It's Hard, But He's Harder - Solid Rock In Fact.

My husband begins his last semester of grad school tomorrow. And will work on completing 100 hours of internship. He works a full-time job. And is in the process of scouting for policy jobs.

He's a father and husband too.

We're insane.

I'm reminded of the truth that the darkest part of the night is right before dawn. I'm anticipating an all-and-all out sprint to the finish over the next several months, a testing of endurance like none other in our lives because, can I just say? This is hard.

"Hard" has become my go-to description word. When someone asks me (REALLY asks me and CARES about an honest answer) how I'm doing it - balancing the craziness and being a single mother a few days a week, working part-time, managing my household, and so on - all I can really say is, it's hard. I feel tired, pretty much all the time. Layers and layers of exhaustion. (This is why I believe in the power of make-up. And coffee.)

Sometimes, I find myself just pissed. And I can't always put a finger on why. (hormones, maybe?) Mostly, I think it's just life right now. A new friend recently put the mother-of-an-infant-angst into these words, "What are you going to do? Be mad at the baby? No, so you just get mad at everything else." And it's so true. (but sometimes I admit, I DO get mad at the baby. 'SLEEP, DAMN IT!' *ducks*)
I know, I know. My kids are healthy and beautiful and I have everything I ever wanted. I get that. I appreciate that and thank God for those things every day.

This is still hard. We are still so, so tired. Our marriage is more like two trains passing in the night. Date Night's so easily become business meetings and sex? Well, we try. *yawn*

Michael and I talked about hope recently. It's what gets us through. In four months, these times will be distant memories and a new chapter will begin. A wonderful, new beginning, somewhere in this grand world... All we need to do is hope for it. Keep our eyes on it. Follow the course and not waiver in our resolve to finish, and finish well.

But, it's hard. It's hard to hope in the unseen when you're in the midst of the day-to-day grind. We need something tangible to plant our feet in, to hold us in place when the waves of exhaustion and marital disagreements and parental confusion seeks to knock us down and distract us from the end just in sight. We need Jesus.

It's only in the arms of our Savior that we can endure. Yes it's hard. But He's harder - made of solid rock, a sure foundation. I don't know what we'd do without the stability of our faith.

Psalm 62
Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from him.
Truly he is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken...
My salvation and my honor depend on God: he is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge...
One thing God has spoken, two things I have heard: “Power belongs to you, God, and with you, Lord, is unfailing love”; and, “You reward everyone according to what they have done.”

A Breastmilk Kinda Grace

People keep asking how breastfeeding is going. And I keep shrugging and saying, fine. Because most of the time, I've noticed people don't want my often lengthy responses. That, or they're just being polite. Or they're what I call part of the Breastfeeding Nazi Regime and I'm scared to say anything considered "breastfeeding irreverent." (lest I get called the anti-Christ for not thinking it's the best thing ever.) The truth is, I did not think I would breastfeed for even three months. I told myself just to make it to Christmas and then re-evaluate (Selah's three month birthday).

Let me be honest, formula IS easier sometimes. Babies sleep longer stretches on formula, other people can feed them so they're not so dependent on mother (which I think makes them friendlier - less separation anxiety). You can tell EXACTLY how much they've eaten which is helpful in detecting when they are getting sick or in the midst of a growth spurt. There is no need for breast pads and there isn't nipple soreness or engorgement or dietary restrictions (caffeine & alcohol & tobacco products), etc...

There are however a plethora of reasons breast is best. The health benefits for infants are amazing, especially in these early months of life when they are just beginning to develop their own immune systems. And for mother, it's extremely helpful for weight loss. Also, it's free! And formula is expensive. Toward the end of Nico's one year on formula, we were dishing out $35 a week. That's like, more than I spend on wine! Lastly, when packing a diaper bag for a breastfed baby, there is no need to worry about water, pre-measured formula powder, liners, bottles, the right kind of nipple, etc... As long as I have my boobs, I'm set to go. (Though with my ever-forgetful mom-brain lately, I'm surprised I HAVEN'T somehow lost by own boobs...Though they're pretty hard to miss these days.)

So here I am, fulfilling my commitment to re-evaluate breastfeeding at Selah's three month mark. And much to my surprise (and probably the surprise of lots and lots of people who have listened to me boohoo about breastfeeding), I can't imagine NOT breastfeeding for many, many more months.

It's not just the practical reasons stated above that have helped me to come to this decision but I've discovered a few things about breastfeeding that have, in a sense, inspired me to continue.

First and foremost, it's only in America that we make breastfeeding so, so...oh, how do I say this?, F-ING HARD and COMPLICATED and TABOO, or otherwise, such an inconvenience. I used to think my entire life (socially & work-wise) would be altered by breastfeeding but that's just not true. After reading article and blog after article and blog, like this and this, I now realize there is no need to be so stressed about feeding in public or drinking alcohol or pumping, etc. Some of the over-sensationalized information we get here in the US is because doctors are FREAKED out by lawsuits so they tell us worst case scenario as if that's the norm. (Don't have a sip of alcohol or your breastfed baby will get drunk and die of liver disease.) And Americans in general are just ridiculous when it comes to breasts. (Must run for cover if you're out and need to breastfeed because a naked boob is EXTREMELY offensive to the general public.) But these kinds of exaggerations and stupid social norms are not based in truth or reality, so why would I govern my life around them? I won't. (Bottoms up and boobs out, baby!)

Secondly, although there are some annoying aspects of breastfeeding (being the ONLY one who can feed my baby, needing to pump 2x or 3x a day in my office, her strong preference of ME over anyone else to comfort her, greater challenges in getting her on a schedule) I quite enjoy the bonding, YES I SAID IT, the bonding it has created between us. She needs me, and I need her. It's a natural and healthy co-dependency that I am surprised I enjoy. Skin on skin, the snuggles and eye contact, the cooing of satisfaction and the release of endorphins. I know, from a non-attachment parenting style mother, it's different for me to be so pro- ? whatever this is. I'm less rigid this time around, less baby wise. It's a whole new aspect of parenting that I am discovering with my girl! And I love it, similarly to how much I loved discovering that formula was the best way for me to parent Nico.

As a mother of two babies, my oldest being only 16 months, I am AMAZED and a little melancholy at how FAST time flies when it comes to raising children. Before I know it, my little baby girl will be a giant, mess-making, sippycup-demanding, stair-climbing, one year old monkey like my son. She will be off the boob and disinterested in snuggles. The little bunny-slipper, soft-cooing, sweet-breath baby window closes in the blink of an eye. So why not cherish it; every last nipple-sucking part of it (especially since it's going so well this time around)?

Lastly, I am sort of inspired and fascinated by what I am discovering about breastmilk/feeding and am learning some life lessons from this experience. For instance, the requirement to sit still and relax - forcing stress and worry to leave my mind in order to properly "let down" is live-changing! Everyone should learn how to make body, mind, and heart be at peace and rest and calm in an instant!

And did you know that breastmilk NEVER runs out? I could pump all my milk away and then feed her immediately after, and I'd let down again. Essentially, there is always enough for whatever she needs. And often, there is more than enough. Breast milk is like God's grace. Always sufficient and available and never-ending and renewed constantly. A supply given, on-demand. And the more it's used, the closer the taker is to the giver. This is the part of attachment-parenting I really believe in. I think God parents us this way. Kind of like, the more we sleep the more we sleep... The more Selah drinks, the more I have. The more we receive God's love and mercy and grace, the more we want of Him, the more He gives of Himself. Every person should know God's grace this intimately.

Please know, I still firmly believe in schedules and consistency and children sleeping in their own beds. I'm still me. I still adhere to some Baby Wise guidelines because I ALSO think God parents us this way too - with rules and boundaries and consistency. How I am with Selah vs. how I was with Nico is simply, different. Every child is different and should be parented accordingly.

So in conclusion, I'll set another goal and reassess in the spring. In the meantime, I just want to enjoy my baby and the breastmilk kinda grace she gives and takes and teaches me to live by.

Why Jesus Wants Me To Drink Alcohol

(A working title)

I know. I meant it to sound that way – shocking, obscure, maybe even a little irreverent. But I’m not actually joking. I really do believe Jesus wants me to drink alcohol.
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I grew up extremely sheltered. I listened exclusively to Christian music – but only the really conservative kind. (No, Amy Grant was not allowed. She sold her soul to the devil when she went “secular.”) I went to Christian School, learned catechisms and had to wear culottes. (cool-lots: a hideous type of skirt/short combo that covered naked knees – so not to cause men to lust.) In this type conservative Christian culture, swearing made you a bad Christian. Consuming alcohol meant you weren’t a true Believer. And premarital sex meant you were going straight to hell.

As soon as I could, I ditched the culottes, turned on some colorful hip-hop, and tried my best to partake in all of the rest of the illicit, naughty behaviors. I guess I just always felt that I had a pre-set reservation on AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. There was no measuring up. So why try? This type of religion required perfection and was utterly unattainable. And BORING. And not just boring, but pointless.

One time I was on an Evangelistic Crusade – a special mission focused week celebrated once a year. We were given tracks (Tracks: poorly made tri-folds with messages of hell and damnation) to distribute in neighborhoods and competed for prizes with who could win the most souls for the Lord. Yes, even us second graders. I so distinctly remember looking at the tract, looking at our outfits and knowing, just KNOWING – no one was going to buy into our message. We looked awful. We looked oppressed and sad and morbid. We weren’t relevant. Or fun. Or HAPPY! Even as a child I knew misery, judgment, and intolerance wouldn’t “sell.” Even as a child, I felt a real call to relate to people (to dress normal, laugh at jokes, and be NICE). I instinctively knew that this type of extreme religion was unappealing. And unreal. And just plain, inhuman.

It wasn’t until later, much later, that I encountered God the Father and began to walk with Jesus, to really know His love and to live in the spirit of His beautiful grace. After years of rebellion and grieving my imperfections, I came to realize something very, very profound and life-changing. Something that is also quite simple.

God calls us to live a life of balance. Moderation. And in so doing, we model so much of His heart and His life to those who stand on the fringes, without hope or faith.

For anyone who has known me longer than three years, you know moderation has not come easy for me. I’ve blurred the lines of appropriateness (and sobriety) on more than one occasion. There are a few main reasons for that, mostly my own sin and rebellious nature. I take full responsibility for my wrong doing. So what I’m about to say isn’t an excuse. It is however, a part-explanation.

I was never, ever modeled moderating. I was only modeled abstinence. No swearing, no denim (as a child born in the 80’s – can you imagine how HARD that was?), no kissing boys, no movie theaters, no swearing and NO ALCOHOL! (not even in cooking).

Instead of the condemning negative responses to all things stylish, cool, or fun – I wish a more moderate approach would have been modeled. After all, it IS possible to maintain morals without the extremes. It IS possible to wear a skirt above your knee and not be mistaken for a prostitute. It IS possible to go to a theater and not watch porn. It IS possible to have a few drinks and not get wasted. It is possible to go to a bar and maintain morality and engage in wonderful, life-giving, Spirit-breathed discussions.

Have I gone too far at times? Yes. In all things, frankly. Food included. (Don’t get me started on Christianity and food addiction) But simply because I CAN abuse alcohol, doesn’t mean I should never partake (and then make a bunch of rules as to why no one else should either). If I eat too much pizza, should I never eat again? Obviously, that’s ridiculous. Behavior isn’t corrected by NOT doing something. It’s curved and shaped by practice, effort, intentionality and grace.

So, here is why God wants me to drink alcohol. Not only is there something pretty relaxing that lends itself to honesty and transparency when a glass of wine is in hand and not only are there proven health benefits from wine and beer particularly but part of engaging people is being IN it with them (“in the world, but not of the world"). To me, being IN it is an actually physical manifestation of presence. Of modeling Jesus. (Jesus: the man who hung out with prostitutes and tax collectors.)

Personally, I have had more spiritually engaging conversations in bars than I’ve had in church. I’ve had tremendous breakthrough in my faith walk over several glasses of wine. (or beer) ((or vodka)) And I have to say, the less I have drank out of rebellion (abstinence), the less I have been drunk. Because life lived out loud in the presence of witnesses, modeling the heart of Christ isn’t about what you DON’T do. It’s about what you DO, when you are doing life.

Moderation – a desperately needed Christian attribute.

A Friend-Like Sister Wife, Lessons from Polygamy

I posted what became a controversial statement on facebook a few days ago about polygamy – why I didn’t see a problem with consenting adults participating as part of their faith, why I don’t understand why it’s condemned in Christian circles, and that I don’t think it should be illegal in a country that seeks to grant freedom of religion. This blog isn’t a follow up to that post.

I did however observe something in the midst of that “discussion” that is sad and haunting and sort of interesting. Here is what I noticed.

The women I’ve talked to about polygamy who have regarded it in some amount of positivity, especially with regard to the show Sister Wives and the implications of plural marriage, have a few things in common. We are young, married, and have small children. We love our families, are exhausted and often feel lonely despite intentionally seeking friendships among other moms.

Having "sister wives" answers a lot of the secret, intimate desires women have by the very DNA of plural marriage. We all want to have close female friendships, we want HELP, and we need support. Being a wife and mom can be hard stuff; we were created to raise our kids in a village. We were never meant to do this thing alone. And yet so many of us do.

The word “community” has been the Christian buzz word for what?, ten years now?, but I’m not sure we’re closer to really living the concept despite all the talk. Try as we might, theorize like we do – we often can’t seem to really, really go the distance with each other. There are about a million reasons for that but mostly, I think it’s because we don’t have any formal place for declaration where friendship is concerned in our culture. There isn’t a way to pledge loyalty and love to one another. And without the declaration, can there really be committment? We say forever only to people we marry and as we all know, marriage doesn’t solve all of our hearts longings and desires.

We all need friends. We need community. We need sister wives!

Without a formal declaration of forever – no talk of friendly commitment, no covenant among us gal pals, we can never really be THAT close, as close as sister wives that is. How do you trust forever, when the commitment hasn’t been made? How do you give your heart to someone without telling them you are doing so?

Having sister wives forces a "working through" of relational hardships (jealousy, competition, gossip, offenses, etc..) because, like a marriage, you are "in it" for better or worse, for rich or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death… You've shared your, well, husband. You've shared your children, your home, your goals, your LIFE with this person. You're IN IT! For good.

Christian friendships SHOULD be like this – family – a sense of being each other’s keeper, of confronting offenses, of giving where there is need, working past the hurt, speaking the truth in love, forgiving – substance thicker than water and yet more often than not, I think we come up empty handed, friendships running through our fingers, close to covenant but then something happens. Forever among friends eludes us.

One of the great love stories in the Bible is that of David and Jonathan, friends who chose loyalty to each other over family ties and declared commitment despite opposition. They gave the purest part of their hearts to one another. I believe their friendship was successful in part, because of their freedom to risk vulnerability and to declare themselves, make covenant, pledge forever.

This is such a foreign concept to many of us but I see a longing in the hearts of people around me, wishing for someone to make covenant with, a friend, who will be a sister wife of sorts (without the whole - plural marriage, share my husband stuff). I feel like we need a place that we are safe to celebrate the declaration of those special friendships, to give voice and credibility to deep relational unions and to say out loud to one another in the presence of witnesses - “I love you. We are in this. Together. And I will hold you accountable, confront you, stick with you when you offend me, love you despite your weaknesses; tell you the truth – always. And I like you. And I support you. Your successes and failures are mine. For better or worse, for rich or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death…”

And should something terrible happen; irreconcilable differences that confrontation, counseling, intervention and everything under the sun can’t fix, separates these friends – support should be given to mourn the end of something beautiful, like people grieve a divorce. Because when you lose a friend, a friend on this level, the pain is just as intense. I think the loss grieves the heart of God just as much.

I know it's a little scary, but my encouragement to you - to myself - is to not just be intentional about building authentic "friendships," but to declare your intent to go the distance in some way, to be "family." To set out to be a sister-type. Because really, lack of intimacy has nothing to do with social constraints or religious dogma. It's effort that is needed, not an avenue. The intent to BE family in friendships.

Engaging Deep Without Choosing The Meloncholy

I used to teeter between light and dark, in my thought-life that is. Sinking to low points and wrestling with hard questions and sitting in the “deep” places. I used to think it was super cool to be melancholy, maybe sit in a coffee shop with a weird hat and ponder the meaning of life. Discussions usually led to injustice, which always brought up all those bad things that happened that weren’t fair. And the inevitably of sadness mixed with pride would follow – the thing most artists and philosophers secretly and sometimes not so secretly think about themselves…(I am brilliant, deep, super cool).

Honestly, I think it’s all bullshit now; like a misguided misfit trying to make myself seem important, trying to self-protect by way of over-intellectualization and justification and victim-minded boohooing. There is a place and time for processing, for getting it out there, for feeling through the unfairness and harshness this life can sometimes send our way. But to sit in it, like those damn Occupy Wall Street-ers avoiding work and laws in order to “prove a point” that they’ll never really prove anyway, is pathetic and juvenile. A waste of time and space.

We get one chance at this life. One opportunity to become whatever we were meant to be. And I so firmly do believe in a plan and a purpose for each created being. I believe in that so fervently that it grieves me when I see people choosing to be victims instead of overcomers. I hate seeing waste.

The older I get the more I see this. Is it a new phenomenon, part of the DNA of whatever generation I am a part of (X, post-modern, post post modern)? I don’t know. But I do know that I see a lot of thirty year old children, living in the past – making excuses for the future - in the name of being deep and artistic and super cool.

I guess I’m just venting for some reason or another today, but I just want to say…people, life is TOOOO short and precious and meaningful for us to be anything other than what we were created to be. Don’t sell yourself short in the name of “being deep.”

God is love, God is light. Live in that; put your hope in Him and He will give you meaning and purpose for your “deep.”

Psalm 42
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long,
“Where is your God?” These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. My soul is downcast within me;
therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.

Let's Talk About Sex...Post-Baby

I'm not sure you're supposed to talk about this stuff, especially in a blog - public or not - but in this over-sexualized culture, I'm convinced nothing I say here could possibly be THAT shocking. And seriously? I'm pretty sure I can't be the only mumma out there with these experiences and thoughts.

So here goes. Let's talk about sex...post-baby!

I'm 8 weeks postpartum and pronounced "fully healed" from the vaginal tares that came with birthing baby Selah. I remember thinking right after I had her, and then later saying as I was being stitched, that NOTHING would or should EVER go in or out of there again. It was weeks before I felt like I could walk without pain. So imagine my discomfort at even the thought of sex.

For the past few weeks, since my six-week appointment and birth control prescription fill, I've been attempting to mentally prepare myself for intimacy. I've been trying to think sexy thoughts and have forced myself to imagine that the milk leaking out of my breasts, the stretch marks across my belly and butt, and the extra layer of chubs across my, well, entire body isn't SO bad, isn't SO unappealing.

I've mentally planned to have a few glasses of wine and brace myself for a good time of foreplay before giving myself over to my husband. In my mind, we magically have a few free, care-free hours to really engage each other and reclaim "lost" territory. (literally and figuratively) But I've discovered lately that we are NEVER, EVER going to have a few casual hours for several more months (at least). So yesterday, I put the kids to bed, had two glasses of pino, and determined to JUST DO THIS THING!

Here's how it went; Kissing, kissing, hugs and rubs and "oh," Selah is awake. Kissing, kissing, here we go, "OH," Nico is giggling in his crib. Hugs, rubs, laugh a little nervous laugh, "OUCH," - like loosing your virginity all over again. Maybe more foreplay? "BAH," Selah is crying.
"Another time, hun?"

This is how it goes, I guess? We never quite made it.

We thought about trying again later that night, when the kids were more 'officially' down for the night. But with the exhaustion of the day behind us, all either of us wanted to do was sleep or physically/emotionally check out. This is pretty much the norm after 8:30pm. That, or Michael has a paper to write for school or a class to attend.

Today I'm thinking about all this and just wondering, when WILL be a good time? When will it be effortless and sexy and when will it feel good again? When will I have any sort of sex drive; when will I really WANT that part of my life back? When will I have the time AND energy to engage?

...like aligning the moon and starts and sun. There seems no light at the end of this tunnel. But we are just too tired to care about the dark.

Parenthood is hard. Marriage is even harder.

Balancing them both? *yawn*

Randoms (1)

I have to just get these things off my chest. They tickle my mind late at night and serve to distract me during the day. Sometimes it's the little lingering, unresolved thoughts that produce the most stress. At any rate... here are my "randoms."

• The book Babywise and its theories on raising children yells at me, in my head, just like my mothers critiques. I can ignore the "voices," disagree with them and even distance myself from them but they are always there. (telling me I'm not measuring up) I ask you, HOW CAN A BOOK have so much impact when I didn't follow it in the first place?



• Selah's hair is lightening. I'm scared she'll be blonde. I know this is insignificant but the color of a girls hair really does, I think, impact how others view them and therefore how they view themselves. I don't know what to do with a blonde daughter.



• My son is very, very naughty lately. I loose my temper with him and grow weary of his whining. His constant, constant pointing and whining. I need more grace for the "almost two's."



• I can't seem to find a babysitter for the ONE day I need to be in the office in order to keep my job. It's extremely part-time...maybe that is the problem? I have just a few weeks before I'm slated to return. What to do, what to do?



• I watched yet another drug bust outside my front door yesterday. I want to move and yet I'm growing closer and closer to all these wonderful moms that live next door, across the street, up the road from me. How much weight should "community" hold over such decisions?



• Speaking of weight, *sigh* I need to loose some. Or a lot. Breastfeeding is supposed to help and in truth, I am down almost 30 from pregnancy weight but I need, *NEED* to loose 30 more. (or more) This is always a struggle for me.



• Breastfeeding...evidently I make good milk. Selah is a chunky monkey. And wow, formula is so expensive but I still long for a day when I can go out for longer than 3 hours and not need to whip out a boob in public or worry that Selah won't take a bottle or feel like my boobs are going to fall off due to engorgement. It's a season...I know this, but for me, it's a hard one. I don't gush over breastfeeding like some women do. It's more like a form of slavery to me, as Sarkozy called it recently.



• I've missed another fall season. Having newborns late summer/early fall two years in a row...makes fall a blur. And it's my favorite of the seasons which makes me sad. Old Man Winter is almost here again and I'm just not sure I can endure another hard Pittsburgh winter. The grey skies are SO DEPRESSING!



• I started a Read The Bible In A Year program two weeks ago and got through 4 days. And now that I've "failed" I don't want to start again because it'll be too much make-up reading for my little, mommybrain mind to manage. I hate failure. I'm mad at myself.



• I'm going to Play Space today for the first time - and will be meeting more moms in the area and affiliated with my church. This always scares me. Motherhood has a way of opening up some of the cruelest judgement. I'm going to write about this more because it's such a HARD thing right now for me but I'll just say this for now, parenting styles have a way of destroying relationships or bonding friends closer and closer together. How can it be so dividing? Who cares if I breastfeed or sleep train or use cloth diapers or when I potty train my child? I mean, really? But evidently, it does to LOTS and LOTS of people. I both crave and fear meeting other mothers.

Gotta run. This concludes my vent session for the month. (or the day)