tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42426249936288065832024-03-13T21:23:32.467-06:00through the looking glass"Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely..."camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.comBlogger277125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-3919298388152424492019-01-25T17:44:00.001-07:002019-01-25T17:44:08.788-07:00the forgotten onesThe mountains glow pink from the setting sun,<br />
and the snow reflects perfection,<br />
and I am sitting here holding my heart in my hands to try and keep it from bleeding out.<br />
<br />
No one told me that grief and regret were part of the package, even after you'd done the hard thing and blown up your life.<br />
No one told me that you could get a happy ending, and find your one true love, and still walk around with a gaping wound in your chest.<br />
I didn't know that every sweet thing would always have a bitter aftertaste because of the life I'd lived before.<br />
<br />
I am being asked to hold too much.<br />
Grief comes in waves, and I find myself drowning in it and relishing the way it burns my lungs and takes my tears all the way down into its depths.<br />
<br />
The sky is dark,<br />
and the mountains are harsh with blues and grays and blacks,<br />
and I am sitting here holding my heart in my hands as it just keeps on beating.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-18604751594270899822018-09-21T12:04:00.003-06:002018-09-21T12:04:39.097-06:00blood and boneIt's dark, and I'm falling.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
My knuckles are white from gripping the arms of the patio chair and I can't keep my eyes open, no matter how badly I want to. I pry my eyelids apart one last time and glance over to make sure that he's still there.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
My beautiful man, my person, my home.</div>
<br />
And then I fall even deeper.<br />
<br />
The vertigo never stops, but it gets brighter and suddenly I'm there. I'm in that room, on that bed and he's prying my legs apart and I'm saying, "No. No, I don't want to. Please, I said no, please stop, please don't."<br />
I get more frantic when I realize the pressure on my legs is the same and I can't move. I can't get away. "No no no nononononononno don't, please, please, please, please stop, please, I don't want it, please..."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
There's a part of me that can hear my screaming, hear the wounded animal noises I'm making, the keening and wailing of a body violated. Suddenly I realize those noises are coming from me <i>now, </i>right now, my body is ripping itself apart and my voice refuses to be silent any longer. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Arms around my chest, holding me together while I'm flying apart, and a voice in my ear reminding me who I am and where I am and how loved and safe and cherished I am, even in <i>this</i>...</div>
<br />
I'm still falling. I'm still breaking. He's inside me now, moving, telling me that he knows I like this, I've told him I like this, and doesn't it feel good? He knows it feels good. Come on Cami, tell me how good it feels. My body has stopped resisting and my brain has left the building. I'm a shell on the bed, going through the motions, making the noises he wants, moving the way he dictates.<br />
<br />
And yet... there's a spark that's buried, that's hiding to survive, that's whispering in my ear, "I don't think we wanted this. I don't think that we're okay with this..." and it's the spark that remains the key, that unlocks the truth of this night, the truth of the snake that crawled inside of me and tried to break me to keep me caged.<br />
<br />
Eventually my body gives him what he wants. A burst of physical pleasure for both him and I that leaves him panting, and me curled on my side, coated in sweat and shame. The next day he is benevolent and kind, rewarding me with all of the things I used to beg for, but stopped requesting when I realized the price was something I refused to pay. He is constantly reminding me of how good last night was, wasn't it Cami? Wasn't it so good and hot and sexy? And I can't understand why I feel so sick, so ill, so nauseated and unnerved.<br />
<br />
I was drunk. He's my husband. We had sex. I know I hadn't wanted to, but I must have changed my mind at some point. He's my husband. It was just sex. Why does it feel so <i>bad</i>?<br />
<br />
And I quiet that spark even further and put it out of my mind and chalk it up to the beginning of the ending of our marriage.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Until the night that I am safe and drunk again and I fall into the well of darkness that my brain has been hiding and the spark roars into a flame and I realize</div>
<br />
he raped me.<br />
<br />
That husband, now my ex-husband, held me down and forced his way inside of me,<br />
and<br />
raped<br />
me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
And now it is today. I am learning how to live in a body that has been taken by someone who had no right to take it. By someone who thought they owned me, all of me, and needed to remind both of us that he could take what he wanted when he wanted it.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
The poison is out. It's on this page, spewed out in black and white, melting holes through my computer screen. The acid of the unknown isn't churning away inside of me anymore. Now there is just this truth that I have to learn how to heal from and put into my story without becoming subject to it. This will take time, I know. It will take tears and rage and love and truth and safety. I have all of those things now.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I am alive.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I am safe.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I am still here.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
This is not the end. It is the beginning.</div>
camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-55770452620181232902015-08-27T15:25:00.001-06:002015-08-27T15:25:23.914-06:00What do I even call this?Lately I've been doing a lot of unraveling.<br />
<br />
I'm discovering threads of false narratives that I've had woven through my life, and as I start to pull on them to see what they're really made of, I'm finding out that they're actually dry and brittle and covered with dust. This is a strange and slightly scary phenomenon, because I used to have such strong convictions about certain things--hills I was willing to stick my flag in and die on. But with a little tugging and a little digging, I'm realizing that these hills are actually precariously stacked empty boxes that topple over fairly easily.<br />
<br />
It's disconcerting to be at the bottom of a battle you thought you had won.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I think the scarier part is wondering how people I love and value and treasure and respect are going to react when I finally "out" myself. Will they still love me, and (even more than that) respect me and my views? Will they take the time to listen and wrestle with the things that I have wrestled with? Will they believe me when I say I did not set out to become the opposite of the person I used to be?<br />
<br />
All of a sudden I have new battles to fight, new hills to dig into, and new faces in new camps to familiarize myself with. And I'd hope in the middle of all of it--all the battles, all the camps, all the faces--we'd still find Jesus, together. In fact, I'd hope that there would be no more battles and no more camps. Just people who love the same miraculous, holy, GodPerson that came to save us all. Why can't we just have that?<br />
<br />
I'm tired of fighting with people. It just makes me tired and weary, and so, so sad. I think it's hard for us to remember (or understand, if we've not yet done it for ourselves) how scary it is to find yourself on the opposite side of a very strong conviction you once held. It's so difficult to see your thinking change with every jarring thought that drives it in even deeper. All of a sudden, this new conviction, this new truth, is everywhere. Headbutting you in the face. Making sure you don't forget and that you don't ever get comfortable. And all your memories start bubbling to the surface, and you begin to realize how colored they were by what you used to believe.<br />
<br />
I know this is mumbo-jumbo and so vague, but I don't know how else to explain it.<br />
<br />
How else do I explain the searing pain that cuts across my heart every time communion is served and I am reminded that the place I worship in tells me that I may never offer this beautiful sacrament to another believer simply because I am a woman?<br />
Or the tears that fill my eyes when I see people running away from Christ and His perfect love because people that call themselves Christians have felt the need to tell them that they are condemned to hell for loving someone of the same gender?<br />
Or the anger that rips through my brain when I hear people shame teenage girls for being teenage girls and having teenage girl bodies that they need to "cover up" so we can protect our teenage boys from sinning?<br />
<br />
I just don't have anything left. And I'm at the point in my life where I'd rather be accused of loving too much and too extravagantly than loving too little. I'd rather be known for being "permissive" than for persecuting. I just would.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-14832650372984663352015-06-03T10:01:00.002-06:002015-06-03T10:01:49.213-06:00the well runs deep and dryI've got so much to say, but my brain is like a colander and it just slides right out before I can catch it.<br />
<br />
1. I read an article a few days ago where the author talked about how we have this internalized fat-shaming thing going on. We can look at other people and accept them where we are and think that they are beautiful, but when we look at ourselves, we just can't do that. She said, "If you hate the way your before picture looks, do you think I need to lose weight?" insinuating that if we don't like the way we look, do we think that people who look similar to us need to change as well?<br />
I was so struck by that.<br />
<br />
Because I look at all the beautiful people I'm surrounded by, and I am so proud of them and their accomplishments. Sure, I see physical "flaws" (society says), but I applaud them for using their bodies and don't judge them or think they should change their appearance. However, I can pick myself apart in front of a mirror in 2.5 seconds and give you a blanket list of everything on my body that needs to change.<br />
<br />
Why? Why can I find other people beautiful and worthy, but not do it for myself? My body is healthy and strong, it makes babies and keeps them alive, it loves people well, it goes on adventures and explores, and generally lets me live a wonderful and beautiful life. So why can't I see all of <i>that</i> when I look in the mirror, instead of the layer of fat riding on top of my stomach, or the cellulite all over my thighs?<br />
<br />
I become consumed with a sort of panic--<i>I need to change this now!</i> and it deteriorates into, "How can I change (read: become acceptable) myself as soon as possible?" Counting calories, elimination diets, health supplements, any and everything gets thrown onto the drawing board, because pretty soon it deteriorates into being all about appearance rather than taking care of myself.<br />
Basically, I'm having a hard time right now. I feel like a gigantic, enormous failure, because I reached so many goals and finally felt at peace with myself and my body while also improving my health, but now I'm here, 3 years later, and I just feel stuck. I'm tired of the process, I'm tired of picking myself back up after I fall face-first into a pile of sugar, and I want a quicker fix (but am coming back to the fact that I don't think there is one).<br />
<br />
2. This <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIzgyW95grc" target="_blank">video </a>makes me cry every single time I watch it, because it speaks to so many areas of my heart that just feel bruised and battered right now.<br />
<br />
Women's roles in ministry (and all of the discrimination/inequality my eyes are finally seeing)<br />
<br />
Pursuing your dreams and calling, in spite of logistics<br />
<br />
Making room for my husband's calling, and helping him pursue it<br />
<br />
I am wrestling, wrestling, wrestling.<br />
I feel like Jacob, when he spent the night wrestling with God, and got so tired, but he wouldn't stop until God blessed him. I can't leave this alone, even if I am injured in the process, because I just need to know. So I keep sweating, and straining, and yelling at God to let me in, let me see, let me hear, because I want it all.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-33283444278442420382015-05-01T23:16:00.000-06:002015-05-01T23:16:18.914-06:00I was never meWhy is it that women are often so encouraged to give up every piece of themselves for their families or their loved ones, and put being themselves on hold until everyone else is done and taken care of? Why are we the ones expected to raise our children, keep our homes in order, and keep telling our dreams, "Not today, dear ones. Check with me tomorrow."?<br />
<br />
There is honor in laying down your life for someone else.<br />
No greater honor, in fact.<br />
<br />
But where is the honor if you're not living the life you are laying down?<br />
Where is the sacrifice if you don't even realize what it is you're giving up?<br />
<br />
I just finished watching 'Wild'. It was beautiful and it made my heart pound and soar in so many magnificent and uncomfortable ways. I understood Cheryl, identified with her in so many ways. I understand the desire to push grief away, to numb it up so high that you can't feel anything anymore, let alone the pain that's cutting your soul open. But at the end of it all, there comes a point where you realize the only way to stay you, or even find out who you are, is to simply walk straight through it. Straight to the heart of it all, the corners of your mind that you'd rather never see or visit or even acknowledge.<br />
<br />
Because how can you know who you are if you don't even know what's hiding inside of you?<br />
I've been in a season of walking through grief, and it lasted for a long time. Years, even. The most secure things in the world were ripped open and shaken up, and I had to decide who I was and where I stood, even when I had no ground left.<br />
Lately, I've been in a season of rebuilding and implementing the things I've discovered. I'm trying my very best to hold onto the things I learned in the fire, and to carry them with me into this new season. But I still think there's more to go. There are things left unseen inside of me, and I think I know this. There are places that I just don't want to go, because they're too dark and too hard and I am so afraid of what is lurking behind those corners.<br />
<br />
Who am I, really, in the shadows?<br />
What if I would choose to make the same mistakes?<br />What if I would choose to change them all?camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-17319169168984676592015-04-24T10:27:00.000-06:002015-04-24T10:27:07.286-06:00On why I am tired of The ChurchOh, I am so weary.<br />
Today I have just had it. The straw that broke the camel's back landed in my bag and I am firmly on the other side of "I'm done".<br />
<br />
I am so <i>tired</i> of this Church.<br />
<br />
This judgmental, angry, hypocritical, whitewashed church.<br />
The ones who spout love with one breath, and judgment and condemnation with another.<br />
<br />
The ones who claim to follow Christ, and yet seem to ignore those great commandments of loving God first and then loving others. (Can we all take a minute and note how we, ourselves, do not even make the top list of people we are supposed to care about?!)<br />
<br />
I am so worn out from fighting it, and trying to convince myself that it's not like this, and that The Church is still there and still beautiful, and still in love with Christ. Because right now, when I look around, I see a Church in love with the Law and in love with themselves and this masquerade of Righteousness that they are convinced they are living out. Like the Crusaders, firmly convinced that spreading Christianity means beating other people to death.<br />
<br />
I just can. not. take. any. more.<br />
<br />
So I'm out.<br />
Do you hear me?<br />
<br />
I am OUT, Church.<br />
<br />
You can find me in the dens of iniquity, hiding with my LGBTQ family, my fellow addicts, losers, left-wing, liberal, worldly, SINNERS.<br />
Because that is who I am, and this is where I belong. Right back in the place that Jesus plucked me from, so that I can hope and pray that He will use me to help pluck someone else from that place. I cannot hold my head up high anymore and say that I am okay with the attitudes running through the Evangelical Church right now. The judgment disguised as "encouragement", the hypocrisy disguised as care, the moral high ground disguised as leadership. I don't want any part of it.<br />
<br />
I love my local church body. I love my fellow Christians who are truly in love with Christ and are genuinely living that out. I love the women that, every day, push me to challenge my old ways and thinking and to make sure they truly line up with Scripture and the life God calls me to live. Those are the people I will cling to and fight the battles of this world with. But I am tired of trying to align myself with others who believe that people are the enemy, and not the evil authorities of the spiritual realm.<br />
<br />
I just don't have the energy to <i>hate </i>anymore.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-88297496734077923502015-04-16T14:00:00.000-06:002015-04-16T14:00:09.989-06:00write what you knowI've been blogging for a long time. A little over ten years actually. In that time, I've gone from being an angsty teen, pouring out her emotions all over the interwebz, to entering a mommy-blogger-wannabe phase in which I really struggled with marketing myself and attempting to monetize my blog and profit off of it, and now finally landing in this strange area where I am so much a mother and so deep in my own mire that I have often wondered if there is any point in trying to keep this thing going.<br />
<br />
You may have gathered this by now, but I am struggling with the value and purpose of my own story.<br />
<br />
It feels like everyone else, it seems like I have nothing new to contribute to the conversation, and I remain unconvinced that I need to add to the virtual noise that is currently streaming around us.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for me (and maybe you, if you're stuck reading this), I have never, ever, ever, throughout my entire life, been able to turn off the word faucet. I've tried many times, and I've gotten it to dry up to a trickle, but it remains steadfastly flowing and moving, whether I want it to or not. Which always leaves me here, in a quiet room with fingers tapping and a brain trying to translate all the electrical pulses flowing through it into coherent words and sentences, like:<br />
<br />
<b>Inadequacy</b><br />
-This is a supreme emotion, one that tears through my body with free reign, wreaking havoc and chaos wherever it goes. It tells me that I am not enough, have never been enough, and will not ever be enough. It declares, loudly and triumphantly, "You lose, you fail, you fall short, you are worthless for even trying, so <i>just give up already</i>." It attacks at all angles, leaving no area of my life untouched, and no accomplishment unblemished. It has tormented me for as long as I can remember, and even though I feel like I have gotten much stronger at battling it, there are still seasons where it just seems to be lurking around every corner.<br />
<br />
<b>Selfishness</b><br />
-This sneaky bugger whispers that only truly selfish women believe that they should have a purpose outside of motherhood (which, interestingly enough, means that it co-mingles with <b>pride</b>) and for me to take time away from my family, or even feel like I deserve time away, means that I am filled with the utmost of selfish longings and am once again, <b>inadequate </b>in so many areas.<br />
<br />
<b>Disappointment</b><br />
Ah, the sting of an unfulfilled dream and a life left un-lived. Blessed as I am, there are too many moments (<b>selfishness</b>) where I find myself wondering what it is that I'm doing and why. This is often followed by long diatribes in which I moan about how I'm too young to be married and have two children, and mourn the loss of the life I could have had, had I made a different choice: (<i>insert life choice here</i>)<br />
<br />
And so there you have it.<br />
The ugly, rambling impulses of my brain that is chronically sleep-deprived, ridiculously overworked, and probably under-nourished. Heaven knows why I'm even putting this out there, but I think it's because I just can't let the toxicity of it all keep building up in my brain and the internet seems as good a place as any to dump your baggage.<br />
<br />
Voila, interwebz. The drama continues.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-30799589694981740622015-04-14T21:34:00.001-06:002015-04-14T21:35:31.875-06:00burn(ing) outHonestly.<br />
<div>
I've tried to write these words down for days and weeks and months, and I get so discouraged because they're the same words that I've been writing, and the same ideas and concepts that other women have been writing, and I just keep talking myself out of it, because <i>who needs to hear the same thing over and over?</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Honestly.</div>
<div>
I'm in a hard place right now. I'm burned out, I'm emotionally exhausted and mentally spent. I am fighting the comparisons with other women who seem to have found their place and are fulfilled by doing all those things that they say God wants for them to do. I'm embarrassed by my lack of contentment in my life right now and by my desire for a life that has more meaning. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Honestly.</div>
<div>
I'm filling my days up in an effort to feel important, to prove to the world that I have just as much worth and value as everyone else, because look at what I can offer--but really I'm just spinning my wheels and lighting a fire inside of myself that burns so brightly it threatens to reduce me to ash when it's gone. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Honestly.</div>
<div>
There is ugliness hiding here. Ugliness in the shape of jealousy, comparison, discontentment, selfishness, impatience, rage. This heart is a black hole.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Honestly.</div>
<div>
I am afraid. I am afraid of who I am right now, I am afraid of what I am on my way to becoming, and I am afraid of what I might miss out on in the future because I didn't work hard enough in the past. I am also exhausted, in a way that is more than just sleep-deprivation. It's an exhaustion of the soul, of the heart--a weary mind crying out, "I give up! I cannot do this anymore, I cannot live up to these expectations, and I'd rather lie here in the dirt than keep trying to play this game of pretend."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Honestly.</div>
<div>
I don't know how to write anymore. And that is just one more log on the fire, one more rock to add to my pile. Writing was a gift, a calling, and I feel like I've wasted it. Babies, and housekeeping, and a different life took over and now it's just a whisper of something I used to know. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The baby is crying, it's getting late, and I know I've got a full schedule tomorrow. And so that's the end of that.</div>
camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-33642257773552776492015-02-12T23:28:00.000-07:002015-02-12T23:30:53.838-07:00the luck of the draw (or reader)Today it occurred to me that every single person out there who writes books and blog posts that command audiences of thousands are still just <i>one single person</i>.<br />
<br />
Just one. One person, with their singular thoughts and viewpoints on things, but for whatever reason, the world has risen up to take notice and now listens to what they have to say and values their opinion in some form or another.<br />
<br />
How does this process even happen? How do you hit that lucky post or book or paragraph that defines you and draws a crowd, making everyone rise and say, "This person has something valuable to say and we should definitely listen."<br />
<br />
Oh fate. What a fickle beast of burden you are.<br />
<br />
Today, as I was lying on my bed after trying to get the toddler down for a nap for the third time, I had a moment of overwhelming despair (as is rather common for the stay-at-home mother on a Thursday afternoon). 'What am I doing with my life? No one sees this. No one knows that I'm even here, fighting these little, seemingly insignificant battles that all add up to one very significant life. Is this really all I was made for?'<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I know what I do is important. I know some consider it to be the most important job in the world, molding young lives. I know that I am the only mother my children will ever have, that I am the perfect mother for <i>those</i> kids, that what I am doing is worthwhile and worthy.<br />
<br />
But sometimes, those creeping moments catch you unguarded, flat on your back with sweatpants on, dirty hair, and a feverish preschooler on the couch, and you are simply stripped bare to your core--"Who am I? Whose life am I living?" We all like to think that we're the special ones, the ones worth listening to, the ones ready to command the world to sit up and notice us--Hear what we have to say, oh Earth! Listen to our lofty and glorious opinions!<br />
<br />
Tragically, most of us don't actually get a say, and the world really doesn't care what we think. And sometimes that's depressing and full of despair, but other times it's full of relief. A sigh of freedom, at the end of the night when the kids are in bed and the dishes are done and it's all you had to do. Netflix is waiting, there's a wine glass in hand, and its not up to you to save the world or change anyone's opinion on anything, other than how great 'Gilmore Girls' is. So sometimes this life is enough. Sometimes this body is beautiful, with it's soft edges and it's scars and strong arms from carrying children and creaky knees from a life of ice skating and bending and climbing and running and <i>living. </i>Sometimes this mind is wise, full of knowledge from mistakes made and lessons learned and facts gained from reading, reading, reading. Sometimes this heart is just tender enough, in the face of a sick son, and an accomplished daughter, and a hard-working husband, and a God who is merciful. Sometimes this soul is full up of the things God has done, the promises He has kept and the gestures He has made in this very ordinary, very important, very average life.<br />
<br />
Sometimes the words are enough, if I'd just sit down and let them out once in awhile.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-89887727163258179812014-12-06T22:55:00.001-07:002014-12-06T22:55:24.257-07:00soul-girlThe Christmas tree is glowing in my dark living room, I'm in sweatpants and my favorite lounging shirt, and I've got a glass of Bailey's next to me. It's my favorite time of year, and I'm doing my damndest to soak up what I can.<br />
<br />
We've seen the lights downtown, gone to storytime and listened to "The Polar Express" (my favorite Christmas book). We decorated the tree, remembering the story behind each special ornament and collectively "awwww"-ing when we turned the lights on for the first time. We're spending time together, which is such a stark contrast from the hell that we were fighting through last year, and I'm enjoying it all, truly.<br />
<br />
<i>(Here it comes...)</i><br />
<br />
But I still feel lost. Like I'm going through the motions and scrabbling to grab hold of something that will strike a chord deep within me and remind me of who I am and help me figure out where I went. Because I just don't know. I feel like I'm treading water while being rushed down a river and my life is whizzing by me on the shore. I can't find anything of substance to anchor myself to, and I don't have anything solid on which to plant my feet and say, "Yes. This is it. This is where I need to dig in and stay."<br />
<br />
I remember hearing something once about how it's better to pick one thing you're good at, and work really hard at it and become excellent, rather than dabbling in a hundred things and being mediocre at all of them. And I kind of feel that way about my life, except I don't know who I am or what I'm good at to even know what to invest my time in (other than the obvious and inescapable things that I MUST do, like being a mother or a wife). I feel like my time is already so limited and rare, that I want whatever I choose to be worth it. It needs to be worth the sacrifice of all the things I WON'T do, so that I can do that one thing instead.<br />
<br />
Is that even coherent?<br />
(Maybe the Bailey's is kicking in.)<br />
<br />
I look around me and I see all these women living out their talents and their gifts and achieving the dreams they talked about for so long. It digs at my heart and envy rises up in my throat before I even realize that it's there, and I start to think that maybe I should chase after their dream, when in reality all I really want is to fulfill MY purpose here. But then this leads me back to the fact that I don't even know what that is.<br />
<br />
Do I write?<br />
Do I take pictures?<br />
Do I cook?<br />
Do I take on women's ministry?<br />
Do I lead?<br />
Do I teach?<br />
Do I find a "real" job?<br />
<br />
A friend told me that I needed to start doing something just for me, something that fed my soul.<br />
My response?<br />
"I don't even know what that looks like anymore."<br />
<br />
I feel like I used to know. I used to live in this space of being a "creative" person that surrounded herself with art and music and words and emotions. I used to write every day, and carry my camera everywhere I went, and wander museums, and cry and laugh and scream and run and live in this sensitive space close to my heart. Then I got older and our life changed and the worst year of our lives came upon us and I closed up that space to try and block off some of the emotional nerve-endings that just kept getting ripped apart. I began to realize that there is no guarantee that life will get better. That the definition of "long-suffering" is <i>long</i>, and that God is under no obligation to ever give me that idyllic life I once dreamt of that involves me being successful at whatever it is I decided to invest in.<br />
<br />
And now the battle doesn't rage quite so loudly, and the immediate trauma is over, but I'm still left in this aftermath of a hardened heart and a pile of rubble where my soul used to be. I miss that girl. That naive, careless, stupid, emotional girl that felt everything and shied away from nothing and believed that the things that made her cry were important and worthwhile.<br />
<br />
Where'd you go, soul-girl? And will you ever come back?camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-4058777302149097742014-11-23T15:39:00.002-07:002014-11-23T15:39:54.218-07:00rust and dust and dry bonesIt's been too long.<br />
(I feel like I'm always saying that.)<br />
<br />
I don't know where writing fits into my life anymore, or even where it should fit.<br />
It was a part of my identity that I clung to for so long, doling it out whenever I could help it.<br />
"What do you do?"<br />
"I just want to write."<br />
<br />
And now that feels...still true, and also not true.<br />
For so long writing was air, it was breathing, it was life.<br />
But then I started living without it and realized that I could.<br />
<br />
Now I'm back from the experiment and I don't know if I've learned that I can live without it, or if I've learned that just because I can doesn't mean I should. I think I get stuck inside my head too much, and I censor myself before I've even had a chance to unravel what needs to be said and what needs to be put forward. I can't figure out who my audience is or should be and so I never know what to say because I don't know that (the proverbial) you need to hear.<br />
<br />
And lately all I can think about it purpose and meaning.<br />
Do I matter? Does my story have a place in this world? Is what I'm doing enough? Does what I do make any sort of difference? And if it does, to who? And are they enough to keep going?<br />
<br />
Motherhood has taken over my identity. It has usurped any sense of "woman" that I used to have. Now, before I am a woman, or a wife, or a writer, I am a mom. And I don't think that this is the right order. It's not supposed to be that way, but how do you tell yourself that when it's 1 am, and your daughter is clinging to you while your son snuggles himself into the curve of your back and it's going on 24 hours that you've literally had someone touching you at all times and you just need to breathe for. one. second. How do you hold onto your sense of self in those moments? Who are you? Who am I? Who am I supposed to be?<br />
<br />
There are a hundred and one blog posts out there in internet world telling us that yes, motherhood matters, and don't worry about the crumbs on the floor because there is glory and purpose in the mundane, and just look in your child's eyes and see the purpose that God has put there, and just hang on sweet momma because this will be over before you know it--but what happens when it's over and you've lost yourself in the process and your kids leave and it's just you and God almighty left. Who are you then?<br />
I don't want that to be me. And I don't want this to be one more page of words in the internet world talking about glory in the mundane and purpose in the dirt on the floor. Because all of that is true, but isn't it also true that we were created for more than this? We were created to live, and we were all gifted with the ability to do something that makes our souls fly and our hearts sing. So what do you do when you can't find it and all you've got left is the dirt? And those children, those two beautiful children with the chocolate brown eyes, and the chubby fingers, and the dimples, that will suck every last bit of <i>you</i> out of your body if you let them--what about the moments where your soul is doing the opposite of flying when you look at them and your heart is dying a slow death instead?<br />
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Dear God, give me back a piece of myself. Show me what to run towards, instead of trying to force my life into the picture I think it should look like. Because I know myself. I run towards shiny objects, and a life that looks full of happiness and perfection, but when I get there (IF I get there), it's never what I thought it was going to be. I'm tired of running for fool's gold. I want the real life, the full life, the God-life. I want the fulfillment that comes from knowing that I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing exactly where I am supposed to be doing it. I want the peace that comes from being filled and then turning around and filling others. I need that peace. I'm dying for it. If ever there was someone parched for Living Water, dear God, it's me.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-15624005738023254152014-05-05T13:10:00.003-06:002014-05-05T13:10:54.558-06:00The new thing...You guys.<br />
<br />
I'm not a salesperson.<br />
I'm an introvert.<br />
I hate random phone calls and talking to strangers. It makes me nervous.<br />
<br />
BUT.<br />
<br />
Now I am a salesperson?<br />
Actually, I kind of hate that word. It sounds shady.<br />
I'm a business owner, and independent distributor of some amazing healthcare products.<br />
<br />
There. That's better.<br />
<br />
Here's the low-down:<br />
My friend Sarah, has been posting on Facebook lately about this company called ItWorks! I've been seeing pictures and comments from all over the place about this company and their products and could not hold my curiosity back. I'd first seen these products over a year ago when I was living in England, but didn't really have access to them, and had also just gotten pregnant so I wasn't able to try the wraps (which is what I was really interested in).<br />
But then they popped back into my life and I just could not. let. it. go.<br />
<br />
I finally broke down and messaged Sarah one night, asking all of my skeptical questions, just so I could prove to myself that it was a scam and way too good to be true and finally get some peace back in my head.<br />
But then she answered all my questions, and it started to make sense, and it was stuck in my brain even more strongly.<br />
<br />
So I took the leap, and I am sooo glad that I did.<br />
<br />
For the longest time, I've felt stuck in this place in my head. I've not had a lot of hope, I've not allowed myself to dream (because they've all sort of disappeared over the last few years), and I had started to just give up on any chance of things changing. I KNEW that in order for things to change you have to actually, you know, change, but I was just stuck. I didn't know how and I didn't know what to do.<br />
<br />
Enter ItWorks, and Sarah, and my own business. The first hour after I signed on to do this thing, I was elated. Then the dread set in, because I started to realize how much out of my comfort zone this was going to push me. And now, I am in this incredible head space of having some DRIVE again and a place to channel it into, and this burning desire to succeed and do this and use this to change my family's life.<br />
I want to do this. I NEED to do this. I need this victory, I need this freedom, I need this change.<br />
As cheesy and drama-filled as it may seem, this may be the thing that changes my life. I'm going to work my tail off to make sure that it does.<br />
<br />
So, before I go off too far down the rabbit trail, can I tell you a little bit about these amazing products I now have access to? Thanks a million.<br />
<br />
First, there's that crazy wrap thing. This is our first-to-market, one-of-a-kind product that is literally taking the world by storm. It's been included in grab-bags at the Emmy's and Oscars, used on movie sets, and helped thousands of people get the jump they needed to get their lifestyle back on the healthy track they were looking for. It's a non-woven cloth filled a botanically-based cream that helps to tighten, tone, and firm your skin. You can put it anywhere on your body from the neck down (and we make a specific one for your face, so you can attack those wrinkles!) and you will start to see results just 45 minutes after using it, and continuing for up to 72 hours. I used one, and the next day I was able to button up my pair of pre-pregnancy jeans with a minimal amount of muffin top. I was so excited I jumped around the house and laughed.<br />
<br />
You guys, I cannot talk these products up enough. They're natural, effective, and so much cheaper than the treatments you'd pay for at a spa. The company is phenomenal to work for, and I've been so blessed by the people I've talked to in the short time that I've been a distributor.<br />
<br />
So, to end this, I would LOVE to talk to you and help you find the products that are right for you. I'd love to help you take your own giant leap of faith and set up your own business so that you can start changing where you're at. Please, please get in touch with me if you're interested. It'll be amazing!<br />
<br />
cnho88@gmail.com or buy products from camilleho.myitworks.comcamille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-49440920588486263942014-02-16T21:03:00.000-07:002014-02-16T21:03:00.265-07:00lost and foundI feel like I spend an abnormal amount of time writing and talking and thinking about motherhood, but I guess that makes sense considering I am swallowed up in it literally 24 hours a day.<br />
<br />
With the addition of a second child, I am finding more and more that I feel like I've completely lost any sense of who I am outside of changing diapers, sweeping crumbs, and trying to come up with creative activities that don't involve any sort of screen or animated character. I forget that I was once a person with autonomy, someone that had talents outside of being able to carry a screaming toddler, carseat with infant inside, AND diaper bag all at once. I used to write, and read books, and have friends, and stay up late talking with my husband <i>just because we could.</i><br />
<br />
Now, I write about my kids, I read about things I need to do so I am better for my kids, I have friends with kids, and I stay up late talking with my husband because it's the only time of day we see each other without being climbed on, puked on, or cried at (unless its me, crying at him).<br />
<br />
I'm trying desperately to regain some of myself, but in doing so, I'm realizing just how much of myself has changed. I look back on that twenty-one year old that flitted around Chicago and I cannot help but wonder at how self-absorbed and so incredibly naive I was. Obviously some of that is normal, since you only change and grow by going through life-altering events, but it also makes me feel like I'm on shaky ground, because I don't know just how much of that silly girl to reclaim. My children are my life, my job--being a mother is what I want to do, and who I want to be. But it's not everything. It can't be everything, because if I lose myself in that, I put the burden of my identity on my kids, and that's something that they should never carry or be responsible for.<br />
<br />
So for now, I'll sit here and try to scrape the rust off my fingers, and pick up a book that has nothing to do with parenting in any sense and I'll try to remember that I am capable of creating things outside of human life (even though they have been my best work yet).camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-5738391624074148212014-02-07T22:43:00.001-07:002014-02-07T22:43:39.439-07:00trenches and ugly hearts<div style="text-align: center;">
I yelled at my son tonight.</div>
<br />
I'd been fighting the black pit of rage for the better portion of an hour as he screamed, bit, punched, kicked, and generally created havoc around him while letting me know that he was absolutely not going to go to bed peacefully. Then he woke up his sister, asked to nurse for the thousandth time, and got mad when he didn't think he'd accomplished a certain task to his satisfaction.<br />
And that is when I just snapped and screamed from deep down inside, right in his face.<br />
And then his heart broke, and he cried despair, and my heart broke, and I immediately hugged him close and said, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Jameson, I'm so sorry. That was wrong, and I am so sorry."<br />
And I was sorry, and heart-broken, but there was this part of me that was still so angry and full of rage, and it battled with the Jesus-portion of my heart that was screaming for me to see past the noise and the emotion and just love on my poor, confused, exhausted two-year old, because he wasn't doing this to me on purpose.<br />
<br />
And once again, I was faced with the reality of just how ugly my heart is.<br />
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I am a mess of emotion lately.</div>
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I've had a few trusted people ask me how I am doing, in regards to PPD, and being on the watch for signs of it to arrive, and I've had to step back and say that I'm really not sure if how I'm feeling has to do with the hormones from giving birth or if it's all just the outcome of circumstances for the last year.</div>
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I know this past year was a hard one for many, and it seems that our family was no exception. We've faced storms that I never thought we'd see, and have been barraged on all sides by an enemy trying to absolutely destroy us. We've come close to destruction, and despair, and I have spent more nights than I care to remember crying out to the Lord to just spare us. Just once, dear God, spare us this heartache.</div>
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And He has answered--in some ways that are satisfying, and others that are not.</div>
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So we continue to hold on, and ride through this hurricane, and pray that it ends one day soon.</div>
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My mantra lately has been, "This will not last."</div>
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Most of the time, I'm using it to try and remind myself to seize the moment and embrace the sweetness of holding my children tight, or listening to them laugh, or watching them learn and explore. But other times it's simply a chant to make myself hold on, to keep battling through, because this insanity cannot last forever. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I am deep in the trenches of motherhood, sometimes so deep that it's difficult for me to see the sky. I have minutes where I find such an incredible joy to have the privilege of staying home with my children and serving my family that I am satisfied deep down into my bones. And then the pendulum will swing, and I find myself wondering why I had children, and questioning if perhaps I am one of those women who only *thought* she should be a mother, but really should never have procreated at all.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I love my children so much that my heart often feels like it's going to burst from the emotion of it all, but I would by lying if I didn't admit that there are many hours I spend missing the time when it was just Hubs and I, and dreaming about what I am going to do with all my free time once my children are grown. Humiliating, but true. </div>
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I am still as selfish as ever. </div>
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In short, every day is a battle, and I give you permission to spend too much money at Chick-Fil-A so that your kid can play behind glass while you drink sugary tea and almost relax for the first time in 24 hours.</div>
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camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-91293689609106525492014-01-03T13:51:00.000-07:002014-01-03T13:51:01.529-07:00[another] birth storyIt feel appropriate to be writing this post to Perry Como crooning Christmas songs in my ear. I have an insane amount of anticipation and excitement for Christmas this year, and those were the same things I have been feeling for the last few weeks while waiting for my daughter--anticipation and excitement.<br />
<div>
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42 weeks and 1 day. That's how long this girl curled herself up inside of me and waited to be born.</div>
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I went into this pregnancy expecting to go past 40 weeks, but I absolutely never expected to go past 42. This girl is already teaching me things like patience, and endurance, and sticking to your guns. But, I digress.</div>
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When we found out we were pregnant, after moving back from the UK, I knew immediately that I would not be birthing in a hospital. I'd had an excellent experience with midwifery care while I was pregnant with Jameson, and in the time since his birth, I've become an even stronger advocate for letting birth be a natural process, not a medical procedure. So, we started looking around and eventually settled on a birth center for this pregnancy. My prenatal care was fantastic, I loved hanging out in this renovated Victorian house at each appointment, and couldn't wait to give birth in a really fancy tub and crawl in that King sized bed afterwards. </div>
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When we hit 40 weeks, my midwives and I began discussing what I wanted to do about letting the pregnancy progress naturally, and exactly how long I wanted to wait before we started to try some natural induction procedures. I honestly did not think she'd be much later than her brother (41 weeks and 1 day), so I said that I'd really rather hold off on anything until at least 41 weeks. I'd have a baby by then anyway.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Well, 41 weeks came and went, and I'd had not even a hint of a contraction. No signs of labor at all. At my prenatal appointment we began to discuss induction a little more. According to state law, if a woman hits 42 weeks in her pregnancy, a physician has to be notified and consulted. If she continues and gets to 43 weeks, her care then must be transferred to an OB at a hospital, which essentially means that they'd hand you a Pitocin drip as soon as you walked through those doors. Keeping this in mind, we decided to go ahead and see if I made it to 42 weeks. If I did, we'd do a membrane sweep as well as some homeopathic remedies and start trying to get this girl out before the 43 week mark. But really, there's no way I'd make it to 42 weeks, because who actually is pregnant that long?</div>
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<div>
And then I actually did hit 42 weeks, and I was pregnant that long. Go figure. So, at my appointment on that 42 week mark, I had my first check (2 cm dilated, 50% effaced) and a very aggressive sweep and stretch, as well as a few different homeopathic remedies to take every hour. I was nice and crampy on the way home, and finally started seeing some interesting things every time I'd go to the bathroom, and I just KNEW that labor was imminent. Contractions were highly irregular, but they were there and I decided there was no way that I could just sit at home and wait for things to pick up. So, Hubs and Jameson and I went out to run a few "nonessential" errands to get my mind off of things and also give us something to do. I put Jameson to bed that night thinking that it was going to be his last night as an only child, and then Hubs and I watched a pretty awful movie while I continued to try and do a few things to keep contractions going. Around 11:30 I decided it was time to try and get some sleep before labor really picked up, which I figured was going to happen sometime in the next few hours.</div>
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I woke up the next morning around 8 am with a sore uterus, but no more contractions or labor signs. The frustration and disappointment was so overwhelming that I laid in bed and just cried for awhile. I was supposed to have a baby by now. I'd held out as long as I possibly could and tried to be patient and let her take her time, but this was the last straw. I felt so defeated at that moment that I just wanted to give up. Thankfully, Hubs knew how upset I was and we decided that more distraction was in order so that we could get through the morning and afternoon before I had to be back at the midwife (at the "just in case" appointment that we'd made the day before, which I was totally not planning on showing up for). So, we went to my favorite breakfast place, I ate a lot of pancakes and just generally tried to enjoy being a family of three for a little while longer.</div>
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I called my mom to drive me to the midwife that afternoon, as contractions started to become irregular again but painful enough that I didn't want to be driving on the freeway and trying to get through them. As soon as we walked in the door, my favorite midwife looked at me and just shook her head. "How are you still pregnant?" she asked. I couldn't even say anything and just shook my head back at her. I had another check and found out that I was now 5cm dilated, 60% effaced and all those sporadic contractions the night before had forced her to roll over and get into the right position for birth (she had flipped back-to-back just a few weeks earlier). When I heard all of this, I wanted to start singing Hallelujah. The night before had actually served a purpose, and 5 cm was already halfway there, which meant that I was actually going to get to have this baby before Thanksgiving. Amazing. They did one more sweep and stretch and I started having irregular contractions pretty much as soon as we walked out of the office. I was hungry, and knew that I needed something in me before labor really picked up, so mom and I decided to finally go order the 'labor-inducing' pizza that everyone had been telling me about, just in case this girl still needed an extra push.</div>
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I remember getting into the car and leaning forward because the midwives had told me to watch my position so that Evie wouldn't roll back over, and then as we were driving, I realized I had a death grip on the upper door handle and was leaning forward to try and help control the pain I was in. When we got to the restaurant, I couldn't sit still and rocked my way through lunch, feeling contractions and trying to focus on the conversation I was having with my mom. I ate about half my pizza and then looked at mom and said, "Okay. I need to go home, put on some sweatpants, and start timing contractions." She sort of gave me this look and said, "Are you sure you want to go home? Do you want me to just take you straight back to the birth center?"</div>
<div>
"No. I want to go home. I need my sweatpants, and I need to time these for just a little while to make sure that things are really happening." I think I was almost afraid to believe that it was all finally starting, and I also didn't want to show up at the birth center and labor there for seven hours, or some ridiculous amount of time, when I could have been at home with my family for a little while longer.</div>
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I called my dad on the drive home and told him that things were happening, but he definitely didn't need to leave work right away. He, however, had been waiting a good two weeks to finally get the 'I'm in labor' phone call, and so he jumped right on it and said that he'd leave now and meet us at my apartment. By the time I got home, contractions were about 3 minutes apart and almost a minute long. I rolled around on my birthing ball for about a half hour and they continued to get stronger and closer together. I was doing my best to keep my face loose and relaxed as well as making sure my throat stayed open--I wanted to try and stay in control of my emotions as much as possible this time and I knew that I had to make sure that I relaxed and focused through each contraction. Finally, about an hour after we got home, I went to the bathroom and it's like a switch went off. 'It's time to go. We need to go now.' I thought. I called the midwives to let them know that I was definitely ready to come in and I'm sure they were overjoyed to hear that they were finally, FINALLY going to get to deliver this baby. I told them I'd be there in about a half an hour, and they said that they would be waiting.</div>
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It was such a weirdly emotional place when I was telling Jameson goodbye--I missed him already and my heart was so full of how much I loved him, but at the same time I could only half focus on that moment as I was starting to try and really get into labor and concentrate on bringing this girl into the world. I gave him a hug and a kiss and he was all sorts of mature and in control as he left to go to grandma and grandpa's house. My big boy.</div>
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The drive to the birth center was one of the worst parts, and I knew it would be. I sat on the edge of the front seat and held onto the dashboard and back of the seat like they were a lifeline. I could not have been happier to see the "Better Birth" sign and pull into that parking lot. By now it was around 6:30, only three hours after we'd left from my appointment. As soon as I walked in, the midwives told me to go ahead and go straight upstairs while they finished up with a client. Finally, finally, I was getting to use that gorgeous tub I'd been dreaming about! I had a few contractions in the bedroom while the tub was filling, and they checked Evelyn's heart rate to make sure she was handling things okay. Harmony, my favorite midwife, asked if I wanted them to check me or if I just wanted to get in the tub and I practically ran past her as I stripped down and got in that pool. "I just want to get in NOW, please."</div>
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The tub was as amazing as I'd remembered with Jameson, and I sunk into that hot water and did my best to relax and focus on the fact that I was now in the place where I'd be bringing Evelyn into the outside world. From this point on, time became sort of a blur and everything I did was out of instinct, rather than focusing on the clock. I remember the contractions feeling different in the tub. It's a more, sort of focused pain, rather than all over. Each time I'd feel one coming, I'd try and talk myself through it mentally. 'Remember it's like a wave--you have to dive into it instead of fight it. Let it take you over.' When I'd start to get panicky, I had Hubs read me a list of verses that I'd found a few days before and the power of Scripture was overwhelming to me in those moments. It was one of the most amazing experiences--I'd hear promises from the Lord coming out of my Husband's mouth and the contractions in those moments almost turned into this amazing sort of worship. My body was doing exactly what God had designed it to do, I was birthing this child that was 'fearfully and wonderfully made' and God was there, seeing me through it all, taking that fear and tension and giving me His peace. It seems strange to think back on it now, that contractions and pain could become worship, but it was amazing at the time and I will hold that in my heart forever.<br />
<br />
At some point our birth photographer arrived, and I was coherent enough to say hello and smile. I started to hear her camera click, and soon enough it became just another noise in the background. I remember getting out of the tub a couple of times to pee (I'd read a friend's birth story where her bladder became too full at the end and she ended up having to have a catheter before she could start pushing, and I was NOT going to let that happen to me!) and feeling so lightheaded and dizzy. I kept saying, "I'm going to throw up. I feel like I'm going to pass out." I'd been drinking Gatorade to try and keep myself hydrated, but I needed more calories/sugar. The midwife suggested I have some sort of juice or honey and I remember being so annoyed that the stuff I'd bought specifically for labor wasn't doing the job. Ha. They finally got me to start drinking some cranberry juice and a little while later I realized that I wasn't actually going to black out while pushing out this baby--this is why I trust the professionals.<br />
<br />
Eventually I hit transition. My mental talk became, "Natural birth?! Why in the hell would anyone want to do this naturally? They need to give me something for the pain NOW!" Then the rational side of my brain would remind me that as soon as I started talking that way, I was closer than I'd ever been. But then the irrational side would start to pipe up and wonder if I was REALLY in transition, or if I was just trying to hippy-voodoo myself into believing it. I started having to really breathe through each contraction and focus on keeping my body as loose as I could. I remember having flashbacks to Jameson's birth and the panic and terror I had felt then, and reminding myself that this was different and I was in control of this. I was restless in the tub and couldn't find a comfortable position. I squatted, I knelt, I sat cross-legged--everything had something that bothered me about it. I kept telling myself, "You won't remember this. You won't remember how bad this is!" I have no idea how long this period lasted. I wanted a clock and a cervical check so badly, but I knew that neither of those things were going to help me out in any way. Finally, FINALLY I started feeling a small urge to push with each contraction. I was afraid that it was just me wanting to push and not actually being ready, so I told my midwife, "I think I'm feeling pushy. I'm trying not to push, because I don't know if I really need to or if I just want to." She was so encouraging and gentle, and just told me to listen to my body and follow it's lead. I began to feel something coming down and thought, "Wow, that feels way smaller than a head, but maybe I'm just really relaxed!" I reached down to see if I could feel any hair and right at that moment my water broke--it was like a shot had gone off and I felt this blast of water pushing past my hand. So bizarre!<br />
<br />
The next contraction hit and all of a sudden I realized that Evelyn was THERE, crowning and ready to come out. I could not believe it. With Jameson it had taken twenty minutes to get to this point and I was so prepared to try and take this slowly so that I could try and control it as much as possible. Apparently, my body and my daughter had different ideas. I was so shocked by the sudden pain and the pressure that I lost all sense of keeping my face relaxed and breathing her out--instead I gritted my teeth and yelled like the devil. She slid back up after that contraction, and it took two more before her head was out. At one point I had to fight against this insane urge I had to keep pushing after the contraction was over, even though it was pain like I'd never felt to try and stop. Finally, the right contraction hit. I pushed and her head was out and into my hand. I felt her wrinkly skin and her hair and that was the only thing that managed to keep me calm enough to finish the job. I remember asking Cheryl if she was okay and everyone telling me that she was fine, but I had to stay under the water. Harmony had me flip over onto my back so we could catch her, and with one more contraction and a total of eight minutes of pushing, Evelyn Darling was born at 9:23 pm on November 21, 2013.<br />
<br />
I held her in my arms and was hysterical with relief and love for this sweet girl, and so overcome with how awesome her birth experience had been. Evie latched on like a pro a few minutes after birth, and eventually we moved from the tub to the giant King-sized bed I had been dreaming about. The hours after that are a blur of being stitched up (the worst. Yikes.), getting her newborn exam done, Jameson meeting her for the first time, and finally getting some real food. The midwives and post-partum staff were amazing, and the whole time I kept thinking, "This is exactly what I wanted!" We got to go home five hours after she was born and spent the first night cuddled up in our own bed with our newest family member. Absolute bliss.</div>
camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-83002957659794863502013-11-19T19:59:00.000-07:002013-11-19T19:59:07.570-07:00dear Evelyn<div style="text-align: right;">
November 19, 2013</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Dear Evie Darling, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thirteen days. That's how long you've kept the whole world waiting to meet you so far. It's not that I can blame you, however, as the weather is turning cold and the leaves are falling off the trees and sometimes this world can seem like a big, terrifying place.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But oh, daughter. I am so ready to meet you and hold you in my arms and show you the beautiful things this place has to offer--like your big, crazy, wonderful brother and your handsome Papa who is going to melt into a puddle as soon as you look at him. Or your grandma and grandpa, and ah-ma and yeh-yeh, and aunties and uncles and cousins, and all the other people you will call family even though we don't share any DNA. And Christmas, baby girl. Christmas is coming, and there is almost nothing better than the world lit up with sparkling lights while the snow falls and you're surrounded by everyone that loves you. There are a million things more, my girl, but you have to come out to experience them.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My heart is waiting to grow, waiting to see your strands of hair, and your rosebud lips that take their first breath and the color of your eyes. You have been so unexpected in so many different ways, and being pregnant with you has been so different than being pregnant with your brother was--harder in many ways, sweeter in others, but mostly just it's own completely new experience. You have carried me through many days when I did not think I could keep going, and you have forced me to stop and evaluate the things that truly matter in life. I wasn't ready for you, but the Lord was, and now that I'm about to meet you I am continually reminded that He sees and He knows. Always.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There are things that terrify me about becoming your mother. Fears that I've never had before, because girls are different than boys and I've spent my world immersed in boy-thinking, and mess, and simple logic for the last 2 1/2 years. But now I'm diving head-first into a world that I know well, but that I also know nothing about. A mother's relationship with her daughter is completely different than that of her son, and I want to get it right with you, my girl. Females are mysterious and complicated creatures, but also simple and straightforward if you have the key. But sometimes no one has the key, and that's what scares me. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I wish so many things for you, daughter. I want you to know the Lord and love Him with your whole heart, and your whole life, and your whole self--so much so that nothing this world has to offer will even sparkle in comparison to Him. I want you to know how valuable you are, how equal you are to your own opinion and your own thoughts and desires. How strong you are, and how you are just as capable as anyone else to do what you want and go where you want to go. I want you to know that you are beautiful, not because of your skin or your eyes or the number on the tag in the clothes you wear, but because you are a person, a human being, and there are no ordinary humans, love. I want you to find your worth in the Lord, and in yourself, but also realize how freeing it can be to be vulnerable with the right person. How a man cannot complete you, but he can come alongside you and show you pieces of yourself that you thought you had hidden forever. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, darling. I know the world seems big and you are so very comfortable folded up inside of my ever-stretching belly. But life is so much better on the outside, surrounded by the people that love you--and believe me, there are a lot of us that love you. So come and meet your family. We're waiting to catch you and we promise to be ready when you decide to show up.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I will love you forever and a day.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-Momma</div>
camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-76870837527866442832013-07-29T15:08:00.000-06:002013-07-29T15:08:01.413-06:00wordsI miss crafting with words.<br />
I miss the flow, the spiral, the effortless dance that my fingers would play out while the words locked inside my head were fed through my fingertips and onto a page.<br />
It hardly required effort, there wasn't even much thought attached, it was simply there--open the page, unlock the brain and go.<br />
<br />
Today has been harder than I'd like to admit.<br />
My first day back at this stay-at-home mom gig, and we've had a struggling afternoon. Jameson is finally napping now (please God, for at least another hour), and I managed to get some errands done (although I forgot the milk for Hubs tea. Dang it.), but this was not without mass effort.<br />
<br />
I am lacking in patience, I am lacking in understanding, I am lacking in toddler-whispering skills that allow one to get through places like the library and Target without your two-year old son screaming at other children who happen to also be glancing at the Sesame Street DVDs, and grown women also buying bleach in the laundry aisle.<br />
Time and again I come around with, "These are for everyone, and I know it makes you upset when you see other people using them, but we have to take turns. If you cannot take turns, we will leave." and then there are more shrieks, and then there is me, wrestling with a 30-pound mass of muscles and fury while trying to stand upright with a six-month old fetus in my belly.<br />
What a sight to behold.<br />
<br />
All those magic words, and acronyms spelling out empathy, and scripts listed out generally seem to work about 10% of the time, and the other 90% I am left fluttering around, praying to Jesus that I am not inherently creating a monster in this moment, and that I am also responding with as much grace and love as I can muster.<br />
Why can't any of this just be clear cut?<br />
<br />
Because humans are not clear cut, and if you are looking for evidence of this, look no further than my two-year old son who is at the height of his humanity. He has not yet figured out how to temper or hide his emotions, and so they are all there for everyone to see, front and center. And if you ever doubted that human beings were confused, easily upset, lost little creatures, then come and spend an afternoon at my house and observe otherwise.<br />
<br />
I see myself in him all too often, crying up at God with my mess of emotions and humanity smacking me in the face, begging for someone to calm me down and walk me through this hormonal cloud I am stuck in. Just like my son needs me to take his hand, look him in the eye, and articulate what he is feeling while reassuring him that there is someone there who <i>understands, </i>so I, too, need God to hold my heart and remind me that He is bigger than all of this, and He gets it.<br />
<br />
I often feel like I've been left to figure things out on my own. And maybe I have, for a little while, because that is part of growing up. I won't be able to tell Jameson what's wrong forever (and I am sure that the time will come when he will not appreciate my assuming that I know), and so God is probably giving me space to learn myself and my reactions, and to see if I have made any progress on the tantrum-throwing front.<br />
<br />
I don't have a resolution here, or an acronym for myself to recite in the moments that God is silent.<br />
I don't have an encouraging word to end this with, a miracle story of the moment that God decided to open up the heavens and let me know that He's heard me crying for three years.<br />
I've just got myself, and this fledgling faith that has somehow managed to keep itself rooted through the tsunami's its been through. Sometimes I doubt it's existence, but it's there, I know it's there, because it stabs me in the heart every time I try to walk away.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-11405628575818059482013-07-17T11:24:00.001-06:002013-07-17T11:24:43.147-06:00the heart cryYou call me out upon the waters,<br />
the great unknown where feet may fail<br />
and there I find You in the mystery.<br />
In oceans deep,<br />
my faith will stand.<br />
<br />
And I will call upon Your name<br />
and keep my eyes above the waves.<br />
When oceans rise,<br />
my soul will rest in Your embrace<br />
for I am Yours and You are mine.<br />
<br />
Your grace abounds in deepest waters.<br />
Your sovereign hand will be my guide.<br />
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me,<br />
You've never failed and You won't start now.<br />
<br />
So I will call upon Your name<br />
and keep my eyes above the waves.<br />
When oceans rise,<br />
my soul will rest in Your embrace<br />
for I am Yours and You are mine.<br />
<br />
Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders.<br />
Let me walk upon the waters<br />
wherever You would call me.<br />
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander<br />
and my faith will be made stronger<br />
in the presence of my Savior.<br />
<br />
I will call upon Your name,<br />
keep my eyes above the waves.<br />
My soul will rest in Your embrace.<br />
I am Yours and You are mine.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/dy9nwe9_xzw?rel=0" width="560"></iframe>camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-56832168747483438472013-07-16T16:45:00.001-06:002013-07-16T16:45:41.580-06:00cliff jumping<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v76hAq1Pr8A/UeXM3KVf1zI/AAAAAAAABCg/kTGv9nkYSR8/s1600/DSC_0128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v76hAq1Pr8A/UeXM3KVf1zI/AAAAAAAABCg/kTGv9nkYSR8/s640/DSC_0128.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
How do you write about something when you're not sure just how much you ought to say?<br />
<br />
In the past, I have often erred on the side of sharing too much.<br />
In recent months, and kind of years, I have tended to close up and shut down until the situation has been over, or nearly over, and I felt like I could write about it without offending someone or disclosing too many details.<br />
<br />
The problems come in when I realize that I need an outlet to spit words into, to see them on a screen, and process through them, often with the help and advice from others. How can I process something that's not there, that can't be there, because to put it up there would be to risk hurting someone else involved in the situation?<br />
<br />
The eternal dilemma of this internet age.<br />
<br />
How about I go with this:<br />
My little family has just taken a giant leap off of a figurative cliff and we are now free-falling and waiting to see what kind of parachutes God holds out.<br />
We are scared (obviously, since we are falling), but we are also excited about the possibilities that arise from not having any definite plans, or even ideas of definite plans. We are absolutely and completely traveling the way the Lord directs and this is both terrifying and liberating. I'm not sure that we have ever taken a jump like this without even one small safety net in place, which is probably why we are feeling the height of all our emotions so strongly.<br />
<br />
For all who have been praying for us: an eternal and everlasting thank you. Your sweet friendship and words of encouragement have gotten us through the day-by-day and we are so glad to have you to rely on.<br />
Please keep praying. God hears, and it is comforting to know that we are not the only ones pleading for our welfare right now.<br />
<br />
For others worried, we are not in any physical danger or anything. (Well, at least not yet. Two car accidents in three weeks worked to change that, but hallelujah for seat belts and sturdy car seats).<br />
<br />
And above all, there is this:<br />
<br />
<center>
<b><i>Jesus is God, and He owns us.</i></b></center>
<br />
<br />
That's all there is, and all there needs to be.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-73413922881634348542013-06-19T14:19:00.000-06:002013-06-19T14:31:05.401-06:00the sleeping thing.So there was this time that I had a baby (you may have figured this out by now).<br />
<br />
Before I had this baby, I had this general assumption that I would make his nursery so cute that you could post pictures of it to Pinterest and that we'd hang out in there a lot, and he'd sleep through the night by about 6 months or so, and nap fairly regularly and then when we wasn't sleeping in his crib in his nursery, we'd go out and do all sorts of fabulous things that you see moms and their babies doing.<br />
Then I decided, well babies are supposed to wake up a lot in the middle of the night, so maybe we'll get a Moses basket for the first few months and he can sleep next to the bed where Daddy can change him and I'll feed him and then we'll lay him back down and go back to sleep and that might make things a little easier. So we bought a brand new basket with cute matching sheets and teddy bears, and got a little stand so that it would be even with the side of the bed and had everything set up for when I went into labor and brought said baby home.<br />
<br />
Then came June 30, 2011. My water broke at 12:30 am, Jameson was born at 7:14 am, and we came home by 10:30 pm. I remember getting home and looking around at about midnight (after skyping with my sisters back in the States) and thinking, "So...what do I do now?" Then my mother suggested that we should probably go to bed, and I thought, "Oh yes, this is when I get to put him in that cute little woombie I bought and lay him in his brand new bed and go to sleep because I am so exhausted from being awake for over 24 hours and GIVING BIRTH."<br />
So we changed him, zipped him up in his swaddle (after having a long and arduous discussion about how many layers he needed. The books all tell you to make sure they're really warm, but not too warm, but not too cold. So, that's clear.) and laid him down in his bed.<br />
And he started to scream.<br />
I looked at my mother and my husband with this dazed glaze over my eyes and said, "Well, that wasn't supposed to happen." So I picked him up and nursed him in bed, and kind of laid him down next to me while I waited for him to fall asleep. Next thing I know, it's 3 in the morning and he's screaming again (I remember it being the loudest thing I'd ever heard, but I'm sure that was because I was so tired and had never actually had a newborn baby lying next to me) and in my delirious state I ripped off his swaddle, thinking that he hated it and hurriedly tried to figure out how to work my nursing bra and get his mouth in the right place at the right time. And that's pretty much how the rest of the night went.<br />
Hubs and I woke up the next morning in a complete and utter stupor, handed the baby to my parents for a few hours and tried to sleep as much as we could.<br />
<br />
The next five days were fairly similar, with variations in the form of trying to get Jameson to sleep in his moses basket (the only way we could make that work was if Hubs slept with his arm on the edge of the basket and his pinkie finger in his mouth so that he could suck), trying sleep with the woombie, trying it without, drinking lots of coffee, drinking no coffee (it upset bebe's little system and made him so anxious he'd just cry for hours). It was, essentially, the most exhausted, emotional, exuberant, hellish five days I've ever been through.<br />
<br />
Then my parents flew back home to America.<br />
<br />
I remember hearing people say that in the beginning, you just have to do whatever it takes to make it work. You sleep however you can get it, whenever you can get it, but no one really explained how to get a baby to do that too. So we tried a bedtime routine (6:30 rolled around and he got a wipe-down, baby massage, and nursed to sleep) which ended with me trying to transfer him into his basket while rocking it and hoping that he'd settle in. Occasionally this worked, for about 45 minutes, at which point I would then go back in, nurse him down again, and start all over. By about midnight each night, we gave up on the basket and would end up just letting him sleep next to us.<br />
<br />
When he was six months old, we traveled to America to visit family, and although my parents graciously bought us a toddler tent with an air mattress, the kid would have none of it and ended up in our bed for a consecutive five weeks. I told myself we'd start "sleep training" when we got back and then he'd sleep through the night in his own room and I could stop being so tired that I felt like I was going crazy. So we got back and we tried it. Started out laying him down in his crib after the bedtime routine. He'd sleep for an hour, I'd go in, nurse again, lay him down (and pray I could get him down without him crying. This happened maybe 25% of the time) and have another hour before he woke up. Again, at midnight I'd be so tired that I'd give up and he'd come in to our room.<br />
By now I was getting the guilt trips and hearing that other people's kids were sleeping through the night, and it's so unhealthy for your baby to still be sleeping with you, and you're just letting him take advantage of your emotions because he's willfully acting out and so I broke down one night and bought Ferber.<br />
<br />
We tried it for a week and a half and I cried every single night.<br />
Not once did he EVER sleep through, and at the end of the week and a half we found out that he had another ear infection. So we gave up on that for awhile, brought him back in with us, and decided we'd try it again when he got better.<br />
He healed, we decided to go with the Sleep Lady Shuffle. He cried for THREE HOURS STRAIGHT, with me sitting right next to him telling him I loved him, but I couldn't pick him up and singing "Jesus Loves Me" with my heart in my throat. Quit after the second night.<br />
<br />
Finally, when Jameson was about nine months old, I reached the point where I literally thought I was going to have to be hospitalized for sleep deprivation and depression. I was so tired that I would forget what I was saying in the middle of my sentence and couldn't think rationally about anything. I'd break down in tears over everything. Nothing was okay, nothing felt right, and I felt like the world's largest failure as a mother--I mean, who can't get her kid to sleep?!<br />
<br />
I remember the moment I decided that I was done with everything. My last sane thought was, "I have got to start sleeping, and it doesn't matter how that happens." It didn't matter that everything I thought I knew about co-sleeping was that it was indulgent, dangerous, and letting-my-kid-have-his-own-way. I told Hubs that I was giving up on trying to get Jameson to sleep anywhere other than with us and he said, "Okay". And Jameson's been with us ever since.<br />
<br />
And here is why I am telling you this.<br />
I am telling you this, because I wish someone would have told me all of this, waaaaay back at the beginning when I had all of those expectations of pretty cribs and seven straight hours of sleep.<br />
If your kid will not sleep in a crib, you are not a failure.<br />
If you want to cry every time bedtime rolls around because you feel like you have no idea what you're doing, you are not a failure.<br />
If you are terrified of "the sleeping thing" with your second child that you are currently pregnant with, you are not a failure. (Oh good, because that's me).<br />
<br />
The Mommy Wars are raging hard, and for some reason, the sleep thing is one of the biggest battles.<br />
When I think about this, logically and rationally however, it boggles my mind.<br />
Why does it matter where anyone else's kid sleeps? Why does it matter if my kid sleeps for seven hours straight a night, or only recently stopped waking up in the middle of the night even though they're almost two? Why does everyone have an opinion on this, when there are fact-based studies showing that co-sleeping can be completely safe (and even, *gasp* desirable) if done correctly?<br />
<br />
Why did I spend almost a year feeling bad about myself for letting my kid sleep in my bed, next to his momma, where he felt the safest?<br />
<br />
I'm not here to argue either side of this, but this post has been on my heart for a long time. I see so many new parents who are trying desperately to cover up how much they are struggling with all of this and it breaks my heart. You don't have to keep your newborn on a minute-to-minute schedule, you don't have to go out and buy BabyWise, you don't even have to look guiltily down at the floor when someone asks you how your baby is sleeping and you say, "Um, they're okay, you know, they're still a baby!" I just want to run up to those people and let them know that right now, staying sane is the most important thing of all, and if that means letting your kid sleep in your bed, then <i>let your kid sleep in your bed</i>.<br />
<br />
And if your kiddo loves their crib, and is happy in there, and sleeps straight through the night, then that makes me so happy for you, momma. But please, remember, there are those of us out there whose babies just don't work the same way as yours, and as much as we loved that crib we bought and that nursery we decorated, we're just trying to do the best that we can.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-23761429350966662522013-06-17T11:45:00.002-06:002013-06-17T11:45:39.100-06:00just some stuff.You know, I really thought that once I got this job, my blogging would increase ten-fold since I literally sit at a desk all day. But it's like, I start to think, "Maybe I should write something..." and then I go, "What do I even have to write about? How I ate lunch at 11:30 today instead of noon? How I've had to go to the bathroom every hour since I got here? That one time the coffee mugs were extra gross and I had to wash them all out and not gag?"<br />
<br />
You get the picture.<br />
Clearly my job is not the most intellectually stimulating experience. And I'm still struggling with that.<br />
I got to spend time solo with Jameson this weekend and it was so wonderful. Profoundly exhausting, as simultaneously growing a human being inside of you and chasing a toddler (while trying to navigate through those incredibly murky waters of EMOTIONS) can be, but so wonderful. I knew in my bones that this is what I wanted to be doing with my time--taking my kid to Target and wandering the aisles, driving up to the mountains and going on his first "hike" (he's still talking about it. "Mountains, momma and da bwidge!"), grabbing lunch and just hanging out in the sunshine.<br />
But it's Monday, and I'm in the office, in my chair, staring at this screen while Jameson is at Grandma's house, probably banging on the drums and running around outside and scaring the dog.<br />
<br />
Contentment and peace.<br />
God's been pushing that on me lately, and I'm trying to come towards it willingly.<br />
Learning to live satisfied in the mediocrity of life, because that's where you spend the majority of your time, and if you can't be happy there, you won't be happy anywhere.<br />
Being at peace with everyone, as long as it is up to you, and especially when it is up to you and the attitudes that you carry around. Rooting out all of the bitterness and jealousy that has been seeping in and rotting like a poison for years until you almost don't even notice it anymore, but it's there and it's still eating away. Bringing every single thought to Heaven, to sort through and examine and then <i>let go</i>.<br />
What a novel idea. Letting go.<br />
<br />
But this is it. The mediocre, the middle, the every day.<br />
I did eat lunch at 11:30 today, because I am pregnant and extra hungry.<br />
The coffee mugs were super gross this morning, and I hate that part of my job.<br />
I go to the bathroom like I'm getting paid for it and it's annoying every single time.<br />
There is a baby in my belly that moves so much it makes me wonder if there isn't more than one in there.<br />
My son is so big and rambunctious during the day, and then when he falls asleep at night he somehow regresses back to that sweet baby I knew two years ago and it breaks my heart to walk out the front door every morning.<br />
My life is tinged with sweetness and bitterness, happy and sad, excitement and boredom, and we are here in the middle of it all, just moving along.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-75259232385921554292013-05-16T13:52:00.002-06:002013-05-16T13:52:32.992-06:00work/momI never wanted to be a working mom.<br />
The plan was to stay home with my kids after they were born--after all, I am their momma and I should be the one raising them, right? <br />
<br />
For the first year and a half of Jameson's life, I was fortunate enough to be able to do this. England has an awesome maternity allowance scheme that meant I got paid for nine months while hanging out with my babe. Amazing. <br />
When October/November of last year rolled around, I got a part-time holiday job at Lush and loved it--I worked 15-20ish hours a week, walked there, and didn't ever have to work very late. It gave Jameson some time with Papa or Ah-ma and Yeh-yeh and it was fine. I made some friends and got some much-needed independence.<br />
<br />
However, once we moved back to America, Hubs and I both knew that the situation was going to have to change. Moving transatlantically is expensive, and we did it twice. It meant that we both had to work, no matter how much I didn't want to.<br />
Now, the incredible upsides to our situation are many: my parents or sisters are able to watch Jameson while Hubs and I are both working, and if I have to leave him, who better than with his own family? <br />
Also, my office is extremely relaxed and very willing to work with me on scheduling. Everyone here loves my little family and they know how important they are to me. <br />
Hubs and I work opposite schedules, and although this can be tough in the marriage department, it's easier in the childcare one. He gets to stay home with Jameson while I'm at work, then my family has him for an hour or so until I get home and take over. So really, J's got at least one parent with him for most of the day.<br />
Finally, my working has taught Jameson some much-needed independence and strengthened the bond between Hubs and himself. He is now perfectly okay with waving goodbye, saying "Love you, momma" and heading out the back door to play. He knows I'm coming back, and he knows he's with people that care.<br />
<br />
So. There is a lot of good in this situation.<br />
<br />
But. But, but, but.<br />
<br />
Every day, my heart hurts to be away from my kiddo and it makes me want to cry a little when I get home and watch him do something I've never seen before, but everyone else has. Or when he talks in his own little gibberish-y language and Hubs automatically knows what he's saying while I'm sitting in the dark.<br />
I never wanted to do this work-away-from-home thing. That's why I wanted to be a writer--so I could be at home with my kids and still contribute. And even though I know this situation is (probably) somewhat temporary, it's still hard. I feel like I'm running a race, and I'm running out of endurance. I'm experiencing that split feeling that so many working moms talk about--like you aren't doing a great job at work or at home because there is just too much going on in both places. Not to mention that trying to take care of myself has fallen to the bottom of the pile, because any time I am at home, I am thinking about how I need to be with my family.<br />
<br />
I have no resolutions or answers for any of this, other than to just keep going. I'm still "technically" part-time, even though I work nearly 31 hours a week. (Tack on my commute, and it's probably almost 40.)<br />
I am so fortunate to even be able to work, and to have a job, so please don't think I am unaware of this. I just feel torn in half sometimes, and it's an uncomfortable state that I'm learning to live in.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-83116416184971207952013-05-04T05:00:00.000-06:002013-05-04T05:00:00.604-06:00may 4<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"It is easy to die for Christ.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">It is harder to live for him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Dying takes only an hour or two,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">but to live for Christ means to die daily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Only during the few years of this life are we given the privilege of serving each other and Christ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">We shall have heaven forever, but only a short time for service here, and therefore we must not waste the opportunity."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">-Sadhu Sundar Singh</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-56554071716652858082013-05-03T14:59:00.001-06:002013-05-03T14:59:10.120-06:00may 3things that are gross:<br />
<br />
-bare, dirty feet.<br />
-eggs. and chicken. (while pregnant).<br />
-old ladies that dress like skanks.<br />
-skin that has been tanned so much it looks like leather.<br />
-my toenails.<br />
-the smell when you open the garbage can.<br />
-fast food. (the chemicals. sick.)<br />
-staying inside when it's sunny and warm out.<br />
-any sort of bait-and-switch.<br />
-drivers on the freeway during rush hour.<br />
-warm, soggy cereal.<br />
-gluten-free food that tastes like sawdust.<br />
-my acne surfacing because of pregnancy and poor food choices.<br />
-throwing up after looking at:<br />
-lunchmeat<br />
-the first thirteen weeks of pregnancy.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242624993628806583.post-1909837953188275462013-05-02T16:41:00.000-06:002013-05-02T16:41:12.660-06:00may 2I almost forgot today. Wouldn't that be typical. Failing on day 2. Ah well. I'm here.<br />
<br />
I'm supposed to talk to you about something I'm good at or have a lot of knowledge about. <br />
I don't even know what to pick. There are things that I'm good at that I feel like no one really needs an instruction manual on, or anything like that so writing out thoughts about it would be kind of redundant.<br />
<br />
Let's talk about reading, because I'm staring at a book that I'm halfway through and currently contemplating just how on earth I'm going to get through the rest of it.<br />
For as long as I can remember, books have been one of my great loves. <br />
I know that everyone says this, but it's actually true for me. My parents went through a phase where they were worried about how social I was going to be, since I preferred to hang out inside and read a book rather than talk to people. Taking a book away became a very effective punishment.<br />
Oh, and once, I had an $80 library fine. That's how much I love books. <br />
<br />
As I've become an adult (and more specifically, a mother), I don't have as much time to just read as I used to. This has led to me paring down my selections pretty harshly, and I do something that I never used to do--stop reading a book halfway through and give it back if it's just not doing it for me. I used to have this strict, "Finish everything you start" rule, but I don't have that luxury anymore and if I'm not in it by the third chapter, I'm giving it up. It kind of makes me sad to have to be so harsh sometimes, but there you go. <br />
<br />
I'll read anything if it peaks my interests, and I think it's one of the best ways to become well-informed about the world and the things in it. When I was a kid, I used to just browse the shelves at the library by sections, until I found a topic that sounded interesting, and then I'd check out a bunch of books about it. I'll still do that sometimes now, just to see what I find.<br />
<br />
Anyway. That's enough.<br />
This has been like pulling teeth to write, but I did it, so score one for discipline.camille nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01899162307159896474noreply@blogger.com0