I Don't Want to Wait Anymore

I sit cross-legged, my fingers tapping the keyboard, as my 8-month-old fights sleep in the next room. C'mon, Mr. D, you know you're tired. Stop fighting it. My concern masks my impatience. Because I worry that tonight he will call my bluff and refuse to sleep. You see, I have this golden opportunity, this precious commodity, this time. While Andy is doing some extra work, I have an hour and a half of me time.

I haven't always seen it as a good thing. In fact, I have to remind myself that having time to myself is not reason for a pity party. In the past (like last week), I have resented Andy's commitments outside the home. I've complained. I've moped. I've argued. But I am slowly realizing that I am spending all this time and energy on the wrong things. Instead of watching ridiculous TV shows that I don't even like to drown my sorrows, I could be reading a good book. Instead of mindlessly scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, I could be writing for fun. I've thought of the times that Andy is not available as a sort of limbo. Twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for life to begin again.

I'm done.

I don't want to wait anymore. I've written about this theme many times {here and here, and again here} but apparently I'm thick-headed, so bear with me another time. I don't know why so often the default for me is to sit back and just let life happen. Like I don't have a choice. Like what I want doesn't even matter. And all the while, the answer to my frustration, my feelings of I just don't have me time anymore, is right within my reach. But I just keep on wasting time on things that don't matter. And act as if I don't matter either.

This was taken the weekend before Andy proposed. I didn't like waiting then, and I don't like waiting now. 

So my latest resolution is this: use the "waiting for Andy to be available" times to pursue activities that enrich my life. Every week, I have at least three hours to myself. I can either squander it, or make the most of it. I'm choosing to invest my time well. Because I don't want to wait anymore.

What activities do you enjoy doing during your little pockets of "me time"? 

P.S. Feel free to leave your answer in the comments below. I always enjoy getting mail of any kind. Please join the conversation at any time. And break into the chocolate while you're at it. I won't tell. 

Simplify Saturday: an Unintentional Fast from Technology and an Intentional Fast from Excess

Jesus, help me to simplify my life by learning what you want me to be and becoming that person

(St. Therese of Lisieux)

Slowing Down

This past week has been an exercise in denial, admittedly in a first world sort of a way. Our internet has been maxed out for the past two weeks, so pages no longer instantly load. Not quite dial-up speed, but close. Often the graphics would be too much for our slow connection, and the page would load in basic HTML format.

Another blow to my technological privilege happened when I attempted to upgrade my computer from Windows 7 to Windows 10. In a few hours (since it takes so long to upload a page, much less an entire operating system), my perfectly working Windows 7 was gone, and an improperly installed Windows 10 limped into its place. So I was left with an useless computer. Andy took it in to be fixed (for free, thank you Windows Store!), but it was several days before I had it back. Then there was the matter of re-entering passwords, downloading my favorite web browser (2 hours to download what it would probably take 2 minutes to do with ordinary internet speeds), customizing, etc.

So in the meantime, I was down to a smartphone, which relied on significantly a slower internet connection. All this to say, I was forced to go back to a time in my life when I did not have instant gratification. I had to wait. And, as those who know me well would attest, I am not good at waiting.

However, since I am an all-or-nothing kind of a girl (an Abstainer in Gretchen Rubin terminology), this kind of out-of-my-control deprivation is actually helpful for me. I was able to get more done offline, which is actually in line with my priorities, anyway. The one thing that I really missed was blogging. So, I am excited to get back into it.

Fast from Clothing

No, this is not about joining a nudist colony. Because that would be highly impractical this time of year. Ha. Ha.

Have you heard about the 30-day clothing challenge or Closet Challenge? Basically, Leah Darrow and Sarah Kroger challenged each other to pick 7 items from their wardrobes, and wear only those 7 items for 30 days. The exceptions to this of course being things like underwear, socks, pajamas, and outerwear. The idea is to simplify the process of getting dressed in the morning (or afternoon, when I finally get out of my pajamas...). An added benefit is to recognize all of the excess that we consider absolutely necessary. i.e. Yes, I need all 10 pairs of pants, thank you very much!

Another blogger decided to modify this challenge to 7 items of clothing for 9 days, tying it to the Catholic tradition of the novena. Once I read about this latter challenge, I decided that I could do that. 9 days?!? Easy peasy. The blogger recommended also praying a novena to St. Therese during the challenge. I love novenas, and it's been a long time since I've prayed in that way. So, in Friday night impulsive fashion, I selected my clothes for the next week and a half, prayed my novena, and felt really good about myself.

So good, in fact, that I decided to take a {super fuzzy amateur}picture of what I would be wearing for the next 9 days (blue to blue, in case you were interested+plus a pair of jeans). {because real bloggers take pictures} 

Very quickly I realized this was going to be a lot harder than I thought. Mr. D proceeded to emit bodily fluids, which not-so-conveniently ended up on my beloved 7 items of clothing. Cue extra loads of laundry. I started to look longingly at the other items in my closet. I bargained, thinking, I'm cold. This sweater couldn't possibly count against my 7 items, right? By Day 4, I was getting pretty tired of my clothing options. Only two people knew about this challenge, anyway. I could totally get away with wearing other items, and just forgetting the whole thing.

But I also began to think about what it would be like to not have to do this challenge. Because, for a lot of people, having 7 items to choose from (in good shape, and readily cleaned by a washing machine) would seem like a luxury. And I thought to myself, it should still seem like a luxury. Even to me. It provoked questions, like, Why do I have all of these clothes, anyway? It clarified the difference between wants and needs. It made me rethink donating my ratty t-shirts, because, while yes, something is better than nothing, am I promoting the dignity of the human person by giving out of my trash pile?

That last thought reminds me of the widow's mite. I have been guilty of giving out of my excess (and not the nice stuff, either). But, try to convince me to give up that perfectly nice article of clothing that would otherwise just sit in my closet, waiting for me to either wear it once or finally give it away when it's out of style, moth-eaten, useless, and my sense of what is just, what I deserve, will fight back to the last breath. Because, gosh darn it, I paid good money for that!

What do I hope to take away from this experience? Awareness of what is really important. Not just for me, but for others, as well. I am reminded of the spirit of many of the Frank Capra films (which are near and dear to my heart), that spirit of compassion and connection to our fellow man: 

“Maybe it'll stop you trying to be so desperate about making more money than you can ever use? You can't take it with you, Mr. Kirby. So what good is it? As near as I can see, the only thing you can take with you is the love of your friends” (You Can't Take it With You).

Because people should always come before things.

I'm glad I stuck with it, and today is my last day of the challenge. I modified it to include being able to wear a sweater when I was cold, and undershirts (although I tried to stick to wearing only one undershirt and one sweater). The important thing was not the number of items, but the idea of lack of choice. If you are interested in taking on the challenge, I highly recommend it. Feel free to modify the number of items, and how many days you would like to do it. I found 9 days to be plenty for me! {more power to you, if you can do 30+ days}

What steps are you taking to simplify your life? What inconveniences can we offer up in solidarity with the less fortunate? 

Friday Fast Five: Volume 1

It’s the many small things that add up to the one big life.

Today my thoughts are scattered, like the newly fallen red and gold leaves outside my window. So it seems like a perfect time to try my hand at a Friday Fast Five. 

One

Thirty minutes on the pump, and my body ekes out a few drops of milk. I am amazed that I have been able to trick my body for this long. You see, it’s been more than a month since Mr. D’s last nursing attempt. I remember distinctly the last time, because I tried four or five times to get him latched, before I realized that he had forgotten how to nurse. No, all he remembered was how to bite. I am continuing to pump (just once a day now) for two reasons: 1. I figure something is better than nothing, and I’m hoping that these drops are jam-packed with antibodies for my sweet boy. 2. I am curious just how long I can keep it up.

Two

I’m always telling Mr. D to be “gentle with mamma’s face, hair, etc.” Today, I allowed him to gently touch my eyelashes and my stroke my hair. It was such a tender moment with my not usually affectionate boy.

Three

I successfully braved Costco yesterday. This is remarkable because just the thought of Costco speeds up my heartbeat and makes my palms sweat. I know, I know, I should love Costco. I thought maybe I would grow to love it once I had a child, like suddenly I would be sprinkled with the magic Costco dust, and sing its praises forevermore. But, alas, my anxiety over crowded parking lots, gigantic semi-sized carts, pallets stacked up three stories high, people everywhere, lines that extend into the nuts and snacks aisle….gets in the way of me seeing Costco’s (undeniable) virtues.

Four 

I will say, I was rewarded for my bravery: I successfully got in and out of Costco in less than an hour, and came back with enough ground beef for (hopefully) six months AND a deal to stay one night at Salish Lodge (if you’re a fan of the show Twin Peaks this is the real Great Northern), with spa treatments and breakfast included. So now the plan is to stay there to celebrate our (third!) anniversary. Relaxation is the name of the game this year. 

Five 

Like {nearly} everyone else, Fall is my favorite season. This summer was a long, dry, and hot one, and by the end of August I was ready for long pants and light jackets, and everything pumpkin. One of the less noted by the secular world, yet awesome parts of Fall (October in particular) is that practically every day is a major (in my mind at least) feast day. Yesterday was St. Therese of Lisieux's feast day, today is the Feast of the Guardian Angels, and October 4 is St. Francis of Assisi's feast day. Pretty much all my favorite saints in the span of a week! 

Did you do anything fun and creative to celebrate? We're still recovering from colds and all the craziness that was September, so that's my excuse this year for not making these, for example {But you totally should!}

This Year's Theme

In one of the “Try this at Home” segments of the podcast Happier, Gretchen Rubin and her sister Elizabeth Craft, recommend choosing a one-word theme for each school year. Now, I am all about resolutions, words, and themes, so no surprise that I wanted to try this myself. When I was in Austria for a study abroad program, our priest suggested choosing a word for the semester, and I chose the word Feet. It just came to me, and I definitely would never have consciously chosen that word, but it turned out to really speak to me that semester. I still get chills when I hear the Easter Gospel “And behold, Jesus met them on their way and greeted them. They approached, embraced his feet, and did him homage” (Matthew 28:9).  Anyway, since my birthday is in September, which is also back-to-school season, I thought I would consider this the start of a new year, my 28^th, to be precise.

So without further ado, this year’s theme will be…

Refuge

When I was thinking and praying about what my word would be this year, several words jumped out right away: Enjoy. Savor. Discipline. Rest. And then I read this from the Magnificat for Monday: “As for me, the Lord will be my stronghold; my God will be my rock where I take refuge” (Psalm 94:22). The word refuge in particular nestled into my heart. Yes, that is what I need this year. Refuge. 

When I think of my word, I think of a child nestled into her father’s arms, now and then glancing at the big, broad, world, and then burrowing a bit deeper into his chest. Safe. Protected. Peaceful. The world can be full of worries and chaos, but in my Father’s arms, I can take refuge.

This year’s word also challenges me to be that refuge for other people. I want my son, my husband, everyone who crosses my path, to exhale in my presence. I want to be a shelter, a safe place to come in from the storms of this life.

This year’s word also seems very timely, as so many people are displaced from wars abroad. My heart aches for those affected, especially all of the families who have to make difficult decisions, such as: Do we stay in the only home we have ever known and face almost certain annihilation? Or do we leave everything, risking everything, for the chance at a better life? It is heartening to see how people in Greece and elsewhere have opened their hearts and homes to these refugees. Let us always strive to be a refuge to one another. This year, that will be my goal.

Of Colds and Birthdays {The Disillusionment of Parenthood}

I didn't blog last week because 1) I caught a cold and 2) it was my birthday on Thursday, so lots of celebrations were had (even in the midst of the aforementioned cold...thanks to everyone who made it one of the best birthdays I have ever had!).

The cold started on Monday, with feeling really down, physically and emotionally. I felt like my legs were made of lead, and I was moving through molasses. By Tuesday, I had a sore throat and a runny nose. This was the first time since Mr. D was born that I have been sick {a miracle, which I praise God for}. That's right, I haven't been sick for more than 8 months!

Well, anyway, by Tuesday evening, I was feeling extremely sorry for myself, because here I was, sick and exhausted, and I still had to take care of Mr. D. {Wow, I can really hear the whine in that last sentence}.

Do you ever have those moments (or days, weeks, years?!) when being an adult seems like a cruel joke? Is this what I was looking forward to, when I was a child? Attending to a suddenly mobile child, who is on a napping strike, while feeling absolutely miserable?

So, I was lying in bed at 5pm, while Mr. D finally took a decent nap, when my husband comes home from work. Now, I am not exaggerating at all when I tell you that I was counting on Andy coming home to relieve me and let me finally get some rest. It was the only thing that got me through that day.

Andy would come home, and rush to my side. "How are you feeling, darling?" He'd then offer to watch Mr. D, and make dinner. He'd even go to the Infant CPR class that I signed up for. "I'll take care of everything. You just focus on getting better."

Instead, Andy came home feeling just as terrible as I did. He crawled into bed next to me, and started expressing how terrible his day had been. The gloom from the day settled firmly upon us. I realized that I wasn't going to get the night off. So what did I do? I got angry.

I jumped out of bed, and in a frenzy of frustration, I started getting ready to go to the class. I had 20 minutes to make dinner, eat dinner, and get out the door. Like a petulant child, I yelled, "This week stinks! I don't even want to have a birthday. There's nothing to celebrate, anyway." I slammed cupboards and banged pots and pans. I was a mess.

Andy came into the kitchen, and asked me how he could help. I motioned for him to take over the chopping, since I was in no condition to wield a knife. He said calmly that he thought it would be better if he went the the class. He also reminded me that we were on the same side. With tears and sobs, I sputtered, "I'm just so tired. I just want to be selfish for a change. Why does being an adult have to be so hard?" For a minute, we just stood there in the kitchen, grieving together the disillusionment that can accompany parenthood. Being a parent is hard. Harder than I ever thought it would be.

Parenthood (like marriage) is often painted in extremes: the newborn peach fuzz and coos vs. the colicky screaming banshee; the precocious lisping preschooler vs. the biting tantrum terrible twos/threes; the Gilmore Girl-like adolescent camaraderie vs. attitude-laden wild child. These are all real experiences for real parents. But more often than not, it's the day-to-day annoyances and grievances that wear us down. It's the constant death-to-self that you experience when you are responsible for another life. Rain or shine. In sickness or in health. Whether you feel like it-or not.

This is where the difficulty lies; but this is also where the grace lies. The grace to admit that it is hard. The grace to ask for forgiveness--and accept it. The grace to face disillusionment together, holding on to each other, and the promise of a better tomorrow.

{And it was}

Are You Living in Reactive Mode?

Distraction. 

Buzz..beep…update this! Respond to that! Avast Antivirus needs to restart your computer. Wait, is that the baby crying? 

If you live in reactive mode, then, like me, it’s hard to get anything done. You feel pulled into a million directions, when all you’re trying to do is something simple: like get a load of laundry done, make a simple dinner, catch up with a friend on the phone (or in my case, write a blog post!). These things are so so easy. So why can it be so hard to accomplish them? Other people make accomplishing tasks look simple. 

My current nighttime reading is Making Ideas Happen by Scott Belsky. Andy was reading it earlier this summer, and it looked interesting, so I requested to read it when he finished. We had a brief conversation the other night about my thoughts so far:

Andy: So, how do you like the book?
Me: It’s really good. I can see how it will be really helpful to me. Probably more helpful to me, than it would be for you.
Andy: Yeah, a lot of those strategies were stuff that just comes naturally to me.
Me: Right. You’re probably thinking, Isn’t this obvious already? Oooo, let’s make a list of action steps, and accomplish them one at a time. Groundbreaking.

While this conversation was conducted in a playful bantering sort of way, it reveals the truth in one difference between my husband and me: he is task-oriented, and I am people/relationship oriented. I believe that both tendencies have their own pros and cons, so this isn’t meant to be a slam on any one way of doing things. What it is, is this: if you are people-oriented, you have to work a lot harder to get those to-do list items accomplished. Because in my people-oriented mind, relationships trump tasks. Every. Time. This can sound idealistic. It can sound noble. But more often than not, at the end of the day, important “action steps” are left undone. Lost in the demands of the people I serve (and love).

So, I need to read books like Making Ideas Happen {which is, of course, geared towards idealistic creatives that have a hard time producing and, you guessed it, making ideas happen}. Andy, and other task-oriented people don’t have to read that book. But, if it was on their to-do list, you better believe they would read it anyway. And gain much satisfaction from crossing that item off. 

• Read Making Ideas Happen 

So chime in, are you task-oriented or people/relationship oriented? If you are people/relationship oriented like me, what strategies have you found helpful to keep you on task? 

It breaks my heart a little: when it's more than just a nursing strike

Mr. D is now 7 months old, and is no longer nursing. I'm down to 1-2 pumping sessions a day, and I'm only getting 3-4 ounces in a 24 hour period. Nursing was never easy for us, but we had finally gotten to a good place with it at about 5 months. Then came distracted nursing, and biting, and then just not being interested in it at all. They say that it is really rare for a baby to wean him/herself before 12 months, but after pushing through for more than a month, I just couldn't take it anymore.

It breaks my heart a little, especially because we fought so hard to build my supply, work through latching issues, change my diet, and get his weight up. We did all that we could. And now it's time for me to let it go.

When you're a parent, you want what is best for you child. But what do you do when what is best for children in general, is not best for the child in front of you? Sure, I could have insisted on nursing Mr. D until 12 months, fighting back tears when he twisted to get down on the floor, all before letting go.

I could have thought "I guess it's just a stage" for months and months on end. I could have ruined our relationship to meet the American Academy of Pediatrics recommendations. {Incidentally, they suggest continuing nursing past 12 months, as long as it is mutually beneficial for both mother and child. What, is there some magical transformation at 12 months so that only then is it okay for the mother to have a say in all this??}

I guess it's all about the milk.

Or is it? Isn't it slightly reductionist to claim that motherhood is all about one aspect of care? Instead, isn't motherhood about loving the child in front of you? Not the neighbor's "angel child" or the Gerber baby. Your child. You know, the one God entrusted you with.

I'm not trying to start a fight. That's the last thing I want to do. I guess I'm just frustrated that even though this seems like the best thing for our family, I still feel guilty about it. Okay, angry rant over.