mom-wear-wednesday [6]

top: h&m// leggings: pink by Victoria's Secret//
baby carrier: beco gemini

on a recent visit to London with one of our favorite friends from Moody,
who happens to be traveling around the world and came to see us!

I'm going to be honest and tell you that today's post was sort of an afterthought.

We've been out all day, and I've been thinking a lot about the background series that I've got going on, and somehow taking pictures of what I'm wearing just doesn't seem that important. 

However, I've managed to rustle up some pictures of actual "mom-wear" in action (complete with photo-bombing baby on my back) so you know that I'm legit.

And actually, this outfit comes in a close second to the favorite sweatpants, as far as the mom-outfit most often worn goes.

I'm always in leggings, and this tank top is long enough so that people don't get disgusted by my uncovered rear-end, and is also loose enough that if I'm having a fat day I'm not too self-conscious. It's one of the few items of clothing that I actually bought more than one of (I have it in a turquoise color as well).

It's a winner all around.

Seriously though, as I've been rehashing my sordid history, I've had lots of conversations with myself about my appearance and why it's something that affects me (and many, many other women) so strongly. I was at the gym tonight, fighting my way through spin class after ditching for at least 6 weeks, and I just couldn't stop thinking about it all:

--all that "fitspiration" that travels around pinterest and blogs, "encouraging" women to be stronger than they think they can and to sweat more than they want to.

--the way I can go from appreciating and *almost* loving my body to being absolutely disgusted with myself in the same breath.

--how it's such a unique and personal struggle that nearly every woman has to face at least once in her life.

--wondering if I will ever reach a place where it's not a concern, or a panic, or a battle anymore. Will I ever be comfortable in my own skin for longer than a day or two?

I think that once I'm done with the series I've got going on right now, this is something I'd like to explore more and talk about in-depth. 

I'd love to hear from you guys, and how you think/feel/worry about it all.

I know I'm not the only one that struggles with this or feels this way, and I'd love to know people's thoughts about the whole thing.

Anyway. 

(Boy, the mood around here sure has gotten heavy lately, hasn't it?)

I promise, promise to do a legit post next week, complete with hair-donut video and everything. 

So please don't be scared away by all the serious talk. 

There is a lighter side coming, you just gotta hang in there with me!

Read more...

the background [pt. 3]

Find part one here.

___________________

It hurt more than I thought it would, the first time.

I was too scared to use anything as "dangerous" as a knife or a razor blade, so I went for what I had available--a safety pin. I scratched deeper and deeper, and felt the sting, and saw the blood, and went a little bit numb. It was a relief.
The music was pounding in my ears, and part of me knew that I was in it for good. If I didn't have "problems" before all of this happened, I certainly did now. I remember, after it was over and the cut was there, the panic and despair sinking in a little deeper.

How was I going to explain this?
How did I ask for help without saying a word?

The worst part is when no one noticed. I guess it shows just how good I was at keeping the mask in place--no one would entertain the notion that I could do something so "disturbed". It was such a surreal feeling, walking around with the cut on my wrist, waiting for someone to say something, to point it out, to ask. It was like holding my breath, and waiting for someone to tell me I could breathe again.

The relief was only temporary, as it usually is.
The darkness kept getting thicker, and life kept getting harder to get up and live, and the mask was starting to crack. I think I wanted it to crack. I wanted someone to look at me and say, "You're not okay." and "Let me help you, because I know this is real, and I know it hurts, and we can fix this."
That's what I wanted most of all. To be fixed.

~*~

I don't remember how it came out--whether I finally broke down and told someone, or if they asked, but somehow my parents learned about my scars. 

Now that I'm a parent, I understand the panic that they must have felt when they saw the pink lines and the fear they had to swallow when they heard the words spill out of my lips. I also understand the desire they must have had to rationalize the situation and put it in perspective with my age and where I was at in life. They did the best they knew how--prayed with me, sat with me all night on a "self-harm watch", and told me that emotions and hormones were hard things, but they weren't absolute truth. Although it felt empty at the time, I know they were doing everything they could--and I love them for that.

Unfortunately, I needed more. 

I needed more than the knowledge that I couldn't let my emotions or my "teenage angst" control my behavior.

I needed more than a command to not let the devil win. 

I just didn't know all of that at the time.

After the "night of revelation", I bucked up my resolve as best I could and decided that I was going to muscle my way out of this. 

I took the words "fake it 'til you make it" to heart, and started acting the part. I figured that it would have to work eventually--light would break through if I just acted like it was already there.

And it kind of worked for awhile. 

The monster was still inside my head, and the whispers of darkness still wound through my brain, but I buried it deep enough that I thought I was safe and that I had finally conquered it.
I went to school, I went to work, I went to church.

I talked to God, and He listened. I thanked Him for saving me from the devil, and I promised that I wouldn't let my selfishness take over and drag me down again.

Because I thought that's what it was.

I thought that it was just me--the deep, ugly sin inside of me, causing me to get caught up in my own head and my own feelings and putting myself in the center of the world.

Because if I was really a Christian, and if I was really a good person, I wouldn't struggle with any of this. I mean, look at what I had--Jesus, two parents who loved each other, sisters that I loved, a house full of clothes and things, a car, a job, an education, and on and on and on. 

I knew people that had infinitely less, and came from monumentally worse situations that didn't struggle with any of this, and I thought that I was simply the most selfish person on the planet for feeling so absolutely low and sad all of the time, even when I didn't want to.

And that is what made me want out.

~*~

Because I was homeschooled, I skipped my junior year of high school and attended a community college my senior year. 

The pressure was on, since I wanted to get into an Ivy League college or a private university in-state. I knew I needed scholarships and good grades, and that I was going to have to live up to the potential that everyone was telling me I had.

It's kind of funny though, because the strongest memory I have from that time of my life really has nothing to do with college or grades or any of that. 

It's of the freeway, stretching out and curving to the left of my car and the sun rising over the mountains and the thought so plain in my mind, "You could just not turn the wheel, you know. You could drive straight on, into the concrete dividers and all of this would be over." And there was a moment. A split second where relief flooded through my entire body and I knew that it would be the answer.

But it wasn't.

Because the next thought that screamed at me was, "You have got to get help."

Read more...

currents. [August]

evidence of how much I miss Mr. Potter.

Reading: Since it's that time of year, I've started the Harry Potter books again. I just love them way too much to not read them more than once, and really, I miss Hogwarts. Each time around I notice something new, and I am continually in awe of J.K. Rowling's writing and how well she communicates with her audience. 
I've also just started "The Scorpio Races" by Maggie Stiefvater. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, but it's gotten a lot of good reviews, so here's hoping. I finished a trilogy that she wrote not too long ago, and although I wasn't blown away, there was promise there, so...I'll keep you posted.

Watching: My usual brain candy, although Hubs got the documentary channels for me, so I've been watching some educational tv. Ha. We're working our way through season 3 of 'Modern Family', and I've decided it's got to be one of my favorite shows ever. The writing is simply brilliant, and the characters are hilarious. Seriously. I watch it any time I'm in a bad mood, and it always makes me smile.

Listening: I recently discovered Ben Howard, and have been obsessed ever since. I love, love, love his album and his voice.
Also, Taylor Swift's new song has been stuck in my head, much to Hubs despair. I'll admit, it's not her best work, but it's catchy and I love her anyway. 
And, of course, there's always "Row, Row, Row, Your Boat" and "Wind the Bobbin". 

Eating: Oh, gluten. The bane of my existence. I'm sure I've talked about it a little bit before, but I've really got to get back on the gluten-free bandwagon. My problem is just how expensive it is to buy "freefrom" groceries, and the time that goes into figuring out GF meals to make. Not to mention that all of my favorite foods happen to be made out of bread and flour, and I have little to no willpower when it comes to pancakes. But really. I've got to stop. I've got headaches every day, stomach pain, and major anxiety/depression issues that need to calm themselves and I am 99% sure that the cause of it all is the dreaded gluten. Dang it.

Thinking: About home and how much I life in America. Also about how I am kind of excited for fall, but I won't let myself look forward to it, because I feel like I got gypped out of a summer here. 
About politics and how my views have changed in immense ways ever since I moved out of the country and started living life outside of the States.
And about how wonderful it was to see familiar faces over the last few weeks, how it reminded me of the life I used to live, and the person I used to be, and the possibility that she's still in there somewhere.
It's hope, and I miss that.

Alright, folks, give me your currents as well.

Stick your posts in the link-up below so that we can get some suggestions/ideas for things to read/watch/listen/think for the next month!

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the background [pt.2]

If you haven't read it yet, you can find part one here.

______________________

Before I really get into all of this, I feel like I should give a disclaimer.

I don't know how to do this eloquently, and I am afraid that I'm going to stumble over my words, or convey the wrong emotion and message and present myself in a very bad light.
But at the same time, I also know that I need to just get it out there and over with, and let you be the judge so that I don't have to anymore.

So I am just asking for grace for the telling--this is a rough jumble of words, and I'm just trying to get it as right as I can.

__________________________

I guess the first time I remember any inclination of it all was back around seventh grade. 

I was part of a co-op of homeschoolers that all got together twice a week and brought in teachers to teach different subjects--Spanish, Creative Writing, Algebra, Marine Science, etc. It was where I got to hang out with most of my friends, get out of the house, and get a taste of "normal" life. Unfortunately, there was always a little bit of a stigma around us, since we were a Christian group, meeting in a church, holding a Bible study, and so on. A lot of us felt the pressure to live above the standards that were set, and to be better than the examples that were held up of "the world out there". This was hard to live up to, especially since we were teenagers and trying to figure out who we even were, let alone how to be better than everyone else. 

There was one girl, a little bit older than the rest of us, a little more distant. It took her awhile to make friends, despite our mothers urging, but eventually she knocked her way into the group and settled down into it. She had all the girls over to her house for a sleepover one night, and I remember going into her room and seeing her sitting on her bed. Her arms were bare for once, and I noticed that they were covered in swirling silvery-pink lines. As I looked closer, I realized they were scars. Some more faint than others, but all etched deeply into her skin.

I remember being shocked, with a twisting in my stomach because I knew that was "bad". But I was also curious--up until that moment, pain had been something to avoid, something to fight against. Yet, here was someone actively seeking pain, giving it to themselves and carving it into their flesh.

When I asked her about it, she shrugged it off in her very nonchalant manner, saying, "It's not a big deal. It's just carving, just like a tattoo." Even though I knew there had to be more behind it, I didn't want to believe that she was carrying around so much baggage that she needed to bleed it out of her. So I accepted her answer, and walked out of the room.

~*~

I always kept the scars in the back of my mind, and every time I'd see them peeking out from underneath her sleeves, I'd feel a jolt of electricity in my stomach. 

By the time I hit high school, the emotional confusion had only intensified in our group. We were getting older, we liked boys and the boys liked us. Some had branched out and met "other" friends, dangerous friends that would take you down the wrong path. A select few had gone rogue and were the subject of much prayer and discussion. 

I was toying with all of it. 

I'd met a boy, a dangerous and mysterious boy that intrigued me and left me desperate to "fix him" and make him happy. He "had problems", but I didn't care. I was getting tired of being the example, the leader, the good girl. (They call it a cliche because it's true.)

I could feel echoes of the sadness that he felt inside of me--it's like seeing them in him allowed me to realize that they were in myself as well. And even though I sometimes wonder whether being around him magnified my own problems, I am still sure that they would have been brought to the surface eventually. It's like he was the catalyst for the implosion that was bound to happen one day. Things started to get darker and darker, like falling into a hole a little bit deeper at a time, until one day I was so far down that I couldn't see the top anymore.

You see, you have to understand something here.

This was not the expected outcome for a girl like me.

I was the little girl that grew up in the same church since she was a year old. I was the daughter of leaders in the church, the girl that everyone looked up to and parents told their kids to emulate. I kept my room clean, obeyed my parents, got a job, and did well in school. I never openly rebelled, rarely talked back or broke curfew. I was the safe friend, the one that parents liked to have over to their house because they knew I wasn't going to get their kid in trouble.

So when the darkness started creeping in, and the world felt like it was going to collapse on top of me, I didn't know what to do.
People like me don't get *shhhh* depressed. 

"Too blessed to be stressed", don't you know? 

I remember feeling like I was suffocating, drowning, being buried alive. 

I hated myself, and I hated everyone else for being better than I was, or being worse than I was and not caring about it. 

I hated God, for letting it get this far and not saving me from myself. 

--in fact, I remember screaming at Him, asking if He knew that this was how I was going to turn out. Did He know that that sweet little girl with the ringlets in her hair, singing 'Jesus Loves Me' in Sunday School was going to wish that she were dead on a daily basis?

Because I did. At some point each day I thought about how much better, how much easier it would be if I simply ceased to exist.

And that's when I remembered the scars.

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mom-wear-wednesday [5]

top: H&M// jeans: charlotte russe//
shoes: fitflop// earrings: RissyRoos

Oh dear. Mom-wear-wednesday almost slipped by me today, you guys.

Jameson is at his grandparents house for the afternoon, and I've been watching tv/reading/eating copious amounts of biscuits in my sweatpants and tank top. 

Then Daveo came home from having lunch, and I was getting stressed about the paperwork that I was attempting to fill out, and so we decided that it was time to walk down the to pub and have a drink.

(How absolutely English does that sound?)

So I threw on jeans and a top, and left on the mascara from yesterday, and called it a day.

At least I put on some legit earrings to help. And deodorant. I put that on, too. 

Note how I am wearing the most "mom" shoes ever, the FitFlop.

I don't know if they've done much in terms of toning my rear end, but let's just talk about how comfortable these babies are. Seriously, it didn't even matter that they are hot pink and kind of weird looking--I wore them everyday for the last two months of my pregnancy. I am not even kidding. Any time I think I might have to do a lot of walking, I put these on, whether they match my outfit or not.

--the smart thing to do would probably have been to buy them in black, but these were the ones on sale, so...there you go. 

Okay. Tell me what you guys want to see next week, because I need some inspiration.

Do I attempt some weird hairstyle from Pinterest?

Do I make my first "v-log" and show you the hair donut?

Do I take pictures of Hubs for a change, and show you the dad-wear that goes down around here?

Let me know.

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the background [pt. 1]

I have long wondered/struggled with just how honest to be on this tiny little space.
--just how much should I tell people about the dirty laundry I've got stashed away in my brain?

I'm sure this is something that other bloggers worry about and deal with as well. It seems that everyone comes to a slightly different conclusion, and I completely understand.
--if you can't be comfortable sharing something with (potentially) the whole world, then it's probably better to keep quiet and stay safe.

For me, blogging started way back when I was fifteen, when it was something that no one had really heard of, and when you mentioned it to your parents generation, they said, "What? Is that even a word?"

It was a space that I could carve out for myself, somewhere to assert who I was and who I was becoming--to type words and immediately see them in print, to roll them around in my mouth and taste them on my tongue and decide whether or not I really wanted to spit them out, or if it was better to keep them inside for a while longer.

After that it grew and molded itself into something a little different, a little more social, and a little more honest. It became a place to write, and to practice writing, but to also connect with people in a way that conversations and glances sometimes didn't allow for. I could be honest here in a way that I could never be honest with someone I'd just met, and I liked that.

Eventually "blogging" grew to become this huge thing that everyone did, and I kind of held back in my own little corner for awhile. I didn't want the competition to change me, or to change my writing, or to change my motivation to keep writing. I've always struggled with keeping up and fitting in, and the last thing I wanted to do was take my corner of honesty and have it turn into a race to be "the best".

And so now I sit in this tension between staying honest and open, but also molding this into a business and (possibly) making some profit from it. And with all of that comes the realization that there are a lot of gaps in the story and a lot of holes in the honesty cloth I've been weaving, simply because it's just been me for so long. I didn't have to explain, because I was the only one here, and I already knew the backstory.

But now, there are you guys (we've jumped from 12 to 43 and I am SO EXCITED) and I'm sure that a lot of you are wondering what I'm talking about half the time.

So. I'm going to fill some gaps in.

I'm not going to give you the entire life story, but I'm going to talk about the important parts, the hard parts, the parts that people don't like talking about.

I'm doing this for a variety of reasons, but mostly because of the responses I get when I am gut-wrenchingly honest-- the "I completely know what you're talking about" and the "I'm so glad someone else can relate" responses. These are what make me keep writing, and these are the ones that I am writing for.

Because everyone just wants to not be alone--to be weird and different with someone else weird and different right by their side.

--pt. 2
--pt. 3
--pt. 4
--pt. 5

Read more...

sloooow down.

Friday's post got a lot of responses from people, and I am kind of surprised, but also blessed.

It also made me realize that eventually I should probably tell my story a little bit more, so people don't think I'm just a raving lunatic that puts everything out there for the internet to judge.

Hopefully I can get to that later this week, as long as Jameson is feeling better. I'm coming into this week majorly behind, since he came down with a throat infection on Saturday morning, and has been pretty sad ever since.

Thankfully, he's on antibiotics now (which I am not the biggest fan of, but in this case, they are like manna from heaven) and seems to be perking up a little. So, hopefully I can catch up on life sometime soon.

As always, here are pictures to compensate. :)

swimming for England.

such a boy.

he tries to eat the water that splashes him.

"cake, mom. cake."

"really? you're going to take a picture now, dad?"

"enough. I have business to attend to."

the ogre walk of champions.

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

Hubs has said that he wants will allow himself to be featured on this little piece of the internet, so if you've got questions/ideas for him, leave them in the comments and I'll see to it that he gets them. 

Pretty soon we'll have our very first guest post. 

Dang. I'm really on the up-and-up, aren't I?

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the have and have nots.

just a moment.

For the last few weeks, I kind of feel like I've focused on the ligher, more surface-y side of life.

The weekend chronicles, the ridiculous mom-wear that I sport, the random thoughts I have during massages...

But there's always something there, just simmering under the surface and I don't know what to do with it.

Jameson is nearly 13 1/2 months old. I should be far beyond the "adjustment" period of life with a child. My body has officially replenished itself of all the nutrients and things that Jameson took while he was growing. I've lost all the baby weight and a little bit extra. I should be back to normal.

So why am I not?
Why do I still wake up in a fog, and still feel so exhausted at the thought of all the things to come?
Why is living such a difficulty, and why am I swallowed up in guilt about things so small that they shouldn't really matter?
Why does this darkness come in waves, and snatch away the good moments that I do have?
Why can't I just put a name and a face to this monster, so that I know how to fight it?

Part of me knows that some of this stems from where we live and the situation that we're in.
After so much defeat in England, I feel like I've kind of emotionally died inside a little, almost as a form of self-preservation. I've put up a lot of walls to dull the emotion so that I don't have to deal with the pain of failure and difficulty that we're experiencing.

I don't see the wonder in the rain anymore, or glory in a field full of flowers.
I don't find meaning in the wind, or dream about the passions that I used to have.
I don't do things just to do them anymore, because that takes energy that I don't possess.

And that makes me sad, because I know that I'm somewhat of a shell of who I used to be.
It's like living life in black and white and gray instead of the vibrant colors I used to see.

And I just want to heal.
I just want to be happy, and to laugh without it taking effort, and to be vibrant and passionate and bursting with life.

So I will keep moving. Keep living.
Keep waking up in the morning and taking deep breaths.
Because what else can I do?

--linking up with The Wiegand's

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mom-wear-wednesday [4]

Dress: Old Navy// Shoes: Primark//
Headband: Rissy Roo's// Earrings: Gift from sister

Wow. Four weeks in a row.
I'm going to be honest and say that I can't believe I've lasted that long. (Or that you guys have been that interested.)
But maybe what I should really be surprised at is that so many people are so interested in what I look like when I walk out of the house. Are you all sure you want to be getting fashion advice from me?

Eh, whatevs. It makes me feel a little bit better about my wardrobe. Ha.

Anyway...I threw this on because it was sunny outside and the phone said that it was 71 degrees. The dress is old (like, at least four years old) because I wore it on my honeymoon, but I like the color and I like the way it makes my shoulders look. (Is that too honest?)

Clearly you have all seen the sandals before, but can I just say that for the £3 I spent on them at Primark, they have been a dream? Honestly, I walked around London for nearly seven hours on Saturday, and my feet were fine. So weird, but so wonderful.

Let's talk about the hair pictures for a minute. Is this something you all even want to see? I kind of feel like I've got to keep coming up with new hairstyles to put on here, since I've given away the hair donut secret and I should really do something different at least for the one time a week I'm photographing myself, right? But also, that means there's kind of pressure on me to figure something new out...like I need to go start a new board on Pinterest or something and actually attempt some of the hair tutorials on there. So, input needed. I am NOT a hairstylist and sometimes I'm all thumbs when it comes to taming this mane, but I like to try new things once in a while...I guess what I'm saying is, I'll be the hair guinea pig if that's what you all are looking for.

Also, note my cute little rosette headband. I finally got to jump on that bandwagon after I won a giveaway at Much Love, Illy and I am so excited about it. I got two headbands and two pairs of earrings from the lovely Larissa at Rissy Roo's and I am stoked. I love accessories, and I love free accessories, so this was everything I had ever dreamed of. Plus, I actually won a blog giveaway...which I am still kind of amazed about, because I didn't think that could actually happen.

So do you want to know the sad secret about this outfit?
After I took these pictures, I realized that I was going to be carrying Jameson around on my back for awhile, and that the baby carrier would not look great with this dress...so I changed into leggings and a tank top.
Dang. I know.
I should have taken pictures so you all could see the real "mom-wear-wednesday" that was happening (because it was definitely mom-wear, and it was definitely happening).
I promise I was not trying to "fashionista" you here, it just so happened that without Hubs around to tote my child, this dress was not mom-approved for my outing.

Next week I promise to actually take a picture on my way out the door (maybe with Jameson strapped to my back) so you can see EXACTLY what I am wearing. Sound good?

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scribbles and dots.

Out of focus, and beautiful.

Today has been...just one of those days.
And by those days I mean it has been just another day in this life that I'm trying to figure out and live in the moment of.

I went to the gym, found out I lost a pound, came home and ate 1/4 of my breakfast that turned out to be off. I just chalked that up to less calories and more weight off, but then I was hungry, so Hubs and I had a baguette and cheese for lunch and it was delicious.

Then I took a nap and slept for an hour, but it felt like five and I could have slept all day. I've been so tired lately and I just cannot figure out why. All the paranoid pregnancy tests I've been taking have been coming back negative and I'm exercising and drinking lots of water so it is not making sense to me.
Maybe it's still just being a mom.

I'm cooking toads-in-the-hole and roast potatoes tonight and I feel like I've finally succumbed to the English diet. Oil, bland palates, and potatoes. I mean, it tastes good and it fills you up, but there's just a little bit of American in me that dies every time I mix up a batch of Bisto.

There are words to be written, and bathrooms to be cleaned, and things to be sorted, and to-do lists to cross off and I just can't bring myself to do any of it.
That seems to be another one of the recurring themes around here--my inability to "get it together" and actually get things done.
I wonder if I'll ever actually grow up and be the responsible adult that I'm supposed to be.

--linking up with just write.

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mondays.

"Oh hey mom. Get it together."

"I've got a bad case of the Mondays."

That phrase sounds so oldy-person to me, but I'm feeling it today.

I think it's because this weekend was so full, and I'm feeling so weighted down with all of the things that I've got to finish this week--preferably sooner rather than later.

And being a mom is such a weird job, because your work is never done--I mean, how do you look at a day and say, "Yes, I successfully taught/disciplined/directed/respected/loved my child enough today. The quota was met, the job was well done."
You can't really, because there's never too much of any of that stuff.
Which is kind of hard for me, because I like gold stars, and checklists, and crossing things off.

I think that sometimes I just need to cut myself some slack, and get off my high-horse of importance.
--the world doesn't revolve around me, so it's not going to fall apart if I fall behind a little.
Which is nice, but also kind of a shot to your ego, if you think about it too much.

Anyway.
I'm tired. Hubs is tired.
There's a bottle of wine chilling in my fridge and fancy cheese that Hubs surprised me with yesterday, and brain candy waiting on the DVR.

I think it's time to call it a night.

--linking up with  The Naptime Review

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dear [blank]

dear English weather: thank you for cooperating and allowing me and my family to spend some time outside the past two days. Having some Vitamin D production kick up in my body has been amazing.

dear Jameson: I just love you, bubba. Your four top teeth are solidly in and you got your first big bonk the other day. You were such a trooper though, crying for a minute and then chewing on the ice pack we tried to put on your head. You're my boy, and I am so proud to be your momma.

dear Olympics: It's nothing personal, but I'm just not into you this year. Maybe it has to do with Hubs recent obsession with every single sport you offer, or the fact that I missed the build-up around the American athletes, but I just haven't caught the spirit. Sigh. Maybe the trip to London tomorrow will help.

dear Hubs: Thanks for being you. You're my best friend, and I know I say it a lot, but it's true--you're the love of my life and I just wouldn't make it without you.

dear America: I miss you. As usual. Stop making stupid decisions while I'm gone, okay? Thanks.

dear Self: Get it together and get to the gym. And get your work done. And stimulate your child. And clean the house. And stop trying to be so put-together all the time.

--linking up with The Wiegand's

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mom-wear-wednesday [3]

Look at me being all posey.

Dress, Leggings: H&M// Sandals: Atmosphere by Primark//
Necklace: anniversary gift from Hubs (Warren James)

Well, well, well.

Look at me breaking out the fancy camera and "professional" pictures on you. 

I know. 

I did it this way because we were on our way out the door and I realized I needed an outfit for today, and it was the spur of the moment so I said, "Hey, Hubs, can you just take my picture really fast?"

"For your blog-thingy?" He answered back.

"Yup. For my blog-thingy."

These pictures are evidence of the fact that the sun never sticks around long in England, even if the temperatures rise a little bit. Although, I did end up putting a coat on later in the afternoon while we were out. Ugh. 

In case you can't tell, I've been into easy dresses lately. I love summer dresses, and the fact that summer only sticks around for four days here kills me, so I've been trying to wear as many as I possibly can. Plus, they're an outfit in themselves, so I don't have to do any match-work. Because (let's get really honest here), I'm pretty sure that Jameson stole my fashion sense after he was born. 

Honestly, I used to kind of know what I was talking about when it came to shopping and dressing myself but now, when I get into a store I just kind of stand around and think, "Right. I don't even know what I'm looking for."

And then I get sad, and feel very un-womanly-like and just throw on my favorite sweatpants. 

Send help. Maybe in the form of Gok Wan.

Hair band, bow: Claire's

And finally, the moment all you ladies, (and probably more ladies) have been waiting for, the highly anticipated hair donut!
My hair is still wet here because we'd just come back from family swim time, but you get the gist of it.
Even though it looks like my hair has been masterfully swept up all on it's own, it's not.

 This little guy is hiding inside, holding up my hair and making it look beautiful.

I would do some fancy-pants video and show you how to do it yourself, but there are a million and one on YouTube, so I'll just leave you this and tell you to practice a lot, because it takes awhile to figure out how to get all your squirrely hairs in there.
If you really, really need me to (and you ask really nicely) maybe I'll make a video showing you how I do it. Maybe.

And that's the end of this "me-pretending-to-know-what-I'm-talking-about-when-it-comes-to-fashion" post.

The pretend fashionista inside will be back next week.

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free flow.

I got a massage and a facial today.

It was a redeemed groupon that I'd bought a million years ago (it seemed like), and I finally got everything together so that Hubs could stay with Jameson and I could go off and pretend that I was a woman of means and I didn't have to count every single penny I spent that day.

And it was the strangest thing (since I've never had a massage before, and have literally dreamed of getting one for as long as I can remember), but as I was laying there I just kept having this thought of, "How on earth can you think you deserve this? This is so indulgent. You should not have bought this--this money would have been better spent elsewhere." I was fighting to make my brain and my body relax so that I could just enjoy this time, this hour of silence and quiet and indulgence. And it was hard.

And I still can't figure out why.

--linking up with just write.

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what our weekend looked like.

Riding miniature trains (real steam-powered engines that ran on coal!), 

watching the ducks, 

and being a family.

Not bad, England. Not bad.

part of the track.

Hubs and Jameson, taking a spin on their own private train.

Only 30p each!

 

 

 

Riding with Ah-ma and Yeh-Yeh

Oh, hey England. Nice to know you actually do have a blue sky.

 

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saving my life.

Chicago.

the sun has been my salvation and brought deep happiness and satisfaction to my life for the last three days. finally.

my other son is always an essential part of saving my life and keeping me buckled to reality. he is my sunshine, my joy, my wonder and there are many times that I think I would have stopped living if he wasn't here.

the promise of our first family-of-three vacation that is going to be happening in two months is saving my life. planning out the sights we're going to see and the hotels we're going to stay at and the food we're going to be eating--right now, Germany and Austria are keeping me going.

as always, my husband is ever saving my life. he makes me laugh, and roll my eyes, and smile. he is my constant companion, my best friend, and my soulmate.

"be still and know that I am God." [psalm 46:10]
these words are the lifeline right now.
-the only promise that I am able to cling to as the storms weather on.
-the only action I am able to take as the beating continues.
-the only thing I am able to meditate on as the doubt creeps in.

still. know. God.

-linking up with Sarah Bessey

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swirling around.

South bank, London.
Nov. 2010.

I've got a lot of things just spinning around in my brain today.

I wanted to have the rest of the posts for this week planned out and scheduled, and yet here I sit at 9:45 pm on Thursday night trying to spit something out so that I can keep the traffic up.

Blogging as a business is kind of a weird betrayal for me. I kind of feel like I'm selling out, but even that's not really accurate, since I'd have to be making money for this to even be "selling".
That's not to say that's not the goal, but for now it's simply a "hobby" that I'm cramming in to the free time that I don't have in order to maybe get a promise that is being loftily held above my head.

Sometimes it all just feels like a lot of work for little return, and I wonder if it's a worthy pursuit of my time.
But I like it, and sometimes I feel like I'm good at it, even if I'm still finding my voice and trying to make it a priority. (You don't want to know what doesn't get done in order to make sure that something shows up in this space. But it's usually a clean bathroom. Or clean clothes. Or a clean me.)

I guess I just have to remember that I'm only human at the end of the day.
That, and the Perfect Christian Wife image that's imprinted on to my brain is not actually an accurate picture, but rather an impossible one.
Things are going to slip, and that's just how it's going to be.

People are messy, myself included.
We don't come in pretty packages, complete with designer house and optimal wardrobe.
Even though admitting that is less-than-ideal, it's the truth.

And that's what I want more than anything.
The truth.

Talk to me about your life. Your mess. Your truth.

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mom-wear-wednesday [2]

We're back.

Two weeks in a row. I'm kind of amazed at myself, but hey, at least I'm being consistent somewhere in my life.

Dress: H&M

So, let's not talk about the fact that I don't have a full-length mirror anywhere in my apartment and I have to take two pictures of myself and put them on top of each other so you can kind of get the effect.

Also, let's ignore the wrinkles in the dress (to be fair, Hubs offered to iron it, but I told him that this was about real-life, not being pretentious. Haha.) and that I have no make-up on. 

Let's do talk about how I am dressed with my hair mostly blow-dried (except the ends. I don't have time for that--it's roots and fringe, if we're lucky) by 9:30 in the morning. The only reason this happened is because I dragged my butt out of bed to the gym at 7 a.m. and made sure I got a shower before Hubs left for work.

Also, please note the sleeping baby in the background once again. That's how you know this is legitimate mom-wear: I have to take the pictures and write the posts during his nap time. I am Awesome.

And if I were even cooler, and if this were a real fashion post, not just me taking pictures of myself, I would be wearing this belt from Forever 21 and these shoes from Blowfish. But I'm not, and this isn't, so it's just me in a dress. Cool.

And there you have it. 

p.s. The "much-anticipated" hair-donut-bun is coming soon. Give me a few days to get some baby puke, ground food, and milk in there and it'll be dirty enough for me to show you. Aren't you so excited?

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