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Every day as a mom is a terrible day

Posted by Nicole on May 23, 2013

All I wanted was one cute picture.

All I wanted was one cute picture.

As a follow-up to my 3o Things I Learned from My Daughters… Mom problems. Dad Problems…

Today, someone I was with at the park pooped in their underwear and asked me to help wipe them clean. Then someone cried when I wouldn’t carry them to the car. Before that, someone climbed in my bed with dirty feet at 5am and left crumbs of I-don’t-know-what on my clean sheets, and someone stuck their finger in my nose and laughed at me. Tonight, I cleaned my whole house and then someone went around trashing all my hard work. I tried to go to the bathroom but someone kept opening the door and asking to see what I was doing…

This is a normal day. Actually, this is only a sliver of a normal day as a mom. These are moments that any rational person would define as frustrating – if not terrible.

From a normal, sane, adult person’s point-of-view, every day as a mom is a terrible day.

What’s a woman, who finds herself being a mom, to do about all this?

As a young adult I worked hard to choose good friends. I chose friends who treated me with love and kindness. If someone couldn’t respect my boundaries or be a good influence, I kept them as an acquaintance but not as a close friend. I didn’t befriend people I would have to teach how to be healthy.

Now, my closest friends and roommates are small, demanding people. People who spill stuff everywhere. People who cry when you don’t let them watch their choice in TV show. People who tell me I look old. People who never ask how I am doing. I live with these people. My mother would never approve of this.

And yet, I AM THEIR MOTHER. I am the mother of these tiny people in the process of learning how to be kind, respectful, and healthy. But, I have to teach them these guidelines. It’s a switch I’m having trouble making.

I know, I know. I can already hear you criticizing me. It’s very easy to pinpoint where I might be going wrong in my parenting.

“You are not their friend, you are their parent.”

“If your children’s behavior is inappropriate, that is your fault, not theirs’.”

Absolutely! My children are my children. I love them. They are pretty stinkin’ well-behaved, loving, funny, a joy to be with. Our family is wonderful. It is my responsibility. THAT’S PART OF THE PROBLEM.

First of all, my family is great. And, oh my word, I can only imagine how terrible life is for others who do have really hard kids and family dynamics to deal with.

Secondly, I KNOW I am supposed to be grateful for all of the good in my life. My family is mostly healthy and loving – and that’s a huge gift. I know… I know.

Why do you think I feel so bad about knowing the truth and not being able to put my blinders on and pretend that I like being pooped on or having other people’s fingers in my nose?

****** It all started with a cat******

I was ten-years-old when Stripes, my childhood cat, taught me that having kids can suck the joy right out of you.

A playful, loving cat from the moment she joined our family, Stripes and I were fast friends. Stripes became pregnant and I was initially excited. KITTENS! Kittens living in our house. Oh, the fun we would have playing together all summer long. It was a dream come true. KITTENS!

Stripes, full of courage and natural strength , birthed her kittens one eventful afternoon. Patiently, I waited for the kittens to grow up. A few weeks went by. Their tiny eyes opened and their paws grew spunky. And, play we did! String! Flashlights! Fuzzballs! It was the best.

Except for Stripes. She didn’t play with us.

Stripes lay in my bed and rested. The kittens played and explored. Stripes continued to lay in bed. When the kittens were tired or hungry they all ran to her and snuggled, ate, climbed, bit, grabbed, snuggled some more, ate some more and went to sleep on top of their mom.

Stripes existed as the life-source for other tiny beings but her life-source had gone dim.

The kittens sucked the life right out of my friend. She was never the same.

So, when I got pregnant for the very first time, my first words were not full of joy and excitement. I had spent those emotions on Stripes’ babies when I was ten. I knew what I was in for now. Despite being happily married and actually purposefully making a baby, my first words when I found out I was pregnant were “Oh, Crap!”

Aaaaww! So sweet, right?

Listen, I know it’s all a miracle. I know these two little children in my house are an honor and a gift.

But taking care of them is terribly hard work.

******

So, what IS a woman, who finds herself being a mom, to do about all of this?

 ******

Here’s all I can do:

Struggle. Cry. Laugh. Cling to the source of my life for help. Sow the seeds of deep love however I can. Wonder at the mystery and pleasure and pain of it all. And if I cry or laugh hysterically while I clean the toilet after my daughter tries to “pee like daddy,” that’s fine with me.

Remember that fertilizer is made of “crap” and in order to have a beautiful, thriving garden you need a lot of fertilizer.

Mamas (and Papas), if you are reading this, don’t give up on yourself. You still matter. You matter in your own self and not just as the source of life for someone else. You are the gardener of a whole garden now, not just your own little tree. It’s going to be hard work. Use the crap. Use it all to grow good things for yourself and your family. If we do this well, when they are little and our seedlings need a lot of care, then as the years go on, the entire family will hopefully have food and beauty to enjoy.

There will still be terrible days everyday, but if you and I are lucky, maybe we will learn to focus on the flowers blooming and not the “fertilizer” making it all grow.

What about you??? How do you make it through thrive in your “terrible” days?  What keeps you going?

-Nicole

Prayer: Hey, God, can you please, please, please help me find purpose and joy in all the terrible days? And in the moments I freak out… can you please redeem those in some awesome way?  Pay back the years the locusts have eaten, use all things for good… all that hopeful stuff? Thank you! I choose to believe this all matters.

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Experts on Honest Living

Posted by Nicole on May 21, 2013

Daughters

In honor of one of my dear Story Unfolding sisters, Sarah McCarten’s 30th Birthday, as part her “30 Things” Series…. I’ve written 30 Things I Learned from My Young Daughters with help from my 8 and (almost) 5 year-old muses. Click the link to read the full 30 Things post on Sarah’s blog.

**********

It’s not a cliché if it’s deeply true; We learn just as much from our children as they do from us. Being a child is frustrating and glorious. They are experts at honest living. Every parent needs a reminder to see their kids as teachers not just tiny drunk comedians we are trying to keep alive.

**********

30 THINGS I LEARNED FROM MY DAUGHTERS

By: Nicole Romero (with help from her tiny teachers)

1. Struggle builds our lives. From the beginning we have to push and work and try. Wanna walk? Find a way. Grab your mom’s jeans. Grab a coffee table… and PULL yourself to your feet. You will fall. You will cry. Then, you will need to get back up and try again. Want to learn something new? Get ready to work hard.

2. Fruit is the best food. Well, fruit and goldfish crackers.

3. Feel emotion. When someone hurts your feelings, go ahead and cry. You’ll feel better. When something is funny, let that belly laugh roll out of your gut. That’s what life is for, right?

4. Feel emotions, but then let it go and move on. There are a lot of fun things to do today. Even when you cry, keep an eye out for the next fun, funny, interesting thing because it might appear while you are crying and you don’t want to miss it. When it comes, forget the tears and enjoy it!

5. Change is hard. Even the introduction of a new pillow or potty seat can throw you off. Complain, voice your issues, but know it’ll be your new favorite thing in about 3 days.

Read all 30 Things …  And, please tell me, what have you learned from your kids? For better or for worse?!

-Nicole

 

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Friendship Rugburns

Posted by Nicole on April 3, 2013

Through the big glass window, I watched my daughter in her first dance class. It’s like going to the aquarium, except the fish are more beautiful and they smile at you as they swim by.

On that very first day she made a friend. They danced and held hands and made each other laugh.  Tiny girls in tights and pink shoes and smiles.

Watching your kid make a friend is one of the best experiences in life.

We were excited to go back the next week and see her new friend. This second week, though, a new girl came. My daughter’s friend and the new girl hit it off.

So now I watch, through that giant window I wished would shrink to pinhole-size, as my daughter’s friend and this new girl clasp their four hands together, spin around and dance. They have a great time; truly enjoying each other. And I watched my daughter watch. From the side, she sees their joy and friendship bloom. I witness her move forward, asking so politely to join in the dance. Again. Again. Again, she asks, “Can I dance too?” Can I please hold hands and join in your circle?

The two other girls look at each other, because they are connecting and they don’t want to let anyone else in. They dance around some more and they see out of the corner of their eyes, my daughter still watching them… she’s too new to this friendship game. She doesn’t know how to hide her desire – to look busy or confident or just-fine-being-by-myself-thanks.

I hold my breath. Wishing. Praying. Not just praying that they would include her, but for her heart’s confidence and courage.

And eventually they did let her enter their circle. Eventually they decided it could be fun.

But as women, especially women, we have to be so aware. We value connection so deeply. We value being seen and known and making friends. We value it and we need it so much – that when we make a friend, we don’t see anything else. We just see that new friend and are so excited!  We forget that when you make a really beautiful, great connection with someone…

I can guarantee you, there is at least one if not five other women in the room whose gaping hole for connection is getting ripped open again. I can guarantee you that there are women in that room who just got punched in the gut seeing your connection with someone else.

Because we want deep friendship so much and it just points out again that we don’t have it. We don’t have it. And it hurts. Everytime.

This is just one of the reasons we suffer at each others’ hands.  This is one of the reasons so many women say they are not into women’s stuff – an event or group just for women. The push and pull of relational desire can be claustrophobic, for sure. And, it feels much more modern and cool to say we are just not into all that women’s stuff – men are simpler, etc etc… I’m beyond that.

Maybe you are… or maybe, like me, it just rubs you raw to be in a room of people and watch others connect. Avoiding those situations sounds better than enduring the burns.

The desire for connection will always be with us. It won’t serve me to pretend it’s not important.

*****

I continue to sit here, trying to find an answer… trying to find a simple, heart-felt, insightful way for us to all renew female friendships… but there is not one. Not in my head.

Because I will go to a meeting today and watch people connect. Later someone will watch me run into an old friend and receive a great hug and connection.

Jealousy will grip me and grip her. And we will each have to wrestle it to the floor – each of us, each time.

I guess all I can do is recognize my true enemies are not the other women, but the thoughts of bitterness, jealousy and fear.  I can have the courage to attack the scarier enemies of doubt and loneliness, and not the other human beings doing the best they can.

and I can speak words of courage to my daughters to try again and realize that we are all the same.

Try again to find hands to clasp and when you see someone on the outside, invite them in.

-Nicole

Prayer: God, you know my heart and the longings, desires, hopes I carry around each day. Would you please help me use those things to help others? I don’t want to be a black-hole-of-need all the time. I want to be the opposite – a light with the courage to give love and hope. God, be with my daughters as they navigate these very difficult friendship years. They are your daughters too and I trust them with you. Please take care of their hearts and show me how to speak words of courage to them as they make and lose and make friends. Thank you.

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The Infancy of our children

Posted by Nicole on March 14, 2013

This is something I wrote a while ago when I was neck-deep in caring for a newborn baby… it helped me and I pray it helps other new moms someday too. For my beloved sisters who have new babies…

My first baby on her first day.

My first baby on her first day.

 

************

“The infancy of our children. If we let it be a part of us — a part of our story, it can forever deepen our involvement in the bigger stories of life. This is a piece of my life deeply woven. Life. Delicate. Fragile. Alive.

I struggle for sleep and sanity.

Reminding myself over and over – It’s not failure, just challenge and struggle. Face it. Enjoy its opportunity for growth. Love endlessly. Give when it hurts. Teach as I learn. Kindness and respect in the midst of injustice.

[Soft hand on my mouth. Body and soul in my arms. Breath of my breath]

I get to build a soul. My work is invisible to her. This is my war and I fight for our lives.

Dear, self – Connect. Be in each moment. Press in. Don’t shy away from the discomfort.

Let the scars and wounds be a badge of honor
and not a regret.”

 ************

My second baby on her second day

My second baby on her second day

This is so hard, my friends – being “the mom.” So full of tensions and the sweet, torturous push and pull of being so lonely and yet never alone.  Fighting for survival – yours and theirs. No one will ever see the battles you win every day, but you will and God will and that sweet baby you hold will forever be changed because of your love. Hang in there. It will be worth it, I promise.

My two precious babes

My two precious babes

 

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Have you ever been asked a personal question?

Posted by Nicole on March 8, 2013

This was how my mother started the conversation.

“Do you know…”

“Do I know, what?”

“Do you know how women have orgasms?”

(AAaaaaaakward pause…avoiding eye-contact now…)

“Um, yes? …  Yes. I mean, yes. Mom, Seriously!” (laughing erupts)

 

Have you ever been asked a personal question?

Have you ever been asked a personal question?

How did your parents bring up the sex talk?

But, my mother didn’t stop at this first shocking question. She did not accept my protest that I already knew all I needed at 16 years old.  She knew me deeply despite the fact that it would be 11 more years before I truly understood the depths to which she knew me, when I had my own daughters to love.

(aside: isn’t it funny that as we grow up, we think our parents don’t know us? now that i am a mom myself, i could hardly think of anything i know more intimately than my daughters.)

See, my mother became a teenager in the 60’s and a single mother to two small girls in the 80’s. She is neither large in stature or personality.  Caring, loyal, sensitive, Indigo Girls-singing… this is my mom.

She gave me space to discover my way in the world. She usually held back advice or opinions. But, this conversation, this was just too important to leave to chance, I suppose. Too important to hope my sister and I learned it somewhere someday.

And so, one night at the dinner table, surrounded by flowered wallpaper in our little kitchen nook, my education in sex and/or “feminism” began with a loving, blunt question.

 “Do you know how women have orgasms?
There is a part of your vagina called the clitoris…”

“Wow, Yep. Yes there is… Thinking about it right now, Mom. Thanks.”

************

Within that awkward, sweet conversation, my mom enunciated one of the most important things I have ever learned about men and women… and it’s not what you think – no anatomy lessons today.

What I learned was:

The importance of giving and receiving.  The importance of knowing how to receive from someone else and understanding that both men and women are made to give and receive.

I hate generalities, but here’s one anyway: sometimes, as a woman, you have a serious inclination to give until you forget who you are and to give until you are bone dry…

But this is not the only way to be a good woman. This is not exactly what God meant when he made us “helper/helpmeets” or put that sentence in the Bible.

There’s something even more fundamental than your womanhood and that’s your humanity. My humanity. Humans are made to breathe – to give and take.  You were made to receive gifts not just give them, but sometimes we believe it is more holy to ignore our own needs.

God planned ahead for our confusion. He always does.

Here’s my theory:

So that we could not say to ourselves or each other that we women are only here to improve other people’s lives … God, well, He gave us a special reminder… a piece of ourselves – something designed with no other purpose but receiving pleasure.

Name it what you will, but there is really no other function for a clitoris than selfish fun.

You were specifically formed and created so you could receive joyous pleasure from someone whom you love – if you so choose.

BUT…

This is not just physical.

Sex is never just physical, anyway.

Sex is a metaphor and a workshop for so many of the important personal/relational issues of life. God didn’t design us – body or soul – just coincidentally. God is not a god of Coincidence but of Providence.

Our bodies represent and experience life on behalf of and in partnership with our souls. This is why sex is “soulish”.

So, when I say, “You were specifically formed and created so you could receive joyous pleasure from someone whom you love…” I DO NOT just mean through your clitoris. As fun as that can be.

The thing behind the thing is that God loves connecting stuff together. This is a sign of this – and this is really always about something deeper. Soulish.

The physical parts of me made only for receiving love are a sign and symbol of the invisible parts of me made only for receiving love.

Made for Love

Made for Love

I think this is what my mom really said that day.  (I mean, other than how women actually do have orgasms.)  What I have taken with me into my midlife is this lesson:

Do I know how to receive GOOD into my life? Because I am made to.

We were made to experience pleasure and joy being given to us as we give in return.  I know, this is an incredibly simplistic view at one tiny angle of sex and our bodies and all the stuff/history/rules we each carry around.

Male and Female relations…  can be so complicated and political and theological. It can get so heated and angry but, for my little family that night and still to this day, it comes down to the issue of giving and receiving within each human.

**********

Women knowing not just how to give but to receive in all areas of life and self:
care, love, hope, access, success, pleasure, pay raises, opportunities to speak or teach or write, promotions, respect and yes, orgasms.

This is what I pray for us. This is the thing behind that first question: Giving and Receiving. The GOOD in life is not just for others but for you too. And for me.

Do you know how women have orgasms?

There is a part of your vagina called the clitoris…

-Nicole

Prayer: God thank you for the way you’ve made me. Thank you for knitting my body and soul together in ways I am just beginning to understand. Please help me to believe you have good in store for me – actually, you have good just waiting for me to receive it even right here and right now.  Thank you for my mom’s courage and honesty and love. Thank you for Your love and design for life. Help me love and appreciate the way you designed me as well.  Amen.

Made for Love

Made for Love

_________________________________________________________________

If you are still reading… SIDE NOTE… as I wrote about this topic and repeatedly needed to write the word clitoris, I began craving replacement words. In case you need a nickname or a good laugh, here’s a couple good ones I found. You’re welcome.

CLITORIS

Love Button
Pleasure Center
Little woman in the pink canoe
Center Ring At The Three Ring Circus
Thermostat
Clitty Cat

 

 

 

 

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The Dresses in my Life

Posted by Nicole on March 8, 2013

I’m guessing I was seven.

A 7 year old girl. Shortest in my class with fine, brown hair and freckles.

Walking through the mall, my child-mind not caring at all what our actual reason was for being there, I saw it – I saw “her” really, not it.  In the window of a boutique children’s store, I saw the dress I still wish I could wear.

**********

I just knew it had to be mine. The true love was instant. I saw her from across the room and we were simply soul mates. There’s no other way to describe it.

The perfect visible manifestation of my invisible soul.

The physical depiction of my inner self.

I’d never been struck by an item of clothing before; Never known something was made for me, but this gorgeous thing was! oh, it was! Made. For. Me.

No description will do it justice.
How could I describe my Love to you in a way that doesn’t cheapen it?

Simply: imagine white, lace, a ballgown skirt, beads, shimmer. But none of that matters, because we had chemistry. So, make whatever is in your head 1000x better than what you first thought….
Oh, the delicious Specialness.

It was all I wanted from that moment on.  My school pictures would be epic!

I remember creating songs in its honor for days. Songs of love and courage. Spinning in circles, holding onto light poles and dancing my heart out in honor of the dress that would finally show the world the inner me – how beautiful and SPECIAL God made me.

What amazes me, looking back, is the esteem and self-love the dress awoke in me.

So, I worked up the bravery to ask my Dad to take us BACK to the intimidating mall and buy it for me. Making the ask felt like exposing my soul.

Sometimes, every once in a while, there is a material thing that really does connect with our souls. And telling someone how much it matters is like telling them You matter.

Sometimes, most of the time, other people don’t understand. And their misunderstanding shakes the foundations of your own convictions.

When my Dad, a shy and introverted man who struggled with public spaces, DID take me back to the mall, the combination of our awkwardness(es) could only lead one direction.

We walked into that boutique and immediately the weight of my ask grew heavier and heavier. My feet went cold. Looking up, I saw his face, the face of a father unable to understand or afford the thing his oldest daughter is asking for… and I knew. I knew it wasn’t my dress anymore.  By the time he turned over the pricetag, I was already saying Nevermind. Nevermind. It’s not worth it.

But, honestly, and not melodramatically, I decided I wasn’t worth it.

That day we bought a blue, plaid dress with an orange bow at the neck. We bought it from Sears.

**********

I was engaged to the love of my life at the age of twenty.  After 14 years of marriage and 18 years of making-out, our love is a challenging work but it is also a Great Love – the stuff of fairytales and Nicholas Sparks books.

Our wedding was incredibly simple: Morning light. Chicken lunch. Martinelli’s Toast. Silly afternoon dancing. Perfect.

except for my dress

Something still remained locked inside me even 14 years later.  Spending time or money on clothes or myself was no longer worth it.

Everything else was worth it: Our love was worth it, my family was worth it, our wedding was worth it but the part that was just for me – the dress …  I could not really engage in that process. I could not stand the tension within me. To spend time or money on something just for me, I wanted out of that decision fast.

So, with practicality and a desire to be unselfish with finances as my logical guides, I never dreamed for myself in this area. I quickly picked a cheap dress, hated it because it was actually ugly, and quickly picked another cheap dress that was pretty.

I felt pretty that day. It was a good day.

But I still long for that perfect dress. I still long to have a dress to wear that seems to complete me – even if just for a moment. Daydreaming for beauty.  It may sound shallow. That’s ok. Maybe it is. But it is real. You can still drown in shallow water.

**********

The issues always go deeper than the ones we discuss. So, I’ll end with this prayer…

Prayer: Jesus, my friend, I know you have more in store for me and available to me than I know how to absorb. I pray for the day that my very own skin and hair and smile are the things I fall in love with because you picked them out.  I pray, that like some John Mayer song, or the 7-year-old version of myself, I could sing about my skin – my face – with joy and courage and love.   And, Jesus, could I please someday have a dress that compliments this skin and face – the way a sunset lights up the beach? Thanks Jesus.

The perfect visible manifestation of my invisible soul.

(written as a linkup to the lovely Tanya at Thorns and Gold for a connection started at Concrete Words – yay, new friends!)

Posted in Free Flying Faith, Honest Home, Wonderful Wrestlings | 2 Comments »

Spiritual Midwives

Posted by Nicole on March 6, 2013

I’m new to this idea of putting my voice out into the air. So, I’ve been searching for people to connect with as I write. One person I have begun reading and enjoying is Sarah Bessey. So today, when she invited people to link up on the topic of spiritual midwives  — women who have helped me as God gave birth to some new part of me — I decided to give this a try and jump on in.  (She also spoke of Patron Saints as people we don’t know personally who have helped us or that we want to emulate – but I have lumped them together for today.)

________________________________________________________

My children were born at the hands of a midwife.

I too, have been born again at the hands of spiritual midwives.

The way my daughters were guided – with wisdom and help but never interference.

I have been guided but not controlled. Coaxed into a New Life.

Basically, women have come alongside me and helped me survive my spiritual births.

***********

I’ve had two women I LOVE give birth this month. Two new babies born into this version of life – Beautiful, strong, fragile, life-threatening and life-affirming birthing stories.

So, I have been thinking about the truth of birth a lot…
the awesome and the ugly.

How scary birthing is.
How no one can control it.
How birthing is messy.
How it is so messy.

How it pulls us back to the bones of living, exposing the ways we cover our nakedness in the day to day.

How it requires us to open up areas we absolutely did not and DO NOT want to see. (No thanks on the mirror on my wide-open vajewels.  I did NOT need to see THAT part of me at that angle, thanks!)

And no person’s birth story is the same. Absolutely no one can predict how or when a baby will be born.

We can get along just fine in life with very little help, taking care of the world and our selves, but at a birth you need help.

BTW – God bless the women who have orgasmic birthing stories. God bless you. The stories I most often hear are more warlike than dreamlike. Before I actually experienced a birth, I thought it would be one gorgeous day of finding my strength and beauty as a woman and mother.

“Giving birth is so natural and beautiful!! Giving birth rocks!”

I truly believed that would be The Way for me in childbirth.  Orgasmic in a sense … and, it wasn’t really.

I forget that God is the author of life. I forget that I can draw parallels between Him and His creation – his Words he spoke into being.

Daily, I forget  —
The way it is for physical birth is often the way it is for spiritual birth.

I still sometimes think that spiritual birth and growth is going to be this beautiful, natural experience – An experience where we move from one day to the next becoming closer to God and wiser as a person. Our skin will start to glow and we will walk around with people wondering how we got so beautiful and happy.

Think EAT, PRAY, LOVE… Isn’t that part of why we all bought that book? I too can have a beautiful awakening and rebirth into my true self and all I need to do is eat whatever I want then spend lots of freetime just breathing and sitting still and then fall in love in a foreign country.  AND DONE.

“Being a Christian is so natural and beautiful and happens in ways I can write so easily about!!  Being reborn rocks!”

 

But I am, honestly, in the middle of a spiritual birth and am reminded daily (whether I want to or not)

How scary even spiritual growth is.
How no one can control it.
How it is messy.
How it is so messy.

How it pulls us back to the bones of living, exposing the ways we cover our nakedness in the day to day.

How it requires us to open up areas we absolutely did not and DO NOT want to see. (No thanks on crying in staff meeting! Or at Starbucks when someone is says a harsh word.)

How no person’s spiritual birth story is the same. Absolutely no one can predict how or when each of us will find God in our lives or have a new epiphany about life.

How we can get along just fine in life with very little help, taking care of the world and our selves, but at a spiritual transition or birth you need help.

We need help in our spiritual births as well.

It’s funny, I would NEVER have considered giving birth to my babies alone with no help just because my body was made to do it and I believed it would be natural and beautiful.

I sought out a midwife to help and guide me. And she did! She checked my progress. She prepared me for birth. She was there the whole way. She cut the cord when it was around my baby’s neck.

I need to remember on days when it is difficult to grow in my life with God that my spiritual midwives are just as important.

My girl friends, my favorite author-friends (who will someday be my friends if all this Eternal life stuff is really real), my MOM, my sister, the writers all around me in the air blogging their spiritual stories. — all of them are my midwives at different times and in different ways.

They check on my progress. They encourage me. They give advice and then allow me the space to feel it all out. They also cut the cord if it’s starting to strangle me.

**********

If I am honest, though, I struggle with being honest.

I hate being vulnerable or open or messy. I do not let people come too close too often.  It’s only in extreme cases that I call on a midwife for intimate help.

So, my prayer is that I allow people into my mess and see what kind of birth story comes out of this year.

Prayer: I pray that I will continue to allow people into the intimate, messy, unpredictable parts of my life and that I can do the same for others. I pray for bravery, courage, and extreme humility and confidence at the same time.

Blessings on all of you, my future friends!

-Nicole

 

 

 

 

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Capturing Memories

Posted by Nicole on February 8, 2012

This was a beautiful day. Kids became wild cats with a little make-up. Blankets flew. Tiny feet jumped and twirled. Skin lovingly touched skin in hugs and kisses. Just one of those days God gives you to keep you going. Priceless.

But I only remember it because I have photos to jog my memory.  How many others have I enjoyed and now they’re gone forever?

“The saddest part about life is you don’t remember half of it. You don’t even remember half of half of it. Not even a tiny percentage, if you want to know the truth.  I have this friend Bob who writes down everything he remembers. If he remembers dropping an ice cream cone on his lap when he was seven, he’ll write it down.  The last time I talked to Bob, he had written more than five hundred pages of memories.  He’s the only guy I know who remembers his life. He said he captures memories because if he forgets them, it’s as though they didn’t happen; it’s as though he hadn’t lived the parts he doesn’t remember”

– A MILLION MILES

“It’s as though he hadn’t lived the parts he doesn’t remember.”  That line breaks my heart.

Every, every minute of life is precious – a gift from God. Yet, I forget pretty much every one of my lovingly-lived minutes before the week is through.  Why is that? I hunger and thirst to capture each exquisite moment with my little kids and with my husband and with my friends.  But. I can’t. They are gone. Lived and loved and gone.

But I have hope that God is remembering it all for me.  Maybe life is like a movie and He’s the cinematographer and director. I’ll get to watch the movie with him when we are together someday.  It’ll be one of our date nights.  God and I will snuggle on the couch… me curled up next to Him… I bet he smells amazing… and we’ll watch the show.  We’ll laugh and he’ll show me his favorite parts (he’ll have 1000’s).  I’ll jump up at times – remembering something fabulous for the first time since it originally happened.  I’ll look over at him and he’ll laugh and smile at me with more love and understanding than I thought possible – and I’ll curl back into him for a thousand hours more.  We’ll cry together too – parts will be tragic. It may hurt a little, but this time, like in any well-told story – the saddest parts will provide the meaning and the power that make the triumphant and sweet parts so special.

I cling to that hope.  In the meantime, what do we do to help us remember? I thank God for the pictures I manage to take of moments I LOVED and would just not remember otherwise.  I try to journal. I have friends with better memories than me who help out.  It’s a big question in my life.   I struggle with the tension of loving and then releasing each moment as I live it. What about you?

-Nicole

 

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