On Our Way To Crazy

I spend too much time worrying about my identity. The problem is that when I get to obsessing, it isn’t about who I am. It’s about who I’m not.

Why am I not part of that group of people? Why don’t they include me? Why don’t I get asked to be on that committee, to attend that party, to hang out with those friends? Why am I so… not?

I like the things I am. I like being a youth pastor, and a wife, and now a mom. I like being kind of funny and easy going and nerdy.

And I don’t think I want to be the things I’m so worried about not being. I’m not cool or flashy, I don’t know how to curl my hair or accessorize or wear heels. I have different tastes and sensibilities and style (or lack of). Even if they wanted me, I wouldn’t fit in. I would be unhappy.

But still. I get down. I look right over all the good things that define me and all the people who I fit in with and who love and support and get me. All I see is where I’m not included, where I’m not invited, where I don’t identify.

I want to be happy in who I am, not unhappy in who I’m not. Especially knowing that being who I’m not wouldn’t make me happy either. I can’t be everything. But I can be good at the things I am. I can own that. I just need to figure out how.

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This is my first attempt at Five Minute Friday.

There are a ton of things to stress about when you’re pregnant, and when you have a new baby. An infinite amount, really, from toxins to sleeping arrangements to car seat safety to parenting styles to diseases to family drama to nursery decorations. (Yes, nursery decorations. Don’t judge.) But by far the most stressful one, for me at least, is feeding. Babies need to eat to stay alive, y’all, and we have to figure out how to do it.

When I was pregnant I did a ton of reading about breastfeeding. I tried to wrap my mind around how it works and how much they eat and how often and what if it hurts and what if there are issues and what if she can’t latch on and what if what if what if.

We delivered at a women’s hospital that has a wonderful lactation boutique staffed with 24-hour lactation consultants who will come to your room and help you figure out what to do. These are women who have devoted their lives to breastfeeding and teaching new mothers the basics. Also, they are SCARY WOMEN. Super intense crazy nursing ladies who will manhandle you and talk a thousand miles a minute and make you feel like you’ve totally got it until they walk out the door and you realize you have no idea what just happened. I was given tools and tricks and several position options and an overwhelming sense that if I didn’t get it figured out I would be not only depriving my baby of vital nutrition but also of bonding time with me. She would be unhealthy and also hate me.

No pressure.

(Possibly I am projecting onto these women a bit. Possibly I found the whole thing completely overwhelming and stressful and it is easier to put that on them than admit to my fear of failure. Possibly.)

They told me if it hurt I was doing it wrong. It hurt. A LOT. Turns out that when you ask parts of your body to do something they’ve never done before, they resist. And resistance hurts. But we powered through and started to get a handle on things, or so I thought.

But when we went in for her one week appointment, the pediatrician was concerned. She wasn’t gaining weight as quickly as they would have liked. I was convinced it was my fault. I had low supply, something I was eating was causing her problems, I hadn’t listened closely enough to the scary hospital ladies. They sent us home with a plan: nurse, then give her formula, then pump. Every time she ate. Day and night. It took an hour and a half start to finish, and she was eating every two hours.

I cried and cried and cried. One week in and I had already failed. I couldn’t feed her on my own.

We stuck to the plan for three weeks and she plumped right up, blowing past her birth weight in no time. We slowly dropped the formula supplements and found our groove. She got stronger, I started to relax, everyone felt happier.

Our nursing relationship has gone really well ever since. She’s been almost exclusively on breast milk, having a bottle of formula maybe once or twice a week with the sitter. I’m not a perfect pumper… my hours in the office are so limited and meeting-filled that I have a hard time getting it done. I have no idea how anyone ever established a freezer stash. I am literally pumping on Monday the milk she will drink at the sitter’s on Tuesday.

But I’ve learned to cut myself some slack. She’s fine. She’s great. She’s in the 85th percentile in every possible measurement. Her chances of becoming a neurosurgeon rocket scientist painter author rock star with a perfect immune system are still pretty high, AND I’m pretty sure she can beat up any baby who tells her otherwise. I’m not letting myself stress out about it anymore.

Besides, it’s time to start solid foods. That should be a super fun stress-free process, right? RIGHT?

Dear Campbell,

Today is your six month birthday. Six months. SIX MONTHS. This feels like such a huge deal to me. Like a really big accomplishment. We made it! Six months! We are awesome at life!

This month has been a huge one for you. You have TWO teeth, you can sit up, you would literally roll across town if I would let you. You are laughing all the time, except for the times when you’re screeching at the top of your lungs. If I couldn’t see your face while you do it I would be convinced someone was poking you with sticks. But, no. Happy as can be. And screeching.

Still no cuddling or being still in any way. If I try to hold you against my chest you will plant your feet and kick off. The other day you rolled over mid-diaper change. If I don’t watch you like a hawk you’ll be under the sofa before we know it. You constantly drowning in drool, hanging out in soaked shirts with wet arms down to the elbow. You hate bibs, though, so we cycle through several outfits a day. Good thing your clothes are so cute.

It’s amazing to me how quickly you became the new normal. I knew our lives would change dramatically, and I knew it would be hard, but I still don’t quite believe it’s real. We go to bed by ten and are up at six (with a couple of interruptions for you and me). There’s an exersaucer in the living room, bottles all over the kitchen, a mesh loungy thing in the bathtub, a car seat in the rearview mirror. I have gotten awesome at baby nail clipping and nap shushing and speedy onesie changing.

The other night your dad and I were talking about you (real talk: we talk about you all the time) and he said that while he doesn’t want you to grow up, he can’t wait to talk to you. I am dying to know what goes on in your head. You are so full of life, so joyful, so happy and curious and excited to be wherever you are. I can be so cynical and negative sometimes, and it really gets me down. But it’s hard to feel that way when you’re staring at me and giggling. You’re a good influence on me.

I didn’t know how this mom thing would work out for me, baby girl. I’ve never been a kid person. I was so worried about how I would do, if I could keep it together. If I could still be me. But now I see that it doesn’t work like that, at least not so far. It’s not that I’m not me anymore. It’s that who I am has changed. Being a mom didn’t take away from that, it added to it. I’ve had to adjust some priorities for sure, and give some things up. I still don’t know exactly how to do and be everything I’d like. But I do know that I am thrilled that you’ll be a part of whatever comes next.

Sometimes when I look at you I am so excited about what’s next for you – solid foods, crawling, and then basically driving and going to college and starting an IRA. I can’t wait to learn more about who you are. But at the same time I wish I could slam on the brakes. You’re already so different. I look at your newborn pictures and I can barely remember you being that baby. I know that in no time I’ll have trouble remembering you at six months. And every day you gain more confidence, more independence, more experience. You’re testing the waters. Learning about the world around you. I love watching it and it breaks my heart at the same time.

Your Big Mama has a quote taped to her refrigerator that says, “Having a child is to forever have your heart go walking around outside your body.” You’re not walking quite yet, but yes. That. It’s just like that.

Love,
Mama

It has been ages and ages and ages since I shared a recipe on this site. I’ve never done a whole lot of cooking, really, and I’m doing none at all right now. Aaron is fully in charge of our food situation and it is such a relief to not have to think about it.

But when it comes to dessert I am still in charge. A few weeks ago we needed to bring a dessert to an event, so I turned to Pinterest. I have a whole board there dedicated to sweets because that is basically the essence of who I am. It was a tough call – sopapilla cheesecake? Homemade oatmeal creme pies? Better than crack brownies?

Better than crack brownies.

BETTER THAN CRACK BROWNIES.

Oh, you guys.

These things are easily the most delicious brownie/bar/layered things I have ever had. The combo is so perfect, so balanced, so rich and crispy and fantastic I don’t even know what to do about it. I can’t make them unless we’re going somewhere I know they will all be eaten, otherwise I will finish the pan that night by myself. With no regrets.

Better than crack brownies are basically this: a layer of brownies, a layer of peanuts and peanut butter cups, and a layer of chocolate peanut butter crisp. You chill them and serve them cold, and then they change your life.

Here’s the recipe:

Better-Than-Crack Brownies

1 batch brownies (boxed mix is fine)

1/2 cup salted peanuts

1 cup chopped Reese’s peanut butter cups (or a bag of the tiny ones, then you don’t have to chop)

1 1/2 cup milk chocolate chips

1 1/2 cup creamy peanut butter

1/2 tablespoon butter

1 1/2 cups Rice Krispies Cereal (I used store brand once, not the same)

Mix brownies according to directions, and bake for 20-25 minutes in a 9 x 13 baking dish. Remove and top with peanuts and peanut butter cups, and bake for 4-6 minutes more.

While they are finishing baking, melt chocolate chips, peanut butter and butter. Stir in cereal. Remove brownies from oven and evenly pour chocolate mixture over top.

Refrigerate for 2 hours before serving.

I don’t really measure out the peanut/peanut butter cup layer, just shake them out until it’s pretty covered. I like to push them down into the brownies.

The end result is a solid, crispy topping over a gooey chewy brownie with a peanut and peanut butter cup surprise hiding in random bites. It is chocolatey and peanut buttery and crispy and chewy and magically delicious.

Seriously. You can’t go wrong. They rule. Make them. Then send me some.

Dear Campbell,

OH, GIRL. This month has just been the best thing. Everything about you has gotten BIGGER and MORE AWESOME.

I feel like you really exploded this month. You are rolling over, first of all, like a total grown up. You’re tall and strong and loud, oh so loud. You have got some serious lung capacity. We’re in trouble when you start knowing words.

Any time you’re on the move, whether it’s in the car or on a walk, your eyes are open so wide and your head is turning 90 to nothing to take it all in. And the entire time you are ohhing and ahhing and cooing and squealing and talking to everything you see.

We went to your Aunt Chelsea and Uncle Josh’s wedding, which was super fun. We dragged you all over town and partied it up and you just rolled with it, being cool and looking fabulous. In fact, you stayed calm all week long, holding onto your frustrations and keeping them inside until 20 minutes before the wedding when you staged a MASSIVE MELTDOWN in our little dressing area. We were supposed to be taking family photos and putting final touches on makeup and outfits, and instead you were screaming and I was crying and you wouldn’t eat and I couldn’t find your dad and oh my gracious we almost missed the wedding. But we got it together and only a few people accidentally saw my boobs and you got some food and everything was great. You met all of your crazy family members and tons of our friends and it was a blast.

Your sleeping habits have been all over the map this month. Three hour nap, no nap, four hours at night, NINE hours a night. It’s a blast to have no idea what to expect when you lay down at night. But man, when you do sleep, it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

You love to ‘stand up’, you love to bounce around, you love to roll over and and kick your legs and flail around. You do not love to be still or cuddle or rest really in any manner at all. You are thrilled, THRILLED, when your dad comes into your line of sight. You will twist yourself like a contortionist to follow him around the room. Seeing the two of you together is one of my most favorite things about you being in our family.

It is so much fun to live with you, sweet girl.

Love,
Mama

Hey, did you know we’re taking monthly pictures of Campbell? I mean, real talk, we’re taking daily pictures of Campbell. But we are also taking OFFICIAL monthly pictures, and today, four months in, I am finally getting around to sharing them.

First, let me tell you how this all came to be. It all started with Pinterest, as most things do. There are about 10,000 ideas on there about how to monthly document the growth of your precious baby thing. Personalized onesies, chalkboard designs, building blocks, homemade signs. But the one I loved the most was the giant calendar.

Problem #1. Where do I get the giant calendar? I went to the office supply store, but the biggest thing they had was desktop sized. I googled and googled until I came up with it’s official title – the Stendig Calendar. Apparently it’s a whole thing in the modern design community. I could order one from Crate and Barrel! Great!

Problem #2. Campbell was born in November. Ordering a 2012 calendar was no problem. But I needed December 2011! Who is still selling 2011 calendars in December? No one, that’s who. Even Google failed me. I got seriously depressed about this turn of events (for real, I had a three week old, my emotions were a roller coaster) and started looking for a monthly picture plan B. But! Then! A website told me that the Stendig Calendar is printed in Nashville. NASHVILLE. Guess who lives in Nashville? ME.

I called the office and explained my situation to the nicest guy ever, who, after giving me a history of the Stendig Calendar, told me that he had one copy of the 2011 calendar that he’d give me for free if I bought my 2012 calendar from him. AND he would deliver it to my house. FREE. WITH DELIVERY. Yes, please.

And you guys, it is beautiful. It’s enormous, first of all, three feet by four feet, which precluded us from hanging it anywhere in the house since I’m pretty sure it’s actually bigger than our house.

So each month, as close to the 6th as I can remember, we bust it out and spread it on the floor. I put Campbell in my favorite outfit that’s currently in rotation, and we go to town. It’s pretty much the most fun thing ever.

And here they are! Starting next month I’ll post them in a better format. This month we’re just catching up.

MARCH 2012 – Four months.

FEBRUARY 2012 – Three months.

JANUARY 2012 – Two months.

DECEMBER 2012 – One month.

I think about quitting. A lot.

I want to say I love my job. I have loved it. For the bulk of the last five years, I have loved and been grateful for the opportunity to be a youth pastor and build a program that fits the style of our church. We’ve had big wins, we have fantastic kids, and I love that I get to try and figure out how to help them have an honest spirituality.

But man, I have hated it some days, too. There have been some ugly stretches. I am not always on the same page as the leadership, kids and families slip through the cracks, something that seemed minor blows up into something major major and I feel like I’ll never be able to get out of bed again.

Some days I think I can’t do it. Some days I think they need someone smarter, someone tougher, someone flashier. Someone more proactive and motivated and energetic. Someone who isn’t wracked with doubt when they put the small group curriculum together, afraid they aren’t hitting the right points or the kids won’t respond and the whole thing will just be a waste of time. Weeks of good things are canceled out by one flippant tweet from a kid. A great event is tarnished by an unhappy parent. I am overwhelmed by politics and expectations and theological uncertainty.

Then Campbell came along, and brought with her a whole new world of guilt and emotion and drama. When I’m with her I’m worried about the work I’m not getting done. When I’m not with her I miss her. The lack of sleep is compounded by the fact that some days the only way I get any work done is to stay up after she and Aaron go to sleep so I can write lessons uninterrupted.

So I think about quitting. A lot. It sure would make my life easier.

But then I remember. I remember that when I was growing up, the best I could imagine was being a youth pastor’s wife. I remember the lack of female role models in the church. I remember how it felt to be told how I felt was wrong, that I was thinking incorrectly, that what I saw as injustices were just how God works and I needed to get on board. I remember believing that there was one way to be a Christian kid, and even though everyone else seemed to have it figured out, I didn’t fit the mold and was doing it wrong. And that God was mad at me for it.

I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in conversation, and small groups, and hard questions. I believe in “I don’t know”. I believe in erring on the side of not teaching them enough over the side of telling them exactly what to think. I believe in “I believe”, “I think” and “I hope” over “I know”.

And I believe that the work of creating that environment for these kids is valuable and worthy of my time. I believe it is good for Campbell to grow up in that world. I want her to know anything is possible, and I can’t teach her that if I’m in the business of running away when it gets too hard.

Even still. I think about quitting. A lot.

Dear Campbell,

I want to start this month by telling you that you are awesome. You are hysterically funny, you are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen ever, you make crazy faces and squeal with the best of them and give heart-melting smiles.

I am putting that out there first because this is my fifth attempt to sit down and write this post today. I love you, and I would carry you to the moon and back, but maybe you let me sit you down for more than five seconds at a time every now and then. Or nap for more than 20 minutes. Just a thought.

Your dad and I have become expert baby-calmers. Or we would have, anyway, if any one thing worked more than twice in a row. The current list of tricks we try to use to help you settle down is as follows:

• turn on the faucet
• look in the mirror
• look outside
• go outside
• soothing sounds giraffe
• laying flat and looking at the ceiling fan
• diaper change
• clothing change
• remove all clothing
• sing
• sing “I’m Sexy and I Know It” (‘girl look at that baby’)
• make faces
• let you suck on our fingers
• put you in the carseat and swing you around
• put you in the carseat on the dryer
• put you in the carseat and go for a drive

Any one of those things, or combination of those things, could help you settle down at any given time. The problem is there’s no way to know which one will work when, so it’s a constant guessing game. You keep us on our toes, kid.

This month has been really fun because it feels like you know us now. There’s a difference in your response to just anyone verses one of us. You follow us around the room with your eyes. You brighten up when we come into your line of vision.

You love to grab my hair and your dad’s beard. You have a ninja death grip, girl, and have pulled more than a few hairs out of our heads. I like to think you just want our faces as close to yours as possible and that you’re not actually trying to cause physical pain.

Month four is also the Month of the Feet. You didn’t know you had them before, and now you can’t get enough. You love to lay on your back and pull your feet up to your mouth, one in each hand. You regularly have all five toes on one foot in your mouth, and you like to lick the bottoms of your feet. It would be weird if it wasn’t so freaking cute.

One of my favorite things about you is how you fully feel whatever you feel. If you’re happy, it’s smiles and laughs and squeals and arms waving. When you’re hungry, it’s both hands in the mouth. When you’re gassy, it’s both legs in the air, aiming that thing at whoever is closest to you. (Sorry.) When you’re relaxed, it’s all four limbs stretched straight out and wide eyes taking everything in. When you’re mad, it’s full-scale gut-busting screams that stretch until there is literally no air left in your lungs. You are not a mellow baby. You are loud and proud, my girl.

And even though I am exhausted, I could not be happier. Life is harder, more complicated, more work than it has ever been before. It’s hard to get all of my work done in the time you are with the sitter. It’s hard to function on such fragmented sleep. It’s hard to take time every day at work and at night when all I want to do is sleep to pump milk for you.

But it is so, so worth it. You rule, baby girl.

Love,
Mama

It had been a rough morning. She had decided that instead of chewing on her hands when she was hungry or rubbing her eyes when she was tired she would just skip straight to the screaming. Oh, the screaming. None of my usual tricks – the mirror, running the faucet, going outside, looking at the ceiling fan – were working. SHE. WAS. NOT. HAVING. IT.

She was exhausted. I was exhausted. We were both crying. I don’t know who was more upset.

I’d been carrying her around the house for an hour. My arms were sore, my back ached, my head hurt. I opened the front door to let her look outside at the world. I’m sure we were a sight for the neighbors, her in just a diaper with a red face and wide open mouth, me in my sweats and nursing tank with one side unhooked after a failed nursing attempt and a towel on my head. Two girls at the end of their ropes.

Something about it worked for her, though. The screams got shorter, then quieter, then turned into whimpers. Her hands found their way into her mouth. I felt her little body relax into me, her head settle on my chest. Her big teary eyes watching the cars drive by. She took a deep breath. I took a deep breath.

I don’t talk a lot about holy moments. I don’t recognize them often. But standing there in the doorway, disheveled and tired and aching, I felt it. It wasn’t beautiful or graceful or sweet. It was loud and hard and overwhelming.

She is mine. To raise and help and feed and provide for. While I am learning how to be her mom, she is learning how to be, period. She already has problems I can’t fix. But I can hold her and love her and listen to her, even when all she can do is scream.

After things were settled and I put her down to nap, I checked my phone. My mom had called, right in the middle of it all, just to check on me. While I was taking care of my girl, my mom was taking care of hers.

The season and practice of Lent has always been a tough on for me. I’ve often given things up – sweets, soda, fast food, reading blogs, shopping. Sometimes I’ve even tried to replace those things with something positive, usually prayer or Bible reading. But I’ve never really put my soul into it. It was just something I did.

In the sermon on Sunday, our pastor talked about Lent as an opportunity. A time to take apart the faith we live with every day and look at it a little more closely. Spread out all the pieces, clean them up, make sure they’re still supposed to be there. See if the faith you hold onto still rings true in your life. And, if it doesn’t, dig into that. Take the parts that don’t resonate with you anymore and hold them up. Examine them.

We ended with the Apostle’s Creed and Communion. Before reciting, he encouraged us to really see the words we were saying, and if something didn’t feel right, don’t say that part. Let yourself be honest about where you are. Don’t just go through the motions and sign on to something you’re not so sure about.

So I’m going to try.

I’m not too worried about whether or not Mary was a virgin, or if the garden story is a metaphor, or which parts of Paul are meant to be taken in context. I feel pretty settled on how I view the Bible and what we’re supposed to do with it.

The parts of my faith that need to be examined are the personal ones. See, I am a cynical person. Sarcastic, defensive, uncomfortable with earnestness. I don’t feel an emotional attachment to God. I believe in God, and I believe life is spiritual, and I believe that Jesus is the example of what the body is supposed to do and be. But I don’t know what I think about God being personal.

It used to bum me out when people would talk about how God answered their prayers, or how they could look back at a situation and see how God had guided them through. How he had looked out for them, or kept them safe, or blessed them with a job or a spouse or a child or a new house or a parking space. It all just feels so random… not all believers get those things, and all kinds of people who want nothing to do with God have the same things happen to them. The only conclusion I can come to is that God’s not in the business of affecting those kinds of changes for us. They just happen.

And I’m okay with that. I think I’m more comfortable with a God who doesn’t play favorites or operate randomly. But what it has resulted in is a lack of personal devotion and a cynical heart. Even when I do feel an emotional pull, usually during prayer or music in a church service, I’m pretty quick to write it off. It’s easy to get emotional in a dimly lit room with beautiful music being performed, right? It’s not real.

I think I may have swung too far in the opposite direction. But I think God has room for me there, too.

So my goal for Lent is to try to be more open. Can you give up cynicism for Lent? Because I’m going to try. Cynicism and Chick-Fil-a. Those waffle fries are gonna be the death of me.