Beauty is the Beast

It is a fact universally acknowledged the the pandemic ain’t been too kind to any of us in the beauty department. This is actually a truth that I’ve covered quite extensively here on the old blawg. Remember that time we had our own salon? Or the time I got gussied up to trim the dog’s nails? And who could forget the great Driver’s License Photo Debacle of 2020? Certainly not I.

So, while I don’t necessarily consider myself a beauty per se, I’m obv not hideous. Even though coronavirus has taken the luster off the old girl, I wouldn’t say I’ve completely lost my touch. I mean…I make these leggings and messy bun look good, m’kay? What I’m saying is, in the proverbial Beauty/Beast comparison game, I’m for sure not the Beast.

For sure.

Or so I thought.

I was texting my friend, Alisha, the other night when we both came to an uncanny realization.

[I am listing Alisha by name because she requested that I do so. Apparently, she has aspired to being mentioned on the blog for a while now, so I am happy to give her her own post and welcome her to these hallowed halls. You’re famous now, ‘Lish, even though you’re friends of friends with actual famous people and this blog is mainly written for my mom and my own personal amusement. Glad you’re here, pal.]

So aaaaanyway, Alisha and I were texting about how I have a bad attitude about things (read, things I willingly volunteered for, but am now salty about being a part of…please roll your eyes at me) and this is how it went down:

Y’all, when she described the West Wing from Beauty and the Beast, I felt like she was showing me a picture from House Hunters International.

I want to go to there.

Imagine it, a place that’s already torn to shit so I don’t have to worry about cleaning. I can rage break mirrors and rip portraits when the weight of the world is too much and people will leave me alone?? Sign. me. up.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Upon further reflection, I realized that I’m even more beastly than I first thought. Please observe:

  • can’t eat oatmeal/any meal without spilling everywhere
  • table manners and any form of social etiquette are basically nonexistent at this point (did I ever have them? No one knows.)
  • absurdly short temper
  • library of books I haven’t gotten around to reading
  • basically a shut in and not mad about it
  • unsightly body hair situation
  • my bffs are found in the housewares section (may or may not have already rehearsed a musical number featuring my Dyson)

Y’all. Alisha and I…and dare I presume, all of us…have been operating under the assumption that we’re Belle. We’ve been waltzing through quarantine thinking we’re the Beauty, reading the books, shutting down the patriarchy, being valued for our minds, twirling in fields of wildflowers. And now we’re faced with the harsh, world shaking realization that in all reality, we’re the Beast.

I’m not sure what more 2020 is going to take from us, but stripping me of my unshakeable belief that I am the princess in the story feels like it’s asking a bit much, no?

And yet, the more I ponder things the more right it feels. Because if I’m honest, I definitely do have poor manners, I’m grouchy 95% of the time, I’m learning to love feeding birds, and I’m real hairy. I’m here for it, tbh. From here on out, I am 100% embracing my beastliness and I hope you’ll join me.

Just come on over to the dark side. We have an army of anthropomorphic cleaning supplies, some gargoyles, a depressing rose to help you count the days to eternity, and very low expectations. You’re more than welcome…just don’t set foot in the West Wing.

Reentry

We recently got home from a week of camping. We were completely off the grid, no cell reception, limited chargers. We spent our days taking long hikes and our nights eating too many s’mores and trying to scare the kids by pretending to be the Wood Booger (my husband’s new favorite term for Sasquatch).

We watched meteors and consulted our nature guide to identify plants and critters, lost two footballs and almost one frisbee to the poison ivy infested border of the campground, and ventured out once to get soft serve from a place that had 25 flavors that all sort of tasted like banana. Bummer for the kid who ordered peppermint. It was heaven.

Coming home from camping is always so hard for me. There’s the depressing tasks of cleaning and putting away all the gear, tackling the laundry, bathing the filthy children, and getting back in touch with the “real world.” It’s really kind of awful any time we do it, but this year I’ve been particularly tender. 2020 on brand, for sure.

As we exited the winding, hilly roads and headed back toward the highway, one of the kids got carsick. He just felt so gross and got sick a couple of times, poor buddy. I felt that way emotionally. The farther we got from camp and closer to civilization, the more icky I felt. Plugging back in after spending a week away from social media and news headlines hurt my heart, but not in a way I’d have expected.

Two years ago we spent a week in Shenandoah National Park and I cried when we left because my heart was just broken for love of the place and I hated leaving such beauty. This time, I could literally feel my heart tighten up as the text messages and Instagram notifications started rolling in. My heart hardened into bitterness, comparison, judgement, anxiety, fear, and despair as I registered each new bit of communication that came at me: a friend’s mother-in-law passed away, pals in a group text tried to make sense of the requirements for returning to our Catholic school, a close friend updated me about an awesome estate sale that I missed. I was tagged in a ton of homeschool giveaways, targeted for ads selling books all the good homeschool mamas have to read. There was more rioting in Portland and Seattle, my sister is moving, my mom has feelings about that. I was inundated with examples of how everyone is setting up their homeschool rooms. My kids’ scout leaders need to know asap if we’re going to be part of the troops this year, some are in-person while some are virtual, so I need to sort through that, and also plasma might help fight the pandemic, and politics still suck.

It just all rolled in at once and I immediately curled inward like an angry, spiteful hermit crab who just found a bigger, stronger shell to haul all the negativity around in. Y’all, I don’t want to live like that. I don’t want to be hardened by the world, spending my time feeling defensive, worried that I’m not measuring up, that I’m not doing enough, and withdrawing into harshness and judgement as a defense mechanism when I feel threatened and overwhelmed by the world. That’s no way to operate and that’s certainly not what God has planned for me, for us.

Because the truth is, when I allow myself to become hardened like that, I’m choosing sin over grace. Every time I let myself settle into the comforting embrace of quick anger, harsh language, judgement of the other, dehumanization, and despair, I’m choosing my humanity over the mercy of a Savior who died for it all. I’m choosing to put my eggs into the basket of fear, to spend my time compulsively checking to see if I’m measuring up to the standards set forth by a broken system, and offering my life on the altar of social norms rather than allowing Christ to sustain me.

Behold, you desire true sincerity; and secretly you teach me wisdom.

Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be pure; wash me and I will be whiter than snow.

You will let me hear gladness and joy; the bones you have crushed will rejoice.

Turn away your face from my sins; blot out all my iniquities.

A clean heart create for me, God; renew within me a steadfast spirit.

Do not drive me from before your face, nor take from me your Holy Spirit.

Restore to me the gladness of your salvation; uphold me with a willing spirit.

Psalm 51:8-14

A friend asked me how our trip went and I confided in her how overwhelmed and tender I felt upon coming home. She immediately reminded me to ease in, not to do too much too fast. I think that’s so wise.

We need to give ourselves and each other the benefit of gentle time. There is so much to care about, so much hurt in our world, so many atrocities and injustices demanding our attention. All of those things are indescribably important. We’re called to care, to speak up, to pray, and to work for justice, but we’re not going to do anyone any good if the change we’re working for comes from a place of bitter, hard-heartedness.

My prayers today were for the Lord to soften my heart, that He would give me a heart of flesh in place of my heart of stone.

Lord, work great transformation in us, Break us, crush our bones, and build us ups again to glorify you. Break our hearts for what breaks yours. Open our eyes to your truth, to the beauty we squander when we forsake you. Reveal yourself to us and make us new creations through the living sacrifice of your Son.

When I went out to replenish groceries after our trip, I randomly visited the Adoration chapel. It was the first time I’ve been there since March. I was completely alone. The Tabernacle was closed so that the Precious Body wasn’t exposed before an empty room and I stood at the back of the chapel for a split second before I practically ran to open the doors to see Jesus. I knelt before Him and just sobbed for everything and nothing, offering my broken heart to Him and reveling in the experience of being with Jesus after such a long time. I honestly struggle to find the words to describe it. It was a real “water in the desert” experience, a feeling that I’ve never encountered before, a profound sensation of coming home and having permission to just be held by the One who knows me and loves me anyway.

So, I’m back home. I’m home and broken by the beauty we left behind, broken for the world we’re living in, and broken by gratitude for the God who breaks my humanity in order to build a stronger foundation in Him. Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like yours.

I’m an Addict and So Are You

So, addictions are fun, huh? It’s so interesting to me how things that seem innocuous can somehow sneak into our hearts and set up shop. Whether it’s alcohol, shopping or, in my case, social media and food, these things walk right in and start selling their wares.

I’ve been struggling with my consumption a lot lately. I can’t stop myself from taking in garbage, compulsively filling my body and mind with substances that don’t nourish and ultimately leave me feeling dissatisfied and emptier than before.

They really sell it, though. My addictions are so compelling when they tell me that they hold the secrets to finding peace and comfort. The dopamine hit that I get from scrolling Reddit and Instagram combine with the hit I get from secretly eating three pieces of cold pizza after everyone else is in bed and it is comforting…for a moment.

And then the moment passes.

What my addictions hide in the fine print is the immediate shame, regret, and hunger for more that comes like tsunami completely wiping out the comfort. But then the cycle repeats because it’s just so easy. I know feeding my addictions won’t ultimately satisfy my needs, but gosh they’re so tangible and approachable. Scrolling for hours or stuffing my face with garbage candy are tangible things I can do and those things are so much easier to approach than taking time to wrestle with my confusing emotions.

I’m such a slave to the quick fix. I want results now. I want answers now. I want conflict resolution now rather than waiting and giving myself time to accept my reality, take stock of my emotions, trace them back to their roots, and consciously identify next steps. That crap takes forever and I don’t have time for it (read: I won’t take time for it), so I scroll and fill my mind with unhappy news, angry comment boxes, and fuel myself with comparison. And when that makes me feel like crap (because it always does), I root through my son’s leftover birthday candy or eat a half a jar of olives and hope it does the trick. Spoiler alert: it does not do the trick. Ever.

And y’all, I don’t know the answer to all of this. Lots of people have studied addictions and written amazing books and I’m working on reading some of them. I think the answer is as individual as the addict and I think that for me it’s a combination of prayer, self-awareness, doing hard emotional work, therapy, grace, conversations with people I love and trust, and lots of do-overs. Also taking part in the sacraments of Holy Eucharist and Reconciliation help, too.

Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com

I was journaling and praying about all this this morning and I remembered an old quote. It’s the one that gets used a lot with school kids usually in reference to thinking before you speak. There are lots of versions, but the one that came to my mind goes like this:

Is it kind, is it necessary, is it true, does it improve upon the silence?”

Sai Baba

It occurred to me that this list of questions isn’t just a good model to follow regarding our speech, but also in how we conduct ourselves, how we treat our bodies, how we use our time, how we treat our earth, etc. So let’s take for example my struggle with food addiction.

Is it Kind? Is this thing I’m about to put into my body kind? Is it going to support my performance, help me grow in the ways I want to grow? Is this food/drink chemically supportive of my body or will it hurt me? Is this a treat that will genuinely hit the spot or is it a treat that will cause me to feel shame later? Just like I learned in college, any relationship you have to keep a secret is probably not a good one…and that goes for food, too.

Is it Necessary? Am I really hungry right now or am I eating for another reason? If so, it is more necessary for me to take care of the real root of my hunger than to numb it with food. Is this food necessary for my body to work properly, or is it an unnecessary snack that will hurt me? Is it really necessary for me to eat the appetizer/birthday cake/have the second helping or is this an opportunity for me to find a different way to celebrate or find contentment and peace elsewhere? Conversely, am I waiting to eat for a good reason? Am I pushing my body into deep hunger because I’m “busy” or punishing myself for yesterday’s choices? Would it be wiser to take the time to fuel my body now rather than pushing on and potentially making poor choices later?

Is it True? Is this food what it claims to be? Is it secretly full of junk or hiding stuff in it that doesn’t align with my goals? Is this food telling me that I’ll feel better after I eat it, even when I know that that’s false? Have I made this food into a false god or am I consuming it for what it is, just a food that exists. If it causes me to fall into a place where I am harming my body/mind and putting my confidence/comfort into that food, it’s not true to my morals, so best to skip it.

Does it Improve Upon the Silence? Will eating this food or at this particular moment improve my life? Will I truly benefit from consuming it or will it cause me to stray into a place that I don’t want to go? Is this desire to fill myself up with something come from a place of physical hunger or do I need to check in with myself or someone I trust to deal with the real hunger I’m feeling?

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

This is all easier said than done, obviously. But, guys, we’re all addicted to something. We’re all guilty of using something to numb the pain or uncomfortable feelings that inevitably come from life. These things usually aren’t dangerous in and of themselves (But sometimes they are…I mean, porn and drugs are pretty much never going to be helpful). However, it’s our relationship to these things that makes them dangerous. It’s so easy for us to fool ourselves and pretend that the thing we’re abusing isn’t as bad as all that. But if we’re dependent upon something other than God for comfort or coping, we need to be very honest with ourselves about what that says about the state of our hearts.

Maybe you think I’m overly sensitive or projecting my own stuff onto you and you’re welcome to think that. That may be the case…but I kind of doubt it.

If the only thing you post on social media is “funny” memes about how much you’re drinking or how much alcohol you need to “survive” your regular life, maybe you need to take a look at whether or not those jokes are actually funny or if you’re using humor to deflect a real problem.

If you’re buying yourself an extra treat at the grocery store and scarfing it down in the car so your family doesn’t know you ate it, you need to examine why that’s a behavior your engaging in.

If you’re spending too much money on Amazon and blaming it on the pandemic, you need to ask yourself what it is you’re trying to cover up with all those boxes on your porch.

If you’re secretly surfing porn at night and can’t stop yourself, you need to figure out what’s at the root of that void you’re trying to fill.

If you’re spending hours and hours staring at your phone, closing and reopening the same apps over and over, maybe it’s a good idea to examine your heart and see what it is that you’re trying to escape from.

This work is hard. It’s a long road and it’s lonely at times. Confronting our addictions forces us to confront ugliness in our hearts and that’s never pleasant. I’m no expert and I certainly don’t have my own addictions whipped, but I do know that being open and honest about who I am and where I’m at takes away the power that shame tries to wield over me.

At the end of the day, I struggle with food and social media addiction. That’s just the truth of it. But the other more important truth that I cling to is that I am beloved by my Lord. My addictions and struggles are an opportunity to grow in holiness. They can sanctify me if I let them. My addictions are actually crosses that can lead me to Christ if I allow them to transform me rather than control me.

One day at a time, my friends. You are loved exactly as you are exactly where you are.

Food Blogger: Our Meal Schedule

Umm…has anyone else forgotten to feed their kids lunch lately? Just me? Kewl.

So, we’re on all sorts of a weird Covid schedule. Like, I don’t know when bedtime really is and breakfast is definitely on a sliding scale. As I type this it is 2:15 pm and I have not fed my children lunch. Honestly, they haven’t even snacked. I’m chalking this up to the big breakfast they had at 9:45.

Gracious, what has become of us? I mean, obv Covid has become of us and I, for one, am growing as an individual and as a human. (They’re not necessarily the same thing.) So, I’m happy to announce that since I’ve got the fashion and pet blogging niche markets down, I will now begin my foray into food blogging. You. are. welcome. I shall start with a little run down on our eating schedule since so many stay at home parents need help in that area and because I am an influencer.

Lately, our meal schedule looks like the following:

Around 6:30 AM the kids wake up and putter around while I sleep in a bit because somebody had a bloody nose in the night. I have no idea if they eat during this time, but I assume they don’t since they eventually wake me up by asking for food.

Between 8:30-9:30 we have some sort of a combination of cereal, yogurt, fruit, and/or leftover brownies and pizza (because Covid, and summer, and I don’t care).

Some days I am Mary Poppins and we eat homemade muffins, scones, or pancakes outdoors while we are serenaded by songbirds and I read a book aloud.

Most days are not those days.

So, the breakfast cereal holds us over for approximately 20 minutes and then we have some sort of brunch, or second breakfast, or what have you. Like, today I made scrambled eggs and sausage and cheese all mixed together which was great because it totally filled them up. I mean, we can just go ahead and call that a “breakfast scramble” and pretend that we could potentially put vegetables in it and we’ve got ourselves a Pinterest situation, am I right? I’m too lazy to stage a photo of that slop, but if you do please pin it and send it my way.

Aaaanyway, that protein packed meal did the trick so well that nobody wanted to eat lunch. Like, I offered and they declined. More appropriately, I forgot about lunch until I looked at my watch, saw it was past 2 pm, and frantically asked the kids if they needed to eat. They assured me that they did not and went right back to playing Animal Crossing.

Now, I’m no fool, so there’s no way I asked twice. Speak up or forever snack on stale couch pretzels is what I say.

Around 4:45 pm starts the grumbling and snack sneaking. Today I discovered that the youngest had been secretly helping himself to chocolate granola bars even though I cut him off after two. I have no idea how many he actually consumed, but it’s safe to say he doesn’t need to worry about being regular anytime soon.

Snack sneaking also coincides with the exact moment I start preparing dinner. This is so they can fill up on garbage while I’m distracted and then not eat what I cook. It’s cool. It’s fine. I actually love it. Totally great, not bitter at all.

Let’s also sneak in a moment here to talk about how I’m a pretty not bad cook, but my specialty is winter food. I specifically excel at one pot meals. What this basically looks like in practice is that even though it’s summer and it’s humid and gross and the world feels like a sweaty sports bra, I usually lose track of time and then end up rushing to cook dinner…so we end up eating some sort of one pot thing that can be served over rice or noodles. I realize that heating up the kitchen isn’t wise, but I’m good at making slop is what I’m saying. And also, can’t stop won’t stop.

‘Slop’ may be a harsh term. My husband likes to call it ‘gravy.’ So, what I’m saying is, I’m good at making various delicious gravies and feeding them to my family on a bed of starch or carb. Guys, I know chicken curry, picadillo, and whatever homemade version of Hamburger Helper I manage to throw together all sound exotic, but let’s face it. I’m making piping hot gravy every night and the fam is done. The other day, my husband very gently asked if I’ve ever considered maybe making BLTs or like a salad or something and I had to remind him that I am a chef with a blog following so he can just pipe down, thankyouverymuch.

So anyway, back to the schedule. The kids’ strategic refusal of dinner allows them to be hungry riiiight as they’re being tucked into bed, but joke’s on those suckers because I don’t play that game. Unfortunately, this means they’ll be hungrier earlier in the day the following morn, which really cuts into my sleep time, but c’est la vie.

So there you have it, a foolproof method for keeping your family happy and healthy…or at least fed and out of your hair so you can scroll Instagram in peace. I’m available if any of y’all need me to show you how to keep your kiddos on a solid meal schedule for the summer months and beyond because what is time anymore?

It’s such a simple schedule, really. All you have to do is remember the core goals: procrastinate your meal prep and ignore all sense of a time. I really recommend ignoring the entire space/time continuum, but that’s just because I’m a Michelin star level procrastinator type chef.

Also, neglecting to stock the pantry with any real food is a great technique that fosters inventiveness and helps kids tap into that old hunter/gatherer spirit. We’ve really lost that in our comfortable life of modern ease and I think it’s incredibly important to teach kids self reliance. I particularly love to keep the kids alive by creating meals out of broken spaghetti, hot dogs, a can of mushrooms, and some Jello that’s not quite set. Shoot, you can just go ahead and call that college prep and now we’re really cooking!

So, keep it tuned right here for more helpful tips for your Covid living. If you’d like to request any specific advice on how to just absolutely ace your life right now, feel free to leave me a comment and I’ll do my best. After all, it’s the very least I can do!

Decisions, Decisions

Well, everyone on the internet is talking about it. Everone’s plan for educating their children this school year is taking up quite a bit of bandwidth these days.

And as with everything 2020, this shiz is super polarizing.

Like, if you are considering homeschooling, you must obviously be anti-public school, and anti-teacher, and you probably don’t even appreciate what schools do for everyone, and guess what, now you have to fight Ms. Frizzle in a cage match because you’re such a horrible human.

Also, if you’re sending your kids back to school, I don’t even know how you sleep at night knowing that you’re offering your children up as actual sacrificial guinea pigs in the science experiment of life and you clearly don’t love them, you monster.

I am happy to say that, as for me and my house, we have come to a decision.

And because everything is so polarizing and high stress, I almost feel like we’re required to make an official announcement like LeBron did when he decided to take his talents to South Beach. Like, this is so high stakes clearly a serious announcement on tv is the way to go.

Do y’all remember when this happened?? It was maybe the single most awkward television interview I’ve ever seen. There was so much build up and it was so anticlimactic and disappointing for everyone in Cleveland and just indescribably cringy all the way around. Shudder.

So, obv I want to duplicate that in my own life.

Unfortunately for all of you lovely people, I could neither secure a television deal nor a Boys and Girls Club of America from which to film said tv special, so the ‘ol blawg will have to do.

Ahem.

I am pleased to announce that the Delagrange family will be taking our talents to……..the basement. And maybe the kitchen table. The backyard is also a possibility, weather permitting.

Yep. We’re going to homeschool for this school year and guess, what? Our reasons for making this decision really don’t matter. I mean, I’m happy to share our reasoning with anyone who genuinely cares, but y’all, it really does not matter.

You are not required to agree with me and I’m not required to agree with you. Our families are different, our needs are different, our hearts are different, and I guarantee we’re both doing our best. And that is enough. We do not need to agree with each other to love on and support one another.

Lemme say that a little louder for the people in the back: We do not need to agree with each other to love on and support one another.

I got this text from a friend the other day, and I 100% stand by my response. Mainly because she told me I’m smart, but also because I think I’m right and I’m not afraid to toot my own horn.

I hope y’all have a friend to text vent to…this is one of our less spicy text threads, I can assure you, and it is so delightful to spew my vitriol to a pal who won’t judge. So clearly my friend and I get a little heated when we’re texting. She does not hate everyone (all the time) and I don’t think everyone is dumb (all the time). But I think our strong feelings pretty accurately depict where we’re both at right now.

It is beyond frustrating to feel like every single decision is the wrong one. It is irritating and annoying to feel like every move we make regarding our family decisions are fodder for the judgement of others. It is exhausting to be constantly worrying, worrying, worrying about making the right choice only to open up to someone and have them poo-poo it like it’s the dumbest thing they ever heard.

I deeply believe that most people share opinions and advice because they’re seeking validation of their own choices. I see this with my doula clients all the time. People tell expectant mamas they absolutely must get an epidural or should absolutely never get one because they want someone to affirm that their own decision was the right one.

Guess what, that’s bull slaw.

Guys, there is space for all of the decisions.

I mean, if your plan is to lock your kid in the attic with a tablet and some Lunchables, I’m probably going to say maybe rethink that one. But otherwise, you need to do what’s best for your family. Your family. Not your neighbor’s family, not your cousin’s family, not your old maid aunt’s imaginary kids and family. Yours. That’s it.

And here’s another strong opinion to shake things up: If someone makes a decision that’s the opposite of yours, it does not mean your decision is wrong. It just means it was wrong for that other person. And newsflash, you can still be kind to someone who is making a choice that isn’t right for you. You can. I’ve tried and it works.

Guys, every single parent in the United States is feeling some sort of way right now. We are collectively stressed, worried, tired, and terrified we’re going to ruin our kids. It’s like a regular day of parenting only with the added perk of a global pandemic. We are all doing our best. My best is probably not the same as your best, and that’s okay. It matters much less how many people agree with my decision to homeschool than how many people feel seen, loved, valued, and supported.

I have friends who are planning to educate their kids in all sorts of different ways this year. I actually know one other person who is homeschooling for the same reasons I am and every single one of my best friends is doing something else. I’m pretty sure my very best friends all disagree with me on some Covid fundamentals, and we’re still friends.

It is pure foolishness to expect other families to make the same choices as mine. We’re all working with a supremely shitty situation and shaming, judging, and vomiting opinions at everyone will not help one single bit…

…which is why I’m done spouting my opinions all over the internet. Y’all, go be a good human. Do what’s best for your kids and give others the space to do what’s best for theirs. We’re all going to be just fine as long as we remember to treat each other with dignity and love. No matter what shape our kids’ education takes this school year, let’s let it be rooted in love, okay?

Got Toddlers? Read on for Your Official Free Pass!

Mamas of little children, listen unto me: You are doing enough. Let me say that again. You. Are dewing. E-nuff.

Here is how I know this. My youngest is about to turn five (sob, sob, but also happy dance, but sob) and whenever I hang out with friends who have mostly tiny babes I am exhausted. I don’t even live with those fools on a regular basis and they exhaust me. I got worn out just from FaceTiming with my nephew today and all he was doing was climbing in and out of a box.

I had four babies in five years (because efficiency) and I distinctly remember feeling like a failure all the time. My house wasn’t clean enough, we watched too much Daniel Tiger, I was never on top of laundry, and I could just never figure out why I couldn’t get ahead. It boggled my mind that my life wasn’t somehow manageable.

Let’s take a gander at this photo that popped up in my Facebook memories from five years ago, shall we? I was four hundred thousand years pregnant with my fourth baby. In July. My original caption was, “Should be cleaning, but here we are.” What kind of a ding-dong thinks she can clean anything with a toddler who can’t nap unless he’s touching her and her gigantic belly?? Also, I need y’all to recognize that I am wearing jeans in this photo. Lawd, what a fool I was. I haven’t worn jeans since March and I have “no regrats” as the kids say.

You wanna know why I couldn’t get ahead? Wanna know why things weren’t manageable? Because my children were like zero years old and spent all their time bouncing from suicide mission to suicide mission all damn day. Children under the age of five are helpless and also hell-bent on destroying the world. It’s what they do.

Guys, I have seen some shit. I have had the usual marker/flour/playdoh/glitter accidents, sure. But I’ve also had raw sewage flood my basement because a kid flushed a pair of his underwear like a psycho and clogged the pipe. T’was a delightful day.

There was a period of time when literally every surface of my house was covered in dirty diapers what somehow didn’t get thrown away. I’d find them under the couch and in the couch cushions and maybe if you come over, I wouldn’t recommend sitting on the couch is what I’m saying.

Also, that same undie flushing kid once wandered out of the house…in only a saggy diaper and a t-shirt…in February…and got picked up by a Good Samaritan and an off-duty detective all while my husband was helping a kid throwing up in the bathroom and I was taking the eldest to kindergarten.

Speaking of vomit, I’ve been awakened many a time by a child puking on my hair/pillow.

I have gone literal years without adequate sleep, struggling with the constant pressure of keeping the kids alive to see another day…or at least to see another opportunity to maim themselves and/or otherwise wreak havoc on the tri-state area.

And that wasn’t even during a pandemic. Back in the olden days when my kids were super little, I could at least take them to McDonald’s and lose the little gerbils in the play place for a minute while I collapsed in a corner and hoovered some fries with my bestie. Nowadays, there’s no escape for you guys and I genuinely feel bad. My heart is especially wounded for those who are legitimately trying to do actual work from home while the little dementors run around and tear shit up. Gracious, y’all are going to zip through purgatory, I’ll tell you what.

Anyway, I am on the other side of toddlerhood now and I need you to know that if you are a parent of tiny humans and you’re literally just surviving, that is enough. For real. Look at the big picture and take it all in. They are literally depending upon you to keep them alive, so if that’s the extent of what you accomplish in a day, then you my friend are the winner winner chicken dinner.

If anyone else’s coworkers acted the way yours do, they’d quit their dang job. Like, can you imagine someone working in an office having to deal with their coworkers constantly following them into the bathroom and demanding to know why they don’t have a penis? Or having a colleague who just randomly shoves their crumby hands down their boss’s shirt and asks for a snack? Or how about an employee who won’t stop rubbing boogers all over the cubicles and refuses to wear pants? That shiz would get shut down real quick, because it is a serious hindrance to productivity. But that’s just the office culture for parents of little kids and I think we need to ponder that a moment. Like, if that’s what your coworkers are doing on the reg, you get to cut yourself some slack for not wiping the crumbs off the table or scrubbing the toilet today.

So, anyway if you’re a parent at home with tiny humans and you’re feeling worn out, ineffective, and always behind, I hereby declare you excused from anything that’s not survival oriented. I have spoken. I said good day. So let it be written, so let it be done.

If you’d like this in writing, I am happy to create a printable certificate for you to frame. I’m not above that one little bit.

Now y’all go scatter some goldfish on the floor in front of the tv, give my regards to Daniel Tiger and Bluey, and take yourself a well-deserved nap. You’ve earned it. I swear.

Healing

In light of current events, I’ve been overwhelmed with emotion. I’ve often felt frightened, anxious, ashamed, convicted, angry, resentful, and confused. I’ve had a hard time making sense of things and have prayed for cunning eyes and the grace to see Truth amidst the many voices and headlines that seem to assault me every time I glance at my phone…which is basically every spare second of my time because I’m an addict. Working on it.

In response to that, I’ve been trying to be more disciplined about reading Scripture. Every day I try to start my morning by reading the day’s readings and devotions I subscribe to. I’ve been opening up my bible to read the scriptures in deeper context and to take time to really meditate on them instead of just reading them on my phone. It has been a life-giving practice.

I rarely have a hard time finding a way to connect with the day’s readings, but today the readings just gutted me. It was like they were written specifically for this very moment in history.

My eyes are spent with tears, my stomach churns; my bile is poured out on the ground at the brokenness of the daughter of my people, as children and infants collapse in the streets of the town.

They cry out to their mothers, “Where is bread and wine?” as they faint away like the wounded in the streets of the city, as their life is poured out in their mothers’ arms.

To what can I compare you – to what can I liken you – O daughter Jerusalem? What example can I give in order to comfort you, virgin daughter Zion? For your breach is vast as the sea; who could heal you?

Your prophets provided you visions of whitewashed illusion; they did not lay bare your guilt, in order to restore your fortunes; they saw for you only oracles of empty deceit.

Lamentations 2:11-14 NAB

Gracious, if that isn’t relevant. I’ve never really spent much time in Lamentations, because honestly it’s not very pleasant. I’m definitely guilty of seeking out scriptures of hope and promise and avoiding the uncomfortable ones. The introduction to Lamentations in my bible says, “…the reader is not so much engaged by the Book of Lamentations as assaulted by it.” I feel the same way about the news every dang day. “But with its unsparing focus on destruction, pain, and suffering the book serves an invaluable function as part of Scripture, witnessing to a biblical faith determined to express honestly the harsh realities of a violent world and providing contemporary readers the language to do the same (emphasis mine).

I think that’s where we are, friends. Or at least that’s where I am. I feel assaulted by the pain, horror, injustice, and evil in my country and overwhelmed by the fact that it comes from all sides. But I’m learning that I have to lean into the uncomfortable parts of life in order to grow. I have to examine my own heart, to identify my personal responsibility, look my sin in the face, and make it right. I’m heading to confession today.

I don’t understand the world. I don’t have all the answers and I have failed so many times. I feel pinned and inadequate, ill-equipped to grapple with the things going on in my country and paralyzed by the fear that whatever it is I do, it will never be “right” or “good enough.”

But here’s what I do know. Racism is a horror, an unequivocal sin, and a blight on our culture.

I also know that there’s a difference between justice and vengeance.

I know that we are all sinners and we are all deserving of mercy. Everyone.

I know that nothing will heal us but God, and that we’re not all called to fight injustice the same ways. But just as with the book of Lamentations, I am called to look sorrow and pain in the face and to listen. Everyone is allowed to feel their feelings, even if those feelings aren’t easy for me to understand or agree with. The only way forward for me is to push into the pain and to pray.

Cry out to the Lord from your heart, wall of daughter Zion! Let your tears flow like a torrent day and night; give yourself no rest, no relief for your eyes.

Rise up! Wail in the night, at the start of every watch; pour out your heart like water before the Lord: lift up your hands to him for the lives of your children, who collapse from hunger at the corner of every street.

Lamentations 2:18-19

Right now my heart feels like the Centurion in today’s gospel (Matthew 8:5-17): “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed.” I know that I am unable to heal anything on my own, unable to affect change without first being healed myself, without being radically transformed by Christ.

Healing is the central theme of the gospel and healing is what our world so desperately needs. Today in Matthew, Jesus heals the Centurion’s servant, Peter’s mother-in-law, and many more:

When it was evening, they brought him many who were possessed by demons, and he drove out the spirits by a word and cured all the sick, to fulfill what had been said by Isaiah the prophet:

‘He took away our infirmities and bore our diseases.’

Matthew 8:16-17

He’s here to heal us, friends. We’re never going to conquer evil or injustice or pandemics without looking into our hearts with humility and honesty, taking responsibility for our place in the world, and opening ourselves to the healing light of Christ.

We have to boldly seek truth, realizing that political leaders and organizers of movements may not be completely rooted in gospel truth, regardless of whichever cause they serve. We have to develop open hearts and cunning eyes, constantly checking in with Jesus. He must be the only one we serve, not politics, parties, or movements. To be clear, I’m not advocating that we take no action but rather that we carefully discern which organizations and individuals we support rather than being swept away by every social media post we see that has an eloquent quote (something I am guilty of). We have to do our research before we align ourselves with anything or anyone.

Healing starts with recognizing the belovedness and inherent dignity in each and every person, even those who seem the most evil and ugly to us. We are called to serve justice with mercy and reconciliation. We are required to take responsibility for our actions, even if that means admitting we were wrong. We have to work out our salvation with fear and trembling, leaning into the discomfort and hiding ourselves in the wounds of Jesus.

Here is the prayer of my heart:

Lord Jesus, you know our hearts, where they are aching, consumed by anxiety, gripped with fear, where they are hurt, wounded, and hardened. You know all the places we store up little hopes. You know our wants and needs and all the false gods we turn to. Give us the grace to turn to you today. Lord, bolster us where we feel weak, weary, and worried.

Jesus, heal our hearts. Bind up those things in us that rebel against you. Purify us and give us hearts of flesh in place of our hearts of stone.

Father, give us eyes to see you at work in our lives, hearts that break over what breaks yours. Give us ears to hear you speaking directly to us and the humility and obedience to serve you.

Reveal yourself to us, Lord, in every person we meet. Remove our blinders that we might see belovedness all around us.

Jesus, this world is broken. We are broken. Draw us to you and comfort us at your breast. Help us to recognize you offering yourself to us and give us the grace and fortitude to offer ourselves back to you.

Amen

Welcome to My TED Talk

Y’all. My husband came home last night and after spending a few minutes casually filling him in about my day, that man accused me of being chatty.

Chatty.

Me.

I just cannot.

I mean, in all actuality I’m pretty sure some variation of “chatty” was written on, like, all of my report cards. And also, I do love to chat. My mother-in-law insists that there’s some sort of phenomenon in which I will run into someone I know and become engaged in small talk regardless of the location we happen to be in. She’s not wrong. The last time we were at Disney World I ran into a former co-worker from Ohio. True story. I admit am a notorious conversationalist…and by ‘conversationalist’ I mean that I like to talk a lot because I’m an extrovert the end.

But, y’all, after months and months of quarantine and social distancing, I have to admit I’ve turned into a bit of a monster. I just can’t help it. For an outgoing and social person, times are tough. I am literally never around another adult for the majority of the week, so I have had to take matters into my own hands.

Which is why I am making a friendship bracelet for the nice receptionist who helped me schedule a well-visit for one of the kids. We’re best friends now.

I added a post to my Insta-stories the other day about how excited I was to talk to my new receptionist BFF on the phone AND get an actual appointment on the calendar. I’ve finally got something to live for and I am literally counting the days till August when I get to see my pal in person at the check in desk. I got a chorus of feedback from that post, so I know I’m not the only one in this state of social desperation. Ok, there was, like, one person who responded to my pathetic excitement over scheduling a well-visit, but we are totally in this together.

And I do totally know what my Walmart cashier did for Father’s Day. Toni has five kids (four boys and a girl) and sixteen grandkids and that woman hosted them all at her house for Father’s Day. It was wild, but so wonderful and gosh do those kids eat a lot. (We laugh together knowingly as she scans my watermelon.) She even watched a few of those grandkids for three days last week and she’s kind of glad to be back at work just so she can have a break! Also, Toni is a dedicated double-bagger, wears her mask properly, and has lovely eyes. I can’t wait to see her when she’s here for Christmas. Do y’all think it’s too early for me to be picking out our matching holiday pajamas or am I good?

I can’t pretend that I haven’t always been the type of person who talks to their cashier, but gracious desperate times call for desperate measures. A few weeks ago my friend, Diane, was driving down my street and pulled over real quick to chat since she saw me hanging out in my front yard, (ie desperately scanning the horizon for any human with which to connect). When she pulled away forty-five minutes later, I felt like Jane Seymour in Somewhere in Time when Christopher Reeve gets sucked back into the future just because he found that dumb penny in his pocket. Obviously this is a worthless comparison if you’ve never seen the movie, but for the four of you who have, I know you get me.

Come back to me…

Anyway, this is all to say that if you happen to see me out and about…you should probably just go ahead and buy a lottery ticket because I only go out like once a week and if you see me during that hour then you, my friend, have certainly hit the jackpot. And if you do see me while you’re buying said lottery ticket, I am happy to help you pick your numbers. Odds are I’ve already quizzed everyone within a twelve foot radius of me about their lucky lotto numbers and we’ve just finalized plans for New Years.

It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all good. I’m just over here making friends one week at a time and talking my husband to death the second he gets home…which would explain the long hours he’s been working. This is my life now, though, and my yapping can’t be stopped. I’m not even a little bit sorry because extroverts gotta extrovert Covid be damned.

Alright, thank you all for coming to my TED talk on how much I talk. There will be another one in approximately four minutes titled, “Interpreting Spousal Sighs: How to Ignore Them and Get Your Point Across,” followed by, “My Kids Won’t Shut Up: How to Get a Word in Edgewise.”

House Rules

Y’all, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable here, but I put on real pants today, pants with buttons and a zipper, and they fit. In the spirit of that level of success and productivity, I thought I’d take the time to write down my updated list of house rules.

Previously, I’d say that our house rules were pretty normal. My demands are usually fairly minimal, stuff like “don’t jump on the couch,” “muddy shoes belong on the mat,” “don’t bring slugs indoors,” that sort of thing. But, as with most things these days, I’ve come to realize that our house rules need a little bit of a revamp.

Below you’ll see the letter I’ve written to the darling cherubim I like to call my children. Please feel free let me know if you’ve got any ideas for additions or revisions.


Dear Offspring: As I’m sure you know, times they are a-changing. Therefore, I have updated our house rules. I’m sure you’ll agree that this is long overdue, as I have heard your repeated protests and observed your continual opposition. Today, you’ll be pleased to know that I have heard you and your demands are reflected in policy changes below. Please review the proposed legislation, which follows. Thank you for your continued support in keeping our home a haven of rest, serenity, and joy for many years to come.

  • Do what you want with the couch. Go ahead and jump, climb, slide, destroy, and ruin that thing…I’ve accepted the fact that its demise is near.
  • Just put the shoes anywhere. I’m tired of hearing myself speak pointless reminders into the empty, echoing void.
  • All future arguments will be settled by trampoline cage match. Just sort it out amongst yourselves. You know where the bandaids are.
  • If you could just kind of attempt to clean your teeth, we can call it good. Just try. Do it for me and the people living in the tri-state area who can smell your stench.
  • If you are tempted to tattle on someone, please refer to #3.
  • Just use the screens. I don’t have it in me to police screen time anymore. Give my regards to Mario and the Koopas. Good luck with your turnips and I hope you catch a red snapper who’s looking pretty dapper. I’m out.
  • If you can keep living insects out of the bathroom, that’d be cool, but I understand the deep desire to bring the outside in. Let’s just avoid the ones with stingers, shall we?
  • Go on ahead and just scatter those LEGOs like party confetti. I’ve become accustomed to navigating the house as though I’m traversing minefield and I rather enjoy the challenge of charting a new potentially pain-free path through the living room every morning. If I ever find one, I’ll let you know!
  • Feel free to partake in wrestlin’, wrasslin’, wranglin’, tanglin’, tumblin’, bumblin’, or any other form of fisticuffs while you’re upstairs. I accept the fact that your fighting will eventually bring the ceiling fan in the kitchen down upon me. ‘Tis inevitable.
  • You’ve got open access to the nail polish, the stove, and the lawn mower. Again, you know where the bandaids are.
  • Essentially, kids, the house is yours. I formally surrender to the fact that I am a mere observer of the real-life Lord of the Flies reenactment that my life has become and I shall sharpen my pike as a sign of unity with your new form of government…
  • HOWEVER, No child shall eat, breathe, or make any manner of mouth noises anywhere near my person. If there is a youngster in the tri-state area who is partaking of foodstuffs and I can audibly hear the consumption of said food, I will flip my actual lid. I can handle all of the other annoyances for they are minor in comparison. But if I hear another child noisily masticate a graham cracker right in my ear, I am out. Totally not kidding, Imma check myself into a hotel and y’all are on your own. Good luck, you know where the bandaids are.
  • And while we’re at it, if the rare occurrence happens in which I am granted the opportunity to sit and eat my own meal, y’all better not touch my body. Me sitting down to eat is not the signal for you to climb into my lap, hang on my arm, or violently lay your entire body across my back. It is not the time, younglings. Not. The. Time.
  • In conclusion, my food is the same as your food. Actually, it’s probably just a collection of cast off scraps that I’ve pillaged and gathered from your plates. Contrary to popular belief, my meals are comprised mainly of the food you refuse to eat. Do you remember that food you loved yesterday that I foolishly assumed you’d eat again today? Anyone recall that old favorite from days of yore that you can’t bear to eat ever again? It doesn’t magically become different food when I scrape it from your pitiful plate of refusal onto a different plate which is then placed in front of me. When my plate is full of these outcast foods, it’s still the same food, so please don’t try to steal it from me. It is still the cheese I sliced incorrectly or the third helping of meat you demanded and then realized you couldn’t eat. It’s not miraculously more delicious than when you had a chance to eat it, so just let me eat it in peace. It’s all I’ve got and I just want to eat undisturbed.

Sincerely yours,

Your devoted mother


At the time of publication, I literally used the phrase, “Don’t put that sheep in your pants,” so I suppose that’s getting added to the list.

Rest and Rise

I recently reached the point in the ‘ole pandemic in which I was crying in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I mean…if you’re not crying in the Wal-Mart parking lot, are you even coronavirus-ing?? The tl:dr version is that I hit a wall.

The long version is that it was the first day of our weekend. My husband had worked yet another 60+ hour work week, and while I am eternally, eternally grateful that he’s still got a job, his working so much means I’m home alone with the kids. Again, I am so grateful but it’s hard. (Yet another of life’s strange truths: you can be indescribably thankful for something and also be completely over it.)

I started the day tender, emotional, and testy. I eventually set out to do my once a week apocalyptic Wal-Mart run, which was awful because Wal-Mart and also extra awful because pandemic. Ugh. The register was possessed and either wouldn’t scan things or inexplicably scanned things that weren’t even near it. Not kidding, a package of graham crackers was ghost scanned like ten times, so the poor cashier had to void that out and then move on to peppers that wouldn’t scan at all. The whole experience was trying, made extra frustrating by the fact that I got home and realized I had left two bags at the store.

I took it really well. (Please see: lying liar who lies.)

After I finished teaching the kids new curse words (let’s be honest, reviewing the word’s we’ve been working on for the last few weeks), I set in to fight with my husband who was being nice to me. He foolishly offered to help me, perhaps forgetting that I am a native Texan born and bred and also the clone of my mother and don’t nobody try to help me when I need it thankyouverymuch. It was one of those moments when I knew I was completely in the wrong and I needed to shut up and be humble enough to accept help, but I just couldn’t get my dumb self to do it. Lawd.

So I found myself crying in the Wal-Mart parking lot, texting a dear friend who replied, “I feel like that so often. Cry it out is my theory. Don’t block the feeling because this f*$%&@! sucks.” And ain’t that just the perfect truth? So I cried at Wal-Mart and went in to get my stuff and kept on moving forward, which is just kinda where we’re all at these days. (As an aside, can I just say that masks work real well to hide the fact that you’ve been crying in the parking lot, a perk I wasn’t expecting when this whole mask thing began. So there’s a little silver lining.)

I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. Trying to piece together why I’m wound so tight, finding it so hard to cope some days. Even my (completely patient and not stubborn like me) mother told me yesterday that she, a retired person, feels inordinately stressed, rushed, and busy. She’s been making masks for folks, perfecting her pattern and sending them off to friends and family who need them, but other than that her daily life hasn’t changed all that much. She lives in a rural area in Texas that sort of forces her to isolate just due to geography. Mom and I agreed that, regardless of our life situation, there’s a pervading sense of urgency to everything we’re doing these days that seeps into our consciousness. The fact that we’re always at home doesn’t affect this pressure at all. We’re collectively operating under a sustained high level of stress, like some sort of twisted carpe diem that urges us to hustle and do “enough” while we’re effectively forced to tread water. What a time to be alive.

Separated from the Sacraments, unable to do my weekly holy hour in Adoration, I’ve found myself becoming increasingly more prickly. I’ve allowed myself to settle into the mindset that I have to do things myself, my wellbeing is dependent upon my actions, I’ve got to pull myself up by my bootstraps, and it is through my own power that I will forge on ahead into the new normal, as they say.

I realize that this is clearly not due to separation on God’s part, for He is nothing if not constant. This change in attitude is due to my own weakness and sin. I’ve allowed my grief to build up walls in my heart. We’ve lost so much and I think it’s normal for our defense mechanisms to spring up. Perhaps you’re finding that, like me, you’ve become critical, prickly, and judgmental when you desperately desire to be gentle, open, loving, and free.

While this response is normal, it’s never satisfying, at least for me. The walls I put up on my heart always end up being constricting and the “control” I create is stifling and suffocating, certainly not freeing like I intend. I find that my version of “in control” often ends up looking more like paranoia and a vice grip on the steering wheel rather than the confidence and peace I’m really searching for.

The truth is, of course, that nothing I manufacture for myself will ever satisfy. The deeper truth is in the resurrection, the truth that every death I experience is a new beginning and Jesus is deeply present in both. Right now we’re in an ongoing new beginning that seems to stretch on in an eternity of unknowns. We have laid so much down, been required to offer up, sacrifice, let go, and take away. It hurts, this death of our previous lives. It hurts deeply. But after death there is always resurrection. Christ is present in it all consistently redeeming it with His endless mercy and grace. In a reflection over at Blessed is She, Kelsey Dassance says, “Let us rest and rise in His invitation to grace. Let’s live for eternal life.”

Rest and rise. I love that.

Guys, we can rest in grief. We can let ourselves be sad and cry in the Wal-Mart parking lot. We can take a moment and feel the weariness and acknowledge the fear. But we are an Easter people, are we not? We get to live the truth of the resurrection every single day. It is only in claiming that truth that we can make peace with where we’re at.

Claim the truth of the resurrection every moment of every day. That which has been killed, the places we’re laid low, the dead ends, the broken backs, the space where we’re just done…that’s where He is. Christ is right there waiting to hold space with us, be near us in our woundedness and redeem it all. Each ending, however large or inconsequential it may seem, is an opportunity to receive Him. The key, I think, is in laying down our will and taking up His. Christ specifically said,

“…I came down from heaven not to do my own will, but the will of the one who sent me. And this is the will of the one who sent me, that I should not lose anything of what he gave me, but that I should raise it on the last day.”

John 6:37-40

Guys, whether we’re grouchy, afraid, crying at the Wal-Mart, or lashing out when others offer us help, now is the time to rest and to rise. Now is the time to live the truth of the resurrection over and over and over again, as many times a day as we need. Jesus is constantly working, constantly moving, always redeeming and raising us up in every single dead space we experience. But we have to claim it. We have to open our prickly, grouchy, fear filled hearts, rest in Him and rise in His truth.

And as a caveat, let me remind you that we’re not required to rise and seize the day and come out of all this like perfectly transformed butterflies with new business ideas, angelic children, and the recipe for world peace. Shit, we don’t even have to have mastered foamy coffee or sourdough. We’re simply called to rest and rise in Christ. And when we rise, let us rise in the deep truth of our identity: that we were created from love and created to love. Let that be our transformation, to love others and ourselves through the gentle, redeeming eyes of a Savior who’s been there.

Rest and rise today, my friends. You are indescribably precious and loved.