Moving so quickly!

We'll they had beautiful dog beds on sale at Costco so I had to buy one. And then when I got home the tiger man had called and he needs to get rid of this puppy! Joey is going to flip! I'll keep everybody posted. I haven't been this anxious and jittery since we bought our home. And now we sometimes regret that. But anyways...
And I've thought of some killer names:
Dante
Tozer
Jaxon

Maybe The One.

It's Monday morning and I am loving it. Loving the fact that all I have on the list to do today is Costco and dinner with grandparents. I am in my new white, ultra soft robe and my hair doesn't look too bad despite the fact I just woke up and I feel rich. Plus, Ethan is sleeping in.
Also my little sister and her very hot, older, Mexican ethnicity (I think he was born here though) boyfriend Chuy are driving up. They left at three in the morning. They are nuts like that and that's why they are so adorable together. On our family vacation they drove ten hours in a Honda Civic packed full of not only suitcases but bikes (two, old school, banana seat style), long boards, and other hip, Southern California things. They are a little crazy in a very good way.
OOOOOOOOO! I can't believe I almost forgot! I found a puppy! Well, not on the street or anything but in the paper. Maybe he's the one; he's got a rather interesting story. I called the lady in the paper and sure enough she had just sold her last puppy. But then she said that one guy just called her and told her he couldn't keep the puppy he'd taken because-now this is what's interesting-he was the trainer of that tiger who attacked and killed that boy in San Fransisco and he has to move back east. Nuts, huh? So she is going to call him and maybe we will end up with that puppy. Maybe he's already to trained him to be tigerish or something. Or at least potty-trained.
We wanted a girl dog (for smaller size) and this one's a boy, but if I like the looks of him I don't care. I'm ready to have some serious protection around here. I hate coming home late, like last night for instance, and wondering if some wacko is hiding in the spare bedroom, or my closet even. I am still afraid of the dark. At least a dog would be going nuts if someone was in the house and I wouldn't have to wonder.
So now, names. I had girl names picked out-Riley or Roxy-but I've not put much thought into boy names. Any suggestions? I'm at a loss. All I can think of is Butch, and that is a horrible name. I like Boomer, but I stole it. I need something original, tough but not too tough; it has to have a friendliness to it but still be mean sounding if need be. For instance, Duke. But I stole that one too.

What I See Looking in the Rear View Mirror.

Yesterday as I was driving to Wal-mart I glanced in my rear view mirror and there was Ethan, all strapped in to his new, beautiful midnight blue car seat. It complements his eyes. His head was straining forward, like he was trying to see something outside, and as I kept watching his head began to relax and his eyes shut-once-then twice-and then for good.
Can I begin to describe the innocence that I witnessed driving around McCarren as Ethan fell asleep? What a moment to see. Dashboard Confessional was in my CD player at the time singing as if planned, "You have stolen my heart..."
For all the frustration, for all the whines, for all the ten minute power naps instead of a good three hour one, Ethan has stolen my heart. Sometimes I look at him and think, Where did you come from? And then a lot of times I look at him and I see myself, just small. I see my own insecurities lived out in Ethan when he cries when people are too rough, or even just to forward with him.
We need our space, our time to get to know you.
What I see looking in the rear view mirror is absolutely breathtaking. A gift from God symbolizing the gift of Love He has given Joey and me. A new little soul, with markings of my own soul too. It's indescribable really.
Like so many things heavenly, it is too great for me to understand; I look in the rear view mirror and I am overwhelmed.
All this-on the way to Wal-mart!

Christmas.

I'm sleepy guys. Could somebody else take over opening presents for me?

Now, that's hot, cuz. No touching.

Auntie love.

That's a sweet pickle Ethan is sucking on. It took him fifteen minutes to finally eat it.

A new Tricycle! And Nemo!! What could be better??

Holiday chaos. It was so amazing, felt so right to be with family who is usually is hundreds of miles away, despite the craziness of trying to fit twelve people around my mom's new dining room table. The table really isn't the problem, it's the size of the room. Once everybody sits down it's like, ok, nobody move until everyone is done eating, because if one person has to get up at least the two people on either side of them do too to let them out, and then it's a domino effect from there. But hey, what's wrong with being cozy?

Joey and I managed to make it through the celebrations without too many "discussions"-our parenting style is quite different and this difference seems to magnify during family gatherings, such as birthdays and Christmas. For instance, if Ethan is being a poo and won't sit in his high chair to eat, I calmly take him into the time-out room and tell him he may sit on my lap-BUT-he must be a good boy. Joey hears this little pep talk and about goes ballistic because I am bargaining with a two year old. I don't really realize this is what I was in fact doing. I more look at it like doing what works in the present moment so I can eat.

But I see his point.

Joey is about RULES. Rule number one: You sit in your own high chair to eat.

We had a couple other issues but I am learning this about my husband when he gets angry with me: LET IT GO. Because he certainly does. Not only when he is voicing his frustrations but even more importantly afterward, while I am seething and slamming mugs on the counter and thinking this marriage thing sucks, he is completely over it. Give him five minutes, fifteen if the argument escalated to curse words, and he is ready to give me a hug and call it good. I, on the other hand, have this amazing ability to save every ounce of frustration I feel for my monthly cycle week when all the frustration I've been harboring finally erupts.

Poor Joey.

Anyway, how the heck did I get writing about all this??? This was supposed to be about Christmas and Jess' wedding, which was so amazingly adorable. Jess, if you are reading this, I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU RIGHT NOW. And I had to physically hold my hand down from reaching for the phone and calling you this morning. Because I didn't want to disturb you.

Deana and Andrew

It's been so fun to get to know little Andrew. He is a sweet boy with hardly any social awareness, yet. He likes to give very wet, open mouth kisses-when he's in the mood. He follows Ethan with his arms outstretch trying to give him a "hug" which is actually more like fast little swats. But we understand his intentions (Ethan is starting to, too.)

New Friend.

Last night a woman who I met at Joey's work Christmas party came over. When we met we said to one another, "Our husbands are both gone at the same time. We should definitely hang out." And so a couple days later she called me and then I called her back and invited her over to my house (because Ethan is always a wonderful excuse to be at my house) and we said Saturday night a little after six.
Then as it kept getting closer and closer I was thinking, jeese, I hope this works out. I mean, I don't even know her, what will we talk about?? So I suggested we maybe watch a movie or something but we never did because we talked until midnight. Like we had known each other for years only there was no baggage at all, just brand new communication. We talked about family and work and our husband's work and getting together with other wives and church and sex and dogs. In fact, I can't think of anything of significance that we didn't cover.
She lives out here, something (duh, now that I think about it) I have been praying for for over a year.
Thank you Jesus.

I am so happy.

Today I woke up and as I was putting on my very pink and purple robe Grammie gave me last year for Christmas I thought, I'm happy.
Now, this is a strange strange thing, as most of you humans out there know. We are not usually a happy bunch. I mean, even us semi normal ones still fake the smiles half, no probably 70% of the time because its what is expected.
So anyway, I woke up this morning and I didn't want a different house or a different husband or bigger boobs. I woke up and was imagining being pregnant again, and how wonderful that felt last time (I am not being sarcastic here) and then Joey came home and I was still in bed-it was almost nine-and as he crawled in bed he said, "Man, it's nice and warm in here." So I said, "Yeah, that's why I stayed in bed, so it would be nice and warm for you." And then he busted up into the sweetest giggles I have ever heard. When Joey laughs my heart relaxes. But then he said, still laughing, "That had nothing to do with why you stayed in bed." Oh and, "You should see your hair-do right now (more laughter). You should wear it like that for Jess' wedding. It's got so much natural body and curl" (He was being sarcastic here. Very sarcastic). And then he turned over, let his giggles subside and put his green spongy earplugs in his ears and his royal blue sleeping mask over his eyes (he looks like superman). I laid there for a second before I couldn't resist any longer and snapped the band around his head. I learned he doesn't like this.
But it didn't ruin anything. We laid there together for a while, a luxury in this house, and then I got up and went to put my robe on and had my happy thought.
I think Paul really had something going on (like the Holy Spirit maybe?) when he wrote that he had learned to be content in all circumstances. Rich, poor, hungry or fed.
Also, all good things come down from the Father of Lights. My "good things" are changing from my expectations of perfect to actually what is before me: a hard-working husband who giggles sometimes, a sweet, sweet little boy named Ethan, and an extended family whose love reaches deep and wide.
I'm recognizing the goodness in what my Father of Lights has given to me. And it changed my world this morning.

Watching for Airplanes.

Deana and little Andrew fly in today. Our eyes are on the skies. They are going to stay for three weeks!
We are going to make cookies and popcorn balls. And go shopping with/and for mom because mom has never really liked to shop (I know, I know...it's crazy).
Also, I took my last final today at the glorious hour of half past seven. I swear people. Finals at that hour should be banned. I mean, half the world's population are "Owls" not "Sparrows" -something I learned in my six years at the university-so why make all the owls suffer and demand they think their absolute best at an hour most of their brains are dead? Hmmm?
I mean, common, what's wrong the nine?
So now it is officially all over and I can do anything I want, which today means watching for airplanes.

Big sleep in.

This morning I slept in until 9:15. I haven't done that since, I donno, high school. My body is so exhausted from all the parties this weekend; exhausted in a very good way. We even have another party to go to tonight, without Ethan, for Joey's work.
I love Ethan with every ounce of my being but it has felt soooooooooooooo good to go out without him.
Which reminds me of a quote that was read at Angel's baby shower whose main idea went something like this: there are two births happening during labor; the birth of the baby and the birth of the mother. Before this time, the mother never existed. The woman did, but not the mother. When a baby is born, a mother is also.
Anyway now I can't remember how that connected to going out without Ethan but maybe those of you who aren't quite as out of it as I am can make a connection of some sort.

Dance, Baby.

Last night Brian and Jamie were married. They are so beautiful together! The reception was an absolute blast and I am smacking my forehead with my hand right now because I didn't take any pictures to show you all.
I am so happy for them, so happy for their future together in Christ. Being reminded of the basic truths of marriage given by God was uplifting to me too. It would have been easy after four years of marriage to be cynical at their union ("Oh you two just wait"), but that would be because I wouldn't be believing, trusting, hoping, in Christ for my own marriage in this moment as well as for Brian and Jamie's.
Not to say that makes anything easy. But trusting in Christ, being reminded of what a miracle marriage is, does take the feelings of complete discouragement away, replacing them with a bright hope.
Also, Joey can dance.
I had no idea before we were married that this boy could dance. I would have thought it insignificant anyway, much to my own detriment. In all the 'day to day'-ness of marriage, dancing at weddings or parties has been one of the rare times were Joey and I are completely carefree together. We are eighteen again, swinging and twirling and gett'en down. His smile wraps around his face, and he laughs.
Uncle Johnny once told me that dancing with his wife saved his marriage and I smiled and thought he was joking. But as I dive deeper and deeper into this mystery, the simple act of letting go and dancing your heart out with your spouse does have a unique healing quality to it.
God's grace come down to us in so many different forms-including loud music, high heels, and a dance floor.

Whispers.

This is a poem I started two Sundays ago after a little breakdown. It's a little pessimistic itself; I don't normally feel so low about Joey being a cop, but sometimes I do.

Whispers
A year, almost.
An empty beside, sheets cold as snow on my skin,
and a bulletin to sit by at church.
Learn to be alone, I hear whispers from somewhere.
A Glock 23, lying
dark and heavy in my pajama drawer like a stranger,
who I don't trust completely.
Day after day, invading my home with reality.
Heavy black boots,
a creased uniform and a hard vest underneath demanding
obedience given by the power of a silver star.
Shortness and anger,
trustlessness and pessimism
invading my home with aftershocks of his battle,
night after night.
Learn to be alone, I hear whispers from somewhere.

Shopping Spree--Yip-eeee!

So I got a gift card to the Summit Mall and just bombed through three hours of shopping. I could have spent another couple of hours there for sure, but at eleven (when I was supposed to be home) I called Joey from the Customer Service desk (because-gasp!-I don't own a cell) and he was like, Come home, now. I told him I needed to try on another pair of jeans and I would be on my way. An hour and half later...
He is sleeping and must just be absolutely fried at me right now. Maybe not. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.
Oh yes. Shopping.
So I wasted a lot of time out there because first of all, you end up walking for MILES to go from store to store. Then, after spending a good forty-five minutes in Abercrombie for the first time, I finally asked the sales girl, what's up with your sizes? I assumed because they were Abercrombie they just did weird sizes and only sold clothes for the extremely tiny. She explained to me I was in the children's store.
Ohhh. That makes sense. She said this happens all the time. That made me feel a little less like a complete idiot.
So then I looked for jeans at Dillard's but wasn't sold because what if I could find a better pair, cheaper, elsewhere? So I went to Old Navy, debated over an extremely soft and warm jacket for fifteen minutes before I finally put it back. I think I did that (debated over some pants of shirt) about sixty trillion times this morning.
There is a lot of stuff going on in a girl's brain while she shops. For instance, Is this the BEST pair of jeans on me in this entire mall? Or will I walk into a different store and find an even better pair, for less money??? Why does a size four fit me here, and an eight over there? Am I getting fatter this very moment? Jeeze, I love these sweater, but if I buy it, then all the money is gone...maybe I'd better wait....Good gracious I wish I had more money-wait, should I be spending this on myself?and on and on and on. I feel like my brain has been on crack for the last three and half hours. I think it's better if I go with someone. Then I don't talk myself to death.
Also, I forget to eat, so on the drive home I felt all shaky and like I could eat a horse. Or a gigantic bowl of warm oatmeal.
Which is what I am eating right now. Ahh oatmeal. I love to shop but it puts me in a tissy. Oatmeal is helping.
I think my buys are winners though. The worst, I mean the WORST, is when you get the amazing sweater you just bought home and then two weeks, or even two hours later it's just lame. I don't think that's gonna happen this time.
I'll let you know if it does.

Moments like these.

Ethan has a thing with my shoes. He wears them around the house, usually on the wrong feet. How he manages to walk, I don't know.
Just minutes ago was such a moment: mama's shoes on (on the wrong feet) as he "fixed" his toy airplane with a plastic tag thing from a shirt I bought him yesterday. He looked up at me, so proud and said, "I fixed it! I fixed it!"
He looked so ridiculously adorable in those huge shoes, his voice so triumphant. It's in moments like these that my heart breaks because I don't ever want him to grow up, don't ever want him to be alone in the world. Don't ever want him to be laughed at or made fun of-even if he wears his shoes on the wrong feet.
It reminds me of what Marlin, Nemo's dad, says to Dori when they can't find Nemo:
"But I promised [Nemo] I would never let anything happen to him!" and Dori says, "Well, that's a funny thing to promise." (Questioning look from Marlin). Dori explains, "Well, if you never let anything happen to him, then nothing's going to happen to him. Not much fun for little 'Carpo'."
It's probably one of the harder things of being a mama, watching when your children mess up or get hurt or even get made fun of. Learning what it means to be a refuge for them, a place to return to no matter what where they can be as silly or dorky as they want.

Cold. Shopping. Joey. St.Bernard's.

Brrrr! It's like ten degrees outside. My poor little ears feel like frozen vegetables as I walk all over campus today. My hair is not quite long enough to be able to wear a hat without looking like a total dork, but I am almost ready to give in it's so dang cold.

Today is my favorite day of the week: Tuesday. I wish I had Tuesday panties. Tuesday is the day Ethan is at Grandma Patty's all day and Joey and I meet on campus for lunch and then go hang out a bit before we pick the little Bubba up. It's a heavenly day (when we aren't fighting).

Today we are going to finish our Christmas shopping. I love shopping with Joey. Probably my favorite thing in the world, even though he is always rushing me to "Common!" by the end. Whatever. It's still the best.

Maybe because "shopping" was one of our first official dates as a bonafide couple. We went to the Gap and bought him a blue collared shirt for Angel and Logan's wedding. I think we held hands.

Or maybe it's just because I love to shop.

I made a master plan of all the stores we are going to go to and in what order and what we have to buy there. This is Joey's influence in my life. Having-no, writing down, a plan for shopping. If you think about it, it's not a bad idea. Getting the the most shopping for your time.

So now I wait for Joey.

He's so cute today with his pokey face because it's his "weekend" and he doesn't want to shave; his dark beanie and black sunglasses and smokey blue jacket.

We talked yesterday again about dogs because I saw a St. Bernard FREE TO GOOD HOME.

I have a great home.

And I really want a humongous dog. Joey says a medium size dog. I know I will probably kick myself if I ever talk Joey into a humongous dog, especially a huge dog who drools. But the idea of such a dog is so romantic, if you know what I mean. I have rose colored glasses on; I just see that huge, cute face and want to wrap my hands around those jowls and give it a big kiss.

Monday Happenings.

A little golf, a little baseball. In mom's shoes.
Oh and a little devotional, in the nude.
(He peed as I was taking this picture).

Graduate(ED). Yay!

Yesterday we endured the graduation ceremony. It wouldn't have been so bad except that I wore a dress AND shoes that should not be worn when there is snow everywhere and your breath looks like a cloud of smoke when you talk. Anyway, I was freezing so the hairs on my legs were growing at an extraordinary rate, I was sweating like a pig (Joey insists this is an impossibility but I can't explain it: I sweat profusely when I am COLD), I was afraid my breath was getting raunchier by the second because all I had for breakfast was a short, extra hot carmel macchiato, and I was getting major hat hair from that stupid hat. Oh, also my back was killing me from standing so long in my high heels. It's enough to throw any girl over the edge and into a seriously crappy mood. Which is exactly what I was in after the ceremony.

Before the ceremony I was happy as a clam. It was Joey that was stressed. Do we have everything? We are going to be late! Where's our directions? The cameras? Danae, common!

Three and a half hours later, Joey is relaxed and in a great mood because he just graduated, and I am about to rip somebody's head off because I'm paranoid my dress has BO stains on it and we are about to go see EVERYONE I have ever known at our party.

Occasions such as these are the backbones of life.

I finally relaxed once I saw that my dress (God bless it!) had absorbed my sweat beautifully, I remedied the bad breath problem, got some deodorant, and hairspray from Patty's bathroom. Nothing I could do about my legs but common, nobody noticed.

I gave more hugs yesterday than I have in a while. A hug hello, a hug goodbye. Three minutes later, a hug hello, a hug goodbye.

I had wanted to give a speech at some point, a toast per se, to all our friends and family for their AMAZING support and love to us throughout this incredibly difficult and crazy time in our life. But it never happened. I'll just have to do it in their thank-you notes. Or maybe in a full-page add in the Gazette.

Still, it was touching to see all of our friends and family come to support us. We have the best community in them in the world. I could not be more blessed-despite all my bodily woes.

"Saudade" (Intense Longing).

So today at work I had a mob of Brazilians invade my little Welcome Center and I loved every second of it. Their weird fitting jeans (especially on the males) and their dark eyes and easy smiles.
I get a lot of Brazilians at work who come as employees at the ski resorts. They always walk in confused and frantic, the outcome of landing in a foreign country with no connections, no home. They always need to use the Internet, and when I ask them, "Onde voces estao?" (Where are you all from) they about fall over in surprise.
"You speak Portuguese? No! But how?" It's as if I pull bunnies from empty hats.
Whenever they come I get a pain in my heart as I think of my families so far away in Brazil; the strangers who took me in and treated me as their own.
They use "saudade" in Brazil to talk about missing someone. It's a beautiful word, full of love and longing.
Six years ago when I left Rinopolis they said that I would forget them. That I would return home and start a new life and their faces would fade.
The truth is I have started a new life but their faces have never faded. I think about them daily, not in an intense longing way, more in a casual, "Oh this reminds me of Silvia," or, "I wonder what Cristina is doing today," type thinking. Like I think about my own sisters, also far away.
But then something little (or big, like twelve Brazilians all around me) will set off that deeper feeling, the one that is overwhelming, and all I think about are the faces of my families, intense and clear as if we were together only yesterday.

NEWS.

Fridays. Wonderful Fridays.

I woke up this morning and our backyard was a winter wonderland. It is so beautiful. For all my griping about winter, this is my favorite part: soft, quiet snow. It's one of the most peaceful things in the world, right up there with watching a baby sleep.

**********

In other news:

Ethan Michael Lear has made the train of the year. This award has been given to him by his mother because she was absolutely flabbergasted that he could make this on his own.


When asked if this creation was a boat, Lear answered definitely, "It's a train." And then gave his mother a look like, DUH.








And still in other news...
Joey and Danae are graduating tomorrow so that their full attention can now be on this new little mascot.
Goodbye UNR. Hello Full-Time Ethan. I love you!

Swivel hips.

So I put on my favorite jeans today. The ones I got from Old Navy at the beginning of the semester. When I got them, they fit perfectly. In fact, I can remember thinking as I inched my rear into them, Gosh I better not put on any weight.
Then on Thanksgiving day (prepare yourself because this is NOT normal) I weighed myself after eating TWO Thanksgiving meals and the scale said I weighed seven pounds less than I have for the last two years.
I know, some of you women out there want to shoot me right now. I too was shocked but then secretly happy because losing weight is very arguably never a bad thing (unless you are sick or anorexic).
And you're thinking, well, was it the scale? Was it off?
No.
After seeing the numbers, I remembered the last time I looked at my body in the mirrors at kickboxing I had thought, Goodness I look thin--and it wasn't really a good thin. It was a, oh-there-are-your-chest-bones thin. Not exactly sexy. But I thought it was maybe just the mirrors.
And then of course the clothes. If there is no spandex in my pants or shirts, they hang on my body, lower on the hips, major saggage in the rear. Again, not exactly sexy.
But, like the typical American woman and post anorexic that I am, I was mostly happy about all this. The only downer was that now I was concerned about my weight, because of course I didn't want to put that weight back on after I lost it so effortlessly. So I have been thinking a little before I eat my extremely processed white bread bagel and deliciously whipped cream cheese. Just thinking. Not exactly changing anything. Just thinking. And I'll tell you what, one of my most annoying things in life is thinking about food on a "this has the potential to make me fat" level.
It took me years to learn how to eat and enjoy food and reverting back to "anything that is not fruit, water, or gum is bad" mentality is not where I want to go.
All of this came to a very sharp point today when, like I said, I put on those favorite jeans, which now hang on my hips and sag in the rear. I also put on my most favorite little heels. And then I went to school.
Joey and I met up after class and walked to Starbucks. We found a table and then I walked back up to the counter to get my drink. When I returned to the table, this is what Joey says.
"Do those shoes mess with the alignment of your hips?"
Wha???
"Um, I donno..." I'm speechless. And confused.
"It's just that when you walk it looks like your hips are out of whack." He's trying to sound nice, but I know he's not really saying what he was thinking as he watched me walk. He tries to explain himself more, probably because I was giving him a somewhat dirty, confused look. A look that says, "What? You don't like how I walk?"
"It's just that with those shoes, it looks like your hips and back hurt."
Great. So I look like a flipping invalid in my favorite jeans and shoes.
I try to explain that maybe with the combination of my too big pants (which, by the way, aren't Joey's favorite) and the heels my hips look weird when I walk.
We drop this horrible conversation by starting to talk about some stranger who has a funny hair-do. Then we move on to some girl with boots that Joey doesn't like. He tells me he would never let me out of the house in boots like that.
"Well, you don't like the clothes I wear now anyways." Suddenly our conversation is serious and you can feel in the air how much is hanging on Joey's response. I feel about as vulnerable as a new butterfly right now.
"I do like your clothes." He does really good. His eyes are looking at me and he even reaches out and touches my arm. "You are beautiful."
Oh boy did I need to hear that. DING DING DING, Joey is the winner!!!
I say thanks, like it's no big deal. Like I wouldn't have gone into the bathroom the split second Joey left for class and bawled my eyes out if he hadn't responded exactly like he did.
So anyways. Back to the jeans. And losing weight.
I guess all I can do is eat normal and maybe get some new, smaller jeans. But then I will be paranoid if I grow out of them, even if it means growing back into the one's I'm wearing, which I never had an issue with before I suddenly lost this weight.
I will have to fight that. Curves are good. Bones are bad.

Aila.

Well, the Lord sure does have a sense of humor because I didn't have a wacko in my house last night so much as a stranger. Still it was nerve racking, even if she was seventy or so.

I met her at work last night and the poor thing wanted to find a hotel room in Reno for about twenty bucks on a Friday night during the holiday season. Fat chance, but I didn't tell her that. Instead, I looked on the Internet and through the phonebook and every brochure we had in the place trying to get her a bed for the night. This was her story.

She left Finland in a rush hearing that her aunt (who lived in Gardnerville) was sick. She wanted to spend time with her before she passed away. On the trip over, her sister called to tell her that her aunt had already died.

She had no place to go; my cop's wife judgement prolonged me inviting her to stay at my house until the last possible moment, after we had called every hotel even remotely stayable and she had invited me to stay with her anytime in Finland (hint hint). There was nothing else to do except to say, "Well, you can stay at my house if you want," as if that was the first time the idea had entered either of our brains over the last two hours.

She about toppled me over with hugs.

First we went to my parent's house to pick up Ethan. She said she loved children. My cop's wife instinct told me, "Great. That's what all the child kidnappers and killers probably say. Oh, I LOVE children." I gulped and thought of Joey and how he was going to kill me as Aila and I walked into my parents house.

We had a late dinner of left over sloppy joes which was not that great, but Aila ate every last bite. Another reason to be suspicious. Why is she so hungry? Is she homeless? Has she been lying to me?

I am such a spaz.

Joey did about kill me later on the phone when I told him she would be sleeping at our house.

"She's just an old lady," I said. "Like Grammie."

"It's the principle of it Danae! It's the principle!"

His worry got me worrying even more. After we made her bed on the couch and I said goodnight, I went into our master bedroom and contemplated staying up all night to make sure I knew what she was up to. While thinking about this I was trimming my cuticles and instantly thought what a great idea it would be to keep the cuticle cutters on my bedside table in case she came in in the middle of the night wanting to kill me. I could just see the headline, "Little Old Lady Brutally Murders Young Mother and Child in Their Sleep." Yes, something like that.

I got too tired to stay up all night but my ears were perked to her every sound like a hound's. When I did go to bed I left my cuticle trimmers in the bathroom. I got out my Bible expecting to open it to a verse like, "I was hungry and you fed me," but instead it was just Ephesians. I read a little. The Holy Spirit reminded me I am no less safer tonight than I was last night with no one in my house because God is the same: all powerful, all knowing, all loving.

It still was hard to fall asleep, but I did.

It makes me sad this was so hard. I want to help people. I want to take every person in need into my home, feed them coffee and bagels with cream cheese.

By the end we were good friends. Like a grandmother she was telling me that I am too skinny and that I needed a warmer coat before I went outside. When I hugged her goodbye, I sincerely hoped she would be ok. Like I would if I were leaving my own Grammie.

She blessed me beyond measure. Complimenting my relationship with my parents ("It's so vonderful tat you love your mutter!") and my mothering skills with Ethan and our home and my approachablness.

She may have been just a needy old lady, willing to say anything. But I think she was sent by God to make me trust Him more and to bless me like crazy in the process.

Thank you Aila.

This morning and rottweilers.

I opened the blinds this morning and saw a white sky, covered as it were in clouds. It looks freezing.
I love Friday mornings. I don't have to go anywhere until 2. Except this morning I have to go teach kickbox in about an hour, but I don't mind that. I love that. Kickboxing is so releasing for me. Then we will go to Trader Joe's or maybe just Walmart (its closer) because right now all we have in our fridge are condiments, three eggs, a tiny bit of milk, and left over olives. Yum.
*************
The other day I got this wild hair in my pants and decided it would be the most fantastic idea to get a rottweiler, (whom I would name Riley), for a variety of reasons:
*Riley would sleep in my bedroom on the floor, right next to my bed, and tear to pieces any wacko who came into the house on the nights Joey is gone.
*No one would think about messing with me and Ethan on our walks or at the park with Riley at our side (no one has messed with us yet; I'm just being cautious).
*Rottweilers are so beautiful.
*They are MELLOW.
*Average shedders.
*They are known to be incredibly smart, loyal, and very good companions (exactly what I need!!)
But then we really got to think about it and it would be scary as Halloween to own a rottweiler because with any dog you're taking a chance, but if the rottweiler "accidentally" snapped at Ethan, or one of Ethan's friends, it could be really bad (they are also known to have the most powerful jaws of any dog).
So anyway, I think the rotty is officially crossed off the list. I'm sad about it. Besides, Joey said the most surest way to stop a wacko in our house is not a dog (although you can't tell me a rottweiler wouldn't help) but a gun.
Just the thought of it leaves me kinda weasy.
Well, now that I've left everyone with thoughts of rottweilers and guns and wackos--Enjoy your Friday!

Go read this blog.

I randomly found this blog and it is so good: "one day i moved to Kolkata". You won't be dissapointed.

Easy weasy. (Only the mother of a toddler would think that is a good title).

Every day is one day closer to both of us being as done as we have to be at UNR. I have had the most cake semester while Joey, on the other hand, is studying like a mad man just to hang on. Well, actually I wouldn't be surprised if he still pulls off some pretty impressive grades. This is a quality I married Joey for: his determination, motivation, and need to give everything he does 100%, at least.
It is also the reason I can find myself sulking in the kitchen while his butt is glued to a chair, working on a fourteen page research paper. But I am getting over this. Really. It's like my friend Sammie says (who's married to a soon-to-be doctor)--our husbands are not deadbeats. They are the opposites of deadbeats: alive and determined and motivated and gaol-oriented and thinking about retirement; ultimately for us. Because they love us.
******
I REALLY don't want to go to class right now -and probably won't. (As you can see, my strengths are not those of my husbands--see how badly I need him? If our financial future depended on me, ,and goodness gracious don't' even mention our retirement, we would be in serious trouble people. I am talking serious trouble).
Which actually reminds me of a funny incident that happened not too long ago.
Joey and I were walking to our car from class and I was having a "mommy moment" that went something like this:
"I just don't know if I can do this mommy thing full time. I mean, everything I have ever wanted to do, I just have to give up. And I know you tell me I just have to wait six or seven years till the kids (Ethan plus the one(s) we haven't had yet) are in school, but seven years could potentially zap all the creativity and motivation out of me. I might not even care in seven years...." I kept going, on and on about my talents going to waste and not feeling valued as a stay at home mom, la de da. And this is what Joey says to me: "Well, if you want to work full time and financially support us, I will stay home with the kids."
And my jaw hit the pavement. And then I got this really queasy feeling inside of me. A queasy feeling that grew into a sickly black feeling the more the reality of what Joey was saying, what I was saying, sunk in.
Did I really want the responsibility of getting a job and making sure we can pay all of our bills(we have a lot of them!!!) and having to deal with FORTY hours of work away from home, away from Ethan? That thought alone was enough to slap me out of my somewhat deceived state. And how silly of me to think that I couldn't use my "talents" at home with Ethan, nurturing him in the process. DUH. That is what mommies do. Everything that I love to do, painting, reading, playing with Ethan, writing, decorating, cooking, throwing parties, exercising, hanging out with friends....I can do as a mommy. And the reality is if I got a full time job, even as a design consultant or journalist or whatever, it would seriously cramp my time to do those things I love.
I am so silly sometimes.
Again, why I need Joey so bad. He is a realist (sometimes a serious pessimist) and I am an optimist (sometimes not in touch with reality).
Anyway, my point when I started this blog is that my semester has been the easiest ever and Joey's has been his hardest. And I am not going to class (and I am sure Joey will).

No Nap.

Today Ethan didn't take his nap. It's amazing and frightening really how once you become a parent your entire world revolves around successful naps.
Today was not successful. So now it's six fifteen (a horrible time for toddlers, even when they do have a good nap) and Ethan's eyes are bloodshot and every whimper from his mouth is a long, drown-out whine.
I am about to go insane.
Presently he is playing with our juicer, watching it go round and round in slow motion--like he's in a quiet trance. Maybe it is putting him in a trance. That would be nice.
Joey is still at school. I came home over an hour ago and am still wearing my coat because it's freezing in our house and I am just like this. Its from my dad, a hundred percent. Cold? Put on a coat. Are you inside? Doesn't matter. Double your socks. Wear a fleece hat. What ever you do, don't touch the thermostat.
Five minutes later...
Ethan told me (whined to me) that he wanted eggs. I made him scrambled eggs.
"Ethan, I made you your eggs. Come eat your eggs."
He runs out of the kitchen. "No."
I hate no nap days.

Saturday.

I took Ethan to the park this morning. His pants eventually were covered in the camel colored wood chips from the ground and before we went home he had a dark pink bruise under his left eye from falling into the stairs leading up to the twirly slide.
He loves to be outside. I do too, it just takes a little persuasion to get me out there. Like Ethan asking forty times, "Park? Park?" And I have to plan on staying there a while. None of this twenty minute park business. Ethan has to be there are least forty-five minutes for him to get in the car to come home without a meltdown.
There was no little kids at the park, just four boys on their skateboards in the skate park. I watched them and for the first time could sense the feel of skateboarding. Whenever I tried it when I was young I wasn't too scared to just go for it; oh I did that just fine and landed in the emergency room. But I was too silly to understand (or watch and learn) that you have to really put your weight into the board. Instead of bending my knees and really feeling the board, I probably stood there like a stick and told my best friend Heather to push me down some hill, hoping to get to the bottom without road rash all over my butt.
Anyways.
I am writing a persausive speech on why midwifery should be legitimized in Nevada. It's good for me because I am doing a significant amount of reading and learning why midwifery actually is such a great choice, at least for wimps like me who hate needles.
No but seriously they have so much to offer. There was a time when Joey and I were considering having our second in the hospital, but I am pretty convinced otherwise now.

Thanksgiving yumminess.

Thanksgiving yesterday was wonderful. Joey and I almost got out of the house without some little thing escalating into a huge argument, which is a big accomplishment on the holidays, or really any day of the year. But maybe especially on the holidays.
It started with the batteries in the camera not being charged (and Joey being annoyed and blaming me for it because, ok, it was kinda my fault), and then Ethan climbing onto the toilet and opening the cabinet that hangs above it. This cabinet is full of all sorts of lotions and bubbles and one easily openable bottle of iodine. Ethan was quiet. Too quiet. So I decided to check on him and when I found him he was spreading the blood colored iodine all over the shiny white toilet saying, "Messy! Messy!". This was also my fault because I let Ethan climb on the toilet and Joey does not.
Later, after Thanksgiving dinner while I helped Grandpa Shaun with the dishes, I relayed the iodine-toilet story.
"Isn't iodine poisonous?" he asks me.
I shrug my shoulders and say, "I donno. Now that you mention it, it does sound like poison." I am embarrassed that I broke one of the all time biggest toddler rules ever ("Keep poison out of children's reach" and admit to myself that Joey might have a point to keeping Ethan off the toilet).
Anyway, when I handed iodine-covered Ethan to Joey and said, "Change him please," he gave me The Look.
So I was in intense bad mood.
But I fought it and by the time we got to Grandma Patty's the bad mood was gone. This was a victory. I don't always win these bad mood battles; in fact, most of the time I am like my nephew Aiden who told his mom after he scratched his knee, "I can't be happy right now."
I say that same thing all of the time for a variety of reasons, most of which have to do with the way my husband is treating me. And it is complete foolishness.
I have two young friends who just got married and like the rest of us are struggling and hurting as they are discovering their husbands don't make them happy in a direct, easy sort of way. This is a slow lesson to learn and I don't grasp it fully. I still expect Joey to be my version of perfect, fulfilling every single one of my emotional and physical needs. And when he doesn't, Bad Mood attacks.
So I try to recognize those moods for what they are (a consequence of idol "perfect husband") and fight it off so that we can have a happy Thanksgiving or a happy Tuesday night, or whatever.
And it really was such a blessing to be able to share Thanksgiving with Joey in light of his nuts-o schedule. He is such an amazing husband. I've been wanting to tell the world that I have never met another man who is working as hard as he is right now to provide and care for his family.
If not perfect, he still is amazing.

New wonder.

Yesterday we decorated for Christmas. I like unpacking all the little Christmas ornaments from my childhood and setting up all the snowmen and switching my orange, fall things with red and green Christmas things. But every year since I was, oh I donno, eleven, there has been an element of dread in the wonder of it all; the dread that in a couple of weeks I will have to pack it all up again and what a waste of time, or something; it's just not a hundred percent fun. In fact, it has been decreasing in fun percentage every year.
But this year Ethan is alive. And when he woke up from his nap I went in and asked him if he wanted to come out and "see Christmas"- I had the tree all lit up and you know how special that is.
He was already excited from the tone in my voice but when he saw that tree he about popped. And then everything else; all the snowmen on the bureau("Candy? Candy?"-I have no idea why he thinks snowmen are candy) and the little angel figurines above the TV ("Little girl? Little girl?") and of course the reindeer Joey's grandma made that is supposed to hold Christmas cards-we had to put it away because Ethan wouldn't stop straddling it and saying "getti-up, getti-up" while rocking it back and forth so it's poor old legs about snapped.
And then again this morning the first thing he says to me is, "Tree? Tree?" (and then something about watching Nemo).
There is one particular ornament that he likes to poke his finger in and talk about. It's a house figurine with a sleigh and reindeer on top and on the inside Santa has his bag of toys in front of a fireplace and tree. I loved this ornament when I was little too. Grammie and Papa gave it to me. Ethan pokes his chubby little finger inside and says, "Whas that? Whas that?" to everything inside and on the ornament. I think I have explained the anatomy of that ornament to him at least fifty two times since yesterday. This could be a very long month.
Ethan has upped the fun percentage of Christmas tremendously.
***********************************
Happy Thanksgiving!!!

We are almost done, we are almost done....

Put that title to a little song and you will understand how I am feeling about graduating from UNR.
Now, to move on to more important things in life, like how I am going to answer everyone and their mother when they ask me, "So what are you going to do with your degree?"
Because this is what I do with it mostly. I write in this blog. But good Lord I cannot say that. What a LOSER.
I have thought about this response: " I am going to be a very educated mommy"-which is totally valid and needed in this world. But also a little smart ass and I don't want to come across like that especially when these people will hopefully be sending me money for graduating.
I am VERY thankful I went to college. I am better for it, although it tore me up in the process, but nothing that God couldn't use to show me more of Himself and His greatness. Now that it is over I can say it was good. Sometimes life is just like that.
You know what I am looking forward to in the spring when I am NOT going to school?
Waking up every morning and feeding Ethan his breakfast as we watch Nemo (No, he is not sick of it yet). Decorating his bedroom with clocks or airplanes, because he loves them, or maybe like a camp site because I love camping. Reading him books and teaching him songs that I know I taught him and not Grandma (so far I can take zero credit for how Ethan can sing his ABC's to "P" and count to 11 because his Grandmas are also teaching him these things. It's not a bad thing at all, I just want a little credit here as his mother that I taught him something all by myself.) Going to the library with Ethan for story time and getting all dressed up just to go grocery shopping with him and making the house perfectly clean for when Joey comes home and cooking yummy dinners and eating together as a family more than twice a week. I am looking forward to actually having time to have people over for dinner and goodness gracious maybe a date-night once in while where we don't have to feel guilty using a babysitter because Ethan isn't with one everyday.
So what am I going to do with my degree? Just live people. I am going to enjoy my son because he is only two once and I am going to spoil my husband because he deserves good dinners and a clean home. I am going to go to my exercise classes because I love them and I am going to take a singing class through TMCC. Heck I might even pull out my crusty paint brushes and finish the painting that is hanging in our office (Joey would appreciate this. He hates unfinished "projects").
But still I don't know what I am going to say when they whip THE question..."Uhh...I'm not sure..."
Jeeze. You'd think after six or seven years in a university I could come up with something more intelligent or at least more charming than that.

Thank you.

It's Thanksgiving already and a little hard to believe since it was almost 70 degrees yesterday. Because it is always good to remember/become aware of what I am thankful for, I thought I would compose a little list.

Joey, you are the first one I think of and even though you are also the first one I would think of if I were composing a different kind of list, like let's say a "Who can put you in a bad mood faster than anyone else", it still means something that you are first on the Thankful list. Where would I be without you? I'd be lonely and wanting you. I'd be more insecure and probably fatter too because I wouldn't exercise regularly and I would stay up every night snacking. I'd be cold in bed and not have any body's legs to put my freezing feet on to warm them up. I am sure my room or apartment, or wherever, would be ninety percent of the time a disgusting mess. Maybe I still wouldn't shave my legs, who knows. I am sure I would do impromptu, very irresponsible things like getting a dog that I wouldn't want to take care of a month later. I would only see things from one perspective (mine), and thus I would still be paranoid about wasting money by flushing the toilet after only going pee once or taking long showers (and consequentially very rarely shaving because it takes so much time!) because every hot drop of water running down my face is a drop of MONEY. When you are with me I feel strong and without you I feel weak, like I have to pull myself up by my bootstraps and say, "Common Danae. Get in the car. Go to church. You can do this." What I am trying to say is life is easier, happier and smoother with you. You are God's most precious gift to me.

Ethan, number two! You bring so much joy to my life, like when you are sitting in your high chair and out of nowhere start belting out Hot Cross Buns. Or when we get to the winter page in I am a Bunny and you call the snow falling from the sky, "popcorn". Or when I try to sleep with you and tell you, "Ethan, mamma's tired. You need to go to sleep." And instead of you curling up, being still and quiet, you take your chubby hand and pat my cheek and give me a kiss like, "It's ok Mamma. You can go to sleep. I'm gonna stay up for a little while, ok?"-and then procede to move around on my bed (and my body) like it is a bouncehouse.

I'd like to keep going; this is a wonderful mood-lifter-upper. But I feel like I am neglecting Ethan in order to write all these lovely things about him, so I will stop for today.

????

I am having serious writer's block here. I can't think of one darn thing to write about. I am hoping that by starting something a great idea will come flowing through my fingers, but so far I can barely manage to finish this sentence.
Maybe I need to whip out some Anne Lamott. Does everyone out there know she is fabulous?
I have read three or four of her books, but I don't own a one. Hmmm....Christmas....Joey are you reading this?
I just finished a chocolate bar from Trader Joe's and feel a headache zooming in. Also, my teeth hurt from the sugar. But it was good.
Humm de dum....see how horrible writer's block is?
Well here is something. Joey and I are GRADUATING in about three weeks. We are throwing a huge party and if everyone comes I have no idea how they will all fit in Patty's house. But, we are thinking about it like a wedding; thirty or forty, or is it twenty? percent don't show, right? Anyway, it will be awesome even if it's standing room only and everyone is breathing into everyone else's drink.
And then Christmas! I already bought Ethan's present: a bunch of used classic books such as: Stop That Ball! Go Dog, Go! and A Fish Out of Water just to name the best ones. That's right folks all he's getting is books. For one, he loves them. For two, I love them. For three, a parent can never have enough books to compensate for a toddler's insistence on reading the same book thirty-two times. Every night. And morning.

Freaking Antsy.

I am so anxious today. I am sweating and can't sit still. I am having a hard time seeing my place in life as good; so prone to wander. Yes, I feel like I am ready to wander, to run.
I am so ashamed of this. It comes and goes; it hasn't come for a while and then this morning as I am sitting in traffic on my way to school it washes over me, like a sudden down pour.
FEELINGS. Freaking feelings.

Girl time = Oxygen.

I couldn't sleep. If I listened I could hear (and feel) my heart beat. It was one of those nights where Joey's body is missing and I can't curl up to him, can't feel his heat, so I toss and turn and have seventy-two thoughts going through my head all at the same time.
Usually after four tortuous hours of this I finally go to dreamland. But not this time. Every time I looked at the clock it was an hour or two later and my mind would not quit. My body was sleeping I think, but my mind wasn't, if that is possible.
Partly it was Joey's absence but mostly it was because I was stressed and excited for the party.
Which went completely and wonderfully fabulous.
I have been planning Jessica's bachelorette party for about a month and let me say right now that thinking ahead-like what you have to do to plan a party-is not my forte (put an accent on that e for me).
But boy did I do it. I bought candles and cake and stuff for dinner and I cleaned my house good, like even the toilets and windows; I picked out just the right music and I cut and pasted and made cute bags. And then the night before I was so stressed about it I didn't go to sleep, like not even for fifteen minutes.
Even the whole day up to it (it was at four) I was going going going. Lighting this, scrubbing that, frosting the cake, rearranging my fridge so that the cake would fit in it and then Finally-taking Ethan to the babysitters and then rushing home and jumping in the shower at three thirty.
I pictured Kelly ringing the doorbell and me answering it in my bra and panties.
But I was dressed when that doorbell rang, everything but my shoes, but it was cold and the slippers were more practical anyway.
But the best part, the best part, was when four hours had passed and I had hardly noticed because all us girls just talked and talked and talked. And talked (you know how it goes).
Just like the old days when I used to hang out with friends. You don't realize what a luxury that is until you go some years without it. And then it feels like fresh air, like when I got hooked up to to the oxygen machine when I thought I was dying giving birth to Ethan. Yes, it is just like that.

New thought: Commandments

Oooo what a scary word. COMMANDMENTS. Don't we all hate that word?
Well I sure did until about three hours ago when I was singing It is Well with My Soul at church. It is well with my soul, it is well with my soul.
Now my theology might be as strong as pudding here I don't know. I just got this thought, and it may be true .It just hit me, like something sweet, like someone pumping more blood into my heart: It is well with my soul.
It is.
Not is should be.
Not it will be.
Not try harder to be.
It just is.
Because every word Jesus spoke was true, no matter how I feel. No matter what is going on around me that seems incredibly wrong and sad.
It is well with my soul.
Now, lest I come off as a total hard nosed person who is just shutting their eyes to suffering or feelings, I'm not.
But I got a glimpse of something today. Something that even now is vague and I can't find the way to tell it. But it was good. It was comforting. It was forever.
It is well with my soul.
This is what God is commanding of me. This is what all of His commandments point to: a healthy soul; a soul that is well, no matter what. Why do I fight that?
"As a man thinkith, so is he" (and a man-or danae-can change the way he/she thinks--PRAISE GOD.)

New dress!! New dress!!

Oh boy! Did I just get the steal of the year!
So three weeks ago or so I was at Macy's looking for a brown dress for Jess' wedding. I found a cute one that I love but I also found a different one that I loved even more, but it was the wrong color brown. More milk chocolate than dark.
It was one of those dresses that I saw and thought, well, I'll try it. It wasn't glamorous on the rack at all. It was almost old lady, but what the heck.
It was the first one I tried on and it felt so perfect. Sophisticated. Also Joey said it looked good with my hair cut (He is so cute!).
But, Alas, it was chocolate brown, not espresso like I'd been told to buy.
So I put it back.
And really I had almost forgotten about it until I was driving to work today trying to decide what I was going to wear tomorrow to Jess' shower. Then, like a floodlight in my brain: Ohmygosh I could get that dress! I could wear it tomorrow and also when we graduate!
So I zoomed over to Macy's and ran up the escalators. I momentarily got distracted by the adorable and so expensive dresses at the top of the escalators but then I remembered my mission and that I was going to be late to work.
I walked over to where the dresses were three weeks ago and there were only blue ones left. Like royal blue. Like SERIOUSLY old lady.
I decided to try and find something else. Macy's is full of cute clothes. So full in fact that I kind of enter a Macy's haze. It must be all the new clothes smell or something. Anyway, I started looking at other blouses, and I found two that I LOVED. They both cost about eighty dollars but like I said, I was in that Macy's haze and eighty dollars seemed almost reasonable.
I forget when I am not in "Macy's haze" I itch and squirm over spending forty dollars at Old Navy for THREE blouses.
I almost bought one of those blouses, and a pair of pants that also cost eighty dollars. I was about ready to head down to the shoe department too, but then I saw a sales lady. And because I had two hundred dollars worth of clothes in my hands, she was very helpful and friendly. I decided to try one more time to find my brown dress.
"Um, excuse me. I was here a couple of weeks ago, and there was these brown dresses? Um, yes, could you maybe check and see if they are all gone?"
So we walked to the discount racks and looked at all three before coming to the last one rack.
And there was my brown dress. My size and everything. For half price.
And then the scales fell and I thought, "What was I thinking??" And I grabbed my dress and would have dropped those other clothes if I had no tact but instead I carried them up to the counter and told the lady, "I don't want those, only this one."
And now I am at work and that dress is in my car and I still don't have any shoes to wear with it. I will probably go barefoot.

Grace.

Prayer.
One time not long ago I came to the realization that praying wasn't so much doing as being.
Pray without ceasing...
I am always praying. The question is to WHO; myself or God. Most of the time I am praying to myself. Listening to my feelings. Reiterating my good qualities and ignoring any darkness.
In fact lately this has been so obvious to me that I have at rare times been placed in a state of awe and wonder (the foundations for joy) when I realize any good in me or my life is God's hand, his intervention. And I think, "Ohmygosh I can see it. I can see HIM in me. This whole religion thing isn't fake. I SEE IT. I see His fruit in my life. Holy crap. Hallelujah."
It's so practical people! so tangible! so obvious!
The pain in all of this is that for God's grace in my life to be so obvious, my own inclinations have to be as obvious too.
And this is where it has been hard.
I am so naturally angry. So naturally ready to say, "Screw it. Screw you. " So naturally ready to defend myself and protect my little heart, no matter what the costs: loss of relationships, loss of reputation, loss of God's glory.
Loss of God's glory.
Even a year ago I would have turned my nose up to that statement. Not because I didn't want to be a christian or want to love God or anything like that, but just because I didn't get it. I didn't understand it. What does that look like??? Could we stop talking about God's glory and start talking about something practical??
I now have had the second explainable experience in my life where I have seen the glory of God play out and it looks something like this: I am walking down a road filled with sin. I am enjoying it. It makes me feel good. I am led by my own thoughts, my own inclinations. But God, being rich in mercy....reaches down through people who love me, through books, and through music and turns my little body around. Turns my mind around. Turns my heart around. And suddenly I see what I was walking away from: companionship. goodness. love. peace. protection. (This is when I almost didn't marry Joey).
And now, today. It is obvious to me my being needs to be in a constant state of prayer, to God, the One who changes, or else my heart shrivels and turns gray and stops beating, in one sense. In the sense I say, "I give up. Screw this."
I pray for the scales to once more fall from my eyes, for my heart to be soft, to not fear, to see the bigger picture. God's view.
Oh Lord, be to us as eyes...

Frozens?

Yesterday Ethan and I had the flu. The first time he barfed all over my chest, I thought, ok, I am his mom, I am staying calm and sweet and talking softly: "It's ok Ethan. Just let it all come out. It's ok." Then I'd strip his clothes off him, strip my clothes off me, and into the tub he'd go, and into the shower I'd go.
Three barfs down my chest, three showers, and three loads of laundry later I was still holding myself together for Ethan, but I was over it.
What made it even more surprising each time Ethan hurled was that I thought the flu was over. He'd act like he was really really hungry, and I thought, if he's so hungry, he must be better. Especially if he's chugging down milk like there is no tomorrow. He must feel better.
And then, BARF.
After the milk episode I wised up and said, NO MORE MILK.
Then he ate about a hundred pretzels, thirty or forty chips, watered down Sprite (which he refers to as "Coke") and three cups of frozen peas.
Ethan has this thing with frozen food; he loves frozen peas or soybeans or berries.
So yesterday he keeps asking me, "Frozens? More frozens?" His little voice has such desperation in it. Like I never feed him.
So I kept putting more frozen peas on his tray. I'd only put like twenty, thinking, he's not really going to eat all these. They are gross. But then sure enough, four minutes later the peas were all gone and Ethan is asking again, "More frozens? More frozens?"
I decided to try one, thinking maybe I was missing out on something. I mean, Ethan eats these little green things like they are Pez or something.
So I put one in my mouth with a lot of positive anticipation.
It was cold, and the ice crystals on it tasted old, and the pea itself tasted like dirt, a taste that only grew once the pea went done my throat.
I wondered if as his mother if it was ok for me to be feeding him such disgusting food.
But it didn't really matter because they all came up about twenty minutes later.

Quiet desperation or belief.

Today I am weary. Slow.
I am baffled and defeated, because I cannot believe.

There is so much sin in this world. My own, and 6 billion others. That's a lot, and it has overcome me.
How will things ever be right? Do I really trust God, do I really believe?
Because His word is full of promises--one of which says that He has overcome the world.

Most men (and women for sure) lead lives of quiet desperation. I don't know who wrote that but my dad has it on a sticky note somewhere in the mess he calls his desk. And that is the truest thing I have ever heard.

So the question is, do I also believe Christ died and has overcome this world?

Not right now I don't. Right now I believe I am living--and so is everyone around me--in quiet desperation. Controlled by our fear, our pride, and all other earthly appetites. Appetites which satisfy for a moment, or even a week, or a year, but ultimately end in broken relationships, beaten up hearts and what seems an eternal distance from the only one who can redeem any of it.

My heart is weak, and my faith so small. I feel it struggling to live inside of me, on the verge of shriveling up and dying.

Listen to what he reminds me... I have separated your sins from you as far as the east is from the west....I chose you; I will always be holding you...I will finish what I began, in you and in this world...I am in control. Completely...All things are for your good. ALL THINGS....Trust me....I will give you the faith to trust me. Remember who I am and who you are in me.

Quiet desperation or belief.
But still, all I can manage to honestly say is please hold me.
Please, hold us all.

Me.

I have been three and bitten by my cousin (also three) in the laundry area in the garage. I was so happy when he got a spanking, and when my mom told his mom when she came to pick him up. I think I hated him that day.

I have been eight and said "damn" to my friend Jill, who told her older sister Kelly, who told my older sister Deana, who told my mom. I was just trying to be cool.

I have been fourteen and infatuated with a certain boy. He finally liked me back and we "dated" for a couple of months. One day he asks me, "Why don't you ever really kiss me?" I was baffled. I thought I was really kissing him. I try harder to "really" do it, but it doesn't seem to matter. We don't last.

I still ask myself while I'm kissing, "Am I doing this right?"

I have been fifteen and happy. I have been at a show with loud music and lots of people and in my favorite clothes: corduroys, a man shirt with buttons down the front, and hemp sandals that are falling apart. I cut my own hair and it looks like a robins nest, only darker. I dance however feels good to me, but I am very self aware.

I have been seventeen and alone. In a beautiful place, with wonderful people. I don't eat.

I have been eighteen and just trying to hold on.

I have been nineteen and in love.

I have been twenty-two and sitting in a doctor's office. They have asked me to pee in a cup, which is so gross. I'm waiting.
When the nurse walks in, she is so pretty. Her pregnant belly sticks out beautifully, covered in white scrubs with pink and green flowers on them. "It's positive,"she says.
I am shocked and immediately think of Joey. Is this ok?

I have been to the library. Ethan is fascinated with the tiny silver fish that swim in the aquarium. "Common buddy. Let's go pick out books."
"No! No! Fish! Fish!" I think everyone is watching me, even if they try to fake it. So I fake it and confidently swoop him up. "We'll look at the fishies later."

I have been twenty four and worried about my sudden onslaught of acne after getting through puberty so gracefully. What's with that?

Tolit paper, please.

I was on the pot and there was no toilet paper left. Just that useless brown roll with tiny shreds of the white necessity remaining. It was just me and Ethan and this was not a "drip-dry" scenario. Instead of waddling with my pants around my ankles, feeling tiny drops of pee hit my thighs, to the closet to get a new role, I smile at Ethan, who is waiting for me.
"Hi," I say to him.
"Hi."
"Wanna help Mama?"
He smiles.
"Go into the other bathroom (I point out the door) and get Mama some toilet paper (I tap the empty roll three or four times). Toilet paper, you know? It's under the sink (I hit the cupboard door). Under the sink."
He runs out of the bathroom, and I wait, pretty sure he'll forget what he was after halfway into the first hall.
He returns, holding a tiny corner of a piece of toilet paper. He smiles so proudly. I am so proud too!
"Good job, Ethan! Good job bringing Mama toilet paper!" I stick it between my legs and let it fall into the pot so he thinks I used it. He watches me the whole time.
"Can you bring Mama more? More toilet paper?"
He runs away again.
This time I am way more optimistic. I hope he can get enough to get the job done. Who cares if he didn't get the under the sink part. What he's doing is working just fine. I wait patiently.
Pretty soon he rounds the corner holding the end a long piece of toilet paper out to me. I say long because I can't see the end of it. It trails him like a skinny robe. I laugh and take what I need.
After I pull up my pants and thank Ethan about five times I follow the toilet paper trail all the way back to the second bathroom.

He's growing up. Last week he wouldn't have done this.
I couldn't be prouder. Also this just proves, once again, I need him just as much as he needs me.

today...night owls.

Today I will go teach kickboxing at nine-thirty. It's eight-twenty now. Ethan and have have already watched our twenty minutes of Nemo. He doesn't want to watch anything else, and he must watch at least twenty minutes of the little fish movie everyday.
I have a love/hate relationship with Nemo. I love it because it gives me uninterrupted Ethan free time. I hate it because Ethan's face just zones out, like someone just shot him up with some Nemo drug.
So we compromise and I let him be zoned out for twenty minutes.
Joey is still sleeping. He tells me, "I'm not sleeping well. I wake up all the time." So I let him stay in there, even though I want to cook eggs and waffles and eat with him sitting by me. Instead I have three soft cookies and coffee, and listen to Nemo.
Somehow, all this is supposed to work: Joey working graveyard for part of the week, then trying to switch and sleep like a normal person with me. Its so obvious to me he's fighting against the natural biorhythm of our bodies...like a "Joey Stretch Arm Strong", being pulled in all sorts of unnatural ways. Like his body is screaming, "Pick one! Day or night, we don't care, just pick one and stick with it!"
I was thinking about this yesterday and decided I'd try to become one of those night owls, you know those people who can stay up till one in the morning, no problem? This would take some huge adjustments. I hate New Years simply for the fact that the holiday makes me feel like such an old goat because I never want to stay up. Ten o'clock rolls around and my bed is just screaming my name.
BUT- for the sake of marriage drastic measures sometimes need to be taken. So I'm not sure where to begin, maybe a cup of joe around five in the afternoon? That's all I can think of.

Blessings and Bitterness.

Today I have both: blessings and bitterness.
I am blessed by the familiar sound of a loud jet passing over Mt. Rose as Jeff preaches on the God of all Comfort.
I have bitterness like crumbs in my heart that no matter how much I try to sweep and sweep and sweep, won't go away.
I am blessed by the faces that fill the chairs in church, faces that have hugged me and kissed me since I can remember.
I have not so much bitterness as sadness almost leaking into self pity that I sit at church, all dressed up, alone. The chair beside me empty except for the bullitin I put there.
I am blessed when I hug Jeremy and when Old Charlie asks me why I am hugging him I say, "He's my brother." Walking away I remember Jeremy was with me when I bought my first guitar.

Crticism, anyone?

So I just got a call from a job I LOVE saying that some PEOPLE have been COMPLAINING about a couple of things. This makes me want to scream. For a couple of reasons.
The main one being that I give this job 100% every time I walk through the door, even if I feel like a blob of mucus and can't breath. Even then, I give all of me.
I walk away from it like a dying cat, that's how much I give it. And for the whole rest of the day I feel weak and achy.
In fact, I have been thinking I have been giving too much, and that I could probably tone it down a little.
But then I get this call: "Um, yes, Danae, you are doing so awesome and your are so reliable, but we have gotten some feedback, and we just wanted to let you know, because, you know, it's good to know what people are saying, you know?" (Don't you love it how they call it "feedback"? And no, it actually sucks to know what people are saying. Though I have wondered every so often. Or every day. Whatever.)
So then Joey and I spent a half an hour talking about who the "feedback" was coming from, and then when we narrowed it down to who it had to be from, we talked for another forty minutes or so how coming from these two particular persons made the "feedback" completely and totally and eternally obsolete.
And now I have a hard spot in my heart against these two accused women, even though I actually have no idea if they are actaully the perpetrators and I will have to stop myself from giving them the the evil eye the next time I see them. Or at least the cold shoulder. Because it had to be from them.
The thing is listening to criticism about oneself is about as comforting as a mouth full of sawdust. (I stole the last part of that metaphor; it works so beautifully here).
It seriously makes me want to spit. And kick my cupboards. And some serious bootie the next time I go into work.
Which I will.
I mean, its so hard to hear that you aren't perfect. That some people don't like you. Because I sure love myself.
That's as clear as glass.

The Foes of Motherhood

So I was driving home last night--from a guilt-ridden shopping spree at Target where I justified spending money I wasn't sure we had because I technically "needed" a few things--with little Ethan in the back seat, happy as can be. Singing, as usual.
I noticed I was tense and in the "guilt zone"; the place where I shut down and just cruise for awhile until that awful guilt feeling is gone, usually three to four days.
The problem with this place is I am totally consumed by it. It's a place where I don't feel any bad feelings, like guilt, but I also shut down my good feelings, like the feelings that make me want to sing along with Ethan when we drive home.
This got me thinking: these emotions of mine seriously have influence on the kind of mommy Ethan has from day to day.
I tried to snap out of it but couldn't really.
Ethan kept singing, I kept driving. Kept thinking.
I came up with this short list I call the Foes of Motherhood:
Guilt
Distraction
Control
Worry
Then I thought about Jesus and how he said that his burden was light..."Come to me...." and how Paul reminds us in Philippians --I think--to think on things that are right and pure and lovely; to cast all our cares on Him because He loves us.
Does this apply to guilt and worry about weaning checking accounts? Does this apply to random and maybe not-the-best-choice shopping sprees at Target?
There is a truck in front of me with a picture of a beautiful mountain and lake on its tailgate. It's an old, little blue Toyota. Above the mountain, in white scrawly letters that look like they were written in chalk it says, Cristo es mi pastor, sal. 23.
I picture myself a little sheep. Then I picture that same sheep with the green corduroy coat I just bought at Target on its back, buttoned around it's belly.
The sheep, ie me, looks ridiculous.
And Christ, my Shepherd, is smiling at me, still watching out for me, still loving me, still there.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surly goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.

Adoption

I think I would like to adopt a baby. I also think I want a dog. And I also think I want to paint my entire house beautiful ocean blues. (Side note: when I was pregnant I made Joey paint out ENTIRE apartment mustard yellow because I was inspired and the whole thing ended up looking like mustard puke, especially where the paint butted up to our disgustingly gross 1970's dark brown cabinets in the kitchen. Thank God the old lady below us smoked and we had to evacuate permanently. I hated that apartment.)
Joey has calmly reminded me (ok, and sometimes not so calmly; sometimes like, "Danae! I've told you a thousand times I can't handle a dog right now! Its going to pee all over the carpet and ruin things and then the vet bills.." Or- "Danae! we can't paint the house right now! We have no extra money and it will be a huge mess and you will get tired and not want to finish it-and remember the yellow apartment? Hmm? Remember that??") that all my grand ideas have details that will come to the surface; details I will have to live with, like pee and paint drops on the carpet.
I am a big picture person who is only recently learning to look at details, like flossing my teeth, for example. Joey is teaching me.
Joey is ALL about the details. The practical side. The reality.
Of course, I think there is another reality, the metaphor, for example,of adoption as a picture of what God has done with us gentiles. Joey doesn't care so much about the metaphor. Or maybe he does, he just also sees the paper work, the money, and the struggle of trying to love a baby that is not your genes, your blood. Details like this are fading fuzziness to me--until I am in the middle of them.
That's when I freak out.
I am only recently learning to listen to Joey, to value this strength of his to foresee all the crap that is apart of real life.
Sorry this has no real ending but I am late to class.