The Best of Solitude and Being Together.

It's been awhile now, awhile since I've been lost in writing, letting the movement and rhythm of the words carry me along for the ride. In the meantime though I'm learning a heck of a lot about myself. In a lot of ways it's like meeting someone entirely new, while at the same time maintaining a bored familiarity and often times frustration with the same 'ole me I've known all along. One thing I know to be true: writing makes me feel alive, and to do it well I have to have solitude. I think why this has always been uncomfortable for me is that I consider myself a social person. I like relationships. But as I grow older for me to really enjoy someone's company I have to trust them. And to trust someone takes time. I find myself more and more and more needing times of quiet, times in nature (a mountain wilderness or my back yard will do), time alone. We recently went on a family vacation with all of Joey's side of the family-four couples and their kids, grandma and papa and even great-grandma. We rented the most amazing house you could find in Tahoe, complete with an indoor pool, hot tub, fire pit, in ground trampoline, pool table...I could go on but you get the point! We spent our time together, playing poker or yard games, swimming and eating. On a walk with Joey and the kids, we stumbled upon a quiet, secluded beach. Railroad-tie stairs covered in grainy sand winded down to it's soft, brown beach, Tahoe's tourquous waters resting gently on the shore. Becuase Ethan had his bike and Noah was in his stroller, we didn't go down at the time, much to my disappointment. Quiet, beautiful places like that call out to me, maybe even more so when they come unexpectedly. We went back to the house but the entire rest of the vacation I couldn't stop thinking about that beach. I didn't get to go back, although I thought of it around sunset each night, trying to imagine what it must look like with those colors in the sky, and again in the mornings, wishing my bum could be sitting in it's cool sand, book in hand, listening to the waves. Today I didn't get much solitude, although I did get some great time with my boys. We over did it, which is less of a problem now that they are almost four and seven, and can handle a non stop day with their impulsive mama who likes to keep her options open. We left the house with no plan, other than a doctors appointment at 11. We did this: Stake N' Shake Docotor's Target (school supplies, new make up for me) Marina (park and candy) The Humane Society (looked at the rabbits, pet the cats, looked at the dogs) Rancho San Rafael Park At the park I pointed to the top of the hill where a white gazebo stands. "That's where me and daddy had our first kiss." "Ethan! Did you hear that?? That's where mom got it!" says Noah. "Got what?" Says Ethan. "Got her kiss!" "Really?! That's where you got married?" I had to break it to them that we kissed before we were married. "Oh. So you've kissed twice then." says Ethan. "Yes..." I really didn't have the energy to explain any further. It was a great day with them. No solitude, but time: time building trust, telling first kiss stories.

Mudder Love.

We drove into Truckee on Saturday afternoon, it's main street lazy and quiet, making me wonder why we don't come up more often.
We parked the car in a lot across the street from our old hotel and walked over. I noticed at the check in how kind and sociable Joey was with the girl behind the desk, her eyeliner dramatic like Jasmine from Aladdin, her lips perfectly shaped. She talked easily back to him, and I tried to smile at her, but between girls sometimes there's an underlying edge and it's too much effort to try and smooth it over. Looking at the brochures on the wall was easier.
Joey got our keys-which are really cards now-a-days- and we made our way up the old, squeaky staircase. I took note how badly the paint was peeling was on the face of the stairs as we ascended and despite the fact that we work so hard to keep our life at home perfectly in order-no scuffs on our walls, no smudges on our shiny floors-it felt really good to see all those worn down stairs, the dark places were the paint was completely gone and nobody gave a shit.
The floors creaked and moved under our feet as we made our way down the hall, looking for our room, number 224. The was a small sitting room at the end of the hall with tall open windows, the warm breeze causing the light curtains to catch wind and balloon out like sails.
I opened our door to a surprisingly small room and tried not to act disappointed because I know how much Joey hates it when I am disappointed. Instead I said, "Oh how cute!" And it was. Cute and simple, with a large bed in the middle with just enough room to get around, a small table with three baskets as drawers-the first two holding plump, soft white towels and last one empty. There was an old black cast iron radiator in the corner under the window that looked so old and antiquated I told Joey I wouldn't turn that thing on even if I was freezing to death for fear of burning the whole hotel down, and maybe all of Truckee with it. The bed had a textured white bedspread and down pillows that contrasted nicely with the room's light brown walls, the color of creamed coffee in the morning.
I was anxious to get out to all the little shops we saw on our way into town. We walked in an out of the them, doting on all the beautiful, handmade jewlery, the colorful paintings of Tahoe, the soft leather bags.
In a small furniture shop I saw a sign that read, "I'm not moody, self-absorbed, and disorganized-I'm artistic!" and I thought, that sums it up exactly. I showed it to Joey. He didn't think it was quite as humerous as I had.
We bought Christmas and birthday gifts and I got a necklace with a tiny heart on one side a the word "love" written on the other.
I told Joey I wanted it to be from him, that it could be my Christmas present. He  said alright, but then went and sat to wait on a bench while I went in and bought it. And I knew when I bought it there's no way I was waiting for Christmas for it-I wore it out that night and everyday since. I guess this is just how it is when your married-or maybe just moody and self-absorbed and want things immediately.
Soon enough we were hungry and made our way down to the green Mexican restaurant at the far end of the street. We sat at the bar and as the vodka mixed in my cranberry juice loosened my mind I started talking, talking in a way I hadn't for a week or two, or maybe a month or two. Letting the words spill out, the tangle mess of them, knowing if I thought too much about what it was I was trying to say it wouldn't come out closest to the truth, which I value so strongly, so I tried to not filter. We're married right? He's not going anywhere no matter what I say.
 Joey listened politely but there was a baseball game on and I couldn't blame him for glancing up at it every couple of minutes or so, or for asking the two rough gentleman sitting next to us what exactly they were having as the bar tender made them some special drinks. I'm sure at this point in our conversation-or maybe I should say my conversation-he wanted whatever they were having bad. I also wondered if he'd rather be hanging out with them than his emotionally crazed wife who was talking with no filter, valuing truth above all else.
I made an effort to reign it in just a little.
Walking back to the hotel I tried not to let the nerves start to creep in as the alcohal wore off as to why we were really up here to begin with-it wasn't to shop and eat and get re-acquainted with each other- it was to complete the Tough Mudder.
I'd been a spectator four years before, watching my husband and all his buddies complete a course in Bear Valley, California. At the time I though it could be fun to do at one point, but I wondered if I'd ever actually have the balls to sign up for it. Four years passed and I thought it was pretty much a forgotten thought until one day about a couple of months ago. Joey said that he wanted to do it with a group from work again, and because it was on a weekend we were supposed to be camping as a family he thought we could do this instead.
After I threw a complete fit which is so like me, I actually thought about it for a minute or two and I decided it could be fun. Plus Joey suckered me in: we'd spend the weekend in Truckee, shopping and eating out without the boys. He'd even get us a quaint little hotel room.
 I agreed.
He signed us up.
I asked him if I should train and he said no. That I was in good enough physical shape to just wing it. I said okay.
I started receiving the Tough Mudder emails right away, almost daily, and I deleted them without even reading them. Then I saw one with a video attached entitled "Artic Enema" and decided to watch it.  Bad idea.
What was gong to be just a casual 'get through it kinda day' now had a face: Hundreds of pounds of ice that you have to dive head first into, find an opening at the bottom, and get out on the other side, which was another bin filled with ice.
I tried not to talk about it with Joey too much, tried not to ask him too many questions for fear of appearing a complete wuss, or annoying him and making him regret inviting me.
Despite all my cool self control two months leading up to the event, the morning of the race I couldn't help it and chewed off eight and a half of my fingernails to little nubs as we drove to Safeway to get power bars and bananas. I hoped Joey didn't notice and made a mental note I'd have to clean my fingernails out of the car later.
Soon enough we were at the start line. The sky was a bold blue and the temperature was warm. All around us everyone was chanting and cheering the then we were off, up the mountain.
Running up the mountain was easy. When the adrenaline kicks in, especially at the start of a race, I never feel stronger. I could run for miles! Up ski mountains!
Our first obstacle was the Slanted Wall. I scurried up the wall using the supports like a kindergartner on a jungle gym. Easy enough, I thought, as I reached the top and threw my legs over. Now, how to get down?
I turned around on my back side and decided to slide down like a slide in the park-whoosh! and  the next moment I'm heard my ankle make some funky crinkly sounds and then the pain, tight and twisted, unnatural.
Dammit.
I bent my knee to get my foot off the ground and noticed the swelling under my sock, bulging already out my shoe.
I told my team members I rolled my ankle, took my shoe off so everyone could stare at the growing mound of puffy, swollen flesh right at my ankle bone. I slipped my shoe back and and said, "It's alright. I'm going to keep going. It feels alright."
  I'm mad at myself for being such an idiot, for forgetting how easy it is to get hurt, for forgetting how vuulnerable we are. But I'm especially mad because it happened on the first obstacle. As I begin to jog toward obstacle number two out of nineteen, I pray it isn't as bad as it feels.
Somehow I keep running, keep doing every single obstacle, despite my foot having hardly any movement, feeling like a big stiff tree branch jolting out of my shoe with my toes attached.
For five hours I try not to think about it. But when I do, it shakes.
Joey helps me down on any of the obstacles that would require a jump onto hard ground. Running down the mountain was harder on it than running up; with every step I'm aware of it jamming, while simultaneously hoping to god I don't turn it again on the loose rocks.
As we near the end, one of the obstacles is to carry another "warrior". I climb on Joey's back and he takes off. Where we are supposed to switch, he keeps going, carrying me all the way to the obstacles end.
The second to last obstacle is called Mount Everest. It's a half pipe that you have to run up and get to the top. For the first time in the entire race, I said out loud to one of the women we'd been running with, "I don't think I'm going to be able to that." I doubted I could do that even if my ankle was fine. It was so...slanted, curled like a giant wave.
I gave it a shot and slid down, but realized it too was doable despite looking so undoable. I ran with all my might and grabbed the top with my finger tips. Bingo. Up and over.
The last obstacle was running through mud with the electrical shocking things hanging down. We all run through as a team, yelling and screaming and ready for it to be over.
Afterward I ate two soft tacos while resting my foot on Joey's lap. As everyone sat and ate and talked about the race, I could feel it getting stiffer. It ached. I finally told Joey I was ready to go but could barely make it to the car. I laughed at how impossible it was to walk when an hour ago I was running down a mountain on it.
At home I showered for a long time. Washed my hair twice. You would never believe the amount of dirt your body soaks up in this event!  When I got out and dried myself off, my white towel had brown dirt marks all over it. The junk that came out of my nose and ears, black.

                     Not from Tough Mudder or even this Weekend. Just us. Being us.

I'm not loving my banged up knees and stiff ankle the same size as a baby elephant's. But I did love the time with my husband. I loved doing something so many people are afraid of.  I love my little necklace I forced my husband to buy "for" me. I loved our little hotel room, the way the floor slanted down. I loved my vodka and cranberry juice that allowed me to open up like a dam in the green Mexican restaurant. But mostly I loved how my husband listened to me even if he didn't  get a damn thing I was saying, how he helped me over every other single wall we had to climb after I hurt myself, how he carried me when he was supposed to but also when I was supposed to carry him.  That's what I loved the most.

 

Lacking Nothing.

I've been freaking out lately (what's new?), mind set on crazy, adamant that I need to make things happen, that if I don't do A and B and C and the whole rest of the alphabet too, well, life just might end in a big catastrophe.
I've been reading Deuteronomy 8, reading about those Israelites almost ready to make it into the promise Land. They've been wondering around in the desert for 40 YEARS so that God could teach them that HE is the one who supplies all we need, HE is the one that goes before us and behind us, HE is the one who gets water out of rocks and sends food from heaven. That we don't have to be in a land flowing with milk and honey to "lack nothing"-that actually even in the desert, the Israelites (and us) still "lack nothing".
God is the same, mighty, faithful, full of love and mercy, whether we are in the desert or in paradise. And he leads us in deserts so that we can learn this, know that even there in the driest, most irritating, annoying, sometimes painful places He is.
Sufficient!
We lack nothing.

Family Photos.

Family pictures 2013. Behind the scenes: My hair is dirty and I'm worried about it and Joey is mad we are downtown in public and Noah is being a pain. Don't we all look happy though? Except Noah. Three year olds don't lie, unless it's a story about dragons or something cool. 

Isn't he a cute pain?

 

Behind the scenes: Joey is an amazing dad.

 

 

 

Love.

 

 

 

Handsome Devil.Watch out Second Grade.

Rain.

It's raining, darkening the grey rocks in the backyard to a deep, shiny, slate color; the grass and plants from their normal, dry yellow green to bright, jungle green. The colors pop against the backdrop of a white sky, covered in clouds.  It's so rare here to get rain that when it happens the day feels special.
Except if you want to go to Tahoe, or if you are at Tahoe, dressed for the beach.
We left after church because it was supposed to be "like 103 degrees" but as we wound up the mountain, we kept driving deeper and deeper into the dark grey clouds. Thunder rumbled. We kept driving, watching the temperature on the dashboard drop a degree with each winding turn. One of those times where you just keep thinking, "He parted the Red Sea for gosh sakes! He can take the clouds away."
Except He didn't. Instead He brought lightening, so we were banned from the water, which caused two simultaneous wails of despair to erupt from the depths of my boys' bellies. I also wailed in despair, only mine was silent because as an adult letting that stuff out, especially in front of the kids, looks bad.
 We decided to stay anyway and bbq'd with my parents and grammie. It rained a little, and then would stop, and then start again. One large gush of wind on the beach caused Joey to cover Noah with his body to protect him from the sharp sand pelting his face, while Ethan ran like a mad man to find cover, in the bathrooms.
Joey and I got to play catch, something we haven't done since I think Ethan was six months old and would sleep in the stroller while we played. It's amazing how long it takes to get some of those things back. The boys ran around chasing squirrels.
On the way home Joey and I got lost in conversation about the future, something that I love to do with him but find it hard in the lives we live: we either are getting things done and prepared for whatever is coming next or staring at our phones to zone out from it all. I find long, winding roads are good for this sort of thing: letting our minds get lost together, the flow of the conversation ebbing back in forth in a natural, effortless way.
We talked about how badly we we want to get out of Stead. How painful the fallout of the decision to buy out here has been-from what we can see now. Eleven years was impossible to imagine when we signed our life away. We thought maybe two, tops. And yet here we are, still, and I just turned thirty!
It's OK. It's one of the many ways I've learned to be an adult. To stay when I want to run away. To keep going when I want to quit. To know it's OK if it doesn't make sense; someday-maybe in this life, maybe not- I'll see it all clearly.
In the meantime I try to remember right now it's not so much about understanding why He doesn't take the clouds away and more about trusting His love for me, always. Sun or rain, ...he makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind.
Sure, we didn't get sunshine and beach and water, but we got the smell of new rain hitting pine trees in the mountains, the feeling of light rain misting our bodies, the back and forth smack of a baseball in my glove, and a long, effortless conversation with my husband that left me feeling closer to him than I've felt in a long while.
I take a deep breath and remember.

On Turning Thirty: An Excuse to Do Things.

I'm running into my thirties, literally as well as figuratively. Figuratively, well, I'm just excited to be out of the chaos of adjustments in my twenties. Adjusting to marriage, to mommy-hood, to no jobs and new jobs, dogs and no dogs and home ownership and all that stuff that costs way more money and is way harder than you can ever imagine. My twenties felt like my head was constantly spinning and when it would start to slow down, just a bit, the only thing that came to mind was: WTF?
Literally, I've decided that turning thirty is an excuse to do things, so I'm running everyday of June, or just about. I actually started at the end of May and then was ill all weekend, blowing up from both ends, so I had to put my little goal on the back burner, but I'm ready to hit the road at zero dark thirty tomorrow morning. Running makes me feel bad ass, and why not do something that makes you feel bad ass?
I also thought I would add "and drink only H2O" to my little goal as well, but that quickly got thrown out the window  as I survived on Sierra Mist and saltines all weekend. I'm sure I dropped five pounds. Screw paleo, if you want to lose some serious weight, it's all about Sierra Mist and Saltines! It's the miracle diet in just three days!
Anyway, I'm feeling back to my normal self now, I'm not continuously exploding from one end or the other, and I'm ready for this 30's thing. It can only go up from here, right?
I always feel like I have to do this huge catch up on here every time I write now because I write so infrequently. So catch up:
Ethan is awesome. For his school project today he drew a picture of himself as an old man and then wrote: When I am 100 years old I will have glasses because I love to read at night before bed. I will also have a hearing aid because I will be hard of hearing.
He blows my mind. I know every mom thinks this, but Ethan could really rule the world one day, or at least some big company. He's bright and independent and creative. Of course, he's also a major pain in the ass because of these things...constantly asking questions and wanting to invent this or build that or try this. And I must just seem like such a drag, constantly telling him, "No...no...no...NO..." but really I think he's a genius. I hope he realises that.
Noah is a stubborn sweetheart. He recently has been trying to get into music, and I say trying because I don't know if it's just his age or if he's one of those people who just can't hear it right, but he tries. He gets Ethan's ear phones on with the ipod and then tries to sing along to Jason Aldean or Maroon5. It's hide-your-laughter-cus-it's-so-dang-cute-but-you-don't-want-to-hurt-his-feelings stuff.  He's also incredibly sensitive (hmmm, wonder where he gets that?) and does not like to be watched, noted, or spoken about. Poor baby. All over Mama's blog.
I love him dearly and cherish the times I get to take a nap with him.
More and more and more I appreciate and am so proud of Joey. His new assignment is as a forensic investigator (my little sister pointed out how hot that is) and I love having him on my schedule. After nine and a half years, you gotta hand it to a man who has to listen to his wife fill the toilet in so many different ways all night long. The next morning I texted him, "Did you hear me last night?" and he responded, "Every time." Yet he sticks around.
The one thing I'm missing in my life right now is girls. I miss my friends, my sisters. So that's another thing I want to work on in my thirties, making time for girls. Deana, Daelynn, Angel, Erin, Heather, Jen, Jamie, my mom, my grammie. I miss my girls. It's so easy to take those relationships for granted, but to not have them sucks the air right out of my life.

What we do now.

The boys and I went for a run tonight, the fourth consecutive starting last Friday. It seems a little obsessive, a little crazy, but after work I just get the itch to go. The air is sweet, the sky big and full of changing colors, inviting me to chase after it, run into it.
Such a different feeling than the dark, cold days in February when the sky is a deep navy by the time we get home and the day seems over. All we do is get ready for bed it seems.
I realised on my run today that in the summer I don't run to burn calories. I don't run to train. I don't run so I can eat whatever I want (OK that's a lie.  I do run to eat whatever I want), but really I run because it feels good. I run because it's fun to run. And even though the hills, especially pushing Noah in his stroller, KILL me, that feeling of pushing into them, conquering them, is addictive in the best possible way.
It's been a treat-that's such an understatement. It's been heaven-to have Joey around in the evenings to do this kind of stuff with me. It's so so so different doing the parenting thing solo in the  evenings vs. having my partner with me. It doesn't hurt my partner has a booming voice when needed and seems to just naturally demand, and get, respect from the little dudes.
Ethan is doing baseball. He's so proud of himself. I love his confidence! I want it. I told him the other night that he has such a natural ability to argue his case, that he would make a good lawyer. I told him it was one of the talents God gave him.
"Mom, what are talents?"
"They are gifts and strengths God has given you."
"Well, I do have incredible strength."
He kills me!
Noah and Ethan are both doing their swim lessons. It's fun to watch Noah on the side of the pool, waiting for his turn, his little chicken wing arms bouncing around, blue goggles on. The other morning he crawled into bed with me, took my sleepy face in his hands, and said, "You're da sweedest mama." Where he gets this stuff I will never know;  I just know I want to soak it up, write it down, do I don't forget.

Holding On.

It's been a long while. The longer I go without writing, the more unfamiliar it seems to me, like a friend who was once a daily confidant but who moved away and I never get to talk with anymore.
So many things in my life have taken off, things I have always wanted have materialized, and instead of being in a constant state of working towards something, I am actually living day to day in the results of the previous ten years of striving.  Of wallowing through thick mud. Of feeling like their was no light, no end, but having faith it would work out somehow, at some time...
It's not to say the mud is gone; I think I have just learned to walk through it better. And I have experienced it's clearing, places in life where the pit ends and you can run...for a while anyway. Then you hit another pit, but knowing there's an ebb and flow to life, pits and non-pits, makes it easier get through those hard times. Even when they last for years.
My husband turns 30 on Sunday and we got some really good news yesterday. Suprising news.
You almost forget what it feels like to receive good news like this. Like all the muck in your head clears and OMG, the skies are blue! The air is sweet! The mountains beautiful!
And then that overwhelming feeling of "being chosen, blessed by love"....like being plucked from the middle of the pit for nothing you've done but just because of love. The resulting emotion is a deep thankfulness and gratitude, knowing there is nothing we could do to ever re-pay that kind of love...a love that is always watching out, constantly working, constantly comforting, constantly holding. A love that says, Hold on. Just hold on. You haven't seen the fallout of all of this yet....

One of Those Feelings.

Do you ever get that feeling, walking through your house, say from the laundry room back to the kitchen, that omygosh this is all mine? this house, that couch, the music streaming from Pandora, this evening, those two boys in the bathtub...this is all mine! My life. That I am almost thirty and those wrinkles in my face, especially that one that hangs out around my mole like a crescent moon, aren't going away and that THIS IS IT. This is my life. 
I am blessed to be where I am in life. With a husband who turned out, even though I said yes when I didn't know up from down or if my favorite color was green or orange. He did more than turn out, once I figured out he didn't exist to make me happy. That so many of my frustrations in our marriage was due to my shit sin, not his. This morning, again, one of those feelings that just springs up on me: He is mine. Every sexy hot piece of him, all his ways, his authority, his determination, his sense.
I feel blessed to be where I am in life, almost thirty, and to be able to say, I want nothing more. I know I've worked hard, I've tried to be as honest as I can with myself so that I can work through things in me that are broken so that they don't have to be the determining factor in how my life roles out, in what opportunities I'm given and how I handle the day to day things life brings my way. 
It felt good tonight to have that thought spring up and let it sink in: it's all mine. What a gift.

Teaching Experiences.

Oh I could use a little sunshine today. It's rainy, which was fine at five o'clock this morning as I listened, half asleep, to my better half getting ready for work. The falling rain outside was comforting, the perfect sound to drift in and out of sleep to.
But now, at four PM, I'm feeling gloomy. It's not just today- it's the season in general. March. We are at the end of winter, those cold, crazy days, but can't yet see the light of summer when I will feel the sun, that giant source of life, warming my entire body, awakening every pore on my skin.
Thinking of the sun's warmth reminds me of those long days in July or August at the Millpond, sitting in low chairs, eating jerky and drinking a cold beer, watching the boys splash and play in the water, talking for hours with Joey as the sun makes her way across the blue sky. Pure delight.
Besides the weather, life is...big. So much bigger than I had ever anticipated. I'm starting to notice connections in all the different areas in my life: the home part, the work part, the exercise part, the church part...more and more I am getting opportunities to use my passion to inspire and encourage others along the way. Not to offer solutions (who has those?), but to, as Nouwen says, "articulate in words and actions the human condition in which we participate and who encourage us to face the realities of life...to [have] the courage to enter so deeply into human suffering and speak from there."
I have a passion for people.
In teaching exercise I have a passion to see people do more than they ever thought they could, and to find joy along the way as they use their bodies for what they were intended: to move! My heart is that my students would stop competing, with others and with themselves, and start enjoying the movement, the breath, the sweat. The results will follow, but they are not the point.
In church, my passion is to break down walls. Let people know it's okay to be themselves and not have to put on their church faces when they walk through the doors. That honesty is the foundation to knowing God, and letting God know you. That it's intimacy, being with God, that transforms us. Our lives flow from Him, taking our 'trying to be good' from being a noisy gong to a real, deep, love for ourselves, the way God loves us, and in turn for those around us.
At work, having compassion for our patients and the staff that is trying so hard to navigate in this changing world of health care to take care of them. It's a slow process, a process that takes a long term perspective, one that sees "interruptions" as the real work, as opportunities to recognize a defect and take the steps in order to eliminate it to bring more and more value to our patients.
And at home. Fostering my passion for people "out there" to the little people sitting at my dining room table, the two little men God has gifted to me. Taking time to be with them, get to know them, listen to them, even if it's about Star Wars this guy and Legos that. Sundays especially, while Noah is napping, telling Ethan, "I want to be with you. Let's play."
We built a lego jeep today. He's so damn smart.
Reminds me of a funny story.
So yesterday we were on our way to the park and Ethan says to me, "I don't think I should be going to the after school program."
"Why?"
"Because there are bad words written in the tunnel outside where we play."
"Oh really? What bad words?"
"Fuck."
"Oh..." and then Noah repeats it, really slowly, like he's trying to get a good grasp on how to say it properly.
I'm freaking out of course.
"Okokokokokokokok, stop, stop, stop....."
"But mom, what does it mean?"
Oh would somebody just crash into the car right now or something, an earthquake...anything would be great...
"Well..."
Noah says it again.
"Noah, hunny, we don't say that word. It's not nice. It's not polite. It's very very bad."
"But, mom, what does it mean?"
"Well, um...." Is that a trash can I could crash into?
"It said like fuck off, or of, or something...."
"Yes! Yes! so it means get away."
"Oh, Okay."
Big, deep sigh of relief from mama. And then we had a similar conversation about shit. And as we pulled into the parking garage to meet our dear friends and their little ones at the park, I prayed fervently that my boys would completely forget about this lovely conversation, especially Noah, lest he pass along his new found knowledge with his friends and then their parents would get to have the lovely experience I just had.

Delight.

Joey took me out last night, an early Valentine's treat. An excuse to have my parents take the boys overnight so we can go have someone else cook and clean and make our bed. We stayed at the Peppermill, our go to overnighter. It's so big and over the top there. The giant mirrors that hang on the wall made me feel like I was in a giant's house. So did the King crab legs I ordered for dinner. I got four or five legs and I was satisfied after eating the meat inside of one of them, they were that huge!
It was good to be with Joey. We shared a 2007 Cabernet from Napa. The label identified it as "rich and chewy"-not exactly how I would have first described it but  could see where they were coming from after I thought about it for a minute. It was full of all sorts of flavors and was a delight to drink. I could have taken the whole evening to drink that bottle with him. If that's all our date was it would have been phenomenal.
We're home now after going to church. I find myself not wanting to miss church. I have a little monk inside of me. Growing up as a pastor's kid church was always a "have to" or a "should". Sometime in the last year or so it's become a well of life to me. The community, the music, communion, the teaching.  Giving me the time to stop and and become aware, again, of God. Such a small taste of eternity, immersed in the love of God...but a small taste here is more than enough to keep me wanting more and more. So I don't like to miss it.
I'm also beginning to want a Sabbath. Protected time to rest and delight. I think in our culture we forget how to delight in anything, really. There is always too much to do. For example, I asked myself today, I have all day, what refreshes me? What delights me? and I couldn't really answer it. It was easier to just go throw some more clothes in the washer and then go through my underwear drawer and then re-organize the pantry....the problem is God created us to delight. To enjoy the fruit of our labor and relationship with others and with Him.
I want that rhythm, to know what is work and what is play, and to have time for both.
Music delights me. Playing my guitar, singing. Writing delights me. Painting delights me. Taking a walk with my family, being in nature, the sun. Reading. Sex followed by a nap with Joey. Cooking a meal slowly and eating together. Reading to my boys. Going for a run. Relishing in God's presence, knowing that it's enough. I don't have to be a hamster running my wheels with no end in sight. We were created for so much more than that. I want my Sabbath's to be a taste of eternity, keeping my pallet salivating for more and more and more.

This Weekend.

Another weekend coming to an end. We went ice skating yesterday.  It amazes me to see Ethan doing this sort of thing, on his own. In one sense you feel all this pride at watching him independently step out on his own in something so unknown and give it a whirl. The risk of it. And then my heart breaks to see him struggle, get frustrated, want to quit. Like we all do. But to encourage him to hang in there, and then to see him start to enjoy it a little, that fills me.
Noah still needed all the assistance he could possible get, breaking my, Joey's, and my mom's back as we had to hold him up all the way around the rink, all the while he tried to do "tricks": jumping, swerving, one footed shenanigans.  It's a wonder we all didn't end up on our asses, or worse, on our heads. I don't get why they don't enforce helmets. There were some people out there taking some seriously gnarly falls. It's a death wish, or at least a migraine for a day or two.
We made it though. Came home and watched the 49er's win. I've never been into football, but I know Kapernick or however you spell it and watching him play gets me excited for him and his team. He plays like a little boy, with so much passion and life. He messes up, he's not perfect, but he hangs in there and he doesn't give up. Watching him make some of those amazing plays is so inspiring.
Reminds me to do the same: don't give up, keep going for those big plays. And enjoy the game.

Stepping Out of Darkness into Light.

My church is hosting a women's group and my pastors have asked if I'd co-teach it. I'm excited to be able to be a part of a group intentionally coming together to ask God to move in our lives and then to be able to watch, with great expectation, at what He will do.
I am looking forward to watching more walls come down in my own life as I recognize fears I am still functioning in, lies that I am unconsciously living in everyday. I am looking forward to grasping even more of a solid understanding of the confidence and peace I have as a redeemed daughter of God.
What does it mean to walk in the freedom in Christ?
What do we do when we feel lost?
How are our lives affected when we know that our sins do not count against us anymore?
Where is our true identity to be found?
The world says our identity is found in how we look and what we can do.  Even the church gets caught up in this, although the demands are different than what the world demands. The world demands beauty and sexy and successful; the church demands modest and quiet and sweet.
But what does our Father really want?
He wants us to bust open and live in the freedom that comes from knowing His unconditional and steadfast love. He created us all so unique and for very unique specific purposes. Life with Him is dynamic and alive and very much a back and forth responding relationship with open possibilities.
The more I learn to draw from "I AM"; from a God who is everything I need for each moment, the less I walk in fear. His standing is my standing. His forgiveness is my forgiveness, His grace my grace. He moves mountains, and guess what, so can I.
I would not be able to make it in this life without Him, lavishly throwing whatever it is I need right to me. I would run away. I have always ran away. I despise conflict, something that comes with every life.  I've had to learn to take my emotions to God instead of relying on them to lead me. I've had to trust Him and His work, apart from how I may feel in any situation.
Here's the thing I have  found: the more I give over, the more He comes through. It's His faithfulness that has bolstered my faith. God has never let me down; He has proved over and over and over He is good and He loves me and He cares for me.
I was reading in Colossians this morning (1:9-14) and it blew my mind: "...we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will..." Whenever I come across "knowledge" in reference to God in the bible, I think of intimacy. Intimacy is to know and be known, and I believe God desires it with us and we, in the deepest part of ourselves, desire it with Him. The passage goes on: "...in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God."
Stop the boat.
This just gives me goosebumps it's so amazing. It's the gospel: knowing (being intimate with) Christ  that produces a life that is lived, "in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him..." It's not the other way around, which is how I've lived so much of my christian life, thinking that how I lived my life would then bring me closer to God, instead of realizing it's being close to God that changes how we live. Knowledge, intimacy must come first. Paul finishes his sentence bringing it back to "increasing in the knowledge of God..." because that is THE most important thing.
He goes on, "May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might..." Once again, LIGHT BULB.
We have no power, no strength, except for his. And his is the ultimate in power and might. So much of my christian life has been lived off of what pathetic strength I think I  have instead of drawing from his endless, true strength.  When I try to use my own strength I fail, I get discouraged,  I lose hope. I want to give up. And I wonder why life is so hard, and why God won't just come through all ready.
When I draw upon his strength, I have exactly what Paul describes, "...for all endurance and patience with joy..." His strength is the only strength that can get us through ambiguous and shitty times with "all patience and joy." I can't get through a car wash let alone my marriage and  raising two boys with "all patience and joy"- unless I turn my eyes to God and draw directly from His strength.
The passage ends: "...giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in who we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins."
I love light and dark imagery. It's beautiful, easy to grasp, and so accurately describes our lives with and without God.
We can give thanks to God for "qualifying" us. We do not need to "qualify" ourselves. We can't. He has, through Jesus, covered us and gave us the inheritance of the saints in light. Our future, from today into all eternity, is set. We have the inheritance of light.   He has delivered us from the "domain of darkness". I believe this is referring to not only being delivered from eternal hell, it's also being delivered from hell on earth, life without God in the here and now.
Covered by Jesus Christ, redeemed (i love that word!) by his death in our place, we can live in light and not in the darkness anymore.
God may I understand this more and more and more. 

A Quiet Beginning to 2013.

One of those rare nights where I am alone. The quietness is thick around me, and if I didn't know my boys were up at Graeagle, looking at the stars with the new telescope Ethan got for his birthday, it would be eery and wrong.
Instead, it's just quiet.
I get anxious whenever I'm given time like this: at first, I'm overwhelmed and excited about all the possibilities and things I could accomplish with the time (go through the boys' bedroom, organize their itty bitty legos and throw out McDonald crap, deep clean the baseboards, re-organize the pantry, write on the blog, put together the scrapbook that's been neglected for going on three years now...) but as my mind explodes in all different directions, my motivation wanes and I find myself on the couch, unable to decide what would be the MOST efficient use of the precious time.
Which is exactly where I found myself tonight when the thought came to me to take a bubble bath.
I had to clean out all of the boys bath toys in the tub before I could begin to run the water and then I grabbed their superhero bubble bath and poured it in. 
I like a hot bath, so as soon as I got in I turned the knob as hot as it would go. I rarely ever, ever, ever take a bath and tonight, just me and Pandora, it felt so good. So definitely the right choice.
After getting out and getting my jammies on, my head felt less like a ping pong machine. I made myself some Strawberry Rose Champagne tea, compliments of my dear little sister, and grabbed some blackberries. There's a soft cozy blanket over my legs and the heater is warming my toes.
It's the first day of 2013. It makes me smile, the newness of it. The potential, the possibility. Here's to a healthy and happy 2013!