the beginning. again.

I downloaded a new app on my phone, called miCoach.
Couple that with myfitnesspal, and this girl's getting back into her fitness groove.

I decided to just start back at the beginning, instead of trying to pick it all back up in the middle, like from before I got pregnant.
Slow and steady wins the race, and loses those 15 pounds that are hanging out around my waist.

I still hate counting calories, and I still feel like a heifer when I run, but it's a start.
I'll get to where I want to go eventually, because I've done it before.
I've got a few dates in my head to motivate me to keep working out and watching what I put in my mouth. Plus, working out is my alone time now and Lord knows I can never have enough of that.

So for today, I am proud of myself.

And that, my friends, is good enough.

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is that all?

The green-eyed monster is creeping up again, with it's whispers of failure and imperfection and look-at-what-they-have.

Sometimes I just get so sick of fighting it that I decide to lay down and let it run me over.
Other times I decide to fight back and turn myself into the object that my green-eyes have found.

Neither option gets me where I want to be.

And then my only option is to run.
Run, run, run, right back to the Lord and pray hard that He can take away the longings and fill the fulfillings.

"It's not about happiness," I keep chanting to myself.
Except sometimes it is.
Sometimes it's all I want, and sometimes it's the only thing I can't have.

"Wait for the Lord;

Be strong and take heart, 

and wait for the Lord."

{Psalm 27:14}

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sifting and snatched.

I feel bad about everything.
When I remember anything, it's with this twinge of guilt or failure, because there is not one area of my life where I feel like I am succeeding or 'on top of things'.

I think of work, and it triggers an anxiety attack--"Is my only client going to fire me because I'm late with an order again?"

I think of my son, and it brings up what a crappy mom I've been for the past few days--putting the tv on and staying in the house because I cannot bring myself to do anything else.

I think about laundry, or cooking dinner, or my bathroom floor and I am overwhelmed with just how many chores there are that need doing, and how my house is so grossly dirty. I also think about all the natural cleaning products I have meant to make, and haven't gotten around to.

I think about the taxes I still have to print out and file, and the back payment we've got to make up somehow.

I think about friends, and how I've forgotten to answer emails or phone calls, not asking about hard situations or circumstances that I know they're in.

I think about my relationship with the Lord, and how He deserves so much more of my time and energy. I think of all the times I've chosen sleep or mindless internet activities over spending time reading my Bible.

I think of my husband, and all of the ways I've failed as a wife--all the difficult places in our marriage that I should be working on making better, not dredging up and making worse.

I think about myself, and how I've only been to the gym once last week, and all I've eaten today has been bread and sugar--and how on earth can I actually consider bringing another child into this world when I can't even handle the life I have now? To be honest, I feel like it wouldn't be fair to short-change another kid on having me for a mom. I mean, I'm such a royal failure now, how could I subject another human being to that--and probably worse?

I'm scared to push 'publish' and scared to let these demons out.
I don't know what to do with all of this--I don't know how to let it go. I know the standards I set for myself are impossibly high, but I don't know how to do otherwise.
I can't even have a breakdown on the kitchen floor without thinking about the time I'm wasting and all of the things I should be doing instead.
I mean, how long is too long to use, "I'm just having a hard time right now" as an excuse?
How many times can I blame my incompetence on my failing mental faculties and still have people believe me or give me grace? How long can I give myself grace?

I am so over this.

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four.

It's even better now than it was then.

I could write a million words about this man and our life together, but they still wouldn't do it justice.

Happy anniversary, my love.

Let's have at least fifty more.

I love you.

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today.

Today will be a day to breathe.
To sit in His goodness, knowing that even though I don't understand, and even though I can't feel Him, He is there.
He is always there.

And every time I think I have it (Him) figured out, there is always something new, something unknown, something different that I have to get used to.
And I am sent spinning off again, trying to reconcile what-I-thought-I-knew with what-I-know-now.
And it's okay.
Somehow, it always ends up being okay.

"Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge."

{Psalm 62:8}

There is sun, and flowers on my table, and less pain in my shoulder than yesterday, and God is still good.

That's the biggest thing, really.

He is good, so good to me.

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words.

I bought a maxi dress for £10 today.
It was money we don't really have, but it gave me the hope of a summer and the feeling of caring about what I looked like for a half an hour, so it was probably worth it.
___________________

I have got to break out of this funk.

I've lost the eloquence and elegance I once possessed.
Right now I'm working out of a desperate attempt to grab what I used to have, and it's strange...my entire life has been spent pining for the future, for the day when I "arrive". But now, I'm pining for the past. I lay in bed at night, and close my eyes, and do my best to recreate where I used to be, the sights and sounds and smells of it all, and it helps me sleep, and escape the place that I am in.

(Wow, cause that didn't sound depressed and sad AT ALL.)

I wonder what it means that all of my dreams have sunlight in them, and that when I dream about the future (which is rare, because it's not really worth it anymore), the biggest thing I notice is the sunshine streaming through my imaginary windows, and the t-shirt I am wearing because it's warm.

(This isn't even coherent anymore).
_____________________

It's a struggle here, to be honest.
It's a struggle in every facet of my life--
being a mom
being a wife
being a follower of Christ
and everything in between.

I had a thought the other day, after my mom wrote me a letter reminding me that I will never be enough for Jameson, and that I was never meant to be. I was meant to fail him, because he needs to find Christ through my failures. My inadequacies should lead him right back to the God that loves him even more than I do, and the cracks in my human self should be the place that Christ shines through.

I keep trying to tell myself that, night after night of trying to get him to go to sleep and sobbing because I just feel like I've done everything wrong.
_____________________

Sometimes I go through these periods of deciding to be a "real" writer, and cleaning my act up: writing things with thought and flow that make sense and sound nice.
And then I always stumble back into the raw, messy part where I vomit words onto a page and it's all for me, because I just can't write for you anymore.
I don't even know who you are, so how am I supposed to know what you want?

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chaos.

Today, when I tried to put Jameson down for a nap in his room, he just wasn't having it. He kept pulling away from me while he was nursing, intent at staring at anything he could find. He's been napping in our room for the past few days since he's been sick, so instead of fighting with him, I just decided to take that route again.

We laid down, and I watched his big eyes start to close, sloooooowly, and I had this extreme urge to do something--anything other than laying down, doing nothing.

But then I heard the rain pattering on my window, and I felt my baby's warm body fit next to mine, and I heard a voice in my head say, "Rest."

I started to counter with, "But..."

And it persisted. "Just rest. You used to dream of moments like this--a free morning to nap, with the rain outside, and someone you love next to you. Rest."

So I did.
And it was wonderful.

---------------------

Today is Wednesday, which means that my mother-in-law takes Jameson to her house in the afternoon so that I can get some work done, and maybe Hubs and I can get some quality time in together. 

I have some really nice, flexible clients that have been so patient with me in this "figuring out what I'm doing" period, that I really wanted to make sure I got a lot accomplished today. But when I sat down to write yet another article on something I don't really care about, I wanted to scream. And cry. And pull at my hair, like my son does when I take something away from him.

I am so tired of this constant struggle. 

Why can't "just" being a mom be enough? 

I know the logical reasons why--we need my income to build up our American savings account (especially if I ever want to visit again or move back), but that doesn't mean I like it. Not to mention that it does a number on my stress level when I'm sitting there thinking, "If you want to go home, you'd better get this article done!"

I guess it's just another moment of wondering why things are the way they are, and why we're in the place that we're in.

I've been doing my best lately to let God meet me where I'm at, and choosing to see Him in my life, rather than being angry when He doesn't show up the way I want Him too...I guess this is just one of those moments that I'm going to have to let go of and muscle through.

This is what I'm living by lately:

"Your emptiness is but the preparation for your being filled, and your casting down is but the making ready for your lifting up."

 -Charles Spurgeon, Morning and Evening (November 4, Morning).

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when the American dream meets the British reality.

By the end of next month, I will have lived in England for a year and a half.

If we're honest, I really didn't think I'd make it.

I've spent countless nights crying with homesickness, begging my husband to "please, please, let's move home" and dreaming about the day that I'd be far away from this terrible little country.

But (you knew it was coming, didn't you?)
--in the last few months, it seems I've actually "adjusted" to life in the British culture, at least enough for the desperation to give way to a quiet routine of daily living. I'm sure becoming a mother has been an instrumental part in this: I have to get out of bed and out of the house for the sake of my son. We go to rhyme time at the library, and monster music at the children's centre, and meet up with other Mommas and their babies for the sake of socialization.

In the fray of adjusting, I've also come to realize an interesting distinction between the two countries, and I think it's something that made it so difficult for me to come to terms with this place for so long:

In America, we are told, "You can do anything you want to do, if you put your mind to it. Dream big, and the sky's the limit." We are taught that we can be famous athletes, movie stars, astronauts, scientists, writers, doctors--literally anything is open to us, if we want it bad enough.

In Britain, they are not told these things. People are brutally and bluntly honest about shortcomings and where yours are. If you aren't good at something, they'll make sure you know. Kids here are not taught that the sky's the limit, rather, they are told that there definitely are limits and maybe they'll surpass them, but probably not (so best not try).

As an American, this rubs you (and me) the wrong way. It is offensive, it is pessimistic, it is wrong. "Of course, I can do that," we gasp in horror as a Brit gives us an eyebrow raise. "I can do anything I want to!" Unfortunately, this isn't actually the case (even though we don't want to admit it). I will never be an Olympic athlete (even though I like to think that I might have had a shot if I hadn't quit figure skating). I will never be an amazing singer, and I might (probably) won't ever be a world famous author. In fact, I might not do anything with my life other than being a mother and a wife. I know.


So when I would lie in bed and dream about the life my family and I would have back in America once we got out of here, it would be full of nice things--the dream house, great jobs, happy kids doing lots of fun extracurricular activities, weekly date nights, a church that allows us to use our gifts and minister well. When I compared that dream to our current life in England (and the prospect of a future here), it looked about as gray as the sky I was living under.

It is only in the last few weeks that I have really come to terms with the fact that it is okay to just live. In fact, sometimes it is better to just live where you are at, than to dream about a future you might never have. For so long I got so caught up in the dream of our life "back in America" that I forgot to put anything into the life I was currently living in England. I'm sure that I wasted opportunities, missed friendships, and generally put a damper on any positive thing that I had going for me over here--and even though that is a natural and normal part of adjusting to life in a new culture, it's still not something I'm proud of.

I spent so long bemoaning the practicalities of the English, and pitying them for their inability to dream of anything more than a quiet house in the country, that I failed to see the positive side of things. They are generally content in the lives that they lead (I mean, most are. I am making pretty sweeping generalities here). They may not tell you that, with their semi-constant complaining, but they are. Their lives are familiar and what they know, and they are all right with that. They don't feel bad for not being something greater. They do what they do, and they do it well. This is something that I have probably never done, and it is kind of, (but not really) ironic to me that God has made me live in a place that is the very definition of "blooming where you're planted".

Now, I know that there are two sides to every coin, so before I get hate mail from all the British dreamers out there, let me remind you that I am simply remarking on a side of England that I have not wanted to appreciate, but now do. I have found myself with a certain fondness for this strange, backwards country. This is slightly terrifying, because I can't hate it with a passion anymore and wish myself back in America. Yes, there are moments nearly every day when I think about how much I miss my country, but recently, this has been countered by a tinge of sadness when I think about leaving what we have invested here.

This is the birthplace of my husband and son, and it is a country that will always be a part of me. It has helped refine me in many areas, and opened my eyes to the fact that there is more than one way to live life and look at things--not wrong, just different.

Any other citizens of the world care to share your opinions?

I mean, he's the best part about England.

Peace at last.

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rest.

Through a series of strange circumstances, I have found myself with a pen pal.

Really, this is a long-reaching goal for me, since all my friends had pen pals when we were little, but I could never find anyone that wanted to write me letters on a regular basis.
Until now. Which I love.

Anyway. My first letter from said pen pal came the other day, and it was like a breath of fresh air into this dusty brain of mine. She was so honest, and open, and everything she wrote just made me smile.
She spoke truth into my life, when so many other people haven't been able to, or when I just couldn't listen.
(I think there is something to be said about having an objective observer give advice. They're not bogged down by the drama or emotion of a situation.)

She wrote to me about how she firmly believes that the Lord has placed her and her family in a season of rest. And it struck me, because maybe that's exactly what God has done with us, too.

Why is it that I always struggle to see the good in others, and especially the good in God?
Why can't I remember that so many people are good-willed in their intentions, and that the Lord doesn't do things to harm his children, but prosper them?

The Lord has given me a son.
A fire-cracker, pistol of a son who does exactly what he wants when he wants and will not be dissuaded otherwise. And I love him all the more for it.
However, taking care of my son is a full-time job. But that's okay.
In fact, it's more than okay--it's exactly what I've wanted.
It's just that, somehow, I got caught up in the idea that I have to be doing something in order to feel validated, in order to feel that I didn't waste my time.

Which brings me back to rest. So often in scripture, God called his people to wait, and to be quiet, and to rest. And these periods were not without a reason--these people were placed in this position.
Placed there.

For too long I have ranted and raved at God, questioning His love and His care.
Too long have I begged and pleaded with Him to just get us out of this place, and put us somewhere new. To please, please, break the silence and reassure us that He heard and that we mattered.

So for now, I am choosing to rest.
I am choosing to believe that God has placed my family into this situation that we are in.
It is not without it's struggles (as I sit here and battle against the three-letter-monster that is raging war in my brain), but there can be reward if I allow it.

I am going to relish in afternoon naps with my son, walks to the park, movies on tv with my husband, and watching my child grow.
I will not allow myself to be dictated by the part of me that screams "What are you doing with your life? Accomplish something!"
And it will still be a battle, and I will still fail--but at least there is an acknowledgment and a resolve.
And maybe I can finally let go of the anger, and let my heart begin to heal.

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three little letters.

P.P.D.

Yeah.
I know.

It's not for sure (as in, I haven't gone to a doctor and gotten an official diagnosis), but there's a good chance.

It's like a fog in my head. I can't remember the words I wanted to say, or even what it was that I wanted to say about them. Sometimes I forget what it is that I've said a mere five minutes after I said it. The other day I was writing a letter and couldn't remember what month it was. Then I had to say all of the months out loud, and I couldn't remember what came after February. Finally I realized it was March, and I was so frustrated that my brain just couldn't seem to keep up.

I have no energy to do anything. No mental energy to engage in something that is unnecessary. That is why all of my inboxes are full of unanswered emails, why I keep missing writing deadlines, why I haven't written anything on this blog for days, and why I haven't finished a book in months.

There's this great analogy that I heard once: Imagine that you start out the day with six spoons. You have to use two spoons to wake up, get the baby dressed, fed, and occupied. Then you have to use another spoon to put the laundry away and make yourself lunch. Getting out with the baby and doing a grocery run is another two spoons. After that, you've got one spoon left to make dinner, start another load of laundry, feed, bathe and put baby to sleep, finish work, and then get yourself ready for bed. You have to plan out your day so that you don't do too much in one area and leave yourself empty-handed and trying to finish your day.
That is how I feel. I have to focus, focus, focus on the absolute necessities and drop everything else.

There is more, so much more, but those two things are at the forefront of everything I'm trying to deal with right now.

I've had this post rolling around in my head for so long, but every time I'd sit down to write it, I'd feel so exhausted and I just couldn't make myself put the words down. There were more elegant and coherent phrases in my head, but they flit away at the earliest opportunity, and I am left with this.

I'm hunkering down for now. I'm burrowing in to my family--being a wife, being a mom. That's all I can do right now. Dreams of writing and grandeur have been put on hold, because frankly, I'm useless until I get some sleep. (Sleep. The connotations of that word...my child doesn't know what it means. And before you tell me to let him cry, or let him sleep in my bed, rest assured that I have done everything and he remains as steadfast as ever that waking up a few times in the middle of the night is necessary. I'm just trying to live with the damage right now.) I'm not reading any more blogs about "attachment parenting" or the harmful chemicals in this mattress, or the dangers of letting your child cry, or why he needs to eat organic food and how processed food is going to kill us eventually. I don't want any more opinions, advice, or lectures about how to parent--I am on information overload and I can't take it anymore.

My brain has quit when I need it the most, again, and there's nothing I can do but hang out and wait for it to show back up.

I'll let you know when it happens.

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pressure

My tea is going cold, it's 10:30 pm, my baby is starting to wake up, and I have two articles to finish before I can crawl into my bed tonight.

And I just can't seem to wade through the fog invading my brain for a long enough period of time to get a grip and get it all done.

I'm so good at keeping things *almost* together. 

I can stretch a deadline as long as possible, until I am well and truly up against a wall, and it has to get done right then. 

I can rinse the same load of laundry five times, and throw a little more soap in there, and you won't know that it sat in my washer for three days before I hung it up to dry.

I can spot clean my apartment in five minutes, so that it looks like I always keep it nice and tidy, unless you look under the couch or inspect the bookshelves too closely.

"The ability to keep up appearances" should be listed as a skill on my resume. 

I don't really know if that's a good thing or not.

I know it's where I am. 

I know that I'm utterly failing at the standards I put on myself, but I must be meeting others, because no one seems to quite have noticed just what a mess I am. 

Don't worry.

It's the same wall I keep running into over and over again. It's got a name, and a face, and one day, I might be able to just walk past it...but not yet.

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my view this morning.

The sunlight streaming through the blinds this morning was so amazing, and I couldn't help myself.

I grabbed my camera and easily took over a hundred pictures.

I know some of these are a little soft, but I don't care.

To me, they're full of the most beautiful things in my life,

and in these moments,

we were happy.

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mother

Every day I look at my son, and I discover new angles and planes to his face that I've never seen before.
He changes bit-by-bit, right before my eyes, so that there is always something new to see if I just give him enough time.

Being a mother is hard.

Lately I keep wondering if I was really cut out for this job, or if I only thought I was (and wanted to be).

Is that possible, though?
Are you meant to be a mother as soon as your child arrives in your arms? Or is it possible to have a child, and yet not possible to be a mother?

(I know I'm treading on shaky ground here. I don't mean that I don't want to be a mother, but rather am I meant to be one. There is a difference.)

I feel sad, and guilty, and very ashamed admitting that motherhood makes me feel completely inadequate. Especially because I really felt like I had a handle on this whole thing--yes, the first five months were tough in the sleep-deprivation, discovering-a-new-person, figuring-out-breastfeeding, etc. sort of ways. But I felt like I was doing it well. I had the routine down, I had the hippie "communicate with your baby" principles, and everyone was pretty happy.

But now? Now I feel like I'm stumbling and tripping through motherhood. It feels awkward, and all I can see are the holes where my inadequacies are staring me in the face. I look around, and it looks like all the other moms with babies my age have finally hit their stride, and I'm sad, because I feel like I've passed mine.
Already?

I just don't feel like I have enough--not enough patience, not enough kindness, not enough knowledge, not enough energy, not enough ______.

Most days, I hit the couch around three p.m. and I look at Jameson and think, "What am I supposed to do with you now?" And there is guilt, for letting my child down, for not being what he needs.

(I hope you know the risk I'm taking here, by telling you this.)

Most days (but not all. Not enough.) I get so much joy out of being a mother.
I love watching him grow and change.
I like going for walks to cafes, and drinking coffee while he learns to eat.
I love making him smile, and hearing him laugh and knowing that it's me he finds so funny.
I love that he's learning how to hug, and he wraps his arms so tight around my neck and burrows his face in the hollow of my throat.
I love that he makes so many noises now, and just stares while I talk, soaking it all in.
I love the swelling in my heart that I get when I look at him, and the awe that he is mine washes over me once more.

But then a bad day comes, and the house of cards comes crashing down, and I've got to build it all up once again. I just think about how I just have to get through that day, get to eight p.m., when I can nurse my son and lay him in his crib, and just sit still for a moment. Then there are a blessed few hours until I have to get up the next morning and do it all over again.

I don't know how to do this, motherhood.

I only know how to love him with an overflowing, ever-present love, and I just hope that it's enough.

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and over again.

It's kind of amazing to me how quickly my attitude can change when I am faced with a blinking, blank Word document, knowing that I have to hammer out 800 words on some mundane topic, as opposed to the "post" page that is just waiting for me to say whatever it is that I want.

I mean, we all know that I have a problem with authority and people telling me what to do, but this is a little ridiculous.

Anyway.

I kind of had a breakdown on the living room floor the other night.

I finished putting Jameson to bed, and as soon as I walked into the living room, he started to fuss. I had the weight of a week's worth of work needing to be finished in one night on my back, and I just couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't even cry (at first), I just laid flat on my back in the middle of the carpet and stared at the ceiling while babbling on about everything crammed into my too-small-to-carry-it-all-around brain.

"I just want to do what I'm created to do, and I don't even know what that is. I just want to do that thing that brings fulfillment, that lets me know that I am doing that thing that God put inside of me to do, but I can't find it. And how do I know when to fight for a dream that I think I could have, or settle for a life of responsibility?"

And then my wise and patient and ever-loving husband said, "What if you're not supposed to do all of the things you were created to do all at once?"

And I just thought, "I guess I'd never thought of that before."

Which is kind of dumb that I hadn't, if we're being honest. I mean, I've always tried to approach my life as having seasons, and I don't know how I didn't relate certain seasons of life to the things I'm supposed to be doing at certain times.
I was clearly not meant to be a wife and mother when I was seventeen and in college.
I probably won't be raising children when I'm seventy and living in my dream house (right? Ha).

But seriously. I'm here.
I'm a wife and a mother right now. That's what I do, it's who I am.
I also happen to write a little bit on the side to bring in some money, and if I'm not completely mentally inept after finishing that, I spit out messy words on a computer in the hopes that someone else will see and understand.
Maybe someday, or maybe even tomorrow, someone will see these words (or I'll get up the guts/energy/willpower to send them to someone) and they'll say to me, "Hey. I really think you've got important things to say, and the way you say them is intriguing and relate-able, and we want to give you some money to write more of these things and tell them to more people."
And I will be a happy, happy lady.

But for now, I need to focus on being here.
(Isn't that what it always comes back to, for me? Seriously, I don't know how anyone can keep reading this--it's got to get so redundant after awhile!)
I am enough, even without all of those roles.
I am enough when I don't write, when I don't mother, and when I don't wife.
I am enough in this depraved body, because Christ said I was enough.
And if He said so, why am I trying to say otherwise?

Ladies and Gentlemen, here sits Camille Nicole, back in the place she always finds herself--the beginning.

And it's okay.

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silence. [flashback friday]

Another post I found when looking in the "drafts" folder. Even though I'm not pregnant anymore, the sentiments remain the same. 

Confession: reading my Bible and spending time with the Lord has not been on my "Top 10 List of Things To Do" for the past few months.

I kept getting so caught up in everything else--the sheer exhaustion I felt when waking up every morning, the massive list of things I needed to get done before Jameson gets here, what I was going to eat that day, how I was going to survive the ache in my hips, etc.

I had started another daily Bible reading plan at the beginning of the year, and was doing okay for awhile, but my motivation slowly died out. This is also due to other life circumstances, but the roundabout point that I am making is that God has not been on the top of my priority list for awhile.

However, a few weeks ago I was hit with some pregnancy insomnia that had me out of bed at 6:30 am, sitting on the couch in silence. I figured that was as good a time as any to try and catch up on all of the scripture reading I had missed, so I made some coffee and got going. After figuring out where exactly I had left off and what was going on, I came across this passage:

"Like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be recovered, so we must die. But God does not take away life; instead He devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from Him."

[2 Samuel 14:14]

Sitting in the silence of my living room, with the sun crawling through the blinds and a cup of coffee in my hands, it washed over me once again--God wants me.

I don't know why this is so hard for me to understand sometimes.

I don't know why it's so easy for me to sit and think about how far away I feel from God and come to the conclusion that I must have done something to get on His bad side, and He's just waiting until I grovel at His feet before He'll take me back.

I don't know why I have this fear that He's going to take away the blessings He's given me, because I haven't lived up to the "conditions" that they must come with.

Why is it that the weaknesses in our lives just keep showing up in different ways? Someday, I will beat this body of flesh and I will win the battle. Until then, I'm just going to keep going, because I can't do anything else.

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an in-bed, typing-on-my-phone post.

I can't sleep.
There are so many things on my mind that I feel like my brain is going to explode.
Am I a good mother?
Am I hippy enough, what other natural things am I missing?
How much time do I devote to natural living, and how do I do it with a biblical worldview?
How do I even claim a biblical worldview when I haven't even made the time to sit down and be with the Lord for the past few days?
Am I teaching my son enough to set a foundation for the rest of his life?
How do I motivate myself to complete the mundane and unfulfilling work I do, while also pursuing work that I love?
Where is the balance between doing what you have to because you have to and fighting for a dream that might be too big?
How do you know that you're going to be the dreamer that makes it?
How do you know when the sacrifices a dream require are worth it? If I don't work this mundane job, my family doesn't have enough money to pay rent. So how can I all-of-a-sudden just up and say that I'm not going to do it anymore because I want to really take a stab at writing for myself? The whole "you've got what it takes" thing is nice, and encouraging, but when do you decide that reality has to take over and practicalities need to reign prominent?

I feel like I'm going in circles.
I feel like I keep coming up against the same questions and not getting any answers.
I feel like God has been silent for so long, that it is hard for me to remember what He sounds like.
I feel angry at Him, and then I feel ashamed for feeling angry, because how can I be mad at the God that has given me everything? But how can I not be angry at a God that has promised me a life abundant, and yet has left us in this financial and emotional state for over a year now?
How do I balance serving God because He simply is, with expecting great things of Him because I am supposed to ask and expect great things?

I want a revival.
I want deliverance.
I want to be so much more than I am: more patient, more loving, more faithful, more bold, more understanding, more humble, more like Him.
I want answers and I want to be satisfied with them.
I want to thrive, rather than just get by.
I want the eternal.

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five years, six days.

That title is probably misleading.

Maybe it should be "five years. six days".

Because what I am talking about is the fact that five years ago, my husband asked me out on our first date, and as a result, I am spending my sixth Valentine's day with him.

Not only that, but I get two Valentines now, because I have a son. (Score another one in the "having a boy" category. Sometimes being the only girl has it's perks.)

I woke up to these:

According to Hubs, Jameson picked these out for me.

A dozen red roses from my love.

And these:

Because he knows how much I love Valentine's Day, even though it's "commercial".

Apparently, this took a million years to make, and included an incredible mess.
All while I was spinning my butt off at the gym.
I love my guys.

Then Hubs took me to this restaurant, followed by this:

Then I got to hang out with these guys:

He's like, "Come on, Mom. That's enough now."

I love this. I know Jameson and I are out of focus, but it's my family.
We are happy.

And now I'm here.

Such a blessed woman, am I.
And a happy one, at that.

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currents

Jameson is still mega-sick, so we've been house-bound for the past few days. 
I spent Thursday night in the living room with him from midnight to 6:30am, and he got an early morning bath on Friday, after throwing up/pooping everywhere. It's been rough going for us, but I'm hoping that he is over the worst of it and can start getting better.


In the mean time, since my brain is running slower due to lack of sleep, here's a pretty nonsensical post about...me! (Because I know you're dying to know all about that topic, since it doesn't get talked about often enough. Ha.)


Reading: Thanks to the Kindle I received for Christmas (as well as the stack of six books from my sister-in-law), I have kind of managed to start reading for pleasure again. Hallelujah. I just finished reading this book, which was so packed full of emotion, I almost didn't know what to do with myself. It was so good, but it kind of hurt, too. At the end, I just grabbed Jameson and cuddled him until he got mad and started to cry.
I also finally finished this series, which was good, but I kind of felt like the last book just trudged along for awhile. I'm not sure I'd recommend it, simply because it was so incredibly graphic in some areas, but the plot line was decent, and the suspense was excellent.

Listening: During the winter time, I always fall back on a few favorites. Bon Iver, John Mayer, and Ray LaMontagne are never far from me. However, Florence and the Machine have recently found their way into my life, and I couldn't be happier. Oh, and how could I forget Sesame Street and Yo Gabba Gabba?

Watching: On the off chance that I do have time to watch TV, it's generally of the trashy, brain-candy type. After spending my day with a seven-month old, 'America's Next Top Model' or 'Made in Chelsea' are generally where it's at for me. However, Hubs and I have recently started watching 'Modern Family', and we always have our old friend 'Grey's Anatomy' to look forward to (when it finally makes it's way across the pond).

Pondering: The ins and outs of being a mom, as well as being a wife and daughter of the Lord, and how all of those things fit together. All of this will be coming out in a post shortly, I promise.
I've also been thinking a lot about adoption (it seems that all my friends have recently begun the process, or are considering beginning the process to adopt), and whether or not it could/should be considered a calling for all Christians. If anyone has any resources about this, I'd love to take a look at them...

Doing: I seem to have finally found a workout schedule that is do-able for me, and it involves a lot of spin classes, a Zumba class, and a body combat class. I am tired, but I feel good, and finally feel like I'm getting back to where I want to be.
Other than that, I'm trying to cram a little bit of work in during the evenings and generally being the best momma that I can. 


And there it is folks. Care to share your own currents?

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flashback friday

A snippet of a post that I started writing, but never finished:

I'm homesick today (but I'm not sure I can even explain what that means).

It's the middle of July, and there are rainclouds in the sky and a cool breeze blowing through the trees, and I just sit and think, "Where is summer?"

My son is sleeping in his swing right across from me, and the thoughts that tackle me when I look at him are overwhelming. The future seems so uncertain, especially with this new little guy, and I just feel like I am treading on unstable ground. Every day is different, down to how much sleep I get and how I feel physically. This is the biggest life change I've ever experienced, and I think I'm still in shock from it all.

I worry so much more now. I worry about his breathing, and his crying, and the little spots on his face, and the faces he makes, and all of the 'what-ifs' that hit me when we walk out the front door.

If I let it, this anxiety could consume me.
I'm sure I could attribute this to all of the hormones making their way out of my body right now, but I also know that this is probably just going to be the battle I fight for the rest of my life.
I'm a momma now, and suddenly, my heart is encapsulated in this little person, which means that I will always worry.

Six months later, and I am happy to report that the anxiety has gotten easier to manage, but is still around.


Looking back at this, I feel like I've gotten some sort of a handle on motherhood, even if it's just that I know my son now, and so am more familiar with what is normal (and what is not). I think the pendulum has swung the other way, and now I'm working on finding a balance between being a mom, and a wife, and still being myself and doing the things that feed my soul.


Any tips are greatly appreciated.

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where are the words?

Jameson has been sick for the past few days, so I'm starting to get a little stir-crazy over here.

We took him to the doctor yesterday (which required waking up bright and early to make sure that we were one of the first in line, so that we didn't have to sit in the waiting room with a sick infant for two hours...), and she told us that it's probably some sort of virus and the best thing to do is to just wait it out and let his immune system take care of it.

Which is beneficial in the long run, I know, but it's so sad to live through. The good news is that it hasn't really seemed to phase him (other than the snot everywhere and the coughing), and he's just as happy as ever. For the most part. The problem is that we got about four inches of snow the other day, and I'm not sure I'm up to wrestling the stroller through the sludge with a sick baby in order to escape the house for a few hours.

Although, check back with me in a few days, if he doesn't start to get better soon.

Anyway...this is pretty much just a lot of nothing. I guess I'm lacking in inspiration tonight, which I'm working on letting myself be okay with. I think I need to start remembering the discipline behind the talent, which means consistently practicing the talent, even when I don't feel inspired.

You lucky few just happen to be on the receiving end of the nonsense.

As a sidenote, thank you for the encouragement about the whole "pursue your dreams" thing. It gave me a lot to think about, and it's all still percolating right now...I think my biggest dilemma is finding the time and energy to essentially start my own business/brand/image while also fulfilling my responsibilities as a wife and momma.
And staying sane. Because that's equally as important.

Drink tea, and stay warm.

-C

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