Saturdays are for brunching. And crafting. And baking.
Today was one of those blessed days where I was able to do all of those things. Days like this do not come around often enough and that’s because I’ve bought into the lie that there’s not enough time to take care of myself and do things like this without feeling guilty. There are weeks where I pretend to be the martyr and sacrifice myself for the cause of fill in the blank here with whatever it is that I use as an excuse to not feed my soul. But then I’m grumpy and hangry and awful so everyone around me loses.
It feels like an epidemic that plagues us all, yes? Or is it just me?
I didn’t think so.
What would happen if we (yes, that includes you too) would take back our time and our lives? What would happen if we didn’t give into our kids every single want or need at the expense of our own sanity?
I looked over at the clock, it was 3:58am. The reason I’m up is I just got kicked in the head by Chicken Little who, at some point last night, wiggled his way into our bed and promptly fell asleep. Between the snores of Sweet Hubs, Neurosis the Wonder Dog, and Chicken Little, there was no hope for sleep redemption last night. I’m not even sure how long he was there but I do know that he wasn’t there when I fell asleep the first time.
That little sneak.
This scenario played out again at 5:45am, 6:00am, 6:22am, 6:54am and finally I relented at 7:00am and hoped the tv could babysit for another 30 minutes while I tried to will myself out of bed on 4 hours of sleep.
Dear Coffee, I love you. Will you be my Valentine?
Sometimes in the rush of life we miss the little things. And even though I feel like that exhausted rodent on the front of my coffee mug this morning I’m choosing to find joy.
Joy that Sweet Hubs made coffee for me before he headed off to class (part atonement for leaving me all day with Chicken Little and mostly because he’s great like that).
Joy that my house is warm, messy, but warm.
Joy that a healthy little boy can run across the house in the middle of the night and crawl into bed with his mom and dad.
Joy in the million little things that make up this life. This beautiful mess of a life that I share with my boys (and one neurotic, smelly dog).
I was just brushing my teeth minding my own business when I heard the way-too-intense-for-this-early-in-the-morning-groan from Sweet Hubs. It wasn’t the usual I-wish-my-kid-could-get-his-own-breakfast grumble, it was more of an exasperation mixed with a bit of mild sadness.
Curious as to the culprit of this I poked my head out of the bathroom and saw what he was watching. The Today Show was doing a story on the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition‘s newest cover model.
You know, the one they had to use a photoshopped ribbon to cover her exposed, ahem, dainties, because it was “too hot for morning tv.”
I’ve never really been a fan of “women’s ministry” — mostly because my few experiences with it at my churches growing up left me feeling like I would never belong to the elite club of ladies who read their Bibles on the daily, prayed fervently and without ceasing, knew all the Christianese, and were frankly quite perfect.
Then I realized that, bless their hearts, that maybe they didn’t have it all together but instead they put their best foot forward because that’s just what we’re supposed to do. Broken and loveless marriages, addictions, gossipping, feelings of inadequacy, wayward children, infertility, depression..those things didn’t have a place around the women’s ministry tables where I sat. No, those were the things we “prayed” (read: gossipped) about for others but would never to admit to each other that it was happening to us, too.
I could never reconcile the differences between what my interactions with women’s ministry expected me to be and who I actually was. So, like any good southern girl does, I bottled it up, put on a smile, and stayed as far away from deep meaningful relationships with women as much as I could through the whole of my 20s. It was just easier that way. I was safe from the judgement, safe from the bless your hearts, and safe from becoming just like them when I was old enough to sit around their tables for real.
Frankly, it’s all BS. And it’s time to change this perception.