mom armor

I took my son to his first funeral yesterday. We honored a family member of a family member -- someone not related to me but close to several people I love. I wasn't sure exactly how a 6yo would do, but I wanted him to be able to meet some extended relatives who were traveling in for the service. 

Since it was a Sunday and he'd already sat through Sunday school and church, I was really hoping he'd be able to sit quietly for another service. Thankfully, he did great! I was wondering if he'd have questions about anything, and he did not--partially, I think, because the gentleman was cremated so there wasn't a viewing or a casket. Also, maybe because we were in a new place and he had plenty of new scenery to look at (including the occasional uncle in the crowd making a funny face at him).

I got to thinking that my kids are both something to be protected and my strongest armor. The protection part is obvious -- my job as their mom is to keep them alive and help them thrive. But the armor aspect is a new experience for me.  I realized, I wanted him to come so I wasn't alone. He's his own little person now, and frankly, my friend.

Without my kids in tow, I'm exposed to the world. They are an energetic little hive that surrounds this queen bee, always giving me a socially acceptable excuse or a side-splitting story. It's not that they never frustrate me, it's just that balance of having fun with them and bringing discipline to them is my normal. Without them, I'm wondering about more than where I left the diaper bag... I'm wondering what to do with my hands, how to get out of this tedious conversation, and how to eat all this cake without people wondering what is wrong with me.

(Kids are the best cover for eating nasty food. People always assume you are dipping the french fries in chocolate milkshake for them instead of the truth which is that that you're gross because you think it's freaking delicious.)

My kids are my armor against awkwardness -- because they would pick a booger and wipe it in my hand were I ever speaking to the Pope. You really can't feel awkward about yourself when there's a 3yo nearby who has his undershirt sticking out the wide-open zipper of his pants, can you? It's like you have a built-in Jerry Gergich (Park 'n' Rec) following you around to always make you look polished. These jeans may not fit my mama figure so well anymore, but at least I look better than THAT GUY with the nutella smeared up to his ears, am I right? 

My kids are my armor against boredom. I don't mean just the endlessness of the laundry, dishes, and toy clean-up... I mean the endlessness of the laughter and new discoveries. Following a series of unfortunate events, my kid bit into a mayonnaise and jelly sandwich the other day.  That's both new and hilarious.  They get excited over everything: the dead stink bug in the corner, whatever that thing is the dog is poking, new packaging for their favorite cereal, the way my lotion smells. My 3yo son will literally look out the window and come running to tell me that he saw a tree. You can't buy that kind of excitement.

My kids are my armor against self-loathing. I don't need to reiterate what you already know about our culture and the way it pressures women. But my kids are full of compliments. Just the other day, my 6yo told me I was gorgeous when I handed him a hamburger.  The 3yo called me "beeeeeeee-yootiful" when I lifted him out of the grocery cart this morning, and the 2yo has started giving really loud kisses. I can feel pretty crappy about myself in the morning as I shuffle the house in my slippers, but then my 3yo looks at the same robe I wear every day and exclaims, "Mommy, I love your new dress!" And I think to myself with a smile, Ok, Cinderella, we can make it one more day.

I think it's weird to say that I "enjoyed" the funeral, because it was a solemn time, as expected. But it was wonderful to gather with people I love and catch up with some I haven't seen in a long time. But even better, it was great to be a mom and enjoy watching my kid be a kid. He blissfully ran around a church fellowship hall with two other kids he'd never met, who were of course, instant best friends because of the following conversation:

6yo: Hi, I'm Lincoln. Are you wearing a dinosaur shirt?

4yo: Yes, I like dinosaurs.

6yo: Me too! 

By the end of the hour, they were growling together in a secret language. As the first-cousin-once-removed or possibly the second cousin (I always forget how those relations work?) left for his long drive home, he turned to my son and growled loudly. Linc waved, then got a little misty as he turned to me and said, "I know what that means. I can translate dinosaur. He said 'goodbye.'"

I like my kid.

women's clothing sizes are the new stars of "whose line it is anyway?"

Do you remember how Drew Carey used to open Whose Line Is It Anyway? (Which is one of the funniest shows of all time.) "The show where everything's made up and the points don't matter."  This is precisely how I feel about women's clothing sizes. Everything's made up and the numbers don't matter.

I have two new articles of clothing this week. One is an XS and one is an XL. What is that? I'm just one me. I was having a micro-tantrum on the way home from the mall because there's nothing more frustrating than putting on clothing items that don't fit AT ALL and feeling like a overstuffed sausage with a muffin top or like a kid wearing daddy's suit to fourth grade career day. (Mixed Metaphor Alert)

I actually complained to my husband that if something I wear on the outside (a shirt) is an XS, and something I wear on the inside (foundation garment) is an XL, I'm pretty sure that makes me the TARDIS -- bigger on the inside. 

My question to the clothing manufacturers is, "Why can there not be some consistency?" I don't care if I'm a small, a large, or a quad XL. I really, honestly, truly do not. But I don't want to have to put on NINE SIZES of your item to find the right one. All that does is leave stores full of clothing hung the wrong way on the hanger and with someone else's gross deodorant stripes on anything dark.

These are the tags from some of the most frequently worn items in my wardrobe. I didn't go through my closet and try to find extreme sizes from my before-kids-flat-stomach days or from my just-had-a-baby-but-trying-to-not-wear-maternity-clothes days. Seriously, these are all from items I wear regularly right now. Are these people kidding me? My 'favorite' discovery was noticing that there are a few single brands that I have a huge size range in. This is insanely unacceptable. 

Am I an extra-small, small, medium, large, or XL? Am I a 2, 4, 6, 8, 10? Who's to say? Obviously not the people who make clothing! They have no idea.

What if Toyota was like, "The new Camry will suit your family perfectly! It has between 3 and 7 seats, depending on the color." What if General Mills was like, "We sell cereal in boxes ranging between 12 and 79 ounces, but they will all be labelled as containing 4 metric tons." Would we all be like, "That's fine, I'll just hold it up against me and stretch it a little side-to-side until I find one that seems like it would work?"

WHAT ARE THESE MANUFACTURERS TRYING TO DO TO ME? Y'ALL GONNA MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND.

Men's clothing at least pretends to tell you the truth. Their sizes are at least based on the pretense of inches. Obviously, there's gonna be some variation because some of you carry more booty than others, so certain styles are going to be more flattering than others. But at least you know where to begin! I find a shirt I like and usually grab three to start for my FIRST run to the fitting room.  

#amiright

Look, clothing shopping is wildly infuriating anyway. This color washes me out. This fabric is itchy. This shirt is too short. This sweater is frumpy. These pants pinch the backs of my knees when I squat. These leggings are see-through. This tag is like a small cactus. These straps are too skinny. Why are they selling a shirt that says MILF on the front in the Juniors Department?!? OR AT ALL?? 

Do we really need one more thing about shopping to be frustrating?

I do want to be sure I am abundantly clear here that I'm not complaining that the number of letter on an item of clothing is saying I'm bigger or smaller than I want to be. I could be a size 0, a size 40, or a new size they've affectionately named 'lumpy panda but with a nice personality' as long as it was the same everywhere I shop.

speaking of funny stuff

Parenting is embarrassing if you're the kind of person who blushes at the thought of carrying a vomit-soaked pillow out to the garbage can in your pajamas. (Which I'm lucky not to be.)

If I was with you right now, swapping stories over a chai (which, for those of you who are unfamiliar, is like coffee except it tastes delicious instead of like you're drinking something you scraped off your shoes), I think I could make you laugh. Sometimes, our household is full of same-old-same-old (the classic "buddy, why are you naked?" and "sweetie, how did you get another black eye?"), but this has been a pretty fruitful week for new funny stories. 

You're welcome in advance -- I will spare you all the puke pillow story, but trust me, it was... potent.

So, we're out to breakfast and I pull out Mickey Mouse stickers to entertain the brood. As if in a movie, one child starts rhyming "Donald Duck, Bonald BUCK, FONALD--" and I'm not kidding, my son shouted the f-word in a restaurant full of retirees eating egg whites.

Also, my 3yo just handed me a toy phone, and when I said, "Hello?" he replied, "Yes, hello, this is Darth Sideous." 

I'm lucky to have an understanding husband because I was full of antics and shenanigans this week.

But then there was also a really sweet moment where my son and his cousin were collecting pretty rocks and calling them "jewels of righteousness" which was pretty epic.  Sunday school FTW!!

And when the other son and his other cousin wore matching PJs and he made this terrifying zombie face.

I hope he gets that expression from his daddy's side.

i can't see the stars

Something sad is happening in my life right now. Everyone wants to know what they can do to help. The truth is, since there's nothing you can do to change it, there's nothing you can do. 

But then... there's also everything you can do. The best offer I get is from the people who say they're praying for us and mean it. Not the people who say it because it's tradition, but the people who do it. The best moments of my hard days are the moments I get a text saying "how can I pray for you right now?" or "I'm just checking in with you" or "do you need anything today?"

When I know someone is praying for me, the room is full again. I don't feel that I'm alone in this dark cave. I imagine myself in those moments, kneeling with that friend at the foot of the Throne of Grace, just pouring out my heart. These are the friends who gets me through angry moments -- the friends who take my hand and quietly walk me to Jesus.

I don't usually feel helpless, but this week, I'm the guy in Mark 2 and my friends and family are like, "Listen, I will carry you and dig a hole in a roof with my bare hands to make sure you can see Jesus today."

Man, I have the most incredible people in my life! Friends who do not leave me alone. Sisters who will listen when I uncharacteristically swear a lot because I'm feeling furious and helpless and out-of-control and bittersweet and scared and confused but also trying SO HARD to have faith.

Listen, I don't want to over-dramatize the issues happening in my life.  I know there are people out there who would consider my problems 'small,' and in the scope of what others are facing, they'd be right. But in my life, it's everything right now. It's every moment and every breath.

The good news is that my ship is not rudderless. I'm not riding out the waves of this storm aimlessly.  I'm not alone.  I can't see the stars to navigate, but the good news is Heaven can still see me.  And I trust that wherever this ship is going, the arrival port is the right destination.

old valentines

Dear Husband,

Sorry that your valentine is getting old.  In my defense, I couldn't stay 15 forever.  15!  It is hitting me that our son is waaaaaaaaaay closer to the age we got together than I am. If he brings a girl home in nine years and says he's planning to marry her, I'm going to facepalm harder than Jean Luc Picard.  

I like looking back at old pictures of us. Usually, I'm startled by how thick your glasses were (Lasik FTW!) and frightened at my glittery, iridescent eye shadow which only seems to accent the hideous red eye.  Thanks for marrying me despite my alien face!

Life is so weird right now, but we are stronger together.  My biggest prayer for us is unity as we fight daily battles, some big and some small.  I thought marriage was hard until we had kids. I thought parenting was hard until we became foster parents.  

What's the next step? What's the next call? Let's find out together...

Love,

Wife

PS I miss hiking.

here's how i'll make you laugh

Everybody's angry all the time right now. I feel like America hasn't recovered from an angry election season, so now we're angry about everything. Super bowl - ANGRY!  News - ANGRY!  Weather - ANGRY! People are picketing, carrying signs, protesting, marching... I'm not against it, I'm just saying there's a lot of angry to go around.

The Bad Blood (thank you, Taylor) has infected me, too, and as I look back, I've been a little angry on my blog lately.  But I'm not angry overall, I'm actually quite at peace with most of my life right now!

So, for a warm-up chuckle, please look to the left and know that when my three-year-old son put this on, he walked over and said, "Look, Mommy, I'm Iron Man."

I don't remember this part of the movie. (I tweeted the pic to Robert Downey Junior. I'll let you know if he replies.)

So, as promised, a laugh.  This is my new favorite story, sorry if you've already heard it...

(Side note: My husband has certainly heard it because never has there been a moment in the last sixteen years that I've shown him something new. He always does this annoying thing where he smiles pleasantly and chuckles, then says something like, "I laughed really hard the first time I saw that." ANNOYING! I swear, he has a full-time job, but somehow he is able to see EVERY FUNNY VIDEO on the internet before me, the so-called "work at home mom.")

I digress. The story:

So, a police officer is doing a routine check near an elementary school with his canine partner. After they finish the sweep, he notices a little boy come outside. He puts the dog in the back seat, then turns to say hello. The boy asks, "Is that a dog in the back of your cruiser?" "Yes," the officer answers. The kid waits for a moment, then looks up and asks, "What'd he do?"