Who is that crazy person in my last blog post? Woah. She's crazy, isn't she?
She hasn't completely moved out, but I think I've at least stashed her polka dot and pinstripe clown suit in the closet for a couple of days.
AWP was restorative. I slept a lot, ate good food, and had great conversation with some amazing women and a few good men. I sold books and talked about writing and reading and slept. Sunday morning, I ordered breakfast in bed and wrote for three hours until it was time to check out and fly home. And then I played with my children and saw my husband who was not a mirage but the actual thing in flesh and blood not tucked in skype or my phone but the real deal, and it was very good.
The crazy person in me still feels a little unstable, still cries easily and flinches when something unexpected happens. My eye still twitches. But we have a few strategies to manage her now, I think. Here are your instructions, Crazy:
#1: Take life cut into triangles drizzled with maple syrup. If you try to jam that big of a piece in your mouth like that it'll make you gag and that's just gross, so cut it into bite-size pieces, and make sure it's sweet. Get up fifteen minutes earlier, for God's sake, and slow the morning down a smidgen. Start the day with a Word so it sticks to your hips like the pancakes. Get everyone off to their respective destinations, and then breathe because you're at the day job and the day job has manageable to do lists, meetings, phone calls, goals and instant gratification. The work day does what it's told and doesn't talk back because you're the boss (well, of your work day, anyway) and that's what work days do, they do what they're told, that's right uh huh you know it. Then return everyone to their destinations of origin for food (home-cooked if you're able, and if not, don't beat yourself up, they won't die from that cheeseburger... at least not today), baths, and bed. Try to make bedtime stories and prayers and songs happen. Try. And then breathe again, take a few hours to drink a glass of wine, write, read, and listen to quiet music.
#2: Sneak in some exercise here and there because you know how good it feels to get a good sweat on. Even if it means skipping your lunch break to get to the gym, do it. Just do it. You can even drop the crew off at the childcare station after work, even though you feel guilty about all of this childcare but hey, better to have a sane mom some of the time than a crazy one all of the time.
#3: Be content with adequate for once. Be content because nobody is impressed with 150%... they think you're crazy AND YOU ARE. Those looks are pity, not awe. Those looks are, dude, you're crazy.
#4: Cancel the spring soccer practices and games. No one is going to miss it, not even for a minute, and baseball is right around the corner, when your husband's crazy schedule loosens up, and you won't have to tote the gang into the rain on Saturday mornings alone. Lyd might be sad for about ten seconds and then she'll be over it and on to coloring and dancing and laughing and light.
#5: Don't substitute another weekly activity for the one you just cancelled, i.e., no swimming lessons, gymnastics practices, dance, ballet, tap, piano, karate, etc. you crazy person just let it go so you can enjoy your children for more than the minutes they are sleeping silently in their beds.
#6: The laundry can wait until Saturday.
#7: The dishes can wait until... there aren't any more clean ones.
#8: Don't shut down and shut out your friends and family, even though it's tempting to hole up, burrow in, and battle through alone, even though it feels safer and warmer under these covers. Coffee is good. Wine is better.
#9: Even though he's on the road and working, call and text your husband, who loves you and misses you, and believe it when he says it because it's true and you know it's true that this is just a season and crazy will end one day in the foggy not-so-distant future that feels a million years from here.
#10: Read instead of watch TV. Write instead of scroll through Facebook.
#10: Sleep, you dimwit. You need it. After all, you just made two #10s.
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For fun--
What I'm Reading: Grace Notes by Brian Doyle (which is awesome. read it.)
What I'm Writing: a lyric essay on miscarriage, which is so inspirational I can hardly stand it.
What I'm Drinking: the last of a bottle of merlot and a large cup of water.
What I'm Listening To: Norah Jones, "Painter Song"
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Advent Day 13: A Special Treat
Public Service Announcement: Tonight's post is written with chocolate and merlot, preceded by a chocolate chip cookie, potentially followed by more chocolate. And more merlot.
I'm not sure why tonight beat the snot out of me. Maybe several weeks of whizzing about has finally provoked the over-tired toddler in me to throw a tantrum. After I picked up the kids from their respective child care locales, we grabbed a hot-and-ready pizza from Little Caesars and darted home to eat in a hurry before Lydia's basketball practice. After last time, there was no way in heaven or on Earth I was going to wrestle Henry into captivity for an entire hour in the gym, so while Lydia practiced, the boys and I went to Hawkins to pick up some groceries (yay, no grocery shopping tomorrow!) and to cash in the advent activity for today-- pick out a special treat. We visited the delicious Hawkins bakery and bought two iced sugar cookies for Lydia and Elvis, a spritz snowman for Henry, and a chocolate chip cookie for mama.
Lyd had pictures tonight, too, so there was no avoiding bringing the boys back into the gym for the remainder of practice. I should've gotten Henry a bigger cookie, ("Stillwell, angel, have another chocolate bar!") because he gobbled up the spritz snowman before I could say, Frosty the Snowman had to hurry on his way... which is what I wanted to do, hurry on our way. Henry tried to escape but I was too fast for him and found some Thomas the Tank Engine video through the YouTube app on my phone, which pacified him long enough for practice to end. Then, it was standing about with a 30-pound squirming worm in my arms and a 5-year-old clinging to my pantleg like I asked him not to five THOUSAND times while we waited for every girl on the team to get her picture taken. On the way to the car, Henry kept squawking, "AWK! AWK!" so I let him walk but forced him to hold my hand, which he hated and did the wet-noodle-collapse-on-the-asphalt trick. I picked his arched self up, which he hated even more, and tried to put him in his carseat, but it's hard to bend a U-shaped body back to a sitting position. "Sit DOWN! Mama's gonna lose it in a minute, Henry!" I squeaked. All three kids laughed at me.
God, I love parenting.
Then it was home to take the fastest bath on the planet-- in fact, I'm not sure the boys got wet at all-- and then to bed to bed to bed! Yay! The older two were out before I headed back down the stairs, but I don't think Henry stopped singing and talking to himself until almost 9 p.m. He'll be buckets of fun tomorrow.
The tantrum-throwing, over-tired toddler in me could've crawled underneath a crocheted blanket and watched a romantic comedy, but tomorrow is trash day, and thank God I saw the Hawkins plastic bag on the table because I would've forgotten all about the bags of eggs, sausage, bacon, and yogurt just waiting to spoil in the back of the kid hauler. Trash can on the curb, groceries in the refrigerator, sticky spot on the floor grabbing my sock every time I walk past the silverware drawer. Oh. Well.
I unloaded the dishwasher but turned off the light in the kitchen before I could notice the sink still full of dishes from this morning. But I had to flick the switch back on to find the wine and chocolate. Don't worry, I was careful to shield my eyes and then dashed away again. I'm safe now in the living room away from those oatmeal-crusted bowls and those lipstick-stained coffee mugs.
I thought about the laundry briefly, but blogging about advent seemed like a much better use of my time, even though I don't think Henry is going to be wearing any pants tomorrow.
All of this to say tonight was one of those nights that makes me want to quit. All things. Am I absolutely insane to think I can do this AND take classes toward a master's degree? I can't keep all of *this* (waving arms frantically, the universal symbol for utter chaos and disorder) together as it is. Yeah, I see you -- o.O -- stop looking at me like that. We serve crazy here every night.
My advent calendar could've ended December 19-- all I'm anticipating right this minute is the end of work for 2012 and the beginning of agenda-free Christmas vacation. That whole waiting-to-celebrate-the-birth-of-baby-Jesus-God-with-us-prince-of-peace thing is totally overrated. Okay, not really. I just want to see my husband for more than a couple of hours before he takes a plane to another state, to disengage my alarm for two whole weeks, to shift into a slower pace of life instead of this frantic running all the time.
And all I really want for Christmas is to think only about family, friends, love, joy, and peace... and to indulge in tasty food and good wine. Bring it, Advent. Bring. It. On.
I'm not sure why tonight beat the snot out of me. Maybe several weeks of whizzing about has finally provoked the over-tired toddler in me to throw a tantrum. After I picked up the kids from their respective child care locales, we grabbed a hot-and-ready pizza from Little Caesars and darted home to eat in a hurry before Lydia's basketball practice. After last time, there was no way in heaven or on Earth I was going to wrestle Henry into captivity for an entire hour in the gym, so while Lydia practiced, the boys and I went to Hawkins to pick up some groceries (yay, no grocery shopping tomorrow!) and to cash in the advent activity for today-- pick out a special treat. We visited the delicious Hawkins bakery and bought two iced sugar cookies for Lydia and Elvis, a spritz snowman for Henry, and a chocolate chip cookie for mama.
 |
| Let. Me. Go! |
God, I love parenting.
Then it was home to take the fastest bath on the planet-- in fact, I'm not sure the boys got wet at all-- and then to bed to bed to bed! Yay! The older two were out before I headed back down the stairs, but I don't think Henry stopped singing and talking to himself until almost 9 p.m. He'll be buckets of fun tomorrow.
The tantrum-throwing, over-tired toddler in me could've crawled underneath a crocheted blanket and watched a romantic comedy, but tomorrow is trash day, and thank God I saw the Hawkins plastic bag on the table because I would've forgotten all about the bags of eggs, sausage, bacon, and yogurt just waiting to spoil in the back of the kid hauler. Trash can on the curb, groceries in the refrigerator, sticky spot on the floor grabbing my sock every time I walk past the silverware drawer. Oh. Well.
I unloaded the dishwasher but turned off the light in the kitchen before I could notice the sink still full of dishes from this morning. But I had to flick the switch back on to find the wine and chocolate. Don't worry, I was careful to shield my eyes and then dashed away again. I'm safe now in the living room away from those oatmeal-crusted bowls and those lipstick-stained coffee mugs.
I thought about the laundry briefly, but blogging about advent seemed like a much better use of my time, even though I don't think Henry is going to be wearing any pants tomorrow.
All of this to say tonight was one of those nights that makes me want to quit. All things. Am I absolutely insane to think I can do this AND take classes toward a master's degree? I can't keep all of *this* (waving arms frantically, the universal symbol for utter chaos and disorder) together as it is. Yeah, I see you -- o.O -- stop looking at me like that. We serve crazy here every night.
My advent calendar could've ended December 19-- all I'm anticipating right this minute is the end of work for 2012 and the beginning of agenda-free Christmas vacation. That whole waiting-to-celebrate-the-birth-of-baby-Jesus-God-with-us-prince-of-peace thing is totally overrated. Okay, not really. I just want to see my husband for more than a couple of hours before he takes a plane to another state, to disengage my alarm for two whole weeks, to shift into a slower pace of life instead of this frantic running all the time.
And all I really want for Christmas is to think only about family, friends, love, joy, and peace... and to indulge in tasty food and good wine. Bring it, Advent. Bring. It. On.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Crazy Jesus Parables and Dead Pigs
Lately I've taken to listening to the audio Bible on YouVersion's Bible app in the mornings as I exercise or as I'm getting ready for work. I have been out of spiritual practice, so since I'm exercising regularly, I figure coupling my physical exercise with some kind of spiritual exercise is a wise move.
I'm listening to the Gospels right now because it feels like it's been a while since I listened to stories about Jesus or read anything about Jesus. We're real good at talking about the behaviors expected of Christians and the rules and regulations to live a more Christian life, because that's the stuff we have control over to some degree, and man, we love rules. But the Gospels are bewilderment, mystery, magic, confusion, frustration, rebellion, storytelling, crazy faith, epic failure. The epistles are a bunch of friends who come around regularly to nudge you back on the right path. Jesus is the model for how his followers should look in contrast to societal norms, and it's a certain kind of crazy awesome weird.
I'm reminded of this as I listen to Jesus tell stories to his disciples, as I hear the narrator tell stories about Jesus healing people, about demons driven out into a herd of pigs and about pigs dashing off a cliff, about how scared people were, how they asked Jesus to leave their region but the healed man asked to go with Jesus, and how Jesus told him to stay and tell people about God's mercy, and I imagine how angry the farmer must have been to hear his 2,000 pigs were dead because of Jesus, how hard it is to see past our own griefs into the miraculous. That herd of pigs seems to follow me throughout the day. Do I rejoice that Jesus healed a man or am I angry that he took away my profit this season? I don't even have a herd of pigs, what am I talking about? What is my herd of pigs, my prized possession I would never sacrifice, not even for another man's life?
The Holy Spirit must use some circumstances, people, places, or creatures to carry off the demons in our lives. Lots of country songs talk about how a song can bring back a memory; I wonder if the opposite is also true. I think some people are put into our lives in particular seasons, and maybe without knowing it, they carry our demons away, through a conversation or interaction, they carry away whatever it was we were struggling with. Our burdens are cast away with that person.
This morning, I listened to Jesus tell a bunch of parables about Israel. The one that stuck with me throughout the day goes like this: “When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first. That is how it will be with this wicked generation" (Matthew 12:43-45).
After Jesus drove out the demons in the possessed man and sent them into the pigs, he told the man to tell his family how much the Lord had done for him, about the mercy that was shown to him. And he did. He filled the empty places that were left by the demons with the fruits of the Spirit, spreading the story about how a Man came who cared for him so much that he drove a legion of demons out from inside his spirit, who carried away the terrors that possessed him, who ordered them away and restored him to himself, a fuller version of himself, one absent of impure spirits and filled with the spirit that produces love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Imagine what it would have looked like for the man to have returned to his family without this miracle story. To resume his every day life, whatever that might have looked like. To leave his soul wide open, swept clean and vacant for whatever other demons might come to dwell there. It's a dramatic portrait, like a foreclosure in the country, grasses and vines swallowing a house, slowly gripping its foundation and crumbling the concrete that held it up. Without regular maintenance and the presence of people to take care of the structure, all things degenerate and are consumed, governed only by the laws of nature. It isn't enough to kick out the demons of our past. Something better needs to move in.
I've carried the story of the impure spirit around with me today. It lodged in my heart as a reminder to do the daily maintenance required in order to keep the ugly out and invite whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, or admirable in. Daily I send out the demons to drown with the herd of pigs.
I'm listening to the Gospels right now because it feels like it's been a while since I listened to stories about Jesus or read anything about Jesus. We're real good at talking about the behaviors expected of Christians and the rules and regulations to live a more Christian life, because that's the stuff we have control over to some degree, and man, we love rules. But the Gospels are bewilderment, mystery, magic, confusion, frustration, rebellion, storytelling, crazy faith, epic failure. The epistles are a bunch of friends who come around regularly to nudge you back on the right path. Jesus is the model for how his followers should look in contrast to societal norms, and it's a certain kind of crazy awesome weird.
I'm reminded of this as I listen to Jesus tell stories to his disciples, as I hear the narrator tell stories about Jesus healing people, about demons driven out into a herd of pigs and about pigs dashing off a cliff, about how scared people were, how they asked Jesus to leave their region but the healed man asked to go with Jesus, and how Jesus told him to stay and tell people about God's mercy, and I imagine how angry the farmer must have been to hear his 2,000 pigs were dead because of Jesus, how hard it is to see past our own griefs into the miraculous. That herd of pigs seems to follow me throughout the day. Do I rejoice that Jesus healed a man or am I angry that he took away my profit this season? I don't even have a herd of pigs, what am I talking about? What is my herd of pigs, my prized possession I would never sacrifice, not even for another man's life?
The Holy Spirit must use some circumstances, people, places, or creatures to carry off the demons in our lives. Lots of country songs talk about how a song can bring back a memory; I wonder if the opposite is also true. I think some people are put into our lives in particular seasons, and maybe without knowing it, they carry our demons away, through a conversation or interaction, they carry away whatever it was we were struggling with. Our burdens are cast away with that person.
This morning, I listened to Jesus tell a bunch of parables about Israel. The one that stuck with me throughout the day goes like this: “When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first. That is how it will be with this wicked generation" (Matthew 12:43-45).
After Jesus drove out the demons in the possessed man and sent them into the pigs, he told the man to tell his family how much the Lord had done for him, about the mercy that was shown to him. And he did. He filled the empty places that were left by the demons with the fruits of the Spirit, spreading the story about how a Man came who cared for him so much that he drove a legion of demons out from inside his spirit, who carried away the terrors that possessed him, who ordered them away and restored him to himself, a fuller version of himself, one absent of impure spirits and filled with the spirit that produces love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Imagine what it would have looked like for the man to have returned to his family without this miracle story. To resume his every day life, whatever that might have looked like. To leave his soul wide open, swept clean and vacant for whatever other demons might come to dwell there. It's a dramatic portrait, like a foreclosure in the country, grasses and vines swallowing a house, slowly gripping its foundation and crumbling the concrete that held it up. Without regular maintenance and the presence of people to take care of the structure, all things degenerate and are consumed, governed only by the laws of nature. It isn't enough to kick out the demons of our past. Something better needs to move in.
I've carried the story of the impure spirit around with me today. It lodged in my heart as a reminder to do the daily maintenance required in order to keep the ugly out and invite whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, or admirable in. Daily I send out the demons to drown with the herd of pigs.
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