Margins

As some of you might know, Jon and I have some big decisions, big steps, and big transitions coming up.  We have a lot to process, and we are actively processing a lot.

From where to live to what to do, to when to do it, to what comes next for our family, to what's going on presently for our family, even down to silly things like trying to locate a place where it snows a lot and has beautiful falls and warm summers... and is affordable.  Plus those little things like the continual processing of our ever-growing identities, to some tough and faith-testing circumstances of late, to how to raise a very wiggly toddler well... well, you get the picture.  We're processing a lot and it often feels like we have a lot on our plates.

One of the things I love about InterVarsity New England in particular, is that they take the spiritual health and well-being of their staff seriously.  So, in addition to all of the other conferences, trips, retreats, and work events they have... they also have a staff spiritual formation retreat... 3 days specifically designed to give staff space for their own personal spiritual formation.  Time to listen.  Time to be silent.  Time to be with God and to hear from God, not for the sake of work, although it blesses work, but for the sake of your own heart and soul.   Seriously, they are one things that I miss the most about being on IV staff.  In the midst of the busy, it's a slowing down and perspective shifting that everyone - in ministry and out of it - would benefit from.

Anyhoo - Jon just got back from one a few weeks ago, and one of the things that he brought back with him, was that we needed to do a better job creating margins in our lives.  Space, for God, and for each other.  Non-busy time.  Unplugged time.  Intentionally silent time.  Space, so that we actually can unpack the internal world and the external questions.  While for us it is a Christian, spiritual thing - it is an idea that transcends that - and time and time again is shown to be ridiculously good for human beings to actually have non-noisy space.  Down time, and internal world check-ins, if you will.

Not out of obligations, or a 30 minute mandatory check-off-the-list "quiet time." And not even all about prayer or contemplation or even all process time.  But space where we are not noisy and are not busy and are not constantly moving.   Space for sanity, so we're not "on" from the moment that we wake up until the moment that we fall into bed.  Space so that we both start and stop work intentionally.  Space so that we are beings as well as doings.  Space, so that we actually can have some bandwidth to process some of those heavy-plate things that we're processing.  It's unbelievably hard, by the way, to process anything, with any depth, when you're constantly on.

It's like a dell laptop - the old ones with the really sucky fans (you know what I'm talking about) - left on for like 2 months, with no cool-down time, then being asked to run a multifunction process.  In less than 10 years.  Not going to happen.  Or at very least, not going to be pretty.

So, we're doing it.  We're putting margins in our day.  With a 9 month old.   With two working parents.  With days that start early (our son) and end late (working with college students).  And a lot on our plates.

What does that practically look like?  It's not super complicated or super spiritual at all - and is made easier by the fact that our son does *normally* sleep pretty well.  We get up half an hour earlier, we ask our son to stay in his crib, if he wakes early, until a certain time and have his own personal play-time.  We have "radio silent" time, where all our electronics are off - both in the morning and in the evening - giving us margins and space first thing and last thing in the day.  We go to bed early enough so that we can wake up a little bit before our day has to start.  We are ((trying)) not to eat our meals in front of the television, but actually at the table next to each other, with one another.  And we have start and stop times to work.

Do we do it always?  Absolutely not.  Are we trying daily? Yes.  Do we give ourselves days off, where we can stay up and watch as many episodes of LOST as we want?  Yes, absolutely.

But can I tell you something about margins? About radio silence?  It feels weird at first.  Eerily unconnected (::what if something major happens on facebook and I don't know until tomorrow?????::) But it is also weirdly freeing.  Calming.  Refreshing.  Like breathing fresh air.  Like the busy has a limit, not because it has an end or a cessation, but because we choose to place limits on it.  And you know what?  The work gets done.  And even though we technically have less time, it feels like we have more.

I'm not writing this to shame anyone - in fact, I'm really writing it because we're not great at it, and could use the encouragement of other people knowing and maybe asking us every once in a while.   In fact, honest truth, I both checked my phone in silent time AND slept in past my alarm this morning.   And we ate in front of the television last night.  ::gasp:: And I am writing this this afternoon, because it's not a law, and there is grace.  We're not pros but we're learning, and we're still trying, day-in and day-out, to put intentional space in our days.  And we're inviting you into our process.

I'm writing it as a reminder to myself, that it does actually matter.  That space is a good thing.  That it's counter-cultural, but worth-while.  That we need the space.  That we can do this.  Choosing, daily.

And I'm writing it, hopefully as an encouragement to you, that space is actually a good thing.  That yes, it takes intentionality, yes it is hard, and yes, it is totally counter-cultural.  But it is worth it.  And that no matter how busy your life might seem - students, I know.  Trust me.  I was an 7am to 3am gal in college too.  Parents, I know. They're everywhere.  Always.  And oh so noisy.  But we all generally have the capacity to create space (exceptions - like the first 6 weeks of parenthood - certainly apply, but are, in general, the exception, not the rule), even if it can't be fully silent or alone (parents) or can't be in the morning (college students) or can't be [x] (for you).   Our phones/computers/ipads/gadgets have an off/silent button, and we (for the most part) have the capacity to put a limit on the busy, somewhere in our days.

Maybe this is not for you right now.  And my intention is not to say that it has to be - please forgive me, if it comes across that way - but it is the invitation for us right now.  And it's something that I'm grateful for, wrestling with, longing for, and working towards, so... there ya go. :)

- KD

Most Helpful Baby Products, 9 months in

Warning: mommy blog post to follow.  :)  Feel free to disengage now if that's not your thing.  But in the spirit of new found freedom, here ya go; this is one of the more lighthearted things I've been thinking about this week, among other things.  And this is totally more fun than vocabulary words or math problems, or studying for my first standardized test in over a decade, or all the hard things that I'm exhausted from thinking about, or figuring out our lives, or you know, all those other grown-up things which seem to take so much energy and time.

Most Helpful Baby Products that we used Way More than I Ever Thought we would:

this baby bib: it's made of silicone, it has a spill catcher, it's super easy to wash/clean, and it keeps food from going all over my son.  It was a gift from friends Lynn and Jeremy, and we use it literally every meal that we eat at home.  for S, not for Jon and me, although if they made grown-up ones, I'd think about it.  seriously is going to become my go-to baby-shower gift.

Itzbeen Baby Timer: a friend recommended this, and especially for those first few months of sleep-deprivation/exhaustion, where you can't really remember where your face is, let alone how long ago you fed the baby, this was great.  simple push of a button, bam - extra brain RAM.

the baby wipe warmer: no specific brand, and I honestly thought this was kind of dumb, excessive, unnecessary, etc.  But in the middle of the night when our son would scream because of cold bottom meets colder wipes, and this made this difference between happy 3am changes and scream-y ones, it was totally worth it.

a solid baby carrier - used almost daily.  We started out with a Bjorn when he was little, and then graduated to an Ergo a few weeks ago.  I think if I were to do it again, I'd just do the Ergo, but both served their purposes well - the Ergo is just more versatile, a bit more comfortable, and better for older, e.g. heavier, babies.  And makes a huge difference when you walk a ton, or live in a city that isn't entirely stroller accessible.

Baby spoons which turn white if the food is too hot.  Totally unnecessary, and not something I would pay more to have, but definitely saves a step if it's been a long day and you have a screamy hungry baby.

Pack n Play - S's bed of choice for 3 months, and then our travel bed, guest baby bed, etc.

Baby Trend Jogging Stroller-  much cheaper than its contemporaries, but we've found it to be great, even after heavy usage for 9 months.

Medela Double Electric Breast Pump: if you're planning on going back to work, or leaving baby at all, ever, and are planning to breast-feed, make sure you get a comfortable, good quality pump.  While I loath all things pumping, having a good one as made a huge difference, when you have to hang out with it fairly often.  The Lansinoh hand-pump is also not terrible, for less frequent needs.  I thought about naming mine, I hung out with it so much, but that was just too weird (eww), so we passed.  Also, insurance covers it in most states.  Ask your health care provider.

A paci clip.  Doesn't matter who makes it - crafty friends can make this easily and super cheaply.  But when your kid loves his paci, and loves throwing his paci, or talking, or opening his mouth, or losing his paci regularly, this is an absolute necessity.  Unless you like searching everywhere for the paci.  Or constantly doing the bend and grab.  In which case, enjoy, and disregard.

And for us, with lots of travel, a small sound machine has been a life-saver for helping baby sleep in new places, as well as blocking out noise from small apartment living and noisy neighbors, and sharing rooms, and all those other lovely things.

So there ya go.  Feel free to use any/all/none of it.  :)

Being the Pinata

There are some weeks, where life just seems to catch us, hang us up by the nuts like a piñata, and then take a few more swings.  And then you're just hanging there - bruised, battered, and waiting for the final blow, and the candy to all fall out.  But it hasn't come yet.  So you're just waiting...  and waiting.  And waiting.

This has been one of those weeks.  I apologize for speaking vaguely, but this is neither the space nor the time to elaborate more on that, suffice to say, I'll probably share more later, and it's been a helluvaweek.  And if you're the praying type, well, you know what to do...  and thank you.

But all that to say, as I've found myself in the midst of this week, in the midst of the hanging upside down, waiting for whatever comes next, I've found myself face-to-face with the ease with which I slide into preparing for the worst always - preparing for the final piñata-splitting blow, as if it were inevitable rather than possible.  Writing blog posts (in my head) processing the worst, even though it hasn't happened yet.  Preparing myself mentally to come undone.  Mapping out every possible alternative and possible outcome, most of them not positive.   Letting fear steal joy, even after writing this post so recently.  Even looking for metaphors for the candy, within my own hypothetical piñata metaphor.

And at some point, a few nights ago, I had to stop myself, and realize...

Whether it will, or won't, happen - it hasn't happened yet.  And while not blindly ignoring the possibilities - on either side, positive or negative - I cannot live in a reality that has not yet happened.

Either way, somehow I have to find a way to live in the now.  Even with all its uncertainties, fears, hopes, and unknown.

So me, us, at the moment?

We're clinging to the crucified, broken, victorious Savior. 

At church this morning, during communion, I was struck by the fact that what we are told to remember is "His body broken for you... His blood, poured out for you."  Our Messiah, our hope, is not just a good teacher, telling us how to be whole from a high and lofty place.  But broken, bruised, and bleeding on our behalf, in the trenches with us - and able to lift our heads, because he rose from the dead, in victory out of and over that place, those places.  He is not a stranger to brokenness, or pain.  He weeps alongside us.  And while He does promise to bring beauty out of the ashes, he does not scorn the ashes, the tears, or the hard places.  And so we cling, in hope, to Him - the resurrected, victorious Messiah, who still bears the holes from the nails - in this place.

We're looking for joy in the now.

Not a false joy, which ignores and says that the hard places - the now - does not exist.  Not a happy-go-lucky joy which tries to put a smile on your face and smile away the clouds.  But a sober thankfulness, which acknowledges the joyful things present in the now, in full-light of the hard.  And part of that is looking outside of myself, and being thankful out loud for others.

We're letting ourselves feel.

The full spectrum. With full grace.  And not trying to figure out what we "should" be feeling or "should" be doing or "should" be thinking or "should" know.  Should can be absolutely toxic to growth or healing when it leads us to try and live a life other than our own.  And there is a time and place for moving on, moving forward, but it's not just yet.

We're hoping.

Not blindly.  But with true realism, in the balance of what ifs.  And asking for what we want, not what we think is realistic or plausible, or most likely.  With "thy will be done", yes, but with true desires expressed, that trust that God wants to hear our unlimited hopes not a cautious answer that we think is reasonable.

We're letting friends love us and care for us.

And that adds to the thankfulness.  I hold to, our understanding of friendship will never be deeper or stronger than when we're a mess and we let someone else, who is trustworthy and close, in.

And we're waiting.  In the now, not in the future.  

It's not conclusive, but that's where we are, so that's where we end for now.

KD

little man has been on the outside longer than inside...

Happy nine months, little man - we cannot believe how much of a little kid you are growing into!  I cannot believe that you've now been on the outside for longer than you were growing in Mommy's tummy.  It feels like just yesterday that we were finding out that you were on your way, waiting and hoping for and expecting your arrival.

Your Profile
You weigh in at almost 20 pounds and getting quite tall.  You wear 9-12 month clothes, and even a few 12 month clothes.  You are becoming more and more little boy, and less and less baby.  Mommy can tell that toddler years are right around the corner.  You are pulling up and cruising around the furniture, and even occasionally free-standing, although it catches you completely off-guard most of the time!  You eat like a banshee - and so far, we haven't found anything you won't eat.  You current favorites are lentils with raisins and cumin, avocado, and, as always, banana and cheerios.  And as before, you are constantly on the go!  You badly need a haircut, but we haven't managed to do that yet!

Things you've Learned
You know how to pull up and stand up on almost anything - you are also comfortably cruising around the house on the furniture.  My guess is that you will walk before you are one.  You are also very comfortable feeding yourself - even things that you're not supposed to, like mulch, onion skins, and plastic - and are starting to learn how to use a sippy cup and a spoon.  You've learned how to splash in the bathtub, and how to turn the light in your room off and on.  You haven't said any words yet, but you love making farting noises with your mouth, and can make all the vowel sounds, plus Z, S, and B and some other indistinguishable noises.  When Mommy sings, half the time, you "sing" along with her.

Your Firsts

• You went apple picking for the first time - and loved it!
  
• You went toilet bowl fishing for the first time.  Wish I could say it'll also be your last time, but I'm not so sure.  Needless to say, the toilet locks were installed.
• You've started making farting noises all the time now - and learned how to say "S" and "Z".
• You moved to two meals of solids each day - and love it!
• You stood on your own for 5-10 seconds for the first time.
• You are no longer a vegan - you have tried meat, eggs and yogurt within the last month
• You also had your first cold - and you thought it was hilarious the first few times we used the booger squeegie on your nose. 
• You switched from the front carrier to a back carrier - much more comfortable for Mommy and Daddy, and you get the added perk of getting to pull our hair! :)

Things you Like
You LOVE making farting noises.  You love it when Daddy chases or wraps you up like a burrito after bathtime - and you love having splashing wars with Daddy in the tub.  You love eating - anything and everything.  You like it when Mommy comes home from work - you sprint crawl across the house to get to her.  You like going out - grocery shopping or out for meals - you are fascinated by people watching - and you still love being tossed in the air or tickled!

We love you so much, buddy!  And we love watching you grow more and more into the little man that you are.

When fear threatens to rob you of joy...

For as long as I can remember, I've been a "realist."  Never one to flippantly expect the best, I was always considering and aware of the worst case scenario, always the one who asked the "but what if...?" questions.  Always aware that for every good outcome, there were many ways that it could go wrong along the way.  And always waiting for the figurative "other shoe to drop." The dreaded "but..."

Marriage is really good right now, but...
We had one healthy pregnancy, but...
My job is really exciting right now, but...
I'm really excited, but...
I'm healthy right now, but...

When Jon and I got married, we took a pre-marital assessment (Prepare-Enrich - I highly recommend it) as a part of our counseling which, among other things, measured your "rose-colored glasses-ness."  We both scored off the charts... on the bottom end.  And in some ways that was a really good - neither one of us was/is deceived into thinking that marriage is easy, or that it will be all bubbles and jelly beans.  But our counselor at the time - who was very wise - warned us that in the midst of that "realism" that we actually need to have hope that good things will also happen.  In other words, to believe in the possibility of a good, beautiful, happy marriage, just as much as we were preparing for the hard work and refining.

Realism without hope isn't actually realism.

A few years ago, one of my spiritual mentors told me, "realism isn't the same as 'waiting for the other shoe to drop' - that's actually fear and pessimism."  Realism, in contrast, acknowledges also the possibility that the other shoe won't drop.  That a good outcome is just as possible as a bad.  That statistically, there's not a limit to how much good can be expected, or how much bad or hard must occur.  It's not counting beans - where you run out of one, and you only have the other left.  Fear expects and prepares for the worst, always.  Fear is always waiting for the good to end, and the bad to come.  Fear focuses on the what ifs and loses the other side.

Fear robs us of joy, it buries hope and declares it foolish, and it declares the verdict before it ever occurs.  All in the name of being rational.  And, when bad things do happen, it hinders our ability to fully grieve them, because our mentality is, "well, that figures... of course it was going to be that way."  Fear is self-protective, and self-deceptive.  It neither protects nor enables us to see "realistically."

I don't know about you, but I would prefer joy and hope, in balance with wisdom and good preparation, even if it is more risky than fearful security.

Sure, hope is far more vulnerable.  Hope requires that we acknowledge that it hurts when we fall, are disappointed, or bad things happen.  Hope requires acknowledging that we actually do want the good things which we want regardless of whether we acknowledge it or not.  Hope can be disappointed, whereas fear rarely is.  But hope actually allows room for joy.  For life.  And for grieving.

So what do we do, when fear threatens to rob us of joy?  And I need to make it abundantly clear that I'm preaching this to myself here as well - I don't have this figured out yet.

But, I think we start by asking the "what if" question... the other way.  What if, instead of the fear-filled situation...  what if, God actually has something good here instead?  What are the potentially positive, hope-filled outcomes?  Not saying we have to believe them, or know that they'll happen - or that they will happen, for that matter - but I think hope begins to grow when we deliberately create space for it.

And maybe that space is as simple as beginning with realism - the balance of both sets of "what ifs."  Without automatically shooting one down because it's "unrealistic."

And then if we're really audacious and really bold, maybe we look for what we can be joy-full about in the here and now, regardless of what might happen next.  And maybe we choose, deliberately, joy - for as long as it can be ours.   Without damping it with cynicism, or waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It's audacious.
It's so simple.
But it's so hard.

I have no idea how to do this day in and day out.  But I am wholeheartedly persuaded that it is better than living in a fear-filled "realism" and so I'm going to try and keep plugging away at it.  With joy.  :)

- KD

Letters to my son: Being Your Mom

Dear son,

I've been wanting to write this letter for a while, but I just haven't quite had the words.  I still don't, but they say that words start to flow when you start to write, so here I am.  I want to tell you how much I love being your mommy, and how much more full I am than I ever thought I could be.

It's not one story - that would be easy to describe or tell.  It's not even one sweet tender moment, because I'm pretty sure I could find words for that as well.  It's the days, in and out, with your good moments, and your scream-y ones, that make my heart fill and feel like it cannot hold any more, but still it grows and overflows even more each day.

You are a man on the move these days and from the moment that you sit up in your crib to the moment that I lay you down for the night, you never stop.  Over legs, under tables, climbing trash cans and strollers: by the end of the day, you have more bumps than I can count - but still you grin.  You are unfazed by each set-back, and your persevering little personality keeps trying again, and again, and again.  Grinning and pouting and crying and chortling, all the way.  Nothing melts me like your laugh.  Even your preciously adorable pouty lip doesn't come close.

The other night, you had a hard night.  You were startled awake around 10:30, and you screamed and cried and wouldn't go back to sleep in your crib until almost 1:15.  And so we held you, and rocked you, and walked with you, and you fell asleep on our chests, your breathing slowing and relaxing, and your body slumped against ours in total trust, arching and screaming the moment we tried to put you down.  And as frustrated as I was, and as tired as I was, and as much as I wanted you to go.to.bed, I kept thinking, "I get to be his mom.  And we get to be the ones who comfort him.  Who help him feel safe when he's scared."  We get to be the ones who sit with him on these long, dark nights and as well as bear witness to the happy, laughter-filled days.  We get to be the ones...  and baby, even though I was SO glad when you finally let Daddy put you down in your crib, and stayed asleep, and we could crawl into our own bed and fall asleep, lying down, I wouldn't trade the privilege of getting to be the one who gets to be your mom - your safe place, even in those long, dark nights - for anything.

As I write this, you are crawling around on the floor, under daddy's keyboard, under my chair, pulling books off the shelves, and in general leaving total chaos in your wake - but every so often, you come back over to me, pull up on my leg, and just grin, as if to say "still here, mom?"  I'm still here, baby.  And I'm not going anywhere.

I love your fearlessness, even when that causes heart failure as you launch yourself off couches, beds, and chairs.  I love your laughter when daddy tickles you or you find something totally random, funny.  I love your snuggles in those last few minutes before bed, those precious, rare moments when you curl up and snuggle in and are still.  I love how you grin when we brush your teeth, and how you impishly consider whether to obey or not when we tell you no.  I love your wild crazy hair, standing on end and going every which way.  I love hearing your voice, as you sing going up the stairs, or along with me when we're cooking in the kitchen.  And I love how you crawl/run to greet me when I come home from a long day at work.

I wear many hats, baby.  But being Daddy's wife, and your mom are two of the most precious to me. When I am with you both, I am home and fully me.

I love being your mom, and as long as I am alive, I will always be here.  Whether you're screaming and running away, or screaming and running towards;  whether you're smiling and laughing, or crying; whether you are being fiercely independent, or just needing reassurance that we're here; whether you despise us or delight in us; whether you need us, or are fine on your own; whether I understand you or struggle to; whether I'm tired and just need a break, or loving every moment of motherhood, I will be here, with love, hard or easy, as your mom.  Loving you regardless.  Listening.  Staying.  And grateful for the gift of being your mom, always.

Love,

Mommy

blogger identity crisis

So I have a bit of a confession to make...  as a blogger, I'm going through a bit of an identity crisis - or at very least, a re-forming period.  When this blog began, it was a simple place for me to externally process the knowledge that I was called beloved, loved unconditionally, with-or-without my "little bit" of whatever I had to offer.  It was mostly private, and shared with just a few friends - mostly just for my own processing.

Over the last year, though, it has expanded in audience, and content.  And right, wrong or otherwise, I enjoy that.  I love comments, I love feedback, and I love "likes" - one of my love languages is words of affirmation, and so I thrive when that feedback is positive.  It also can be a dangerous place for me, because it can make it difficult at times to share parts of my process, vulnerably - which may or may not get likes and comments - even though that was the original intention of the blog.  I know, intrinsically, the type of post that gets likes.  And the kind that doesn't.  And it's very tempting to write either one or the other - but not really both.

Somewhere in the middle is where I hope to land - writing in light of the audience at hand, but also staying true to the intention of this space, regardless of the feedback or lack therein that I may get.  All that to say, I'm still figuring out how to do that.  And I'm trying to intentionally wrestle through my own need for affirmation - and the unhealthy parts of that as well as the healthy.  As well as consider how having an external audience may also - healthily - require me to share about the happy, light,  moments as well as the heavy, processing, heady, realization ones.  Which, even though it might not be my standard modus operandi to share out loud, is actually really healthy and good for me.

All that to say, I'm still figuring it out.  But, in the spirit of vulnerability, being real in the blogosphere, and comfort in who I am, I thought I'd share that out loud, rather than just keeping it to myself.  Here's the goal:

• I'm going to write some posts that have no point - that are funny, that are random, that are life - and I'm going to write some that are serious, pondering, and deep.  Because both of those are part of who I am. 

• I'm also going to write some that many people will love, because they resonate on a broader spectrum.

• And I will also write some that no one will like, but that are important for me to write to get it out of my head and into a place where I can process it out and be reminded of truth in the midst of chaos.  And that's a good thing too.

• And, easy or hard, with wisdom recognizing that this is the freakin' internet, I will continue to write posts that are vulnerable.  Even when it feels hard.  

And I have to be okay with not fitting neatly into one category of blogger - the sweet, inspirational, or the mommy-blogger, or the ridiculously funny, or the beautifully parsed, or the "gets a hundred likes even when she writes about fill-in-the-blank."  (I have some ridiculously talented friends who write blogs).  And at the same time, I have to be okay with sometimes getting pigeon-holed as a mommy blogger - hey I am one - or a heady-realization-rich blogger - because I have those and I like that about myself - or one who is expected to have beautiful words always - because I do sometimes.  And with that, it's okay to enjoy getting lots of positive feedback, comments and likes - but those cannot define the way that I write, process, or imagine and dream.  Therein, the journey is stunted, and I, not you, confine myself to a far smaller space than I long for.  That's my #beingreal moment for the day.

It's a terrible branding strategy - but hey, I'm not selling myself, for likes, comments, or money.  Because after all,

"I am called beloved. And in that, is a freedom to process and be transparent with everything else above. Because in the security of knowing that I am called Beloved, I also hear the truth that the chaos, the mess, the awkwardness, is not who I am. It does not define me." 

And that is my only brand.  So... stay tuned.  :)  The journey continues.