Short jokes.

Every now and then I get to pick Grace up from school alone. Kids are different when its just you and them. I try to take time to be face-to-face alone with each of them during the day, and especially with my Gracie girl now, since she is out in the wide world on her own so much of the day. I want to check in with her and see how she's doing. I want to give her an opportunity to ask questions or tell me stories, share giggle confidences or confess a heartache. Our best talking times are in the car or right before I give her a final kiss goodnight, hanging out on her bed, at least one of us propped up on a gigantic stuffed elephant. And over the past week or so I've had lots of opportunities for both.

I'm sorry if this comes out garbled; I'm just sort of writing to get all these feelings out of me. As Steve can attest, I have a lot of feelings, and sometimes writing about them helps me sort things out.

Tonight as I stretched out on Gracie's pink Ikea heart comforter I looked at her shining face and thought about the little casual mentions of cruelty that had slipped out over the past few weeks on those solo drives home. One girl had told my girl she was the shortest kid in the whole school. Others whispered about her behind her back. They say she's "too little to be in first grade." They say all kinds of things that cut deeper than they know.

There's a lot of jockeying for power and position in this life. I get that. I do it, too, even though I try not to. We look around and we compare: she's prettier, he's more patient, they're richer, he's kinder, she's a better mother/writer/human being. And we look at ourselves, too, and think about how we're smarter or more thoughtful or whatever. I am learning that one of the keys to happiness is to stop doing that--stop comparing and just be authentic. I'm not perfect at it, trust me. But I'm learning. Anyway the point of my saying this is that I think a lot of cruelty is driven by this need to feel important or powerful or special. Hurting someone else--even, or maybe especially with words--is a powerful feeling. And i

So I just stopped writing in mid-sentence and closed the page and everything, because it was just too uncomfortable. But I can't get this out of my head/heart until its written, so two minutes later I'm back to it.

It's just, my kid shouldn't have to hurt for the same reasons I got hurt--still get hurt. Right? I know that's not how life works. But sometimes I just wish I could just flick away anything that might hurt my kids. It takes so much courage to send her out the door of our van sometimes. But I know it will be good. It will be strengthening. That's part of why Steve and I both wanted her in public school: it tests your mettle and refines your sense of self.

Still. It hurts to see them hurt. It hurts like nothing else hurts.

Tonight, on the Ikea bedspread, I asked her what she does when people are mean to her at school. I saw the hurt in her when she told me something new someone had said to her today, and I was proud because she stands up for herself, and she expects a lot of others, and she is kind. Those are the things I have been trying to teach her. Because people are mean, but that's not our fault. Our job is to be strong and take care of ourselves, but still to be kind.

I don't get angry anymore when people make short jokes. I used to. I discovered in high school that I was both quick-witted and sharp-tongued, and I shelled out some zinger retorts to rudeness that were very satisfying to deliver in the moment. But the thing about that kind of acidic wit is that it starts feeling different as the minutes and hours tick past. It turns black pretty quickly, and even if the other person had it coming (and I usually felt they did), it just didn't feel good to try to hurt them back. So I learned not to get angry. I learned to be quiet. I still hate it. I hate that people take license to joke about something I can't change. It is in my face every day--when I have to pull up a step stool to reach the top shelf of the pantry, in the awkwardness of washing the dishes in the kitchen sink that comes up just a little to high on me, in the constant ache in my neck from looking up--way up--to talk at people, in the frustration and embarrassment that zings through me as I strain to lift my growing kids into a shopping cart. Standing beside ten and twelve year olds who are already taller than me. In the car, adjusting the seat, gas pedal, seatbelt. Buying any clothes, even petite clothes, and finding that they still need hemming. Inches and inches of hemming. Trying adjust the shower head. Climbing on the counter to get things from the top of the fridge. Stepping onto the lowest shelf at the grocery store to try to reach the top row of cereal, or, just as often, asking a stranger for help.

I realize that these things might look comical. I get it. But at the end of the day, I am four foot ten, and I live in a world that was not built for me. I don't need anyone to point out to me that I'm short or small. I know. And now my girl knows, too.

Tonight I talked to her about how people have been mean to me, too. What did they say? she wanted to know. They called me leprechaun. Kids carried me around on the playground. (They do that to me, too, she said.) In high school people started resting their elbows on my head. I told her these things, and I could see it was nice for her to know we were in this together. She knows I like myself. She knows I'm fun and smart and cool and I love her, so being short isn't the end of the world. But sometimes the things people say hurt even when they're true. I told her that, too.

I told her people are still mean to me.

What do you do when people are mean to you, even though you're a GROWN UP!?

I try to be nice.

What do you say?

Sometimes I find something nice about them to say. Sometimes I just talk to them about things that make me happy, like my kids.

She advised me that I should also tell them to keep trying to be happy even when they feel grumpy, because being happy makes you happy. (I love this kid.)

I wish that different wasn't such a big deal to so many people. I couldn't tell you who the tallest or shortest person I know are. I couldn't estimate the heights of any of my friends. I just don't think about it. I know I have trouble relating with people who are different than I am sometimes--anything from age to vocation and many things in between--but I have tried to make different not a big deal to my kids. Different is normal. Different is interesting. Different is good. Gracie didn't know the terms "black" and "white" in relation to race until Martin Luther King Day in Kindergarten. She would talk about her friends and teachers with "brown skin" or "peach skin" in the same off-handed way she referred to friends with "curly hair" or "blue eyes." It was just a descriptor, not an identity or stereotype or whatever. It was like red shoes or a button nose. It was just part of a person, and it was the person that mattered, not the part on its own.

She came home to me that day in kindergarten and said, with total incredulity, "Did you know that some people call some people 'white' and some people 'black' even though skin is peach or brown?!?" She saw immediately, intuitively how completely ridiculous it was that a school, bus, or water fountain should ever have been segregated based on skin color. I loved it, because that "color-blindness" was totally cultivated. I worked for it ever so carefully. I wanted her to look at people and see people. Not color. Not height. Not disability. When she was a toddler and would shout things like, "Why is he in a wheelchair???" or "Why is that boy talking funny?" I would just casually tell her that everyone's body is different, and we'd talk about it for a second and then it was no big deal. It breaks my heart a little that sending her to school has taught her that people have prejudices I wish the world would forget. But I hope that she will be much more graceful than I have ever been at introducing herself to--and then really seeing--anyone. Even, and especially, when she isn't truly seen for who she is at first.

I guess that's all I wanted to say. It was a lot. But all this has been pressing on my heart, and it is nice to say it out. I hope it came out right. Not preachy but just real. I'm trying. We're all trying. And loving someone so fiercely really hurts sometimes. So let's just agree to try to say nice things, okay? Even when we're mad or tired or hurt. I'll try, too. Gracie is right. It feels better to be nice, anyway. It feels happier to try to be happy.

tonight

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table with my face all tear-streaked. It's ten o'clock at night, so black outside the sliding glass door that I could see my reflection in it if I hadn't taken off my glasses to wipe my sleeve across my damp eyes. Because I just had a complete breakdown watching a Taylor Swift video about how her mom makes her feel so loved.

(Poor Steve is reading this and thinking, Of course you did. He has one evening shift after an entire week off, and his wife--his very sensitive wife who cries about Olympics commercials and whom he has forbidden from watching the animal cruelty SPCA ads where Sarah McLaughlin sings and puppies look sadly at the camera for just this reason--starts watching music videos about moms that make her cry at the kitchen table. This guy can't catch a break.)

But emotive lady singers and self-depreciating humor aside--does anyone else feel like the weight and wonder of motherhood is sometimes just too much? It is shocking to me that I can love these little people so deeply, that I can try so hard, and that no matter how much I put into raising them, I just can't imagine that they will be able to know how amazing they are, how loved. I love them so much it hurts, a tight knot in the space we learn from infancy is where our heart is--the place that feels empty when you need to be held, that fills up with warmth when your baby first reaches her chubby hands towards you. Right now it is clenched like a fist around this frantic, desperate hope that I'll be able to get it right for them. It seems like such a huge task for such a small me.

I know I'm a good mom. I like my alone time, sure, and I have yet to figure out how to consistently keep the house clean, but I try so hard to be a good mom. I know some of that has to bleed through, even on the days when Charlie cocks his head to the side and asks, "Mommy, are you crabby: yes or no?" I think it is just that sometimes when the house is still and my babes are asleep, the full weight of the years ahead crashes down on me, and I realize I have so far to go, grappling in the dark: reading, adjusting, praying, course-correcting, discussing, messing up and starting fresh again and again as I try to figure out what the right things are for these incredible kids, and how on earth I can live up to the miraculous task of being their mother.

I am their mother. I think it will always be awe inspiring to me, to be someone's mother. Much less three someones' mother.

I just hope at the end of the day, at the end of each day, they go to sleep knowing that my arms are their safe spot, and feeling that they are a song in my heart, loved fiercely and forever. Man it just hurts to love them so much.

I am so thankful for the grace of our Father in Heaven, which makes up the difference when I fail to understand their tender baby hearts, which they exemplify every time I ask their forgiveness and they answer with the embrace of little arms around my neck.

It is time for pajamas and kissing small sleepy heads as they dream, and TV in bed and maybe a snack or an ice cream bar. Time to rest up; we do it all again tomorrow. :)

You can, and you must.

I wrote the following in early October, in the last few weeks of my pregnancy with Juliette. I've had a difficult few days home solo with the kids this week (nothing terrible, just regular mom/kid stuff), and it was good to read and to remember, so I thought it would be a nice way to end the year. We are strong and brave, and sometimes all that means is that we keep going when we don't want to, or don't think we can, even if the things dragging us down seem small or inconsequential. If in this moment they are not, then you are brave to keep going.

I hope this new year will be a beautiful one for you, and that you will be courageous in the face of long hours so you can enjoy the sunshine when you get a moment to rest.

xo,

Jamie

---

When I was very, very pregnant with Charlie--in the very last months, when my body was literally aching with the sheer weight of him--I remember waking up in the mornings honestly thinking:

I cannot do this for one more day.

I am small, and he was big. I had put on 30+ pounds, which for a person my height and weight was a massive body weight increase--about 26% of my pre-pregnancy weight--and most of it (48 inches to my 58 inches in height) was around my middle. I was in a constant and wearying amount of pain: I pulled an over-taut muscle in my side when I laughed one day and couldn't bend for the next three, my joints shuddered against climbing stairs, I had to get on all fours and grit my teeth to push my tiny weighted down body up off the floor. I confessed to one of my friends in the final days of that pregnancy that I had completely given up on picking almost-2-year-old Gracie's toys up off the floor, because it just hurt too much to bother.

It was a difficult pregnancy. Trying. Humbling. So humbling. There were plenty of tears, discouragement, and doubts. There were frantic moments of researching what might happen if he were too big to be born naturally--or, worse, if he got stuck. There was fear and powerless waiting and a longing for strength, peace, and normalcy.

And at some point I told my Father in Heaven the very thought I told you above: I need this baby to be born. I need this pregnancy to be over. I cannot do this for one more day.

And His answer to me then, a thought clearly enunciated in my mind, was simple and pure:

You can, and you must.

Gracie, a polite 7lbs 12oz, was born early, at thirty-eight weeks. So every day after that 38-week-mark that I remained hugely pregnant with Charlie was endlessly long. I went in for several doctor's appointments determined to be granted an induction--but each time I felt constrained. He wasn't ready. It wasn't time. I had to wait.

So I did.

I don't know why.

He was born a few days after his December 10th due date, in a natural (non-induced, but quite epidural-ed) spontaneous delivery. It was a scary one. He did get stuck. I bled a lot. But in the end, we were both healthy and okay. He was a beautiful, beautiful newborn. He weighed 10lbs 1oz, and was 22 inches long, and we were in love.

A month later he got RSV, and maybe because he was big, he was fine--he didn't need a hospital stay like most babies his age might have. Maybe that is why he needed to wait to be born. Maybe not. I don't know. But I knew that he shouldn't be induced, and I knew that even though I was experiencing physical and emotional pains and challenges I didn't know how to face, I had been promised: I could, and I must.

Steve's first month of intern year was in July. It was Trauma Surgery, and I am glad it is over. He was gone for 14 or 16 hour days to work--hard--and then he was home, asleep. During that month it was all on me to hold the house together, help the kids adjust to Daddy being gone, deal with my own loneliness, run all the errands, pay all the bills, and carry this pretty but heavy baby girl--with no break. I potty-trained Charlie, was sent to the hospital for possible pre-term labor (it wasn't--we are lucky), and was then told by my doctor that whenever I started having the insane contractions I was having, that I needed to lay down for as much of the day as possible. For at least two days a week for about another month, the Braxton Hicks came hard, fast, and close together. There were other things, too--nausea, dizziness, weird things. I discovered that I had just enough energy to get us all safely through a normal week where nothing crazy happened. We had one of those. :)

It was interesting to see how quickly those two thoughts came back to me in that month.

The first discouraged self-doubt: I cannot. I cannot: Take care of my babies, make them feel loved. Take care of my husband, make him feel loved. Take care of myself, our baby-girl-on-the-way, the house, the bills, three square meals, endless piles of laundry and dishes and to-dos.

Then, as I looked around and found myself still in the thick of things, the second thought, the reminder from my Father:

You can, and you must.

There was no one else there to do it, so it was on me. And that was okay. It was not easy or fun, but we ate cereal for dinner on only a couple nights. :) I did not throw up in the grocery store with two children and a pregnant belly in tow. Lovely friends swept in to watch the kids for an hour or two when I needed to just be not-in-charge for a moment. I did the dishes when I could but not when I couldn't, and let the laundry sit washed-but-unfolded for days (probably weeks) as we picked just the clothes we needed out of the piles. :) I cried a lot, but when I was done, I got up and kept going.

I know there will be more days, weeks, months like those. They will come at me hard and fast and I will wonder, for a moment, a day, a month, if I will falter. But I expect the answer will come again, strong and steadfast, underlined now by the testimony of those hard weeks that came before, that I will not. That I not only can, but that I must. We are in the last few weeks of our Juliette-pregnancy and while I am weary and overwhelmed and sometimes just afraid, I've found that thought reverberating through my mind again and again, and it staves off the worry and despair. This too shall pass, the darkness precedes the dawn, you can and you must. And I do and I will. All that I can. And I will be gentle to myself about what I can't. I feel stronger and braver with this knowledge cradled in my hands.

There are big things at work in our small and simple lives, and they are lovely and hard and make the easy, sweet, hand-holding-in-the-sunshine days more beautiful.

They make the darker times more beautiful, too.

The Illusion of Loneliness

I can't pinpoint when exactly I discovered that my feelings were not synonymous with the truth. That my feeling slighted, stupid, afraid or desperate did not mean that those feelings were warranted. That feeling distant from someone I thought I loved didn't mean that I was distant or that I didn't love them. Feelings are tricky things, and whenever that moment was--that very first epiphany of the separation between emotion and reality--it changed everything.

There was a night a few weeks back when I sat barefoot on the carpet in my closet and felt achingly, desolately alone. It was a feeling that expanded through my whole body, a poisoning surety of failure, loneliness, and loss that neither the forgiving darkness nor the warm presence of walls of fabric could soothe away.

I had prayed. Pleadingly. I had cried until my veins should have run dry. And the reward, it seemed, was a consuming black emptiness.

Then, like a sudden pinpoint of light, I remembered: I'm pregnant. There is a tiny person in me. I am literally never alone.

And then, right on the heels of that thought, the recognition that even if I weren't pregnant, the truth would never change: I am never alone. None of us are. We have a Father in Heaven who knows us and loves us and watches out for us all the time. We have a Savior, brother, who has felt each exact pain, who can understand and empathize with everything we ever feel, no matter how we hurt.

The feeling--the sadness, the loneliness--didn't evaporate, but my knowledge of its falsehood changed my heart. I thought of it again today.

I've been spoiled the last few months by getting to wake up to sunshine, with my sweetheart sleeping next to me and the kids giggling in one of their rooms.

Today, Steve having kissed me goodbye in the dark many hours before as he left for his first shift of residency, I woke up alone. I didn't expect it to affect me as much as it did, but I went through the first half of the day frantic to be busy, to keep moving, to stave off the clawing homesickness that kept inching into my heart. He was three miles away, but I missed him enough for a thousand. And again, I felt an ache that threatened to take me over.

But feeling it doesn't make it real. I am not alone. We are not apart. We are not unguided. I don't have to do anything in the days and years ahead on my own. And neither does he.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

Isaiah 55:8-9

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

John 14:27

on being robbed and kind strangers.

Our car got broken into last week. We noticed it when we climbed into the car to go to church. It was a weird feeling.

I wasn't mad or anything. We lost a GPS, a couple random cords/power outlet things we use to charge phones or iPods in the our car, and the large envelope with a Christmas gift I was going to send to my sister-in-law, who will miss family Christmas this year because she is serving a mission for our church in Portugal. I was the saddest to lose the gift envelope, which held a journal I'd worked on for several weeks, and a little gift that Gracie had made herself. That kind of hurt my heart, to think of Gracie's little present being discarded. The rest of it didn't bother me--it's just money, you know? We can buy anything else back. We can't buy that little Christmas tree doorknob hanger back. But she can make a new one, and that is a gift, too, I guess.

The thing that I keep coming back to, is that I can't understand the mentality of someone who would just take something like that from someone else. I mean, I know they weren't thinking "Oh this is some poor lonely missionary's Christmas gift." They were just thinking there was probably something good to sell inside that envelope. The quote I inked in on the first page of the joirnal tucked inside it is from Matthew 10: 29-31:

29. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.

30.  But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

31. Fear ye not, therefore. Ye are of more value than many sparrows. 

I kind of hoped that whoever stole it read that. I think it would be nice, if you were that sad and desperate, to be reminded that no matter the state of your life, you are God's child.

You are of more value than many sparrows.

Since I can't have it, and Jess can't have it, I hope that somehow it did some good.

So that was that. But it wasn't the thing I will remember about these past two weeks.

One morning a couple weeks ago we woke up to ROAD CLOSED signs and huge construction equipment (Charlie calls them "big trucks") pulling asphalt off our street. For the past several days men have been all over our blocked-off road, digging holes, laying new pipes and huge sewer things (no idea what they are), drilling, digging, filling, and making a lot of noise.

They have been so nice.

They could very well have shut down our road and made us park on side streets, but instead they have been incredibly helpful. I've had them come to my door and ask if I'd like to move my car before it got blocked in the driveway. I've had them stop their huge machinery and move it out of the way so I could pick up my little girl from preschool, or get out of their equipment to help me back out of the driveway without hitting the ditches in the road. They've filled in spots in front of each driveway on the street so we can all get in and out. They will pause to wave and honk their horns at Charlie as he stands on the porch in awe at how they "dig" or "play in the street" with their "big trucks." And on Saturday when they brought out a huge hose to clean all the dirt off the street, they washed our car. I almost cried. It was just so incredibly thoughtful.

It has been inconvenient to walk two houses down to get into our car and to have noise and craziness and muddy shoes, but I will be really sad to see these construction workers and their "big trucks" go. Here they are working until after dark in the cold and sometimes in the rain, and yet they are constantly aware of the people in the warm houses around them and what might make our lives a little easier. They get it, and I am so thankful for them.

Merry Christmas.

engraven on their hearts

Raising kids is hard.

They are always changing, growing, finding new ways to test the rules or tip the balance, so just when you think you've got things down to an art, finally found a routine, one thing changes, and so everything changes.

I'm a busy person. Sometimes I'm a worrier. (Steve would probably correct this, because I worry a little more than sometimes. But I'm getting better every day, I promise.) And stopping mid-chore to play doesn't come naturally to me. But I think it might be important.

Honestly, most days I feel that I am rushing, trying to catch up with all the growing up they've done overnight, and trying so hard to prepare them for all the growing up they'll do tomorrow. Gracie is going to preschool in the fall. Is she ready? Have I taught her enough to protect her sweet heart and sunshine soul when I let her out into the wide world, beyond the cocoon of our sweet little house? And her friends are moving. Her first best friend is moving, before her birthday. Who is going to come to her birthday party? How will she know that she is special, and good, even if someone is mean to her?

I've been thinking about it. Worrying about it. So there are some things we've been doing lately, and some things that we've done always, to make sure the important things--or at least what I think are the important things--are engraven on her heart.

Baby girl, I hope you know.

you are loved.

I've always told her I love her the way I know best. Always touched her head when she comes to stand beside me, tickled her back and played with her hair, hugged her, slow danced with her on my hip in the kitchen, held her hand whenever she would let me, even if it meant hauling around my twenty-four-pound baby boy with one arm so the other could be attached to my Gracie girl.

And I've told her with words. We've been talking about it a lot, now that she is getting older and so emotionally analytical. She is so much like me that way. She wants to know why people emote, understand what they're feeling. When she was a baby, she would start crying if she heard another baby cry. She cries now, on the rare occasion that she sees me cry. We talk about that. And we talk about being angry, and happy, and frustrated, and shy. And I've told her lots and lots of times, that no matter what I'm feeling, I love her all the time.

Steve was talking to her today, at bedtime, about how proud he was that she had a good attitude when I picked her up from playing at the gym (she never wants to leave). And she told him that he felt happy, because she'd made good choices.

"And how do I feel when you make bad choices?" he asked.

"Frustrated," she said.

But, he wanted to know, but when did he love her?

And she said, when he was frustrated or sad or happy. All the time.

She impresses me. I've told her she is wise. I think she really is.

Like at bedtime, I always ask her, "Did anything make you sad today?"

Even if I know something did, she's either forgotten it, or chosen not to let it keep, because every single night she says, "No." She can't wait to get to the next question. And when I ask her if anything made her happy, she always says yes, and her cheeks dimple up and her smile is 100-watts and she's just bursting to tell me that she loved playing at the gym, and coloring, and eating the pancakes her Daddy made her. There are always at least three things.

And Charlie, now that he seems to be getting over his ear infection, is so happy. He just laughs and laughs.

Parenting doesn't come naturally to me. Or at least not the way I thought it would. I feel so much of a failure so much of the time, because I can't get my kids to eat chicken happily, or I can't remember the last time I dusted, or I am grumpy when awakened at 2am to help someone go potty, or I get bored playing birthday party or naptime with the dollies.

But I don't remember my mom playing dollies, because I don't think she much liked it either. I remember doing things she liked, like picnics, and planting flowers, and talking about mourning doves and sparrows and blue jays. But mostly what I got from growing up with my parents (though I do love picnics and flowers and birds) was a deeply engrained sense that I was very, very loved. By them, and by Heavenly Father.

That's all I'm looking for, really. :)

WHOA.

I took the kids to WIC today for our check-in. We weighed and measured Charlie, and before I really knew what was happening (read: before the dread could set in) the nurse had me shoeless and on the scale, staring down at those calibrating numbers.

I saw the number stop and my brain said: DOES NOT COMPUTE.

I had a sort of out of brain experience (not uncommon, especially when I am presented with numbers) staring at it. What number is that? That is not the number I expected.

I was still reeling and confused when she had me step off the scale. My brain is pedaling around trying to figure out what happened and finally I think to myself that I haven't seen that number since... before... SINCE BEFORE GRACE WAS BORN!!!!!!!!!

...!!!!!!

I wanted to cry. In a good way. A sort of relieved, wonderful way.

Because for the first time I have been working on this. I've been trying to exercise more regularly, for real. Until I hurt. I have been watching what I eat--choosing vegetables or yogurt and granola instead of sugar sugar sugar--and drinking lots of water. I haven't been dieting (I'm still nursing Charlie so that is a no-no) and I haven't been utterly focused on weight loss, but I have been trying to be healthy. I eat when I'm hungry, but I eat better things. When I eat fats, I eat healthier fats. (And I give myself the little wiggle room of dessert in the evening if I am dying for something chocolate, which, lets face it, I often am.)

But when I look down (or from the side in the mirror) I still have a lot of stomach left over from carrying my sweet (but enormous) baby boy. A LOT. Mostly in just that one spot, so I have a nice front-hovering muffin top. And I'll admit, that's not the easiest thing for a mama's ego, seeing that. I thought even with all the changes, I had hit a plateau, and that made me feel very discouraged.

(This picture is from a couple weeks ago, but I actually wore this same thing again today [and Charlie peed on it, actually] so just pretend it is perfectly current.)

But my little interview with the scale today made me feel really good. I am not skinny. No. I still have my fair share of cellulite and some abs that I will continue taking to the gym. But that's totally okay! I have plenty of time. What I am SO excited about is that I punched my new numbers into a BMI calculator, and it was healthy! A whole number closer to the middle of the healthy range, instead of hanging by a point-something on the edge of healthy and overweight, like it was for the past several months. That felt really good. I am so excited!

waiting places.

Life is full of waiting places. Have you noticed that? When I was pregnant with Charlie I was waiting for the nausea to end. Then I was waiting for him to be born so I could feel better. Then things were busy for a while--new baby, Christmas, STEP study month, and a trip out to see family/bless Charlie/go to Disneyland in April. Steve started rotations right after that, and it has been a little crazy adjusting myself and the kids to the more sporadic schedule he's had. He starts surgery next, which is supposed to be a tough one.

And now things are slowing down, and we're in a sort of slow spot. A waiting place. I feel this incredible urge to DO SOMETHING BIG AND IMPORTANT, but there is nothing big and important that needs to get done right away. The big and important things I am doing right now--raising my children and working on my book (my biggest-whole-life-dream besides marrying Steve forever in the temple and having my sweet little family)--are slow, day-by-day things. I am impatient to start printing out manuscripts, searching for an agent, emailing chapters around, but I don't even have a complete story--much less one polished enough to start sending out. I'm maybe 1/3 of the way done, and the momentum is slow. Painfully slow. Somehow I feel harried and frantic, but like I'm not getting anything done.

Also Charlie is teething, which is sad.

I just keep pushing forward, trying to be productive (and often not doing a very good job). What do you do when you feel like this?

Being Married is the Best

I really enjoyed this.

There is something so different and lovely about being married. What is it? A little bit of everything, I guess, and how your everythings are all tied together.

Meant

I am a big believer in the "meant to be" concepts of life. I believe that God has a plan for us, or at least He has plans for us if not one all-consuming plan, and that life goes along rightly, works out neater, and feels better when you go along with it, whatever it may be.

Often times I've found that His plans for me don't make sense. Why stop--almost compulsively--to right a tipped-over bike? Why stop at the grocery store now, when I'd meant to head straight home? Why send a rather scary email (the kind you wish you could click unsend after sending) or, well, post a very personal blog post?

I believe--and feel it has been proven for me many times--that these sometimes meaningless (or terrifying) inspirations are a step onto a greater path than I would have been able to find on my own. Not all of them have had a clear outcome, but the biggest and scariest ones certainly have. The leaps-of-faith have always been met with a nice soft place to land and a neatly tied up "Ohhh, so that's why!" somewhere (sometimes years) down the road. He has never let me down, and I don't expect He ever will.

In San Diego, I was called jointly with Steve to be a pianist at church, for the primary kids. Apparently the bishopric didn't know that I don't play much more piano than a mean rendition of Chopsticks and a little bit of half-ad-libbed Heart and Soul. Not being one to turn down a calling (I'm a believer that they are inspired), I said sure, figuring I would be able to pick up piano enough to play for the primary. With a brand-new Gracie and a complicated living situation that didn't allow me to practice during the day, I gave up pretty quickly and Steve took over full-time while I got moved to teach the Beehive girls.

Then we moved to North Carolina.

Lo and behold, about three weeks ago we got called in to meet with a member of the bishopric. Brother Hiatt lead off with a simple question:

"So... what kind of musical talent do you have?"

Dumbfounded, I stood there for a moment searching for any space in which I had enough musical talent--or experience--to speak of. Finally I told him, "None, really." Then I looked at Steve. "Do I?"

I wish I could say that Steve came up with dozens of things, but the fact of it is, my musical skills pretty much end at singing in the shower. I played clarinet in high school, but that has faded away--and I never really learned to read music properly. I like music, but I am not a musician.

So then, a little sheepish, he asked me if I would serve as the Music Chairperson for our ward. Not too bad--all I have to do, really, is a lot of coordinating, something I think I'll enjoy. I'll have to scout out the talent in the ward and arrange for maybe one special performance per month, and help with other musical things as necessary.

And then he dropped the bomb.

"We'd also like to ask you to direct the choir through December."

I have never directed a choir. Remember how I can't read music? Interesting twist! And let's top it off with the fact that there was no choir! They'd been completely disbanded some months ago. So my challenge was in about six or seven weeks to put together a choir, come up with music, and figure out how to lead them.

Enter the grace of our Heavenly Father.

I felt peace about it--even excitement. I got a good number of sign-ups, and for our first two weeks of practice have been blown away with how kind and patient everyone has been, how sweet and understanding, and how lovely they all sound.

Today I woke up panicked. This week has been a little overwhelming, and I just suddenly started thinking that holy cow, I can't direct a choir on top of everything else. And then they called a choir director, and I thought, Hooray! Home free!

Twist?

She can't direct until January.

Which leaves one person to direct for Christmas. (Me. Surprise!)

So this afternoon I'm feeling good, better, excited and surprisingly confident. When I stand up there conducting I know it must be God working through me, bringing these beautiful voices together. Leading my hands, helping me keep beat, guiding me with what to say and how to help them improve. I have never had a calling where I felt so completely out of my element, and yet it goes along just fine. Sometimes one of the choir members helps me find my pacing, and she just smiles at me like we're all in this together. Because we really are. And clearly, for some reason or another, I am meant to be more involved in music.

I'm curious to see what that reason might be. :)

Right Now

Things I want to remember about life right now:

Gracie

• Can now say a goofy handfull of words, in addition to "Ma," "Da," "All done," and "What's that?" These include "cheese," "baby," "fish," and "teeth." She LOVES pointing to our (or her) teeth, and she loves babies so much that she exclaimed "BABY!" loudly in the middle of a very quiet part of church.
  
• Still refuses to walk, but crawls SO fast she is like a little baby lightning bolt.
• Makes lots of animal sounds (and, awkwardly enough, sometimes moos at people). Her newest ones are hooting like an owl and a cute monkey sound, "ooh-ah!"
• Loves finding our belly buttons, and playing hide and seek if we jump out and say "boo" to her.
• Can finally eat a lot of foods whole, like noodles.
• Signs "more," "noodle," and "cheese." (She really loves cheese.)
• Can still be found most days reading in the book alcove in her room.
• Can shake her booty. And its so cute.
• Has just transitioned to one nap. Good or bad? We will see.

Steve

• Likes med school. Woo!
• Tells me a lot of things about the human body that I never knew before, like that cranial nerve 11 is not a cranial nerve at all, the poser.
• Cannot get enough of watching The IT Crowd and The Office on Netflix. Luckily I can also speak mostly in Office quotes when required. It's like a new language.
• Is feeling more comfortable with his life balance. I can tell, because he cooks again sometimes.
• Is still the best part of my day. (Well, him and Gracie, obviously.)

Jamie

• Getting more organized, closer to keeping the house immaculate (Hey, I said closer.) and feeling more capable as a wife/mom/housekeeper/cook/marketing developer/multi-tasker.
• Loving my circle of friends and all the activities we do! Playdates, book clubs, running, dinners. So fun.
• Messed up my knee running, but I think I'll try it again next week... Hopefully I don't read this later and regret that decision.
• Sewing + crafting again after a long hiatus. So nice to be settled so I can spread my craft stuff out. I finally have a whole piece of furniture dedicated only to that! :)
• Reading, reading, reading. I may have finally recovered from majoring in writing/lit, which put me off my usually voracious reading habits for several years.

Refocused : Beautiful Burdens and Responsibilities

I've been feeling a little off lately.

I don't know how to describe it exactly--I'm not upset or anything, and life is moving along at a happy and managable pace. But something in me just feels a little off kilter--like I can't quite catch my balance, and I don't know why.

So during scripture study today I felt pressed to look through my old... what should I call it? Church journal? Spiritual journal? Well my first journal where I wrote during scripture study or church or deep prayer or meditation. It has been a long time since I've cracked it open, and I found so many things to think on in just the first few pages that I only read about three or four. And one thing that one of my teachers (the incredibe Brother B!) said really struck and revitalized me, so I wanted to share it:

"How do you find the manna in the mundane?"

If you're not familiar, manna was the food that the Israelites were provided with as they traveled in the desert. It was sweet to the taste and appeared miraculously for them every day, but after a while they started thinking maybe it wasn't so delicious and wonderful after all.

It is the same with life. We get these incredible blessings, and we feel gratitude, awe, joy, happiness. But then all too soon we feel much too burdened and responsible--tied down and trapped. And as with most perpetuated misery, the problem isn't everyone (or everything) else--it's our own perspective.

Brother B told us,

"You have the opportunity to be burdened by beautiful responsibilities."

I thought about that, and it changed everything. Thinking of your "burdens" and "responsibilities" as opportunity instead allows you to see the miracles occurring all around you (Brother B said you choose which miracles you see, as well--smart smart guy!!). So after reading this I stopped and went through my head all the things I had been grumbling about--whether aloud or only in my own head--and miraculously they shifted from bothersome details to beautiful responsibilities.

So what if I have to be nice when I'd rather be cranky--isn't it worth that responsibility to have a happy husband and baby? And maybe nobody else is going to clean the toilets--but hello, we not only have running water, which not everyone does, but a very comfortable and beautiful home. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a job, so why complain that I have to spend time doing (and really, enjoying) my work? Jobs, parenthood, marriage, home, health--all beautiful responsibilities that take work and effort, but provide the only true deep satisfactions in life. It feels good to make your family happy, to help pay the bills, to care for your body.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Isn't it amazing how good you feel when you think about it this way?

Thank goodness for the incredible men who have been such positive influences and examples. For my dad and Steve for their usually cheerful attitudes, for Steve's enthusiasm about having me write in that journal (he gifted it to me when we were dating) so I could remember things I would have forgotten, and for Brother B for really getting what it's all about.

Hope you are finding manna in your mundane. :)

The Family Grows

Emily is my first dear friend (and sister-in-law!) to have a baby, so the birth of her sweet daughter (who was finally titled Adelaide Rose) was incredibly special to me. Adelaide is the first little one to enter my adult life, and I am so so thrilled that she also let me take on the mantle of aunthood (doesn't that sound grand and romantic!?!).

But really, it was an amazing experience to be able to share just a little bit of Emily's pregnancy, to hear her stories and preparations and excitement. When Jessica texted at 2am to tell us Em was in labor I was so excited for her, and all day as she went through a 15 hour labor I was worried and anxious and didn't know what to do with myself. I hated being thousands of miles away, but even if I were closer, there wouldn't have been much I could do. Steve and I were so proud of her for being so strong and brave--Emily is amazing. She had a natural childbirth at home, just like she'd wanted, and that is such a wonderful blessing.

So now we (Gracie and I) are here, with Jessica and Michelle (Steve's sister and mom), and it is actually really emotional. I love this little girl. She seems to get more beautiful every day. I love her mama. I have never seen such a radiantly happy new mom. She will be incredible. Adelaide is a lucky girl.

It's also been a big reminder of Steve's and my first days of parenthood, and how difficult and wonderful they were. How happy we were to have Gracie, and how amazed I am by how deeply I love her, and that it can increase exponentially with the passage of time. One year ago this Monday we finally got to hold our baby girl in our arms. I don't even know if I can describe the miracle that she has been to us.

And now we get Adelaide. I can't wait to send her mail, and make her things, and play princesses or tea party with her, and see her and Gracie grow up together. I can't believe how small and sweet and perfect she is.

Tummy.

Well, it is 9.5 months now since Gracie was born, we've been done with nursing for a month and a half, and still this little lingering pooch of baby-tummy remains. Its time to face the fact that my body will never be the same. No more munching of chocolate cupcakes simply because it's 3 o'clock and I like some cake with Ellen. No more, no more.

But actually, I'm kind of glad. Since I got pregnant with Grace, I've eaten healthier than at any other point in my life. Instead of a mid-afternoon brownie, I eat--get this--an apple or a piece of cheese for a snack. I've replaced some of my usual fatty desserts with a glass of chocolate milk (I can't give up the daily chocolate). I do yoga five times a week. Me. Doing yoga. Which means exercising. Regularly. I stuck with that last new years resolution. You guys, it's JUNE! And I STUCK to a New Year's Resolution!!! It is like a miracle!

And while my tummy may be fighting me (seriously, in downward facing dog pose it dangles there like some weird jello-y fifth appendage and makes me really struggle with my self esteem as my DVD-instructor urges me, "Look at your belly button!" Please! Anybody have thoughts about how to burn off this last bit of jello? :) )... But anyway, though that ponch may be fighting me, the rest of my body is getting stronger. I can tell because I can now do all the exercise in the 30 minute "Express Workout" (Gracie always wakes up if I try to do anything longer). Sweet.

And I bought a new bathing suit. It is red. So there, tummy.

Dear Anthropologie...

Dear Anthropologie,

I understand that this adorable dress is silk... and irresistably ADORABLE. But $119.95, on sale? Cruel and unusual.

Amid the Dunes dress, you will never be mine.

Boo, Anthropologie. Boo.

:(

Jamie

Oh How I Wish...

To be everything.

And to be good at it.

I want to be a good mommy, never get tired of book reading and diaper changing and spoon feeding. A good writer and never get bogged down with reading that makes me both want to write and feel I should give up immediately RIGHT NOW. A good wife who entirely forfeits passive aggression for reality and understands and communicates and bakes cakes for important occasions. A brave friend who is not so utterly terrified of phone conversations (what on earth?) and better at remembering to pray for more than I do. A better daughter to God with unshakable faith and secure aspirations to share the gospel because it makes us happy. Less judgmental (of myself as well), more humble, and never secretly wishing for things like a Mac desktop and a flatter tummy.

But these things will come in time, I guess. I will work for them, they will take root slowly like everything does in our weak human frames. Line upon line, precept upon precept.

And someday: patience, humility, a written and published book, communication, fresh cookies and cakes for those special and ordinary times that require such things. A Mac (yes, I'm sorry, that stays, but not secretly coveted?), bravery, thoughtfulness.

I've got a few things down, a lot in the works, and, happily eternity to work for it, and a best friend and sweetheart to push me along. Goodness, it's exhausting to be alive.

Things I'm Thinking About

I think a lot. Ask Steve. He likes to ask me what I'm thinking at random moments. So here is what I'm thinking about right now:

1. Remaking. Lots of things. Starting with repainting and re-hardwaring our desk. I like this tutorial. We got some brushed nickel hardware from Home Depot that is simple but modern like the nightstand in this post from Making it Lovely.
2. Pregnancies. They seem to be cropping up everywhere! It's fun, after being pregnant, to watch other people being pregnant--especially people I love. My sweet sister-in-law Emily is having baby #1, a girl, in August. I love reliving fun things from my Gracie-pregnancy with her--talking about kicks, weird symptoms, and first heartbeats. And I get to throw a baby shower! Also, I was fascinated by this site, Pacing the Panic Room, when I came across it--this guy's wife looks so good at 27 weeks! I love that she used this American Apparel dress for maternity-wear. I am determined to be hotter next pregnancy. Is that tacky? But what I mean is: less sweat pants, more hair-washing. ;) Not a lofty goal, really. And I've realized that I've pretty much entered the years during which I will be pregnant a lot. There are good and bad parts about that.
3. Moving. Still don't know where we'll be at the end of the month. Honestly, its very frustrating. We have an application in at Copper Creek in San Elijo but it will be 2-6 weeks before we hear if we're in or not. I am the type of person who likes to build a nest, and I just want to move on and get our little family re-settled wherever it is we need to be.
4. Field Trips. We've been in San Diego for years now, and are only just now beginning to explore it, because we feel (or I feel) like time is ticking by! So we've been exploring, and hopefully will continue to explore. Its more fun with Gracie, even though she won't remember, because it feels like family outings.
5. "Mama." Gracie can do several tricks now, including waving and mimicking tongue clicks. She also says "Mama" but hasn't yet figured out to attach a meaning to it. I am amazed at how connected she is with us now--she bounces to be picked up, vocalizes and chats all the time, watches our every move. It is so fun!