to prove a good choice for our family, and one we still feel was right...but ohmyword...the stress brought on by raising a family on a job that's 100% commission is way more than we bargained for. We have always lived paycheck to paycheck and not had much excess, but this stretched our tight budget even further and there was never a guarantee of the next paycheck. Ulcer central.

Stress definitely took a toll on Billy and I's relationship, and I think we argued and fought this year more than I can ever remember. I don't handle being "out of control", and God crash landed me right in the middle of flailing flopping spinning out of control, and while I wish I could say I handled that serenely. Um...I did not. I threw one tantrum after another, cried and begged God to give us a break. I'd still like a break, but I'm grateful for the closeness and unity that has returned to this family in light of the loss we just recently suffered, and the way that I've seen God show us even more of who He is through the struggling.

I don't really put a lot of stock in "new years" and stuff like that. I think every moment is a chance for a new beginning, for starting over, for making the right choice, and for holding onto God's grace and mercy. But I am glad for the feeling of newness that a new year undoubtedly brings. I'm glad for this past year full of tough stuff, arguments, loss, and depression...because on the flip side of that I see how God held it all together when I couldn't. So while this may sound like a gloom and doom post...it's really about the dawning of the realization that I'm an out of control mess and that's exactly how God wants me. I don't have to dress up my mess to impress Him, and certainly not the rest of the world. Because when that's who I am, vulnerably and admittedly, I can be honest with myself about how much I need Him to carry me, and you get to see Him do just that, and be reminded He is carrying you, too.

So here's to this new year...there are so many hopes we are breathlessly looking towards. Lord willing, a new baby in July, a new house (Yes...we are moving in february! 4 bedrooms nice to meetcha!), success at Billy's job, and most of all learning to joyfully live in the glorious ruin of the everyday, seeing how it's all a masterpiece under His brush. Happy New Year!