wicked weaving

I've Moved

2006-03-12T15:18:00.000-08:00

Check out my new website!

www.wickedweaving.com

Crazy Boy

2006-03-06T19:26:00.000-08:00

If only they had a jumper that would allow the child to throw itself upside down - Andrew's happiness would be complete.

The Dangers of Exhaustion

2006-03-03T07:19:00.000-08:00

For the last three weeks, Andrew has neglected to remember that he is a good sleeper who stays asleep all night and sleeps for a good ten hours from the time you put him down. He has awakened at a variety of times from 9pm to 4am and has had trouble getting back to sleep once he wakes up. Needless to say, this has taken a predictable toll on the mental acuity of those living in our home; add in overtime at work for Justin and a night class at UW and we are close to complete insanity.

All this to try and explain why, as I stood in front of the mirror last night brushing my teeth I reached down and grabbed Andrew's pacifier. Just as I was about to put it in my mouth, Justin asked what I was doing. I looked up, confused. Questions of that nature are far to complex for my diminished mental state, but as I thought about it I realized that I was wondering if I would sleep better with the binky in my mouth.

It was hard to fall asleep through Justin's random guffaws - the binky didn't help either.

High School Drama: Revisited

2006-02-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

*If you don't care about reliving my high school days in excruciating detail, please stop reading. I may be channeling Sweet Valley High.*

I was talking to a friend on the phone the other day and she told me that she had a funny story for me. Here it is:

"So you know that I lead an Alpha group for my church right? Well, the other day was one of our first meetings and this guy came who I hadn't met before. He was looking at the pictures in our hallway and said, 'That's Jenny Burn. I dated her in high school.' So I asked him what his name was and he said Skip. Anyways, I showed him all the more recent pictures I have of you and Justin and Andrew. Isn't that great that he is interested in Alpha?"

I don't really remember much of what she said after that. I know she told me what he was up to and asked me about some of the people that he and I had known in high school. I know she asked me more about him, since she didn't know him when we were dating. I know we arranged the time for me to pick her daughter up from school on Monday. And I know I haven't stopped thinking about it since then.

Skip. Wow.

Skip was my last "real" boyfriend, in the sense that we were officially "going out", for whatever that's worth. We met on a camping trip in the spring of 1995, my sophomore year in high school. He went to another school in the district but lived pretty close to my parents house. My best friend, Christy, also went to his school and she organized this trip with Skip, myself and another couple, Jeff and Melissa.

Background information on Christy. She was the pretty friend. She was the popular friend. She was the friend who always had a boy or two along for the ride. I loved hanging out with her because she always knew where the party was and always made it clear to the boys involved that I was just as willing as she was to have some fun. I was crazy with jealousy most of the time. I hated being the third wheel and, since I had been the third wheel quite a few times in the months preceding that camping trip, I decided to take matters in to my own hands.

Christy explained the plan to me that week on the phone. Jeff and Melissa would have one tent and Skip, Christy and I would sleep in the other. She mentioned that I might want to think about bringing my own tent (wink, wink) and that she was so sorry they couldn't find another boy to go along. I made up my mind that I was not going to spend my weekend watching other people make out.

Christy and I maneuvered for position throughout the afternoon and I pulled out my tried and true tricks when night came. I was cold. I was scared. Was that a noise? Can I sit just a little closer to you? I can't see in the dark can I hold your hand? Well, they worked. I ended up watching the sunrise with his jeans on for extra warmth. We sat at Denny's a few days later and when someone said, "I heard you guys are together now" we agreed that, in fact, we were. I was thrilled. I had a boyfriend with a car (I was 15). I had a boyfriend from another school (always a plus in the cool factor). I hadn't been the third wheel, along for the ride on another one of Christy's adventures. I was the cool one now.

But then two things happened that I hadn't planned on. The first was that I finally and completely blew my chances with Scott, a boy that had been my best friend for three years. It's a long story that I'm sure will come up in another overly detailed post, suffice it to say that one day, when Skip and I had skipped off of 6th period, Scott showed up at my house to make sure everything was okay. I hadn't told him about Skip and he didn't say anything, just told me he was glad I was okay and that he would talk to me later. We didn't really talk again after that. The second thing was that Skip actually liked me, a lot more than I liked him, and as the days and weeks went by I found it harder and harder to think about breaking up with him. We did have fun together, he was a nice guy and I convinced myself that it didn't really matter anyway because I was going to leave for my job as a camp counselor in a few weeks. So I stayed with him and wrote him love letters from camp and let him bring my favorite stuffed animal to Utah with him to visit his dad and tried to hide the relationship from all my good "church" friends at camp while I taught Bible stories to little kids.

When we finally did break up, it was more because I was embarrassed about our relationship than anything else. To cover my embarrassment I told some terrible lies about him. I told my parents that he had threatened me and that was why I had come in all sweaty and disheveled after my curfew from his car last week. I told my camp friends that I had broken up with him because he didn't want to become a Christian and I had only stayed with him that long in hopes of converting him and I told our mutual friends at school the next year that I had never really liked him at all and that I don't know what possessed me to date such a dork. And so, in the end, I was again the good daughter, the slightly misdirected but kindhearted Christian, and the cool girl that went slumming one Memorial Day weekend.

Rationally, I know that, while high school matters, it doesn't really matter. And that the things that I did then probably didn't have a major effect on the way that either of our lives turned out, but I wonder how things would have been different if I had not been ruled by my jealousy and, subsequently, my need to be cool.

Little Moments

2006-02-27T19:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when I am away from Andrew, I actually start remembering that he is my Little Buggy and that I am rather fond of the little villain. Justin and I were going over some of the best moments of the past year and here are a few that brought tears to my eyes:

1) The Irate Bear - Andrew had a shirt that said "Pirate Bear" in rainbow colored letters. The 'P' was a light yellow and once, when he was shrieking for no apparent reason, I looked down and thought it said "Irate Bear". It diffused a stressful situation at the time and gave us a new nickname in the process.

2) Going to the pumpkin patch - Andrew had such a good time at the pumpkin patch. He spent almost 20 minutes pounding on the pumpkins and squealing.

3) Swimming - This summer I took Andrew swimming in a friend's indoor pool. He was so happy and not scared at all in the water. Even when I slipped and dropped him in, he just laughed and splashed some more.

4) Library Visits - Andrew loves to read and every time we go to the library he crawls over to the box of board books and starts cathauling through them looking for new ones or old favorites. Right now his favorite books are Brown Bear, Brown Bear, Tails, My First Truck Board Book, and Goodnight Moon.

5) Wheels - Andrew loves to spin wheels and once, at the library, he tried to tip an umbrella stroller over to spin the wheels, unfortunately that stroller was occupied at the time.

He's a funny kid and a difficult kid. I need to remember more of the funny when things get difficult.

Rewards

2006-02-23T14:25:00.000-08:00

Well, Andrew just fell asleep so I can concentrate on writing something more serious concerning the Great Bra Shop.

As we were driving home from the aforementioned mall trip, I started thinking about rewards and the role that they play in my life. I wonder if my theories on rewards are good, but the rewards I choose are bad, or if the whole reward system that I have set up is wrong.

The things I know are wrong about the reward system that I have currently are:
1) I always look to food as my first choice for a reward. Even when I am rewarding myself for losing weight or being healthier. The problems here are self-explanatory
2) I prefer to enjoy my rewards alone. I don't know if this is because they usually involve food or if it is just because I am most comfortable when I am alone.
3) I believe that I deserve a reward, celebratory treat or compensation for pretty much everything that happens in my life - good or bad.

But here is the thing; the food reward is never, ever good enough. I am never satisfied. I am not able to have a treat and know that it will keep me for any given amount of time. Unless I feel sick from the food reward, I often forget that I even had it (or what I was rewarding myself for) by the end of the day.

I am coming to the conclusion that I can no longer reward myself with food. Not that I don't want to, just that I shouldn't.

So what do I do with the concept of rewards?

This shopping trip and some of the conversations we had during that time made me wonder - is there a healthy way to reward yourself? Is there a way to do something nice for yourself without having it become a compulsion? What is the appropriate way to take care of yourself? Everything I can think of that I might substitute for food in my reward system has major financial drawbacks and the definite potential to become compulsive.

I don't like the knowledge that I feel like I need something as a reward. Even writing this helps me to see how stupid that is and I imagine how dumb it would sound coming out of my mouth. Why can't I just take things as they come and be happy, or sad, or angry, or disappointed, or bored, or ambivalent about them? Why do I have to work so hard to make myself comfortable in every situation or to make sure that I feel like things are fair? Because that is what it is really about; I feel like something isn't going my way and I deserve better. So I need to devise a reward.

Again and always, my true goal is balance. I want to be able to buy things that are pretty and of good quality and enjoy them, thanking God for His provision in my life. Not to wonder about what other people will think or if the money that is set aside for clothing and cosmetics couldn't be used somewhere else. I want to be able to take care of my body for myself and my family, to look in the mirror and see that I can be attractive, to make my husband proud to take me places and introduce me to colleagues. Not to see myself and think that I will never be pretty enough, or thin enough, or clever enough and give up altogether. I want to have self-esteem without arrogance, to enjoy life and the gifts that we are given with responsibility and with freedom, to be thankful, generous and humble with the abundance that we have. I believe that there is an appropriate way to enjoy the life, the money, the body, the food, and everything else that we have been given and that way does not include deception or shame.

Who knew that a morning at the mall could be so enlightening?

I'm Just a Girl

2006-02-23T14:18:00.000-08:00

I just got back from the most "girly" thing I have participated in these many years. I went to the mall with a friend and we got fitted for a bra at Nordstrom, ate lunch at the Nordstrom cafe and then had a makeup consultation at the Clinique counter. Besides the fact that I came away with some new kick-ass bras and some skin care stuff that I could actually see myself using, I also heard one of the funnier statements to ever come out of said friend's mouth:

I'm a D! Are you sure I'm a D?! How can I be a D? This one seems big, it feels like I am wearing the breastplate of righteousness.

So funny. What a great morning. I may have more to say on this subject but I am practicing the art of the vignette.

My Two Cents

2006-02-03T16:00:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading A Million Little Pieces by James Frey a few days ago and (as with most things in my life right now) I am of two minds about the whole controversy. I might work out my arguments here at a later time, maybe before February book club. But for right now, I will just share two of the quotes that really impacted me and say that, regardless of the truth of his account, there is truth to be found in the story.

Page 46-

I look around me. There is blackness, there is alcohol, there are drugs. There is an abundance of all of them. I know I'm alone and there is no one to stop me. I know I can do as much as I want of whatever I want. As I reach for one of the bottles, something inside of me tells me to stop, that what I'm doing is wrong, that I can't do it anymore, that I'm killing myself. I reach anyway. I grip the bottle, bring it to my lips and take a long deep draw that burns my mouth, my throat and my stomach. For the briefest instant I feel complete. The pain I carry with me disappears. I feel comfortable and at rest, confident and secure, calm and composed. I feel good. Goddamn it, I feel fucking good.

The feelings are gone as quickly as they came and I want them back. I don't care what I have to do, what I have to take, what I have to endure. I'll do anything. I just want them to come back.

Everything I felt that was good has become bad and it has been magnified beyond any point of reference or comprehension. My only option is to try and kill. Kill what hurts. Kill it.

Page 178-

An Addict is an Addict. It doesn't matter whether the Addict is white, black, yellow or green, rich or poor or somewhere in the middle, the most famous Person on the Planet or the most unknown. It doesn't matter whether the addiction is drugs, alcohol, crime, sex, shopping, food, gambling, television, or the fucking Flintstones. The life of the Addict is always the same. There is no excitement, no glamour, no fun. There are no good times, there is no joy. There is no happiness. There is no future and no escape. There is only an obsession.

I was talking to Jen last night about the importance of naming things in our lives. That Biblically, Adam was given the job of naming the animals and that we are called to imitate that and properly identify and name the things that surround us. While I still seek to justify and rationalize my behavior, I must name myself an addict. I am addicted to food. I use it to numb myself, I plan my days around it, I cry when I read James Frey because he accuratly expresses my feelings.

I know that the truth does matter - isn't that the point of this blog? But I am not sorry that Frey has had so much success with his book. Even if the events are not true, the story still is.

Blech

2006-01-30T19:30:00.000-08:00

This is an email I sent to a friend who called at a bad time today. I was trying to explain why I was in such a crappy mood and then I realized... aha! This is the sort of thing one should post on a blog. It's not pretty. I didn't re-read it, edit it, or think that hard about it when I was writing. But it is honest. Behold! The Crazy.

I don’t know what it is but I have just been feeling like I am going to explode with anger recently. I can’t even really say what the cause is, but the recipients are Justin, Andrew, and my mom – usually in that order, not always in that level of intensity. It is little things that set me off, things that annoy me, expectations not being met, life not being fair, you know – the usual CR suspects. Justin and I have been very snappy lately and I want to just scream at him sometimes but I don’t because I am afraid of what I will do if he starts screaming back (I really don’t do well with raised voices, I don’t know why but they make me cry and pretty much freak out even if they are not directed at me) but I feel like screaming is the only way to assuage the anger inside.

I have been doing weight watchers and although I am losing weight, I am not eating healthy foods. I am pretty much eating junk food and nothing else, so I stay within my points range and lose weight but I feel worse and worse. I know that eating healthy would probably go a long way to solving these problems (or at least allowing me to handle these problems rationally) but I am so caught up in the cycle of rewarding myself with food that I wake up each morning and think – Justin did something that really pissed me off, I deserve candy. So I go and get candy and eat some of it while I put Andrew in his crib whether or not he is ready for a nap and so he starts screaming and then I get stressed out and think – Andrew is screaming, I deserve candy. So I eat some more until I have eaten the whole ½ lb bar of chocolate that is on sale for $1 at Fred Meyer, and is all of my daily points allowance plus some and it is only 10 or 11 in the morning and I feel pretty shitty about myself and think about what an ugly, fat, gross individual I am and then I decide to combat that by not eating anything else for the rest of the day and going on walks to get more exercise points to make up for the points I used over my allowance, and by the time either Justin or my mom gets here after work I am crabby because I am hungry and have had a shitty day and I take it out on them, and we get in a fight and then I go to sleep thinking about the reward that I will get the next morning. This has happened, not every day, but many days of the last few weeks (4-5 that I can remember clearly).

I feel so confused about what to do with Andrew and the nursery. And I hate that I am incapable of making a decision and sticking to it and have to spiral around in these cycles for months on end, always worrying about things and paralyzed with fear that I will make the wrong decision and things won’t work out the way I want them to. Andrew has the major separation anxiety going on, he usually takes a nap during the time of the morning service and is in bed sleeping during the time of the evening service. He does okay being awakened from his nap if I am with him (i.e. playgroup at Alecia’s, the times that I take him to church and go in the nursery with him) but he freaks out to the point that it took me 20 minutes to calm him down the last time I left him in the nursery. I know that the screaming doesn’t bother some people but it makes me want to throw him across the room. I know that it is his way of expressing himself and that it has nothing to do with me, but I feel like he is condemning me for being a bad mother and screaming at me every time he gets out of control. When it happens, I start crying and the rage wells up. I haven’t taken it out on him yet, but I know that I am completely capable of doing that in those moments. It makes me feel like there is something wrong with me, or with him that I should be able to fix but I don’t know how.

In related news – my mom witnessed my reaction to Andrew’s freak outs early and has since done everything she can to try and be there for as many of them as possible so that she can deflect/absorb the anger and try to calm him, and me, down quickly. (note: I feel like an ungrateful ass for feeling this way about my mom, because I know that she is one of the cooler people in the world and that many people in my position would give their right arm to have my mom helping them. But my irrationality knows no bounds) At first, and during most of the time that she took off from work to help me, I knew that it was the right thing to do, for everyone involved. I was crazy and I needed help badly. Even though most people would say (after reading this) that I am still crazy and need help badly, it sometimes feels like she is intruding, or, more accurately, like she is helping because she doesn’t think that I can handle it. This is one of the major points of contention with my parents, that they always tried to protect me, always did things for me when I was scared or uncomfortable (my mom still returns things at stores for me and makes phone calls in my name for me if there is any chance that they might be confrontational. I ask her to do this because I am afraid of getting yelled at, spoken harshly to, or being uncomfortable. Basically, because I don’t think I can do it.) But with Andrew it is different, I feel like I can’t handle it. I am scared and I feel like everyone else has the manual for parenting, but I was absent when they passed them out. But I want to try. I know that there are some things that I can do better than anyone else with him. Before he was diagnosed with the GERD, I found a way to hold him that would calm him down and help him go to sleep and neither my mom or Justin could do it as well as I could. I love the quote that Justin gave me from Dr Cox on Scrubs, “you are an evil, soulless, chemically enhanced psychopath. Hell, I’m not sure you are completely human. But you are an amazing mother.” More and more, I feel my confidence growing with Andrew. I know that I will always rely on others for help with him, but I have the desire to try and do more things on my own. So when my mom offered to come to church with me and help with Andrew, I didn’t know what to say. I haven’t been in a service since before Thanksgiving. When I am there for even part of it, my heart is so broken that I feel like weeping and the tears do well up (which is saying something for me – I usually mock people who cry in church). I know that this is indicative of the problems in my relationship with Christ and I know that I need to work to make those good experiences more frequent, that they will help me remember what I believe and why. So having my mom there seemed like a good idea, until it actually happened. As we were driving to church on Sunday, she starts talking about how she is just going to play with Andrew in the foyer and/or nursery and I can just go in and participate in the service. I tell her that that plan is not what I wanted from her, as far as help goes and that it makes me feel like everyone will see us there and think, “oh, Jenny can’t take care of Andrew”. I think this because that is what I think about myself whenever I take him someplace and he starts crying. It seems like having here there just proved what I had already suspected, that I couldn’t take care of him and I needed help. (I ended up sitting in the nursery with him the whole time and he was fine, and Justin is going to set up the stuff so the service will get piped into the nursery next week so that should help…) I just hate the feeling that I am not good at something and that everybody knows it, and I take out that hatred on the people who try to help me.

It is easier to be the victim than to admit that my son’s, husband’s, and mother’s actions are out of my control.

That's Mama's Boy

2005-12-31T14:32:00.000-08:00

Andrew was lying on his stomach on the floor this morning, all high centered and pissed because he couldn't reach the toy that he wanted. Suddenly, his screaming changed to squeals of joy as he spotted a half-eaten rice puff under the chair. He pushed himself up on all fours and took off, bypassing the toy to joyfully eat the rice puff.

It was the first time he has ever crawled.

Moments later, Justin called to me from downstairs and asked me to do something for him. I yelled back, "what's in it for me?" and when he mentioned something about his mints that were down there, I jumped up and ran to help him.

Like mother, like son.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

So This Is Christmas

2005-12-24T05:04:00.000-08:00

Well, it is 5:04am on Christmas Eve and I am awake and thinking about death. I haven't been sleeping well this week at all. Maybe it is because my hormones are all off kilter and they are making me crazier than usual. Maybe it is because Andrew has been spending a few of the nights at Grandma's house and I am worried about him. Maybe it is because I have had too many Christmas sweets and I am so amped up on the sugar that I can't calm down. Who knows?
For someone who claims to believe all that I claim to believe, I have a huge fear of death. I fear the actual process, or more accurately, the moments right before the actual process, I fear what might happen to the people around me without me (because apparently I am indispensable and they are utterly incapable), I fear being alone after the people around me die.

It is not as though I am unacquainted with death.

I have seen it be a blessing - a release for those who were suffering and wanted to go home to their Savior. My grandma who had a stroke and complications from diabetes. Grandpa who had lived with muscular dystrophy for 30 years and was so tired. My aunt who fought breast cancer while it spread through her body. These people lived fully to the last minute, and when it was time to go they were at peace. I am sure that they had regrets, fear, reasons to want to stay, but they knew what was happening and they trusted that, in spite of their fear, everything was going to be okay; that God's plan was greater than their own and that they were going home.

I have seen death come as a shock, one that left everyone reeling and seasick. Sarah being murdered on her way to school. Joel, Pierre, Todd and Nicole, dying in car accidents, high on chemicals, alcohol, youth or fear. Brandon the cross country runner whose heart failed at age 18. These people were my friends and I now remember high school through a lens of tearful phone calls and stunned rumors sweeping through the stands at a soccer game, a concert, an English class. Kids and parents trying to explain the letters sent home and how this could have happened to one of us. Awkward teenagers trying to find the right way, the cool way, to demonstrate grief and failing, causing more pain. Burying the truest parts of grief deep inside and contenting each other with platitudes and one-upsmanship.

When I was a child I had horrible nightmares about one of my parents dying. The worst one, and the one that re-occurred most often, involved my mom drowning in the ocean while I watched from the beach and tried to convince my dad that she needed help and he assured me that everything was fine. And now I have nightmares about my own death, or the moments right before, where I think about all my regrets, all the things I should have said to the people that I loved, all the things I wish I had done differently. And now, when I am awake in the middle of the night, or I am alone in the middle of the day, I think about Justin's death, or Andrew's. I am consumed with fear.

I spent many sessions in therapy trying to deal with this fear. I read books about people who have had near death experiences and lived to talk about them. I repeated mantras like, "I made the best decision that I could with the information that I had at the time" (even though I know that is a lie). And, more recently, I substituted, "God has already considered everything that you are worrying about, and His sovereign plan includes the end of this story." But still the fear remains, and I wake up in the middle of the night and think about death.

This Is Why I Own A Swiffer

2005-12-15T10:20:00.000-08:00

Balance

2005-12-12T07:35:00.000-08:00

For the past four years I have been aware of the need to find balance in my life. That elusive place that seems this close and then, just when it gets within reach, something else spins out of control. I think that one of the reasons I have had such a hard time finding (or keeping) balance is that I don't know how to properly define it.

Is balance the same for everyone? If not, how does one find the correct balance for their life without stepping over the lines of indulgence, rationalization, relativism, or selfishness? Where is the line between the honest need to take care of yourself and the desire to use certain personality traits as an excuse for rebellion and disobedience?

Is there someone in essentially the same place in life as I am that has balance? Is it even possible at a young age, with a young marriage, and a young child? Are these circumstances just a cop out for not finding balance?

Are balance and boundaries the same? Or is it more analogous to peace or contentment? Is it something that everyone can see, or just something that you know you have, thus making life less overwhelming?

Does anyone else expect me to have balance? Should I care what anyone else expects? Is my obsession with what others expect of me one of the major reasons that I don't have balance? Or am I setting unreal expectations for myself so that I can create further proof why I am inadequate when I don't live up to them?

These and other questions came up yesterday as my husband and I drove home from church to pick up our son at his grandparents house. The reason Andrew was at his grandparents house is because, apparently, the kid cannot handle being in the nursery at church and I am getting very tired of driving two cars to church, putting him in the nursery, sitting down and trying to learn something, or at least get my mind out of the gutter, and having someone come and tap me on the shoulder twenty minutes later and say, "Andrew is inconsolable." And then driving home again. In my opinion, if that is the situation, there is really no reason for me to get out of my pajamas on Sunday morning.

Yet, I know that this is an area of imbalance in my life. Quite possibly, the area that leads to much of the rest of the imbalance. And so the questions come:

What are my responsibilities as a parent in this situation? Is the need for us to try and worship together as a family greater than the need for my sanity on any given Sunday? (Because I still can't deal with the out of control crying. I wish I could, but it makes me want to do crazy things and Justin's position is that I should avoid anything that makes me want to do crazy things no matter what.)

Does Andrew need to learn to deal with the nursery at any cost? Or is dealing with playgroup, community group (which he sleeps through), and the occasional visit to a friends house enough at this age, for this kid?

What are realistic expectations for my child? How can I expect him to be anything other than a homebody when that is all that his parents are? How can I provide a safe place for him and not coddle him? In my quest for provide a safe place, am I coddling him or myself? If I know my child, and my family, and they don't look like other people's children or family, is that okay because we are individuals or is it a sign that something is wrong?

Should I take it on a week by week basis and make my decision based on the morning that he has had so far - even though that seems to have no effect on his ability to handle the nursery?

Should I stay home with him and use that nap time to listen to last week's sermon so that I am only one week behind instead of six?

Should I leave him with my parents, thus taking away any slight chance that they would go to church, so that I can participate in the body?

The hardest part is that I know there are no clear answers to these questions. I try to evaluate the facts of the situation and all I can see are contradictions. He is a tough kid. I am an obsessive parent. He doesn't do well in the nursery. I need to go to church. My parents need to go to church. Justin needs to go to church. We live far away from church. I love where we live. I know that there is a balance somewhere in all of these statements, but I can't find it.

Mi Vida Loca

2005-12-05T21:51:00.000-08:00

I don't know how much I can write tonight because of the insanity that is my life right now, but I wanted to get down the two song lyrics that have been floating in my brain all weekend because I think that they are important and that I need to capture these thoughts, the good and true ones, and remember them when the crazy comes back.

"...all of my life/I held on to this fear/these thistles and vines ensnare and entwine/what flowers appear/it's the fear that I'll fall/one to many times/it's the fear that His love/is no better than mine..." -Andrew Peterson

"...and the art of all my problems/is in how they're resolved/I try until I'm hopeless/and then a hand so soft/is brushing back my hair/where its clinging to my face/from crying, God, I live in/such a weak and desperate place/and you lay me down/you whisper somehow/I can feel it when I'm very still/you don't ever touch me/or take away the chill/but someday soon, you will..." -Don Chaffer/Waterdeep

Happy Christmas

2005-12-01T09:10:00.000-08:00

I have a love hate relationship with the holidays. I would love them, except that I hate being stuck in crowds of people, I hate tinny music being piped through crowds of people, I hate crowds of people who don't see me for a whole year and then spend hours trying to snuggle with my non-snuggly, stranger-phobic, over-tired baby and, I especially hate, crowds of mean people who are running around like crazy trying to get the last

TickleMeElmoCabbagePatchStarWarsLegoTonkaBarbiePlasticPieceOfCrap

for their kids who are going to play with it for two weeks and then start whining again because something better just came out. Unfortunately, it doesn't get any better when married to a technogeek who spends the whole year dreaming of the newest gadgets he can get with his Christmas money and then, when he gets them, starts talking about the next, best, thing.

I think it irks me so much because I was one of those kids and, as an adult, I love getting on my soap box about the evils of consumerism and then benefiting from the super cool new things that are in my house (6-disc DVD changer? So you are telling me that I could sit on my ass and watch all three extended versions of the Lord of the Rings without ever leaving the couch? GLORY!!)

So, for the last three years of our marriage, we have not had a Christmas tree. They are messy, and a hassle, and we usually end up contemplating divorce in the process of getting it aligned in the stand correctly, and we have a million more reasons not to have one. But this year, after being out in the garishly decorated stores with Andrew and watching him try to twist his head around like an owl to see all the lights I started to reconsider.

Maybe having a child would help me find an appropriate balance between a childish holiday mania and detached ambiguity. Maybe I could see Christmas the way it is supposed to be. Maybe I will just turn my child into a whining brat who needs every single thing he sees on TV. Maybe I should get a Christmas tree.

So I did. I got a little, four foot, fake tree and put it up while Andrew screamed in his crib because I was trying to get him to take a nap early so that we could go Christmas shopping at an appointed time with my friend Jessie. Merry fucking Christmas.

Pride

2005-11-29T19:48:00.000-08:00

Well, here is the post that I have been putting off writing for a few weeks. I started this blog with the intention of setting things straight, but in my mind they were always things from the distant past, things that would help to explain the way I am today, things that I could use to excuse my behavior.

Once again, it all came up and bit me in the ass. Why - WHY? - do I think that I am immune from the consequences? And so it begins...

I have been a deacon at the church that we go to for a few years now. I stepped up to fill a hole when someone was needed and found a fantastic outlet for my need to make things look good. My ministry was called hospitality, and even though I stood up in front of the church and spoke on the ways that biblical hospitality differs from Martha Stewart hospitality, I knew that if I just did my job well enough we would have both.

Of course, as with any volunteer organization, not everyone that volunteered to help had quite the same level of commitment - read: obsession - that I did so I was constantly disappointed in the people who helped me. Instead of a)taking time to impart my vision to them so that they understood expectations, or b)swallowing a healthy dose of reality and being thankful that I had people who wanted to make our church a hospitable place, I decided that it would be a lot easier if I just did everything myself. It worked great for a few months.

As I neared the end of my pregnancy with Andrew, and subsequently was on bed rest for 6 weeks, I began to think about how this was going to work after I actually had a baby. I decided that the best course of action for the time was to drop Andrew off at his grandparents house on the way to church so that I could continue doing everything that I had done before and no one would know that it was becoming a burden. Unfortunately, I then decided that I really liked my son - shockingly - I liked having him around and I wanted him with me. So I tried to bring him to church with me and do all the jobs that I had done in the past. He screamed and fussed and got ear infections and I became more and more bitter.

I lied and told myself that even when other people stepped up to help they weren't doing it right and they were undoing all of my hard work.

I lied and told myself that Andrew just needed to deal (which he sometimes does, but not for 5 hours at a stretch when he is less than a year old).

I lied and told myself that my ministry, my work, was vital and that the church, and even God Himself, could not function in the community without it. (Surely she exaggerates, you think to yourself. No. John Baker best describes my general mental state when he calls himself, "an egomanic with an inferiority complex".)

I lied and told myself - and everyone else who asked - that I was fine, that everything was fine, that I had a plan and that I was happy with the way things were going and that I was getting all the help that I needed.

And two weeks ago, I lied and told myself that the person who offered to show me how to work the appliances in the kitchen was actually telling me that I had to come down to the building RIGHT NOW and deal with them. I reacted to this lie by portraying myself as a victim who was being forced to do things that I didn't want to do and I blew up. Well, technically I only blew up at my husband. He then, after hearing my version of the situation, blew up at the people involved who really had no idea what was going on, they just thought it would be helpful if I knew how to turn the gas on.

I have since apologized and stepped down from my leadership role with the complete support of the church. And I learned that, contrary to my deeply held belief system, people understand when you say that you can't do something. It feels good to go to church again. It feels good to bring Andrew to church. It feels good to stay home with him because he isn't feeling well.

I am learning that I can't juggle as well as I thought I could. Or maybe that the rules of juggling change when you have a baby. For today though, the process doesn't seem as overwhelming as it sometimes does.

Why I Am Afraid of My Blog

2005-11-25T18:53:00.000-08:00

Well, although Maryam Scoble said it best, I think that I need to write some of the reasons that I have for starting a blog, being excited about a blog, and then not publishing anything. I will not rehash all of Maryam's reasons, but know that they certainly apply here.

After reading my first post, I am worried that if I continue on that route my blog will end up being a Sweet Valley High rip off - which is most definitely not my intent.
Re: above reason - I then spend countless minutes, probably bordering on hours, wondering whether I should delete that post, or write something else to explain it, or just scrap the whole thing and start again, or not start again. And by the time I am done with that bout of obsession, Andrew is awake and I don't have time to write anymore. Repeat ad nauseum and you might start to get the picture.
I am lazy. When I have free time I would much prefer to spend it reading a novel that allows me to escape reality, eating until I am numb, watching a movie that I have seen about 100 times, sleeping, or doing any number of pointless organizational projects around my house in order to avoid having to deal with the shit that is floating around in my head.
I procrastinate. Always have, always will. I love Jen's "Life Cycle of a Procrastinator" because she so captures the snowball effect that occurs in many areas of my life.
And then, along with all the worries about whether or not people will read my blog, what they will think, if they will make mean comments and why I should care about the comments that strangers make, I worry that if I get all the shit out of my head and on to paper (so to speak) and I see it all, I might not be able to get out of the hole that I have dug and then everything that I suspected about myself would be true and I would have to deal with that truth.

My mind is so tangled that I am afraid of what it will be like to untangle everything. It seems like the status quo is so much easier to deal with than the unknown, even though the unknown could be so much healthier for everyone.

But then, I see the freedom that comes with honesty and openness and I hear the voices of my friends urging me to write and work through this stuff and I think that this might be the chance that I have to do something. To act instead of react. To put my faith into action and take a step toward the goal that I have been staring at for so long. So I am going to try it.

Plus, my husband gets really excited when I ask him questions about geeky stuff. :)

Things I Am Thankful For

2005-11-24T10:51:00.000-08:00

On this Thanksgiving day, I thought it would be good to list some of the things that I am thankful for (in no particular order) before I have to get together with family and forget all of them.
1. Sleep
2. The lyrics of Don Chaffer
3. My husband, who loves me and likes to do projects
4. My dell digital jukebox, which has been playing for 3 hours and not repeated a song
5. The fact that Andrew is at his grandmother's house right now
6. Real friends, the kind that demonstrate the truth of this passage by Anne Lamott

"Their friends' love turned out to be the sound of God at the mouth of the cave, a breeze to sustain and help guide them. It would be great if we could go in and out of this place without needing drugs or Ahab on our tail - to go into the mystic or the eternally present or whatever we might call it out here in California. But mostly it seems like we can't do it when we have out act together, because we can't do it when we're acting."

7. Dew on the spider webs on my deck - how is it that such a foul creature makes something so lovely?

8. Gollum, because he reminds me that I probably don't know what is best for me

9. Bono

10. The knowledge that I do not have to be the same way I am now. That change is possible. That if I really believe what I say I believe, then I am a new creation in Christ - already but not yet.

Rant

2005-10-25T08:41:00.000-07:00

I went to a concert recently at a large, mainstream church. Usually I avoid large mainstream churches because, when in them, I tend to seriously consider killing someone - and I don't think that would make God very happy with me. Plus, there is always the possibility that I will have to sit next to the person I killed in heaven and that could lead to some awkward questions.

But, this singer/songwriter that I love (www.andrew-peterson.com) was playing at a large mainstream church and since he has come to the Pacific Northwest a total of two times in the last five years we decided to go. AP was great!

However, the opening act is still annoying the crap out of me two weeks later. Instead of singing any number of good cover songs, or even better, any number of sub-par songs that he wrote himself, the man decided to cover Damien Rice's The Blower's Daughter. I love Damien Rice. I REALLY love that particular song. I just don't think that, a) a song that ends with the line "I can't take my eyes off of you....until I find someone new" is exactly appropriate to sing as worship to God and b) that one should change the above lyrics to suit their own purposes.

The singer said that he loves Damien Rice too. If that is the case, he should leave Damien's songs the way they were intended to be.

The End.

On Boys: Pete

2005-10-24T14:32:00.000-07:00

Pete was the first Big Lie I can remember. I employed a working definition of a Big Lie as something that would get me in trouble, a lot of trouble, if my parents found out the truth. I was only 11 at the time, so my parents were the most common recipients of my lies. I met Pete at a church camp that I attended every summer. Like many such camps, this one was staffed with teenagers and college students who had good intentions, but a decided lack of life experience that would lead to practical out working of said intentions in the lives of those they led. I know this because I worked there for two summers later in life, but that is another story.

I told my parents that Pete and I were just hanging out at Wild Waves and that we were good friends. I told them he was a Good Christian Boy that I met at Good Christian Camp and they believed me. In truth, we were hiding in the maze at Wild Waves testing the limits of our sexuality without actually doing it. Because Good Christian Kids don't do it. When we got kicked out of Enchanted Village/Wild Waves for "inappropriate conduct in a family setting" we moved our experimentation to movie theaters, malls, and of course, our bedrooms. We retained this arrangement for almost 10 years, through boyfriends and girlfriends, Pete getting kicked out of his public school for sexual harassment, even through Pete finally doing it with a friend of mine. At my house. On my trampoline. The last time he called I told him that we couldn't hook up because I was engaged to be married. But I had to think long and hard before I uttered those words.