Getting Organized: the Kitchen and a Menu Plan

So, the theme for 2014 is going to be less stuff, more efficiency, and more time for family and friends.  I am the keeper of the stuff at my house and I’m tired of having so much to pick up, clean, and take care of.  So, I’m getting rid of it.  If it’s not essential and we don’t love it, then it’s gone.  (It’s also my secret plan to fund a fabulous girls weekend to Boston this summer!)

One of the areas I want to work on is my kitchen and menu planning.

I started by reading this awesome blog which helped me declutter my kitchen.  I now have one section of counter-top that is completely free!!  I even put away 3 appliances (toaster, bread machine, and food processor) by cleaning out my cabinets.  I LOVE it.  I used to think my mom was crazy for not keeping her toaster out, but as it turns out, she is not.

Also, I want a menu plan.  The problem is that I hate to menu plan.  Yep, HATE it.  For some reason it thoroughly stresses me out.  I finally decided that if I was going to have a menu and put in on my (newly cleaned off) fridge then it should at least be cute.  It is.  And I’m going to share it with you.  It’s pretty much the luckiest day of your life.  😉

Fridge with menu plan

Chalkboard Menu – blank  (a pdf that you can print and fill in weekly)

Menu Ideas (a word doc that you can edit to include your family favorites)

I used a white colored pencil to start with, but I think I’m going to need a white/silver marker.  How sad, I guess a trip to the office supply store is in order.  (Said in total sarcasm because a trip to the office supply store sounds like a great day to me.)

Please prepare yourself to be completely annoyed by my upcoming pursuit of less stuff and the fact that I might try to convince you to do the same.  😉

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What are 10 things you could eliminate from your kitchen TODAY???

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I Forget.

I forget the impact that it has on my house.  I forget that it changed my life.  But, here’s the timeline, in case you were bored.

September 11, 2001 – Now we know it as 9/11.

Mid-November 2001 – Chad & I met at a concert through some friends.

Early-December 2001 – Chad & I start dating.  We didn’t waste any time.

January 2002 – Chad deploys to Germany for 7 months.  And we date through letters and phone calls.

December 2003 – We get hitched!

January 2005 – Chad deploys to Iraq.

June 2006 – Chad comes home.

Fast forward to this morning.  I should have realized something was different when Husband was showing 9/11 tribute videos to the girls at 7:30 this morning.  I also should have realized that he didn’t so much respond to anything I said all day long.  I also should have realized that he was a tad on the short side with us.  I finally caught on when he parked it on the couch to watch more 9/11 tribute videos tonight.  And then again when he let our little Banana stay up to watch the Clydesdale’s Budweiser video and we all got teary-eyed.

You see, I forget.  I mean, I recognize that it’s 9/11, but I totally forget the impact that it has on people like my husband.  People who were first responders or people who went to war for it.  You see, our houses will never forget.

We are so proud to be Americans.  We love our country and we will raise our girls to love her too.

It’s been 12 years since 9/11.  It’s been 12 years since I met my husband.  It’s been 11 years since his first deployment.  It’s been 7 years since his second deployment.  And every Memorial Day, 4th of July, 9/11, and Veterans Day since then we remember.  We remember the lives, we remember the sacrifice, and we remember how our lives are forever changed.  We remember what we lost.

And we watch a lot of videos.  And we get a little crabby.  And we get a little sad.  And one of us goes to bed early.  And one of us blogs about it.

And I love my husband even more because he remembers.

(Image Source:http://variouscreen.com/image-hd-wallpapers-american-flag.html)

Born to Quit

Yep, I’m a quitter.  Pretty sure I came out of the womb that way too.  When it comes to fight or flight, I’m flight all the way.  When I was little, my mom, trying to do the right “mom” thing, made me eat peas for dinner.  I tried to tell her that I didn’t like them, but she didn’t believe me.  So you know what I did?  Yep, puked right at the table (or at least that’s how I remember the story).  I was going to quit eating those blasted peas one way or another apparently.  And to her credit, she never made me eat another pea.  I still don’t eat peas.  Parents, let that be a lesson to you.  Sometimes, kids just really don’t like whatever that good-for-you-food is, no matter how healthy or how much you like it.  Well, that was a rabbit trail.

Moving right along.  I’ll pass right out at the doctor, dentist, hospital, or even just talking about medical related things.  The first time that happened was at the dentist when I was in 4th grade and it was a tad bit shocking.  Yep, I want out.

You can ask my little brother what he thinks about me being a quitter.  When we were little he used to refuse to play board games with me.  I would beg and beg and he would tell me no because I always quit.  I would beg and promise not to quit.  He would eventually give in and I would eventually quit.  I don’t know how that happened.

I don’t like tense books, movies, situations, conversations.  I just want out.

I recently realized that this is impacting in ways that I didn’t anticipate.  I often verbally threaten to quit things, from relationships to the current quilt project or food choices or running or keeping my long hair.  I’m an equal opportunity quitter from big things to small things.  Things get hard, tricky, awkward, stupid, etc., and, let’s be honest (I will forever hear that as lesbi-honest, thanks, fat Amy), I’m probably just gonna quit.  What I’ve discovered is that I usually don’t end up actually quitting, I just need to threaten it.

If I step back and look at things, I think it has more to do with needing to be heard or needing someone to acknowledge the struggle.  I am usually looking for affirmation that I’m right (imagine that) or affirmation that the situation or topic or relationship or item is legitimately difficult.

Well, now that I recognize this (thanks to my redemption group style processing), it should help me in conversations and situations, especially with my poor husband who usually gets caught in my verbal fire storm.  If I can go into a conversation or situation knowing that I’m looking for affirmation and not necessarily to quit (or to fight) then I have the potential to change the whole dynamic (internally and externally).  Knowing that I’m looking to be heard and acknowledged is an important distinction.  I mean, I’d really like to have both…being heard and being right, but whatever.

And to my credit, I have had the same car for 8 1/2 years.  I’ve been married for 9 1/2 years.  I’ve had many of the same best friends since college.  I’m still raising my girls, despite wanting to quit many times.  Sleep and peace are awfully enticing, folks.

I don’t always quit.  I am not a quitter.  I am new.  I am being made new.

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What makes you want to quit?

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Forever Really Isn’t That Long

So, prepare yourself.  You’re either going to be jealous or tad bit smug.  Jealous because both my girls are in school or smug because one of them is only in half-day preschool.

At any rate, I ran by myself this morning while the girls were in school with no thought to having to get someone to watch them while I left the house.  And then I came home and cleaned.  Dusted, vacuumed, mopped, tub, toilet, etc.  And you know what…it actually stayed that way for a bit!  And I got to clean with no interruptions.  This is a seriously good thing.  2 hours and 35 minutes every day child free.  Errands by myself are a breeze.  Volunteering.  Meeting with people.  I do what I want, yo.  Although my little Banana might have caught on because she’s started giving me errands to run while they’re at school.  You know, she needs her medicine and the dogs need their food and I should probably do those things while they’re gone to school.  Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that, 5 1/2 year old.

But you know what I thought at one point this morning?  “Oh, you know, that really wasn’t forever.”  You see, I actually used to think that I would be in “that” season forever.  “That” season where I was constantly doing everything for 2 other humans.  Where I ran on exhaustion more often than not.  Where I didn’t get consistent full nights sleep for like 6 years.  Yes, I said 6 years even though my little Banana isn’t 6 yet because lets be honest you don’t exactly get a full nights sleep when you’re pregnant.  Where I couldn’t do anything without making sure that my children where in someone’s care.  Where I couldn’t eat a hot meal.  You get the drift.

So, weary moms, be encouraged, I have arrived to a season with a break.  It really does exist.  Who knew???  And it won’t take you forever to arrive.  Oh, be sure, it will feel like forever.  It feels like an impossibility.  A dream world.  A mirage.  But it’s not.  And someday you will join me.  And then we will join those with children in full-time school and then in jr high and then driving (which I’m personally looking forward to so that I have my own personal shoppers) and then college.  It may take years to get to the next season, but for most of us, the next season does exist.  In my world, it took 6 years.  And that felt.like.FOREVER.  But now I’m here and it’s kind of nice.

And looking back, I’m glad I did it.  I was stretched and pulled (sometimes quite literally) and tested far more than any other 6 years of my life.  And I think, I think, that I came out more refined and less selfish than when I went into “that” season.  I have to believe that God used all those trials for my good.  I can certainly assure you that I look more like Jesus now than I did 6 years ago.  And for that, I’m grateful.  Although I kinda wish there had been an easier way to get here.

To be sure this season will have its challenges.  My little banana has apparently already cried at school several times because mean little girls told her that her drawing was ugly or they didn’t want her to be best friends with anybody else or they scared her on the playground.  And so it begins.  But, it begins with a mom who’s a little less exhausted, a little less man-handled during the day, a little more rested, a little more margin, and a little more hormonally balanced (thank goodness for my Yasmin).

You know what, it really didn’t take forever.  It really was worth it.  And I’m really glad I’m slowly but surely moving on from it.

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What is the hardest season you’ve been through?

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Ready or Not

I’ve been feeling it all week.  I knew it was coming.  And now it’s here.  My little H’s first day of kindergarten.  We got up in plenty of time.  Got her lunch packed, backpack ready, first day pictures taken, loaded up the car, and taken to school.  She was so excited!  She’s in class with her best friend from last year and she couldn’t be more thrilled.  Good luck, Teacher.  😉

I mean, who doesn’t LOVE kindergarten?  It’s pretty much the best grade.  EVER.  Although she’s not impressed by the thought of having to do crafts.  She is certain that they’ll be way too hard for her and so she’s just going to hate it in advance.  I can totally relate.

So, if I know she’s going to love it and do great at it and I’m going to enjoy the break, why is it so freaking hard?

I going to miss her.  For the past 3 1/2 years (and more before that) I’ve spent almost every day with her.  It’s been my job to do things for her and teach her.  Now there’s another woman.  That blasted “other woman”.  Suddenly, someone else has a tremendous amount of influence in her life and will be teaching her things and experiencing things with her.  Um, that kinda sounds like my job.  I’m not sure I’m ready to give it up to a lady that I met just a few days ago and have had all of 4 minutes conversation with.

Oh, and did I mention that kids are mean.  They’re going to hurt her little feelings and make her cry.  My umbrella of protection and control just shrunk considerably.  And I don’t think I like it.

You see up until now, I’ve been able to choose what I want to do for her, how I want to help her, train her, who she spends her time with, and who her friends are.  I could do a lot to protect her and prevent things proactively.  Now, it’s going to be more of a pick-the-pieces-up-after-they-crash sort of thing.

I lost a lot of control today.  I suppose that’s good and bad, but mostly just part of it.  I guess this is why God lets us do this in small steps.  I mean, shoot, my aunt has to drop her baby off in a different town, at a different house (aka dorm), with all new people, and basically no control.  Ugh, that’s sounds like a horror flick to me right now.  Maybe kindergarten isn’t so scary.

Maybe it’s another reminder that she’s not mine.  And that God loves her more than I ever will.  Do I trust his story for her (and for me) more than I trust my own for her life (and my life)?  His umbrella is bigger than mine ever was.

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PS – (Less than an hour to go and I can officially say I we made it through the day!)

And Now I’m 32

Yep, that’s right, 32.  I guess I’m older and wiser.  Probably mostly just older after the year I’ve had.  The wiser part is definitely in question.  All in all I would say that I would never ever ever ever want to do the year of 31 again.  Some years are good and some are not.  And 31 was not.

I even refused to buy a Thirty-One bag because it was my own way of rebelling against 31.  It was the year of the crazy.  I went off the pill, we tried to get pregnant, diagnosed with PCOS, back on like 4 different pills, and I was full on crazy.  Although my doctor has given me permission to tell anyone I want that my hormones are quite literally all jacked up.    That’s bad news for me and for you, I’m afraid.  I’m certainly functioning and moving forward, but man, I would never ever wish PCOS on anyone because it has done a number on me.  That and the sleep disorder (which may or may not be linked).  Even if it’s not linked, the PCOS sure doesn’t help any.  I’ll spare you the crazy story behind that because if I told you, you might actually lock me up somewhere.

I feel like 31 was a year of change.  Not necessarily big change, but change none-the-less and change seems to take a toll on me.  Now granted it might not take the same toll if I’d release my grip on my plan a bit, but I’ve got plenty more years to work on that.

And, by the way, now that I’m 32, not only am I going to buy a Thirty-One bag, but I’m going to have a party!  Take that year of 31.

I guess I’m a hot freaking mess doing the best I can.  Some days are good.  Some days are not.  And strangely I’m finding grace in between.  And sometimes I don’t even like that.

Let me tell you a story about my little Banana.  And I’m going to remind you up front that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in this house.

My little Banana was doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing.  I can’t remember exactly what, but I think it involved her little sister.  I told her a couple times to stop and we talked about things and I handled them like a good mom would.  Well, she kept getting more and more frustrated and therefore more and more disobedient.  I told her that she deserved a spanking, but I was going to give her grace and not spank her.  Instead I had planned to just try to talk things over with her.  Well, she spun around on her heels and yelled across the room, “I DON’T WANT YOUR GRACE!”.

I think that’s where I am.  I want my good days to be my own doing and my own earning.  And I want to punish myself for my bad days.  That way, when I have a good day I feel even better about it and when I have a bad day I feel even worse for it.  I’m basically giving the Cross the middle finger while screaming (only the inside, because I wouldn’t anyone to think that I was actually crazy), “I DON’T WANT YOUR GRACE!”

Maybe now that I’m 32 I won’t do that anymore…at least not as much.  You see it’s absolutely crazy to me that every morning is new.  How can I get out of bed each morning and not get to claim the goodness of yesterday or not deserve to punish myself again for yesterday?!?  What would it look like to live in the grace that is there waiting?  For me to give Jesus all the credit when I have a “good day”?  You know when I don’t yell at anyone, and I actually read books with my children, and I engage with people, and I serve my husband, and I cook dinner AND do the dishes…Jesus gets the credit (just nevermind the fact that there might have been some sin in there somewhere).  And for me to crawl in Jesus lap when I have a “bad day”?  That He already had a way worse day than any of mine and He literally held the punishment for every sin ever committed and ever to-be-committed by me and everyone else??  What the what?  Now that’s freaking crazy.  Sure I don’t really want that kind of punishment on myself for my bad day yesterday.  Maybe that grace wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

To be like Grandma and Grandpa

Call me a hippie or old fashioned or nostalgic, but there is something drawing me to the way things used to be done.  I want to think more like my grandparents did.  You know, when you grew some of your own food, when you shopped local and built lasting relationships with people in your own town, when you bought things that were actually made in America, and when you chose products that would stand the test of time and not made to break in a few months, when you actually planned on keeping your things for the long haul instead for a year or two when a fancier model came out, when you drove your car til it completely fell apart (which took a long time in those days) and lived without car payments and were out of style, but without the stress of debt, when you actually fixed things that broke instead of immediately replacing it.  I’m going to be honest, most of those things go against my consumer desires.  I like bright shiny fancy new things.  I like to throw things away.  I am a product of American consumerism and I kinda like it that way.

So, what started all this change in thinking?  My own Mr. Fix-It-Husband.  You see we own our business (a local American business, ha)  and when Husband buys tools and supplies he needs them to actually be built to last so that he doesn’t have to replace them every 6 months.  You see, even I understand that it’s not very cost effective to be replacing things all the time.  And you know who makes good quality products that they’re proud of?  Americans.  So when he can buy a product that’s made out of more than just plastic and made to last and it’s made by Americans, that’s a done deal in his mind.  He strives to give his customers the longest lasting and best products and work that he can and so he makes choices that will help him achieve those goals.

Now, the shopping world wants you to buy the trends, go in debt, and not care who made it or where it came from.  (I’m gonna be a hater for a minute on The Bank of Edwardsville.  Their bright flashing sign encourages people to take out loans for trips and fun.  I mean, c’mon.  If you don’t have the money for the trip, then you don’t go.  Moving on.)  It’s no wonder we make bad financial decisions.  It’s taking me a while to change my mindset and I still buy and do things without thinking.  But I want to strive to buy more American made products.  It’s both harder and easier than one might think.  It takes some work and thought and sometimes more money up front.

What do you do when there’s not an American made option?  First, be sad that there’s not.  Second, ask Husband what to do.  ha  The other day he was shopping for some tool.  There wasn’t one made in America.  What did he do?  Turned all the options over to see where they were made.  China.  China.  Germany.  German made it is.  If you can’t buy it made in America, then buy anything not made in China.  That’s his rule of thumb.

So there you go.  Buy American made, or at least not made in China.

Anyways, think a little more like your grandma, nana, meemaw, papa, grandpa, or pops.  There are a lot of things that we could learn from their lifestyle.

(The irony does not escape me here that we want to buy American made products, but adopt a non-American made baby.)

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What American made products do you buy?

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Don’t be a Hater.

Don’t hate me for this post…I’m really doing you a favor.  🙂

So, I recently joined Tupperware.  Yep, that’s right, it’s 1946 at the Stuehlmeyer house.  I have always loved loved loved Tupperware.  (Ask my mom, I threaten to take her and my Granny B’s Tupperware quite regularly.)  I mean, c’mon it lasts forever!  I’m talking the real deal here, actual Tupperware, not that fake stuff like Rubbermaid and Ziplock and stuff.  Well, I recently watched Plastic Planet and I had a serious moral dilemma with my love of Tupperware.  In fact, the irony is that the morning after watching Plastic Planet on Netflix I received a big box of Tupperware on my front porch.  Ugh.

I finally decided that I’m not going to quit using plastic wrap, or reusable plastic bottles, or my tv, or my clothes, or the 8 million other plastic components in our lives, and I’m certainly not going to be sending glass containers with my kindergartner for lunch (nor do I want to use 8 million little ziplock baggies).  I do believe in reusing plastic containers, reducing the number of plastic bags that I use, using safe plastic in the kitchen, and keeping my girls safe when they help me prep and cook.  Well, to make a long story short, I believe in Tupperware being one of the safest plastics, I believe it does help me reduce my overall carbon footprint, and since there is no way to completely eliminate plastic from our lives, why start with Tupperware?

Also, I might have shattered a mason jar on my kitchen floor on Tuesday morning and had to spend a ridiculous amount of time cleaning it up (since it magically spread across 3 rooms).  Then I had to re-clean it up, yep that’s right, re-clean it up.  My dogs decided to knock my trash can over later that day in hopes of getting some hot dog leftovers and they spread that dang shattered glass all over the kitchen floor again.  I realized twice in one day that had it been Tupperware I could have just picked it up and been done in like half a second.  Stupid shattered glass.  (That’s a cleaned up version of actually what went through my head.)

Judge me if you want, but I like my Tupperware and I’m keeping it.

All that to say…right now Tupperware has this super cool “The Place for Seals” on sale.  It’s only $11!  But, only til Friday (4/12/2013).

It organizes all your seals (that’s Tupperware speak for lids) in one place.  It makes me so happy I can’t even tell you.  (So, even if you have Pyrex or Glasslock or Ziplock or Rubbermaid, it will still organize your lids!)  Seriously, isn’t that the thing you hate most about food storage containers…the nightmare of the overflowing, lost, and mess of lids?

Can’t believe I’m doing a whole post on “The Place for Seals”.  Yikes.  Don’t.Shoot.Me.  But it’s only on sale til Friday so I couldn’t resist and have you be mad that I knew about this and didn’t tell you.

And if you owned one of these you’d understand.

If you’re smart, and you are, you’ll send me a message (sarahfae@gmail.com) and order one.

Fine print: I need your order by noon on Friday (4/12/2013).  It’s $12.94 including tax & shipping (for the locals only – Salem, Centralia, Mt. Vernon, Edwardsville, Glen Carbon, Maryville, Troy, etc., because I’ll be delivering it to you once I get them in).

And because I love you guys, I’m giving one away!  For every “The Place for Seals” that you order I will put your name in a drawing and one lucky orderer will win one on me!

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What is your favorite way to reduce, reuse, and recylce?

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Hi, I’m Still Alive.

Just in case you were wondering.

What have I been doing?  Oh, you know, a little bit of this and that.  Mostly driving myself crazier and crazier.  I’m sure my family thinks that I have gone totally cray cray.   I am a little bit up and down.  And by a little bit, I mean A LOT.

It took one thing to totally take me by surprise and throw me off my rocker.  Not sure if it was that one thing hitting deeper than I realized or the hormones or maybe both.  Anyways, not too happy with God lately for these blasted hormones.  I mean, I know he made women to have hormones and be up and down, but seriously.  I kinda envy the men folk (or at least Husband and several other men I know) for being all even keel and steady and such.  (Well, I only envy them until I get really excited or angry and want a reaction from them and then suddenly I’m infuriated by their steadiness.  I mean, c’mon, a little emotion please.)  The joke is that I married Mr. Grace.  And let me tell you, it’s a darn good thing I did.  I sure did need that grace last week, and yesterday, and today, and probably tomorrow too.

Anyways, so I’m still learning how to drift on these emotional tides.  This time what I did was just quit.  I mean not in a bad way, but I gave up trying to keep up with the dishes and the laundry and keeping my house all together.  I gave trying to be a perfect mom, ha, like that’s going to happen anyways, and I gave myself some space.  The girls got a little introduction to the cray cray tides of mommy.  You know, where one minute you’re screaming at them and the next you’re making their day by taking them to McDonalds and the park.  Yep, we ate McDonalds.   That’s when you know it’s bad.  When you’ll take them to McDonalds so you don’t have to fix a PB&J.  By the way, one of my least favorite things to do in life is make PB&J sandwiches.  Ridiculous, I know, it’s not like its rocket science but I’ll do a lot to get out of making one, case in point McDonalds.

When the swings of emotion (depression, hormonal, or life) hit I’m learning to just ride it.  I might as well just feel it rather than pretend I’m not totally swinging from the chandelier and stuff.   And if we were fancy enough to have a chandelier I might have literally swung from it last week just to get a break.  I’m trying not to yell (well, not as much as I really want to) even when things totally drive me nuts or when I’m livid.  I’m trying not to be hateful, demeaning, and condemning when I talk to the girls.  I’m trying to just tell them that I’m sad or that I my heart hurts and it makes me grouchy and that I’m sorry.  Because one day (like tomorrow) they’re going to have these crazy emotions too and I want them to know that it’s ok to have bad days, grouchy days, sad days, and that there is love and grace and acceptance on those days too.

I’m learning that no matter what causes the down swing of emotions, that I am not in control, but thankfully I know the one who is.  And He’s big enough to hear my complaints and begging for things to change.  He’s also big enough not to be swayed by my crazy swings of emotion.

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On the Edge of Crazy

You know I had a counselor once that said a very wise thing.  It’s something that I have gone back to on multiple occasions.  It doesn’t change my circumstances, it doesn’t fix anything, but it does make me feel a little less crazy.  Are you ready for it?

Paraphrased: You guys are in the hardest season on your lives.  You’re parents of young children, at the bottom of your pay scale (hopefully), running your own business, and away from your family.  You are doing more work now than any other season and more work than most people.  (Her words not mine.)

I mean seriously, anybody else get super tired of waking up thinking, well, once I get out of this bed there will be no stopping.  I will literally have something that needs to be done (and then some) every waking moment that I have.  I will never get caught up.  I will go to bed with the same stuff on my list as the night before and then some.

As I type I look at my disaster of a kitchen and 2 loads of laundry on the bed (unfolded of course), the dryer just dinged, and the washing machine is still running.  Does it ever end?  I’m afraid not.  I’m pretty sure it’s the curse of the earth.  Everything fights against us, including those “sweet” little beings that we birth.  It’s a good thing kids are cute.

I’m a task-oriented extroverted person so maybe this is harder for me than it is for some of you.  Maybe this is me being forced to continue learning the never-ending lesson that people and experiences are more important than perfect, clean, and completion.  In fact, maybe I’ll start retraining my mind (insert sarcasm), “Self, look at it this way, with all the added things to do you get to create more check-lists, you get to check more off, there is more opportunity for organization” (end sarcasm).

I know.  I know.  “Treasure these years.”  “They grow up so fast.”  “They’ll be gone before you know it.”  Blah blah blah.  One painstaking day at a time and it sure doesn’t feel fast.  It feels slower than molasses.

Yes yes I know.  This could be the depression or the hormones talking.  Tomorrow I could quite possibly wake up and regret writing this.  But, truth be told, this represents more than just today.  Now, I don’t always feel so miserable or resent it as much.  And mostly I’m happy to be where I am.  I’m not jumping off a cliff or anything (so family, don’t lose any sleep over this).  But I do get tired.  And I’m guessing this is normal??

Another opportunity to preach the gospel to my own heart.  What in the world does that look like?  Heck if I know.  In my head it sounds like these questions.  Am I putting others’ interests before my own?  Is this bricks with no straw (more on that in a later post or read Redemption).  Has God given me the tools that I need?  Am I alone?  Is God’s story for my life better than the story that I would write for my life?  Also, I spend a lot of time praying what I’m actually feeling and thinking instead of pretending to God that I’m enjoying everything that I have to do or pretending that this is easy.

Practically speaking, I really am trying to retrain my mind.  Which usually sounds like this, “Self, are you going to want to do this later?  Um, no, idiot, I’m not.  Well then, do it now and get it over with.  (little kid mimicking voice) You do it now and get it over with.”  Or it sounds like this, “C’mon, just do it.  Just finish folding this basket.  Just finish one more thing.  Just look at this 12 inches.  Now, just look at this 12 inches.”  Or “OTIO.  Only.Touch.It.Once.  C’mon don’t move it, put it away.  OTIO.”  Also you should know that in my head it sounds like Oh-Teeeee-Oh.

End rant.  Sorry everyone.  That’s what today felt like.  Thank goodness my momma is coming in the morning!

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Any other moms of young kids feel crazy like me?

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