All the Single Ladies--

I officially fall down in awe at the feet of all the single mothers (and fathers!) out there.  DB was gone for a mere 12 days, and I'm only just barely recovering.

Yes, that's why I haven't blogged.

Pathetic, huh?

It gets worse. Logically speaking, I should have died while he was away. In the first place, I turned into the Wicked Witch of the West. I snapped at my kids, grumbled about the simplest chores, and generally griped about life in general. I was a dragon and anyone who dared cross me had better watch out for my flaming breath of doom.  On the other hand, I became a delicate maiden in distress, drowning in my own tears at the slightest provocation and weeping without end for the loss of my one true love.

And, well, we all know that Wicked Witch + water = DEATH, right?

The only conclusion I can draw, then, is that I actually didn't blog because I was dead and only managed to keep the house together and the kids alive and fed through some strange sort of out-of-body experience.

Which leads me to the fact that I must, once again, be a zombie.

How else could I be writing this?

...Okay, obviously I'm still not completely recovered from my traumatic separation from DB.

Let's face it. I love my husband, and I lean on him. He is my friend, my confidant, and my maid service when it hurts too much to stand. Just being able to reach out and touch him is literally priceless to me. No matter how many fantastic gifts he brought back (and there were several, not to mention the spa day he talked his parents into sponsoring so I could have a mini-vacation while they were all gone) I would frankly rather have him. I didn't think it would be such a hard thing, being alone with the kiddies for awhile. After all, I do much of the housework, cooking, and childcare anyway while he's at work. It wouldn't be that much of a shift, minus the fact that I would have my smell-good bed warmer at night. I was right; it wasn't "that much."

It was huge.

Above all else, I just wanted him.

And I would much rather find out how indispensable he is while he takes a jaunt to Hawaii than after he was gone forever.

So thank you, Lord, for giving me the chance to be grateful for the relationship I have with my husband. I promise I'll try my best to remember it the next time I feel like force-feeding him his own foot (which does end up in his mouth on occasion) or whining because he just had to work yessssss-terday, so why did he agree to work todaaaaaaaaaay? I will even remember not to be vengeful and connive him into doing twice his share of the work because he got a vacation while I manned the front lines (which was, as a side note, my choice). I just love him, and I'm glad he's home.

Mary

**Sorry, no funny post this week. I hope you'll enjoy these thoughts, and check back next week to find out what kind of mayhem is going to ensue around here once DB goes out of town the day after Christmas.**

Over the last two weekends, I have twice been privileged to sing in Christmas-related programs. And in both instances, at least one song focusing solely on Mary, the mother of Christ, was sung.

The first weekend, it was Breath of Heaven; the second, Gabriel's Message. 

I don't really know how to put into words the totality of the experience, but I wanted to try. It's only as I've become a mother myself that I have considered her story with any degree of personal interest. This year in particular, though, as our family faces a lot of uncertainty and I find myself "great with child" right around the Christmas season, I've spent a lot of time contemplating Mary and her faith.

Gabriel's Message centers on the story of the Annunciation, or when Gabriel came to tell Mary of her impending pregnancy. In the version our choir performed (which is not, I should note, the same as the one I linked to here; I'm unfortunately unable to find the one we did sing for you), there was a particular focus on the phrase he uses to describe Mary: "Most highly favored Lady." The words are used to reassure her, to soothe her, so that she knows that these things--this unexpected pregnancy, which she will have to explain to all--are as God wills, and that they are a blessing. At that moment, Mary replies, "Be it unto me as it pleaseth God." 

That reply is surely the most faithful, trusting, innocent, amazing reply that could ever have been made. I have to wonder if it had even crossed her mind yet all the trouble this was going to cause her and her fiance, Joseph. Did it even matter? 

Her faith is blindingly, starkly pure here. It's the kind of faith that makes me quietly shake my head and think that I am eons from that kind of trust, particularly when it comes to turning my life upside down. But Mary had that faith, and she showed it. 

Breath of Heaven is different. It's not based on any scriptural account, although I feel very strongly that it rightly captures at least some moments of Mary's life. This song comes after that first tide of overwhelming  amazement at what has happened to her. The angel has come and gone, she is heavy with child, she is (quite literally, in fact) walking down the rough road. She is, I imagine, getting leg cramps and possibly heartburn, not sleeping well at night, and having to ask Joseph to stop the donkey every hour or so for a bathroom break. She has had to face up to her family, her neighbors, and her friends who have eyed her ever-increasing belly and wondered at her story. She is tired. She is frightened. 

But she still has faith. 

She goes to God in this song, explaining to Him everything in her heart. She doesn't hide her fears, her insecurities, or her wonders. She doesn't hide from Him that she desperately needs help. She even shares with Him her worries about being inadequate. But she isn't coming to Him to ask Him to take it all away, or to change it. She does not, herself, question if this should be happening to her. 

Instead, she is simply approaching a Father whom she trusts to love her no matter what she is or what she fears and asking for His help. She is pleading for the assurance she knows that only He can give. 

Seeing both sides of Mary's faith has really affected me this year. We all have the moments of spiritual high where we feel we can do anything. Having an angel appear in my room would probably convince me that I could walk all the way to China and then move mountains without breaking a sweat. I have been in that place where Mary was; the moment of surety. 

Now our family has walked down the road some more. Things don't look the same from this far into the trip. It isn't what we expected. I have asked God several times to change it, to make it easier, to send me a horse-drawn cart (or a Ferrari) to get me the rest of the way to our destination. After the last two weeks, however, I want to be, once again, where Mary was. I want to be able to approach God in the way she is painted as doing in that song. 

This is true faith: To know that whatever it looks like to us, God has seen the end from the beginning, and He knew what it would look like in the middle. We didn't. 

Mary placed her trust in her Heavenly Father, knowing He would lead her to the end that she had already committed to, even if she couldn't see it. 

Mary was astounding. 

Her faith is why we have long since chosen to name one of our daughters after her. What greater gift could we want for our child than to know above all else that God loves her and will always do what is best for her? 

Because isn't that what faith comes down to? 

Mary is beautiful; and while this Christmas season is a celebration of her perfect Son, I know that come Christmas morning, watching my children rip into their presents, its her I will be thinking of. 

Her, and the assurance that even a young mother like me doesn't have to be perfect and without fear always--just trusting, and willing. God will take care of the rest.

I love Sleep.

This is how I feel about Sleep:

This is how Sleep feels about me:

Thanks to my rather dysfunction relationship with Sleep, I have come up with a new motto for my life: When you're dead on your feet, there's nothing for it but to dress up the corpse and hope nobody notices.

However, Mysanity is the child of Sleep and I, and Sleep keeps trying to keep Mysanity away from me.

Therefore I will drag Sleep back into my life as many times as necessary to ensure that Mysanity ends up in my complete custody.

No matter where you go, Sleep, I will find you. This stalker ain't ready to give up yet.

NaNoWriMo: Victorious.

I am officially a first-time survivor of National Novel Writing Month.

Go me.

I thought I would come out of this with some seriously awesome lessons learned, and I have. The thing is I thought they would be lessons along this line:

MOM WAS WRONG

As it turns out, all good things happen after midnight.

or

SANITATION

It's not really as necessary as you think.

However, I can't really say I learned either of these things. I showered as often as I usually do (don't ask, it's not as often as it should be), the dishes stayed at a fairly manageable pile level, and the vast majority of my writing was done before two in the afternoon. Learn I did, though, and I thought I would share my favorite gems.

1. IT IS POSSIBLE (AND NECESSARY) TO TWIST YOUR OWN ARM

There was a lot of this going on during November, and I was surprised. Surely, I told myself, having not just myself, but also DB committed to my getting 2000 words a day in will give me the glorious freedom I need to WRITE WRITE WRITE as much as I want to!

It did.

But I didn't want to as much as I thought I would.

Turns out that even pursuing your dreams isn't all sunshine and roses. All those Hallmark movies lied to me. Who knew? I always had a fairly realistic idea of what motherhood would be like, so the hard work entailed in that particular dream weren't surprising. My utter lack of motivation to write on most days when I was trying to force 6 days a week out of myself was.

When I kept pushing through, however (thanks to DB the whip-holder on some days), I found that it could still be done. And the more often I pushed through with sheer grit, the more often I found myself having the days where I couldn't wait to get to my computer. I am becoming a self-arm-twising ninja thanks to NaNoWriMo!

2. COUNTING WORKS ON MORE THAN TODDLERS

When my children are not doing what they should be or are about to do something they oughtn't, they get a warning of the consequences to come. If they don't stop, I start counting to three. Generally speaking I never make it past two before said child backs down.

Turns out I operate the same way.

Set a timer for ten minutes of writing (a goal of good behavior), make it so it creates really super obnoxious noises if I don't write (warning of consequences), then flash really bright red lights at me if I'm not writing enough (count of three) before screaming at me with said obnoxious noise if I still don't write (PUNISHED!). This works seriously well. Fortunately for me, I didn't have to set up this entire gig; Dr. Wicked over at Write or Die has a program that does just this. With the threat of punishment hanging over my head, I was able to complete my daily writing alottment in 45 minutes to an hour.

I think I'm going to apply this wisdom to other jobs in my life. Need to cook dinner? 15 minutes on the egg timer! Dishes? 10 minutes! Vacuum? 5!  Who wants to see if I can find my entire list of groceries in THREE MINUTES?!? Pregnant mommy at a dead run, kids plastered to the inside of the cart, innocent employees flying everywhere!

Watch out, WalMart. I have an egg timer and I'm not afraid to use it.

3. I HAVE TIME. LOTS OF IT.

Speaking of time, it turns out that there are a lot more hours in the day than I thought.  I was under the impression that I would be killing myself, trying to add these 2,000 words. As it turns out, I have plenty of time. I just don't use it as wisely as I thought.

Being that I've always considered myself to be pretty darn good at time management, that was a hard one to admit. NaNo makes me think that it wouldn't hurt me to track my time for a week or so and see how I'm actually using it, to make sure it's really going somewhere I want it to. After all, it's not like I can get more minutes for my days out of the bank or something.

So, NaNo, thanks for the lessons, and for the novel. And for this really goofy video that I'm still laughing about.

It was a good November.

How a Baby Moves

My children are delightful and (of course!) unique and special.  I can only assume it will be the same with number three whenever she chooses to make her appearance (please not any time before February, Butterfly, thank you very much).  And from what do I make my assumptions? 

Baby dancing.

No, not that kind!  Tsk.

I refer to the way in which babies move while in the womb (although the way they dance after is pretty darn funny too).  Before having my second child, I assumed there was a fairly uniform two-step each baby performed.  Not so, and may I present exhibits A, B, and C for your perusal: 

THE STRETCHER: Ladybug

While in the womb, Ladybug liked nothing better than stretching out as far as she could go.  But as she got longer and longer, this whole pushing boundaries thing became a problem. And a wrestling match. DB often laughed at me all through church as I say next to him, pressing valiantly on my belly and not gaining even a centimeter of give. 

Ladybug has displayed these same tendencies in her everyday personality quirks.  She likes to see exactly how far she can go, find that line, then stand there and not give any in one bit. It is officially her job to remind us of exactly how things are done--how we eat breakfast, how we pray, and she doesn't forget promises we make to her.  She finds where she can be and sticks to it. 

THE WASHING MACHINE: StrawBee

StrawBee's fav rave was circles.  She liked to flip over and over and over and OVER. It was a lot like having a spin cycle going on in my belly.  I wasn't supposed to be going on any carnival rides but I felt like I was on one most nights.  It did something very uncomfortable to my guts (something about her little ankles catching on them over and over, I imagine) and created the oddest feeling of discombobulation.

From the moment of her birth StrawBee has never been one to sit still and let life happen to her. She is a mover and a shaker; a strong child who sees what she wants and goes to get it. This is a particularly effective personality to have as a second child, I like to think, because she has Ladybug to watch and learn from--and thus always a goal to strive for. 

THE POPCORN BAG: Butterfly

I first started feeling this little firecracker moving around 11 weeks gestation (and for the uninitiated, that's about 8 weeks sooner than what's considered average). I heard many comments that this child must certainly be a boy for all of her activity, but unless something truly unusual happens between now and her birth I am quite sure this is not the case.  She punches and kicks like a regular boxing champ; I've even wondered on occasion if I'm actually giving birth to a kangaroo.  Ultrasounds can be so inconclusive, you know.

It'll be interesting to meet her in February. If nothing else, we know she's getting plenty of practice in so she'll be ready to stand up to the other two. 

I love being pregnant, though. No really, I do. Something about feeling like you're being invaded by a small alien is really life-affirming. Not to mention frighteningly like having super powers. Trying to interpret the ways the child moves into what they might actually be like as a little person has got to be one of the best guessing games ever. 

Has anyone else seen a correlation between baby movements and personality, or am I making these insightful connections on way too little sleep?