Tidings of comfort and...

The Christmas hull-ba-loo is over and I can't say that I'm sad about it.  It was wonderful (Christmas morning on the faces of a 4YO & 2YO), crazy (trying to keep the trio out of the tree was like herding cats), distressing (5:00pm Christmas Eve runs to Target are no fun), sad (missing my Grandmother and a little nostalgic for my childhood Christmas traditions) and humbling (wait for it...). 

Hubby and I were given a major wake-up call about our lack of a church home this weekend when I was explaining to the girls that it was Baby Jesus' birthday and they asked, "Who's Baby Jesus?  Is he at the North Pool with Buddy?" (4 YO translation:  North POLE and our family's Elf on a Shelf).

The most disturburbing part of the exchange was my response - or lack thereof:  "Girls, Baby Jesus is the little baby in the set of animals and people on our table."  and then.....nothing else.  I had nothing else I could think of to explain to my 4 and 2 1/2 year old who Baby Jesus was.  I felt a little like this:

Listen, I try to be the best mom and wife that I can.  I want our family to be one of peace, love, thankfulness, charity, comfort and, finally, respectfulness for each other and the world as a whole.  I feel as though I have been failing miserably, and being home on vacation these past fews days has highlighted my weaknesses.

I mean, c'mon!  Everyday, I wake up and I strive to be this:
 

This chick does it all.  Happy homemaker grocery shopping, doting mommy, rockin' businesswoman and marathoner.  "Duh-DAH-dah-DUM!!..."  And, if you don't remember this commercial, I'm feeling way too old.

But most days, I feel like I crawl in bed, exhausted and defeated after a day feeling like I've served up a main course of this:

"No more wire hannnnnggggerrrrrssss!!!"

                             

with a side of this: 

"What, y'all??"

Brah-vo, Mommy Dearest...Brah-vo.

So, massive pity party aside, perhaps this self-depricating humor has really led me (in-hand with the season) to a rite of passage and I just didn't realize it until now.  Don't get me wrong - I LOVE Christmas, but, in the dichotomy of all those emotions this past week, I have had a major realization:  I am in a period of a life transition:  I am no longer a rookie mom, young wife and entry-level employee.  (Darn.) I am a middle-aged mom with young children, running into my forties (GAH!) and am now viewed by younger team members as one with "life experience."  (Mother trucker!) 

So, I contemplated, where does this leave me exactly?  I am feeling as though I am a ship, floating without a sail (cue dramatic music here)...I am a tunnel with no light at the end...a chocolate cup with no peanut butter....(ahem - anywho). 

I was having one of my beloved coffee chats with my best friend last week and we were discussing the start of the new year and our goal setting aspirations.  I have always been a big goal-setter.  Writing things down has been critical for my well-being and has always helped me level-set emotionally.  But, not only do I have my goals (I hate the word "Resolutions"), I also like to set a "theme" for the year.  I've done this since leaving college.  Just a one-word, quick-hit that encompasses the general idea or focus for my year's goals.  Last year, it was Peace.  I tried to focus on ways that I could create peace inside and outside of my world.  I'd like to think that I did a pretty good job of finding my own personal brand of Om.  But, I know I still have a long way to go - in a lot of areas.  I sat down last night and started to mull over what I'd like to accomplish in the year ahead.  And, that's when I realized the impact and reality of this latest Major Transition (not to be confused with Major Award from "A Christmas Story"). 

I realized that my goals and my themes for the new year have changed with each major life transition.  For your viewing pleasure, I present to you, Dear Reader, a snippet of the evolution of my New Year's Goals:

Kristen's New Year Goals - 1997 

(1st year out of college)

Year's Theme:  Organization!

1.  Lose 5 pounds

2.  Exercise 5X a week for an hour

3.  Eat 3 veggies a day

4.  Clean out car once a week and have detailed once a month

5.  Stop smoking (yes, I used to do this in a past life...no flames, please)

6.  Get a promotion

Kristen's New Year Goals - 2007

(1st year as new wife and mom to 1)

Year's Theme:  Sanity!

1.  Lose 10 pounds

2.  Exercise 3X a week for 1/2 an hour

3.  Eat one fruit or veggie each day

4.  Clean out carseat once a month and find lost sippy cups under seat

5.  Stop snacking

6.  Get to work on time

Looking back on everything this year and previous years, I've discovered that this year is quite different for me.  Some of my goals have continued to morph (see 1-3).  But others have been dropped (hey, I am going to be realistic and own who I am and my limitations).   

Kristen's New Year Goals - 2012

(1st year as middle-aged mom of 5 and wife)

Theme:  Joy

1.  Exercise

2.  Eat one square meal a day

3.  Find a church for our family  

My list is shorter, but the work to be done to meet my theme is a much greater challenge than eating oranges instead of Oreos. 

Joy.

There is a lot to be said for living a life of joy, I think.  There is so much active thankfulness in living your life with joy - it's saying, not only am I happy (see post below), but I am living my life with purposefulness and intent.  Joy is recognizing all of those little slices of heaven that God reveals in the good and bad that is the daily grind.  Joy is spreading His spirit of love, forgiveness, beauty in the simplicity of it all, and doing it with abuntant gratitude.  My children need to see a life lived with joy and a home full of God's love, grace and purpose.  It's my job to teach them that - not to be everything or try to be it all, but, as their mother, to be a reflection of Him as our Father. I mean, really - God never worried about bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan all while never letting you for-get...(ha!).  He wants His children to love Him, live their life to the fullest and be charitable - all things that we, as parents, want for our own.  I realize that I don't have to try and be everything to everyone.  I just need to be my best self and be joyful in it all - whether the moment is chaos or peace.  The rest will fall into place.

Joy.  Simple joy.  Everything else is just gravy.  I'm off to put the Cheetos away and hang up some clothes.

Happy New Year, y'all.

Stay tuned and much love...

I have told you these things, that My joy and delight may be in you, and that your joy and gladness may be of full measure and complete and overflowing.  ~ John 15:11

Happiness is...

Had a long overdue lunch with one of my dearest friends today.  The kind of friend where even though it's been entirely too long that you've seen them, the greeting hug is so tight and genuine it takes you through a "friendship life flashing before your eyes moment by moment" montage, and you pick right up where you left off.  Over sandwiches, we talked about our kids (8 between us), our lives (we're getting old, we realized), schools (parochial or public), running (it's a sanity requirement), the merits of organic vs. conventional (expensive but necessary for the Dirty Dozen) and husbands (Lord knows they try and, God bless 'em, most times, they do "get it").  We talked about our faith and our desire to have our children know God, love Him and trust Him in the most difficult of times.  And, I got a lesson in prayer - one that was much needed and provided a 180 degree turn from my current prayer methodology ("Thy will be done...").

I walked away from that lunch with such a feeling of joy and happiness for my friend - she was simply glowing with happiness and an inner peace and calm that was palpable.  And it's happiness that's much deserved.  I texted her afterwards, letting her know how happy I was that she was happy and she replied in kind to me ('cause that's how we roll - haha!).

Her reply took me aback - me?  happy??  Really happy??  And I let the word settle over me:  Happy.

It hasn't been the easiest year emotionally for me.  Those of you who know me best know that I have struggled in the past with depression.  Throw in sleepless nights, a not-so-rewarding-day job and a complete life upheaval for our family with post-partum hormones, and it doesn't exactly make a cocktail for emotional stability.  The past few months were ones definitely inside the belly of the whale (see Jonah - my absolute FAV).  I cried a lot, slept some and tried to get out every once and awhile by myself for a quick run.  I survived on coffee and granola bars grabbed from the pantry in the middle of the night.  Only my hubby really knew the true depth of the depression, and he tried his best to help me in any way that he could.  I listened to Joyce, highlighted in my Bible, prayed and cried, and tried to get up every morning and put on The Happy Face so that no one would see just how dark it was on the inside.

And then, exhausted with it all, I just stopped.  I thought I was giving up.  My mantra became, "Thy will be done."  Running late to work?  Thy will be done.  Going into a meeting to face the firing squad of angry management? Thy will be done.  Girls not wanting to go to bed, and hubby taking them to bed with us, negating The Routine?  Thy will be done.  All the kids sick and me up with them all night before a big presentation at work?  Thy will be done.  Interviewing for a new job?  Thy will be done.  Funny thing about that prayer...I thought I was giving up:  Meh.  What do I care?  Whatever.  But to God, I had stopped thrashing and fighting and started to cast my cares - exactly what He had wanted me to do all along.  Silly me.

Slowly and deliberately, with each Thy will be done, the water that I was trying so hard to keep my head above in that well just bouyed me closer and closer to the top.  I learned that floating was better.  (A lesson that, ironically enough, my mother first taught me with the printed gift of this poem.)  Floating...casting cares...trusting God to handle it when I simply couldn't.  And, with each care that I cast, He provided.  Exponentially.  (I should have paid more attention to my previous post on Loaves & Fishes, eh?) 

I realized today that I'm really happy.  Not happy in a WOWSA-THIS-IS-THE-BEST-DAY-EVVVVEERRR-I'M-THE-KING-OF-THE-WOOOORRRLLLDDD!! happy.  Nope.  Happy in the sense that I know that there are always going to be tough times ahead.  There are always going to be struggles - some small, some monumental.  But, I know that He loves me.  He holds me.  And Satan is not going to steal that from me anymore.  (Fathead! - as Joyce says - which totally cracks me up...I digress...) 

What I'm saying is that, yes, today was an awesome day!  I am in a new job, everyone is healthy, hubby and I are making exciting plans for our family's future (no, we aren't having more kids) and I have some pretty cool things to look forward to in the next couple of months.  But, if I took all those big things away, I think I'd still be happy, because I now get that regardless of what happens - big or small - God has my back.

So, what really makes me happy?  What truly brings me joy?  What makes me smile? 

Nighttime porch chats at the end of the day with my hubby...The Monkey's wild hair in the morning...The Munchkin's crazy giggle when being chased by her daddy...The Lamb's scrunched up nose when she gets confused...The Bug's wide-eyed grin when he sees me when he wakes up or when I come home...The Dude's impromptu under-the-chin snuggle...a random-fact text from a miles-away friend...coffee chats with my best friend...Starbucks triple venti non fat no foam upside down caramel macchiatto...the crazy chaos that ensues with our girls when daddy announces, "It's doughnut day!!!!"...seeing my brother really smile after years of faking it...showtunes - LOTS and LOTS of showtunes...The Bear-dog sleeping with his head under our bed and only seeing a torso with a wagging tail on the floor when walking into the bedroom...the sound of stomping feet running up and down stairs and slamming doors...lime and salt popcorn followed by Reese's peanut butter cups...laughing until my stomach hurts with my extended family over desserts after Christmas dinner...getting into my car to unexpectedly find it detailed and full of gas...arguing with my Dad over The Tray and The Cup...the sun in my eyes on an early morning run...seeing my friends old and new on Facebook and being able to keep in touch with minimal effort...hearing my husband snore...daily calls with my mom to analyze "Maury" and take bets on whether or not "he IS (NOT) the father!!"...

Little things, friends.  The little things add up to the big things.  Like Snoopy said, Happiness is a warm blanket.

Thank you, Lord.  Thank you for my warm blankets...and thank you, H, for seeing it in me, too.
 
Stay tuned and much love,

1 Peter 5:7

⁷Casting the ^[a]whole of your care [all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, ^[b]once and for all] on Him, for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you ^[c]watchfully.

Simon (Peter) Says...

Hubby:  "It's been CAR-A-ZY the past few weeks."
Me:  "That's the understatement of the year."

A few weeks ago, Joyce was preaching about stretching your faith.  I was listening, but only peripherally, while I attempted to change squirmy babies' diapers in the dark.  But, thankfully, she started saying something that caught my ear.  She started talking about being tired.  I immediately looked up, quickly finished changing the diaper, and sent The Dude crawling off with his sleeper unbuttoned behind him.

She was talking about Simon Peter, and the third time Jesus revealed Himself after the crucifiction.  Her context was about believing and having faith to push through, even when you're exhausted and have (what you believe) given it your all.  Joyce framed it in a way, though, that as a mother, resonated with me.

So here is Simon Peter and some of the other disciples.  They've been out on a boat all night long, fishing (picture "Deadliest Catch" here) and have caught nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  So, in the early dawn, they pull back into shore and proceed to put away the nets, wash down the decks and everyone is basically doing the fist-clasp-half-man-hug goodbye when Jesus appears and says, "Go back out and go fishing.  Now."

If I had been on that boat, I know I probably would have not cared one lick that this was Jesus in front of me at that point.  I would have been dead on my feet (forget His glorious ressurection from the actual dead), defeated and just ready to go home, crawl in bed and sleep.  And, if I'm going to be perfectly honest, I probably would have been indignant - "Are you kidding me, Jesus??  You DO realize that we were out ALL NIGHT LONG and we caught nothing.  NOTHING!!  And we sail in, finally get eeevvvverrrryyything cleaned and put away and you want me to drag it allll out again, set evvvveerryyything up and go out to a place we know there is nothing?!  NOW???  Whatever, dude.  I'm heading home and getting some sleep."

Ah, yes.  Such is the joyful, open spirit of the mother (note sarcasm here).  The joy of motherhood.  It's hard to feel like it's a joy when you're in the middle of it all, and it is seemingly nothing but the proverbial fishing for nothing most days and nights.  Well, what seems to be nothing, anyway.

But, back to the story.  It's what happens next that is so fabulous about this story to me:
Simon Peter and his crew head back out, at His command.  And, they catch fish.  More fish than they can possibly manage.  The Bible says that they couldn't even pull up their darn nets because they were so heavy with fish.  Wow.  Just wow.

So, here I am.  Mom, wife, employee, daughter, sister, granddaughter, friend, niece, cousin, etc.  Fixer of all ills, wiper of many liquids, stretcher of the time/space continuum.  And, most days, I'm exhausted.  Bone tired.  Dead on my feet.  But, that's what motherhood and this stage of my life is about.  I get it. 

And, the kick-in-the-crotch-fantastic part about it?  (as revealed to me in this story?)

All of these times that I do go out and work myself silly, come back with what I believe to be nothing, and then am asked to turn right around and do it all over again just when I think I've come by a break? 

And, I obey, and DO go back out, despite my exhaustion and frustration? 

Well, that's when those beautiful nets pull up more than I can possibly handle:  the first-spoken-non-prompted "Thank yous" and "I love yous"...the arms thrown around your waist that seemingly appear out of nowhere...the stolen glimpses of sisters and brothers caring, laughing and loving one another.  Those things - they are my fish. 

I just have to keep reminding myself that, when I'm stretched to the limit and I'm asked to go out and do it all over again, it might indeed be a night of fruitless fishing, but the next time, my nets will be full.  And that, friends, is what makes it all worth it.

Stay tuned and much love,



John 23:1-6 ~ 
   ¹AFTER THIS, Jesus let Himself be seen and revealed [Himself] again to the disciples, at the Sea of Tiberias. And He did it in this way:
    ²There were together Simon Peter, and Thomas, called the Twin, and Nathanael from Cana of Galilee, also the sons of Zebedee, and two others of His disciples.
    ³Simon Peter said to them, I am going fishing! They said to him, And we are coming with you! So they went out and got into the boat, and throughout that night they caught nothing.
    ⁴Morning was already breaking when Jesus came to the beach and stood there. However, the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.
    ⁵So Jesus said to them, ^[a]Boys (children), you do not have any meat (fish), do you? [Have you caught anything to eat along with your bread?] They answered Him, No!
    ⁶And He said to them, Cast the net on the right side of the boat and you will find [some]. So they cast the net, and now they were not able to haul it in for such a big catch (mass, quantity) of fish [was in it].

Whirled Peas

I have become a real Joyce Meyer fan.  Well, I take that back.  I have been a fan of Joyce since my mom introduced me to her in high school, but recently, her messages have resonated with me and held me up in some trying times.  Joyce has been like a spiritual mentor/mama in the best sense - coming in and out of my life (via the courtesy of my Samsung or Sharp) during many different phases of my life - never condemning when I was away, but always welcoming me back with a message that was purposeful, present and appropriate.  Like my best friend said, she tells it like it is, and doesn't mince words.  I can totally appreciate that in this particular phase of my life, when I don't have the luxury of ruminating in innuendo and analogy.  Maybe that's why my working mom enjoyed also watching her.  I can remember mom sitting in the dark in the early weekday mornings with her cup of coffee in hand, watching Joyce while I puttered around trying to shake the sleep off and get ready for school to make it in time for the first bell at 7:30.  Now, here I am, 20 years later, sitting in the early morning darkness every weekday morning, with my coffee in hand, watching my trio eat while Joyce preaches on.  Full circle.  Yeah, I know.  I've become my mother!

Anywho, the past couple of weeks of messages have been particularly helpful.  Joyce has doing a Boot Camp series, and most of what she has been speaking has been exactly what I've needed when I've needed it.  Especially the couple of sermons she's done on peace.  Which got me to thinking...how much peace do I really have?  How much peace should I have?  And, getting right down to it (since I have plenty of things on my to-do list, laundry piling up, dust balls forming and quite frankly, not enough hours to sit around and contemplate this kind of stuff), how much what is the absolute minimum amount of peace that I need in order to function as a contributing member of society? 

I wish I was one of those people who was able to find peace admist chaos, strife and malignment from others.  I'm working on it (since in most of the aforementioned areas I really don't have a choice anymore - HA!).  But, you're talking about someone whose innermost peace is primarily dependant and fed by things

 like this:

Family Command Center - Geeky, I know...

and this:

Calendar Neurosis at its finest...

I admit it - I love my calendars, whiteboards and shopping lists.  Adore them.  OK, so perhaps I have not extoled their virtues enough so that you have a complete understanding of the depth of my feelings.  Let me put it this way:  Calendars are the Katie Holmes to my Couch-Jumping Tom Cruise.  So, the concept of striving for peace without the benefit of all that is contained in those beautiful spiral-bound 1X1 squares gives me the jimmy-eye and a full-body shiver.  But, the concept Joyce spoke on  is simple:  you put your peace in other places (trust/peace outside of God's hands) and you will never know true peace.  But, Joyce (I say), really now...how can I be expected to give up my control (or what I think is my control) and have any kind of peace without order, structure, routine and knowing/documenting what to expect in the days/weeks/months ahead? 

Let's face it, peeps - I'm a Baby Christian.  I'm still learning, and often I have to catch myself from thinking that just because I am listening so intently and wanting so desperately to hear and just absorb everything that all of that effort will cause me to immediately believe it, apply it, live it and just walk on out there and tell the world what's what!!!   I admit that I'm totally struggling with this one.  Yes, I realize that I ultimately have no control in this life, despite what is written down makes me believe.  But, to have an ever-present peace with that knowledge of no control?  And to have peace because of that knowledge?  It's hard to wrap my mind around it - it doesn't make logical sense!

But here's where this one is really kick-in-the-crotch-fantastic:  in order for me to have peace in the midst of chaos, I have to not only give up my 'control', but I have to embrace the chaos, acknowledging that everything is His, and He will keep me in the palm of His hand, even in the midst of forgotten blankets, last-minute cancellations, MMA-like fights over The Tinkerbell Cup (even though there are 2) and forgotten dog dinners (c'mon...I know I'm not the only one who's done this, so no snarky comments!).

Good Lord.  No, really.  Literally:  Good.  Lord.  He is so good that he can love me in spite of me running around like a chicken with my head cut off, thinking that I have a say in it all and how it's ultimately going to turn out.  How patient and loving He is to to let me figure it out on my own!  I imagine that He just shakes his head and smiles as I run around updating schedules and menus - much in the same way that I smile and shake my head at The Munchkin or The Monkey when they run around gathering things that they "need" for a trip to the mall:  this doll, that purple crayon and the one pink flowered sock (don't ask...).

This one is definitely going to take some practice and some trips around the mountain before I fully understand it.  I'm going to have to work on it, I'm quite sure.  And work on it.  And work on it again. (10th year of wandering the wilderness and going 'round the mountain, 1 more to go...)

In the meantime, I'll try and reference my calendar with a little less neurosis, and try to take my (personally crafted, ironically enough) message I had inscribed on the front to heart - His heart, though...not mine:

Much love and stay tuned...

Fear & "Loave(s)-ing"

I admit that I struggle daily with my natural inclination to fear and worry.  I fear and worry about our children the most:  their health and their psyche.  I tell people that, with this many children, my parenting goals are low:  as long as none of my children wind up on "Intervention", "Dateline" or A Pole, I've done my job.  Some view that as my laid-back parenting philosophy(:::Snort!:::), when (in truth) it's actually a mantra I have repeat to keep from worrying myself into becoming the much-dreaded helicopter parent. 

But, I can't help but wonder:  Are the seemingly small decisions and statements that I make on a daily basis going to be brought up on a psychologist's couch one day?  I mean, look at the parent interviews on those shows.  They always have the voice-over while the cute baby and young-kid pictures scroll across.  "She was always such a happy child..."  And then they flash to the child-now-addict/serial killer, and she's saying, "It all broke apart on that fateful night when I was 6, and my mom wouldn't let me eat two meatballs in my spaghetti...I only got one...:::crying hysterically:::I never felt loved after that..."  (OK, so I'm being overly dramatic on that example to get my point across, but really - how many times has the 'trigger' event for a kid going from Boy Scout to Homeless Street Dude Shooting Up in an Alley seemed somewhat innocuous to you?) 

This past week has really been a doozy for me on the whole fragility of life thing.  I won't go into details, but it seems as though the "comes in threes" rule has applied - and it hasn't been easy to be confronted head-on with just how fragile our existence is, and how really, nothing is ever guaranteed in this life.  This week I have had to face that this no-guarantee rule no longer just applies to me - it applies to my children's lives.  And, when faced with that, I became very fearful of their future and overwhelmed by my responsibility as their parent to keep them safe, healthy and happy (and off of a pole).

You would think that, having been faced for 9 long months with the ultimate unknown, and having walked through it held up and sustained by faith and the many fervent and heartfelt prayers offered up on our behalf by friends, family, prayer groups and churches, I would be a lot less fearful of stuff like that now.  Truth is, having proverbially rolled the dice and come out of it a winner (winner chicken dinner - sorry, couldn't resist), I'm probably more fearful now of the future and the dropping of the "other shoe" than I was before. 

::::Le Sigh:::

I had a long talk about this fear thing with a dear co-worker and friend yesterday, who sweetly reminded me that God has a purpose for everything;  and, along with His purpose for my life, He has a purpose for each of my children's lives that I am only a part of because of His divine choosing.  My role is merely to guide and nurture, raise up, and then throw out of the proverbial nest so that they can fulfill that purpose. After thinking on that some last night, I realized that it's not my place to develop, suggest or otherwise dictate my children's purpose.  So, I can at least temper that fear and responsibility.  (One down, fifteen ga-zillion to go...)

But, then I began to panic in the dawn (Gunner is going through something right now - teething? tummy? - so I'm back in the Newborn Nights things with him).  So,I thought, that's (that = train of thought above) all fine and dandy - until the reality of raising up FIVE right creeps in.  It's a daunting thought:  5 lives - and you are the one responsible for making sure that each doesn't divebomb faster than Heidi Montag's last single* when you do push them out of the nest. 

Five - multiples - multiplying...it can be overwhelming.  And I was mulling/praying over it this morning in the stillness (finally! at 4:30AM), while rocking Gunner, looking at his peaceful face, and freaking out because I realized that every mom and dad on "Intervention" and "Dateline" had probably, at some point, done the same thing, and look what had happened to their child?!?!... 

And then, I remembered the story of Jesus and the loaves and fishes, and, as I was mulling/praying over that story, it started to parallel so closely with our current life.   One baby = lots of baby stuff, expenses, love expanded.  Five babies = a house that looks like a "Hoarders - Babies R Us Edition" episode, constant yet controlled chaos, don't-even-want-to-think-about-it amount of money, and infinite amount of love pouring out. 

The factor of 1 multiplied (1 = God's grace and His provision) - sometimes by just enough, and other times by more than we can imagine, all to meet our needs. 

Faith requires more than just stepping "out" sometimes, I think.  Faith requires stepping out and believing in an abundance that only He can provide.  I can only imagine what I would have been thinking if I had been one in that crowd and had been asked to believe that this transient dude passing through could take a few lil fish and a lil bit o bread and feed the masses.  I would like to believe that I would have been one of the ones in the crowd believing, without fail.  But, I know me.  And, I know I'm just starting this journey.  I can guarantee you that I would have been the one with the "Yeah, riiiighhhhtttt" look on my face. 

So, when the fragility of our lives hits me...when the enormity of it all overwhelms me...when the fear grips my heart, I will try my best to remember the story of Loaves and Fishes.  And I will try to step out and believe that my best parenting is enough - because God's purpose is bigger than mine, and He is the ultimate Multiplier...not me. 

Stay tuned, and much love...

* Typically, I don't even post links to that junk, but it's worth a giggle or two...

Natural or Sea Monkey?

So, I can certainly appreciate people's curiosity when we go out.  Heck, if I saw me and my crew, I'd stop myself and ask, "Are they all yours??".  Or possibly gawk.  Or maybe I'd just point and whisper.  And, if I were a man out with my wife/significant other, I'm quite sure I'd probably mow over 2 old ladies and run into a stack of Campbell's Tomato Soup just to make sure that I didn't get so close that I might touch, and therefore, catch my Litter Bearing super-power.  Sure.  I get it.  We're kind of a freak show.  No problem.

Except there are some days where it gets to be a little too much.  I try and keep it in perspective, and be honored and humbled by people's interest in our little family (note blatant play on words here).  But sometimes, I just want to run errands on a Saturday in Target like the rest of the population.  I get people's curiosity - I do. 

What I don't get is the questions that people ask, and think that they are automatically entitled to get the answer to.  So, sometimes, it's difficult for me to not get a little bit snarky after about an hour of being out in public.  (Insert sidebar:  I understand that reality TV has made some people oblivious to the idea that just because someone is outside the confines of their home, their life is fair game.  However, last I checked, thanks to my wonderful friend Jen Jackson, we do NOT have a dude carrying a mic hovering around us, and there are not 3 cameras following us around, and this is not "18 Kids and Counting".  Anywho...on with the post.) 

I've come up with some canned responses for the same questions that are asked over and over again.  And, I'll share just a few of  the humdingers that we've been confronted with, and our responses.

Dislaimer:  My apologies if you, my dearest family and friends, have said any of these things.  Please know that, if you have at some point in time uttered any of the following, I have loooong since forgotten.  And, quite frankly, I don't care or mind those closest to us asking questions.  Heck, we're an open book, and I'll tell you pretty much whatever you want to know (and perhaps a little more than you'd like to know sometimes).  Where these comments chafe the most is when they come from perfect strangers or people who have known us all of, I dunno, TEN minutes??  (And no, Ms. Nosy Saleslady, asking me what size shoe I need and if I would like to see it in brown or black does NOT make thee a "friend" - even in Facebook-land.)

Q:  Wow!  Are they all yours???
A:  No.  They're part of this RentAKid program that we're trying out.  With the economy being the way it is, we wanted to see if we could handle being a reality TV show because we're a little short on cash.  So, we're doing a little Pilot on our own.  So far, we think it's been working out OK, but these triplets have to be back at the shelter by 7.  What do you think?

Q:  Triplets!  Are they natural?
A:  Nope.  They're plastic, actually.  The Sea Monkey variety.  They all just kinda got up in my ute, and before I knew it, a whole bunch of 'em had popped up!  ::::finish with a big grin::::

Q:  Are you/did you nurse/breastfeed?
A:  Unfortunately, I didn't grow the third nipple that is typical in triplet pregnancies, so, no, I didn't get an opportunity.  (The sad part about this one?  It's mostly middle-aged men who ask this question - and not the "Brad Pitt-I-am-a-super-concerned-environmentally-aware-BPA-shirking-Father" type.  Oh no.  We're talking more like the Chester type who asks the question while creepily staring at your chest.  Yay.  I guess it comes with the territory to attract this type of individual.)

Yep.  That's our life now.  And please, please don't get me wrong.  I understand the curiosity.  I understand the freak-on element.  I understand that there are people who look at us and immediately place the blame on me, C and my hyper-producing uterus for all the ills of the world right now (e.g. global warming, the deficit, the housing bubble, the cancellation of "All My Children").  After all, it was our "selfish decision to push God's miracle", right?  (Yes, I have actually heard that one.)  But, even if we HAD done IVF or IUI (which we didn't), I seriously want to ask these people who are so judgemental about our children, which one would YOU have given up for adoption? aborted?

How is it anyone's place to judge His miracle?  Regardless of how that miracle was initiated? 

::::stepping down from soapbox::::    Siiighhhhh....

There is no greater pain than sitting across from a doctor's desk, and having him beg you to consider the high risk of a bad outcome, its potential impact to your current family, and then having him strongly suggest selective reduction, while staring at a blurry black and white photo of three tiny hearts.  There is no greater fear than going into a sonographer's room every week and waiting to see how each is developing, if one is adversely effecting the other, or if your body is running out of room or otherwise shutting down.  And, there is no greater test of one's faith than lying back on an operating table, while surrounded by over 15 of the top doctors and nurses in the state, and having your chief physician whisper in your ear to be prepared to not hear a single cry from one of your babies upon their entrance into the world.

BUT, I will tell you this:  (on the flip side) there is no greater joy, my friends, than walking around our house in the quiet stillness of 9:30pm each night, to pat and kiss each of the five little heads that rest under our roof.  There is no greater warmth that the feel of three little bodies in my lap, with another four small arms wrapped around my neck at the end of a long day.  And there is no greater sense of gratitude than waking up each morning to a house that is immediately "On" with a decibel level that would rival a Kiss concert, even if it's always at the crack of dawn (or before).

So, yeah.  Thanks for letting me come full circle on this one with this totally self-indulgent rant.  Because what I have realized in the short span of time it took me to construct this post is that, while outsiders may see my life as a reality TV show gone bad, or a bullet that they somehow dodged, I am more blessed than I ever may truly know.  And I shall proudly fly my Freak Flag from here on out. 

Getcha freak on, peeps!

Stay tuned, and much love...

New and Improved! (Well, kinda...)

You aren't seeing things - we used to be The Perry Pages.  Yeah, that was us - what seems like an eternity ago!  Sorry to throw you off if you've been a follower of the previous blog.  Although, if you've followed, you know that The Perry Pages has been silent for more than a year and a half.  I tried to resurrect that blog, but I just wasn't feeling it.  I couldn't find my groove with it.  And, after awhile, I realized that because so much of my family (immediate and extended) had changed since my last post shortly after Taylor was born, we really just weren't TPP anymore, and it was probably a good time to start a new blog.  (New chapter in our lives and all that yadda yadda.)


I never really left the blog - in my mind.  I've written countless entries in the past year and a half - all in my head.  So why wasn't I recording all the fabulous, exciting changes that were going on in our house?  Believe me, with the discovery of The Trio, I wanted so much to blog about what was happening and how I felt about it.  (Again, the blogging in my head thing.)  But, honestly, I was too superstitious to do it.  I was terrified that TPP would end up being some documented testament of the long road to a tragedy.  Dramatic?  Perhaps.  But possible?  Highly.  I won't get too much into the detail surrounding the pregnancy with The Trio, but the statistics that swirled in in the back of our minds were frightening and humbling.  C & I tried to take it day-by-day, but in reality, we lived on edge those months, trying our best to hide our fears from each other and from the girls, so the few discussions we had regarding The Trio were brief and cautious (and honestly, this is one area where C and I struggle in our relationship:  we aren't Ying and Yang in moments of crisis - we're more like Ice Cream and Apple Pie, Abbott and Costello, Kicks and Giggles...well, you get the idea.  We don't balance each other out, we subconciously validate and feed the other's fear...so, it ends up being kind of hard for one of us to talk the other off a ledge sometimes, when both of us have a tendency to teeter on the edge of it.  Anyway, I digress...).


The point of all this:  I stopped blogging all together. 


Until now. 


Now (:::grinning:::), I have 5 (yes, that's five) beautiful, healthy, boisterous children.  And a wonderful husband and miracle dog to round out the crew (more on the miracle dog later).  Along with the responsibility of corralling this motley crew, I have found that I have limited time in the day to get stuff done.  VERY limited time. 


So, I wish I could say that I'm blogging to share my fabulous homemaking skill(z), introduce you to some rockin' craft ideas to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon with your munchkins, or to give you delicious, healthy and fun recipes that come together faster than you can get through the drive-thru at Chic-Fil-A and have everyone at the table singing your praises like you're June-freakin-Cleaver.*  But, that's not the reason.  I'm truthfully, just selfishly blogging because (A) this is the easiest way for me to share stuff with our scattered family, and because (B) I am terrible at scrap booking/baby book recording/otherwise chronicling my rapidly growing kiddos' lives.  And, with a recent discovery that there is this nifty website that allows you to pretty much upload your blog posts into one of those handy-dandy coffee table photo book things, I'm sold. It's the proverbial killing of two birds, no?...an instant record of our family life with minimal scissors, double-sided tape and middle-of-the-night frustration.  Viola! 


So, Welcome Back! to our family and friends (or Welcome! if you're just joining).  I'm humbled that you want to spend a little time with us online.  And, maybe one day, I'll actually get to share a crock pot recipe or a how-to make an up cycled (snort!) birdhouse for Valentine's Day.  (But don't count on it anytime soon.)


Stay tuned...and much love,

* If this is what's on your blog, I say good on ya! All of these are things that I secretly dream about at night, and wish that I could do.  Seriously.  I have the subscriptions to "Family Fun" and "Good Housekeeping" to prove it.