I Should Be

cleaning my house right now. Somebody is coming to see it in a matter of hours, and I still have to mop, vacuum, clean bathrooms, dust upstairs, pick up the boys' rooms, and put away laundry. (Gee, is that all?) And all the while I'm doing slave labor, I'm going to be grumbling to myself, "Why on earth am I even bothering? It's not like they're going to buy it. Nobody has even made an offer in the last 15 weeks. This is a lot of work for nothing. And it won't even stay clean for more than 3 hours. This is pointless." Scrub, scrub, scrub.)

I'm blogging instead. This seems to be addictive, and way more rewarding.

So I've come up with a list of why I love being pregnant for the third time:

(and if you're sick of hearing about me being pregnant, there's hope: I won't be pregnant for more than 3 1/2 more weeks. So help me, Lord! And my husband is sick of hearing about me being pregnant, too, and even I am sick of hearing about me being pregnant. So you're not alone.)

Why the Third Time is a Charm:

1. The first time around, you don't realize that pregnancy hormones make you certifiably insane and emotionally unstable. Even the second time, you might remain clueless. But the third time, you can see it for yourself. This does not make you less insane or more rational, just able to laugh about it. Even if nobody else does.

2. The stretch marks are already there, and you're not shocked and horrified to find them. You don't try to lift your enormous belly to see if there are any lurking underneath. You already know they are. And you don't care.

3. You aren't dumb enough to ask your husband if your rear is getting larger. And your husband isn't dumb enough to tell you the truth. You both know it is. And you don't care. (well, you don't, anyway)

4. You quit weighing yourself obsessively each morning to see if you've gained any more weight. The first time, it's horrifying to see new numbers come by 10s, and the second time you just keep reminding yourself of how much/little you gained the first time. By the third time, you just eat and enjoy every pound. They will come off. Well, most of them. You hope.

5. You know, with certainty, that the stretch marks, naval line, J. Lo-type rear end (but not so hip), flabby arms, swollen face, fingers, and feet, hormone swings, and excrutiating physical torture at the delivery will be worth it. Completely worth it. And even though your husband praises God daily that he doesn't have to do it, you secretly feel a little sad for him and proud for yourself that you're the one God chose to get to do this. Again.

Note to Self

I'm posting this one only as a visual reminder to myself to obey my own 10 Commandments. If I had heeded my own advice, I would not have gotten 5 1/2 hours' sleep two nights in a row to get up while it was still dark, drive to my best friend's house, drag all our junk out into the driveway, sit on a metal folding chair, and wait for a total of 8 hours only to make about $125.00 (And not to mention that I actually bought a kitchen table and 6 chairs from a neighboring garage sale for $50, so that brings my profit down to $75.00 And I already owed Bridget $10 from the other day. The profits are sliding away . . .)

It was not worth it.

Now all my unsold stuff is on its way to a donation center, which is where I should've sent it to begin with, and instead enjoyed my weekend.

So I'm reminding myself, Sarah, do not buy anything else! You don't need it. You don't have anywhere to store it. Your garage is full. Your storage unit is full. Your underbed bins are full. Your closets are full. Quit! Because when your house eventually sells, you will have to pay somebody else untold amounts of money to lug it to your new house. And then you will have to cram it into closets, garage, under beds, and in cabinets. And then you will be crazy enough to think you need to hold another garage sale . . .

Just in Case

You know the saying that if you don't learn from your mistakes the first time, you'll have to repeat them? In case that's really true, I'm keeping a list of what I've learned this week--heaven forbid I have to repeat these:

1. When assembling a crib, and the directions say "This step might require two people," a four-year-old does not qualify.

2. More than double the dosage of concentrated children's ibuprofen is not toxic to an 18-month old. In fact, if I could recommend it without CPS visiting me, I would. Four teeth coming in don't have a prayer's chance against that much pain relief, and you might wind up with the happiest evening of your life. (Disclaimer: I did not double the dosage on purpose. I promise. Somehow, trying to grasp the syringe, measure out the medicine, hold down a screaming child, and listen to my other child say his ear hurts for the 15th time in 5 minutes got me confused. I wonder why?)

3. If the weather forecast says "only 30% chance of rain," that actually means "100% guaranteed promise that it WILL rain as long as you're attempting to have a garage sale." And no matter what anybody else at that stupid garage sale tells you, do not drag everything back out onto the driveway just because it stops sprinkling. Because it will then start pouring. And you will only make $13.25 in three hours.

4. When you accidentally back over a business' flower bed with your very large SUV, crushing newly planted shrubs and leaving tire tracks, don't wait around long enough for someone to notice. Someone will. Drive away fast. But only after you've shifted back into Drive.

5. It does not count as a nap if it only lasts 10 minutes and is interrupted once by the baby, twice by the preschooler, and once by the husband. That's not a nap; that's being teased. And nobody should tease a woman with this hormone levels this high.

6. The words "possibly breech," "C-section," "floating head," and "barely dilated," all spoken at the same appointment can make a pregnant woman very, very angry. (And if you're a husband married to that pregnant woman, you would be very, very wise not to mention how great a C-section could be, because then said pregnant woman could then get her tubes tied at the same time, how convenient!)

I'm hoping next week will be better.

Limited Understanding

I taught Caiden a song the other day that goes like this:

"I'm going to sing, sing, sing,
I'm going to shout, shout, shout,
I'm going to sing, I'm going to shout
And praise the Lord!
When the gates are open wide,
I'll be sittin' by Jesus' side,
I'm going to sing, I'm going to shout
And praise the Lord."

The second verse replaces the words "sing" and "shout" with "zoom."

Tonight, while picking up 13,795 Legos he'd distributed all over the entire front of the house, he started singing his own version:

"I'm going to sing, sing, zoom,
I'm going to shout, zoom, sing,
I'm going to sing, I'm going to zoom
And praise the Lord!
When the gates are open wide,
Hmmm, hmm, Jesus, hmmm,
I'm going to sing and praise Jesus and bow down to Him."

Ahem. Not quite like the original version, which isn't a very difficult song technically.

I found myself thinking, well, it's sweet that he thinks he's praising the Lord (and hallelujah! that he's doing an unpleasant task with a pleasant heart), but I bet his praises will be more effective when he actually knows the Lord with true understanding.

And then I realized something: his praises, however limited (and lyrically challenged), were just as sweet in Jesus' ear as those sung from someone who has believed 10, 20, or 50 years in "real" understanding. And that our "real" understanding is just as limited in many senses as Caiden's is. And that it doesn't matter--Jesus loves it all the same. So sing on, Caiden!

Fasts Are Not!

I've realized that I'm not very spiritual. In fact, I definitely qualify for Ragamuffin status. (See earlier post). Although according to the book, we're all ragamuffins, regardless. But that's beside the point.

Anyway, yesterday I woke up with dread in my heart and grumbling on my lips. Media Fast. Those two words made me greet the day with fear. Our church is launching a building campaign, which I look very much forward to, since we'll be building a wonderful retreat center for our children's camps, as well as a new building for one of our satellite locations. So we participated in a church-wide media fast yesterday, to be in prayer and thought for what the Lord would have us give. Now, I'm all for campaigns, and I'm even all for giving--it's not really ours, anyway--but I think by midnight last night I'd thought of about 57 things I could give up more easily than media. Namely: food, drink, sleep, and breathing.

That's how hard it was. I'm not a techie addict; I just figured out how to blog in the last month. I can hardly even operate my iPod. But I realized yesterday that I need technology to make it through the day with a smile! Between no morning cartoons, no music throughout the day, no email to check and keep in touch with people who've already gotten all of their teeth, and no Adventures in Odyssey before bed, it was One Rough Day.

To top it off, Grayson is cutting four teeth and has turned into a bear. And I watched my best friend's 18 month old for 2 1/2 hours in the morning, as well as my own. Just so you know, two 18 month old babies is a bad combination. Terrible. If I were having twins right now, I'd waddle away as fast as I could. Whoever thinks twins sounds fun has obviously never had children, or is crazy enough to actually enjoy them! Give them to me one at a time. But I digress . . .

Let's just say it was a really, really long day. My husband got home at 9:30 p.m. I was alone with at least one wide-awake child for more than 12 hours. Most of those hours, I was alone with at least two.

So here's why I'm not spiritual--I forgot to pray. And I never got around to actually having a quiet time. (Of course, you need quiet to have a quiet time, and that never happened, either.) In fact, the only prayers that got thrown up toward heaven went something like this:

"Jesus, please afflict my children with narcolepsy right now."

"Jesus, if I hide in the closet while attempting to talk on the phone, please keep my children safely distracted long enough for me to finish one sentence before they locate me with their kiddie sonar."

"Jesus, if I'm a very, very good girl, will you please end this day several hours early? Nobody else will notice, and I'd really appreciate it."


And so on. I realized late in the day that I am wimp. I don't know how the prairie women did it, raising several children, close in age, miles from all neighbors, with rough terrain and rougher climates, and nobody to email for sympathy! Of course, they also set their kids' broken bones themselves, made onion poultices for pneumonia, and birthed all their children with nothing but a leather strap between their teeth and maybe a shot of bourbon to numb the pain. (Okay, so I did the last one--minus leather strap and bourbon. Maybe I'm not such a horrible wimp?)

I couldn't even manage one whole day, alone with three small children, without some form of music or media to smooth the way for me. And instead of feeling grateful for all the blessings I still had, I just complained. Loudly. All Day Long. To whoever's little ears would listen. By bedtime, I had one final prayer:

"Jesus, thank You that this day is over. Thank you for media: for music that makes my children fall asleep in the car, for email from other grown-ups, for cartoons that help tame the afternoon grumpies, for a computer and blog site where I can feel like somebody beside myself is listening to me and actually thinking about what I'm saying without asking, "why?". And please, please, don't lead anyone in leadership at my church to do this ever, ever again. Because I'm okay with knowing I'm a ragamuffin. And I promise to give a lot of money to this campaign. Just don't take away my radio. Amen."

Um, One More Commandment

Note to self:
Thou shalt not, at 36 weeks pregnant with third child (which is vastly different than being pregnant with first, when I took naps, pampered myself, actually ate several real meals a day, and remembered with every breath that I was pregnant and shouldn't move heavy furniture myself), attempt to declutter entire home in one day.

Because thou shalt feel like dying later.

And because even the knowledge of a decluttered attic, almost-naked closets, cleaned-out cabinets and nightstands, and completely organized scrapbook/photograph supplies shall not be sufficient to raise me from the dead.

Oh, well. At least it's done. Now I can spend the last few weeks resting. Oh, right. I forgot about said 4 1/2 year old and 18 month old who seem to think they need me 48,299 times daily. Well, there's always bedtime, a mere s-e-v-e-n-h-o-u-r-s away!

My New 10 Commandments

God is good. And God's timing is perfect. I know this because He, in His infinite wisdom, worked it out so that my neighborhood garage sale (which only happens once a year) would be this weekend--which is when I, at 36 weeks pregnant, am at the height of nesting. Don't you think this confirms His goodness?

I hate clutter, which I posted about earlier here. So in my quest to combine getting ready for a garage sale and my nesting instincts to declutter my entire house and life, I've compiled 10 Commandments of De-Cluttering. Here they are:

1. If thou art a Happy Meal toy, thou shalt not enter my home. Or I shall throw you away--but only when my children aren't looking, because even I am not that brave.

2. If thou art an "adapted" toy, aka pirate swords made out of paper towel rolls, etc., thou shalt not stay in my home more than 1 day. And then I shall throw you away. Again, while my children aren't looking.

3. Thou shalt not give my children toys with more than, say, 5 pieces. Or I shall return said gift to you, on your child's birthday, to clutter up your home.

4. Thou shalt not allow me to buy any more large, unwieldy objects from Ikea for my home. Because if I do, said objects will only end up in next year's garage sale. (They'd make an appearance at this year's, except that I just bought them last week.)

5. If thou art a photograph or keepsake I haven't looked at in more than a year, thou art banished from my home. Obviously thou aren't that important to me.

6. If thou art a pair of my husband's stone-washed blue jeans, with little slits cut up the sides to accommodate Timberland boots, purchased while in college sometime in the 90s, thou art banished from my home. (But only when my husband isn't looking!)

7. If thou art a cooking appliance I don't actually use, and thou art currently stored above my washer and dryer in the laundry room, thou shalt be sold. Even if I might need you later. Who has room in the laundry room for kitchen appliances??

8. If thou art a CD, or, even worse, cassette tape, from my college days, thou shalt be sold. And if nobody buys you, thou shalt be given away to charity. And if they don't want you, thou shalt be thrown away.

9. If thou art an item given to me by my friend, Lisa, at her garage-giveaway, then shame on me for taking it! And thou shalt be sold. Or donated. Or thrown away. Or given back to Lisa.

10. If thou art something really cute, or really useful, or even a really good deal, then I might allow you to invade the measly storage space in my home. Because there's always next year's garage sale . . .

Favorite Quotes

I've kept a Quotes Journal for quite a few years, and anytime I read or hear something that resonates with me, I record it there. Here are a few of my favorites:

"We are made to persist. That's how we find out who we are." Tobias Wolff

"Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." Abraham Lincoln

"If you knew what God knows about death you would clap your listless hands." George MacDonald

"There is a great market for religious experience in our world; there is little enthusiasm for the patient acquisition of virtue, little inclination to sign up for a long apprenticeship in what earlier generations of Christians called holiness." Eugene Peterson

"God does not have a secret society of intimate friends. We are as intimate with God as we choose to be." Cynthia Heald

"Thinking is what a great many people think they are doing, when they are merely rearranging their prejudices." William James

"You pay the highest price for the lowest living." unknown

"We can stand a lot of honesty that concerns other people. But we are marvelously uncritical and generous when it comes right down to the nitty-gritty of our private lives." Elisabeth Elliot

"Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can." John Wesley

"No one's voice sounds sweeter to God than yours." Bill Hybels

If you have a favorite quote, please pass it along; I'm always looking for great ones to add to my journal!

Frenzy

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. This is partly due to Leslie's blog, which is a picture of insightful living, and partly due to my ever-decreasing energy levels (As a side note, if it's true that each pregnancy becomes more fatiguing, this is a definite sign that I'm done! If I become any more lethargic, I'll be dead.).

Anyway, I've been examining my life--what I do, how I do it, why I do it, and whether it's really worth doing. Some things are a given; I'm married and a mother, so there are obvious tasks I need to do everyday. On the other hand, what I'm seeing is that I'm spending most of my time doing things I don't want or need to do, and very little time doing those things that I either really desire, or really need, to do.

For example, I need to do laundry on a regular basis, like every other day. With three boys in this house, dirty clothes pile up quickly, and lately that's all they've done--pile up. Chris asks me quite frequently if I know the location of some item of clothes, and my answer the last month or two is the same, "Probably somewhere in the laundry." He worked 100 hours last week getting ready for Easter, and the poor man had to do his own laundry. That's sad. And as for cooking, don't even ask. I told someone last week that we're naming this baby Wendy McDonald, because that's all I've been feeding her lately. That's also sad. I've gotten a lot of nothing done; my parents' anniversary card is still in my calendar, unwritten, and I should've mailed it literally a month ago! I have friends who've had surgeries or babies, but I haven't even called, let alone taken a meal over.

What have I been doing? Good question. I've drained the checkbook of money at Target, Wal-Mart, and every fast food restaurant known to man; guzzled enough gas (my car, not me personally) to cause an oil crisis, and wasted all sorts of time lounging around watching Law and Order reruns during the boys' naps. This is not the picture of life I want to paint.

So what do I need to do? What do I want to do? Okay, here's my list:
1. Spend way more time at home, playing with the kids, cooking meals, getting laundry done, and making our home more peaceful in general.
2. Spend way less time anywhere that costs money. So this means no more Wendy's, McDonald's, Boston Market, Wal-Mart, Target, etc. Which translates into happier times on the scale at my ob's office, too!
3. Use the quiet hours in our house as time to refresh myself spiritually, physically, and just mentally in general. This means less Internet, TV, and phone time, and more reading, writing, and thinking.
4. Use these last few weeks before the arrival of a newborn to do the thoughtful things I think of but rarely get around to doing: write my grandparents, mail that anniversary card, call my friends and take over those meals I've promised.

When I look at this, I realize that what I really want is a smoothly running, peacefully maintained home for myself, my children, and my husband. I want this place to be the best place in the world. Now, I'm realistic enough to know that with a baby on the way, toddler, and preschooler, this isn't always going to happen. But the more time I spend at home, instead of in a frenzied dash here and there, usually with a cell phone on my ear and cheeseburger in my hand, this will become more of a reality than a dream. And I think that if I let go of my restless wanderings all over the Metroplex in search of something to do, somewhere to go, and some way to kill the late afternoon hours when my kids are grouchy, I'll find a little bit more rest in my own self, and pass that on to the rest of my family. I hope. So thanks, Leslie, for reminding me that a life marked by introspection and purpose is more satisfying than one filled with frenzy and activity (and loads of dirty laundry).

Jumping for Joy

Grayson has wild hair. Mostly because I can't bear to have it cut. If it's not sprayed and combed down, it takes on a life of its own. So Easter morning, when we didn't even get dressed until after 2 p.m., it really had some time to get crazy. Caiden saw him standing by their Easter igloo (another story), and said, "Gray, your hair is wild! The part that's standing up is jumping for joy, and the part that's laying down is bowing down to Jesus." So I'm thinking that maybe at least some of the Easter story got past the glitz of the Easter bunny. (And maybe once this baby girl is born, I can bear to part with his long hair. Until then, he has a few more weeks to have it jump for joy!)

Great Recipe for a Kid-Friendly Meal

This is a recipe I found on allrecipes.com that we fixed today, and my kids loved it! (An exclamation point is necessary because Caiden is extremely picky and distrustful of all new foods.) I don't really enjoy cooking and cop out as often as possible, but when Chris has to work a lot of extra hours in one week, I try to cook some "real" meals for the boys, so their schedule feels sort of normal. (Except that normal actually doesn't involve tons of cooking, but that's besides the point.) Anyway, this one is easy to make, has only a handful of ingredients, and should please most kids:

Chicken and Green Bean Casserole

Ingredients:
2 cups cooked, cubed chicken (using a crock-pot in the morning to cook this makes it easier)
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can green beans, drained
salt and pepper to taste
1 pkg. stuffing mix (any flavor is fine; we used traditional)
1 c. shredded cheese (any kind you prefer)

Directions:
Combine the first four ingredients in a bowl and mix well.
Prepare the stuffing according to directions.
Spoon the chicken mixture into an 8x8 dish, and then top with cooked stuffing and then cheese.
Bake, covered, at 350 for 25 minutes, and then for 5 more uncovered.

Served with a bowl of fresh fruit, this makes a pretty balanced meal.

p.s.

Okay, so I told my husband last night about my suspicions of being shallow.

He told me that I was approaching the whole Christian non-fiction thing in the wrong way, as a sprint, not a marathon. He suggested I choose one book, read only a paragraph or at the most, chapter, at a time, and then journal about it. What first popped into my head is that I'd rather blog about it, but I haven't mentioned to him yet that I even have a blog. Call me crazy, but after almost twelve years together, including the very-exposing births of our children, I don't feel very mysterious to him. I figure that someday down the road when he discovers I've been blogging, he'll see me in a new, fascinating light. But that's another story . . .

So today I decided to give it a try. I pulled out C.S. Lewis' Surprised by Joy, which is his semi-autobiography about moving from atheism to Christianity. (I know, this might be cheating, since I already like to read autobiographies.) I figure it's worth a try, since I love his Narnia series. I figure if he writes such great stories, maybe I can tolerate some of the heavier works he's written!

On the other hand, even if I quit half-way through, I've decided the fact that I even worry about being shallow means I must not be, right?

Shallow Reading?

I'm afraid I might be shallow. I hope I'm not, after all, I think often about major issues like death, heaven, the painful side of love, marriage, parenting, my purpose on earth. And when I read a good book, I continue to think about the characters' lives or even imagine myself in that setting. I even occasionally read history, biographies, or informative non-fiction (Bill Bryson is a favorite.).

I would love to be someone who ponders things long before commenting. I want to be mysterious and deep. But I think the fact that I feel things so quickly makes me often respond too quickly. Maybe not audibly, but my first impression is often formed in an instant, and then I have to change my mind at least once with time. In serious situations I usually use light-heartedness or humor to break up the tension. I avoid conflict and abhor confrontation. And I can't ever seem to finish even one Beth Moore Bible study or work of Christian non-fiction! They take too long to read, don't have fun characters, and rarely end in "happily ever after."

Fiction, on the other hand, sucks me in. I can read to the exclusion of everything else in this world: food, chores, relationships, sleep. I love the Ireland of Maeve Binchy, Wilder's prairie, and Dekker's psychological twists. I'm drawn to Alcorn's picture of heaven, and Golden's Japan in the 1930s both repels and fascinates me. Even a walk in the woods (Bryson) holds me in rapt attention, yet the new Christian classics like Ragamuffin Gospel and Yancey's Jesus I Never Knew remain half-read--after several attempts.

Does this make me a shallow thinker? I don't know, but I like to think it's a matter of individual taste and a love for the escape great writing brings that make me lean toward fiction rather than the more purpose-driven and intellectual Christian works (although Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants probably negates that argument.). If I am shallow, then I'm praying the Lord will bring to mind a book that is both greatly entertaining and deeply--um, deep--for me to read (and subsequently feel better about myself). Until then, I'm going to go read a good book.

Conversation Today

Caiden: Mama, can I take a picture with your camera? (as I'm trying to transfer pictures to computer)
Mama: Not right now, I'm trying to concentrate.
Caiden: Mama, can I have a drink of your water?
Mama: Uh-huh. (while squinting at unfamiliar computer jargon)
Caiden: Mama, let's have a balloon volleyball game. Here, I'll hit the balloon at you, and you hit it back to me. (whack)
Mama: (Silence, desperately hoping ignoring him will make him want to go to his bedroom and quietly play with one of his millions of entertaining toys.)
Caiden: Mama, we need to rescue a beetle out of the dog bowl.
Mama: Mhhhmmm
Caiden: Mama, I'm afraid it will bite me.
Mama: It won't bite you (in a monotone, not looking up from computer)
Caiden: You mean it won't bite, it just looks disgusting and not kind?
Mama: (more silence)
Returning with doctor's kit, Caiden: Okay, so I'll just take your blood pressure then.
Mama: I can't type with that on my arm.
Caiden: Then I need to listen to your heart, to make sure you're still alive. (approaches with stethoscope)
Mama: (not in monotone) If you don't get that thing off of me, I'm going to throw it away.
Caiden: (under breath, and at a safe distance) You are not a good patient. I'm going to need to give you a shot to calm you down.
Mama: (gradually realizing my silence isn't making him quit talking to me)

After several minutes, Caiden: Mama, maybe I should color. That would be nice and easy on you. (Big smile)
Mama: (Big smile)

Prayers from a Four-Year-Old

In the Midst of It

Caiden is a faithful prayer warrior. When I shut the garage door on the tailgate lift of our Yukon Saturday night (and neither garage door nor tailgate were budging), he literally fell on his face in the hallway and prayed, "Dear Jesus, help Mama figure out how to get the car not stuck before Daddy gets home." (Which He did, thankfully, although it required a herculean effort on my very-pregnant part.)

Just tonight when he was praying, he mixed up his thoughts in the middle of it and announced, "Jesus, I just messed up my prayer and need to start over. So Dear Jesus . . ." His 102 fever might account for his confusion, but I'm pretty sure Jesus was laughing as hard in heaven as I was in the bedroom.

The other night when I tucked him in, his prayer was for "Uncle Robert the Army man to win the war and come home safely with a big shiny trophy." He actually prays for his uncle every night, but he added the new twist of a trophy. Usually he just prays that Uncle Robert (the Army man) will get enough sleep in his tent.

And when our baby was breech for several weeks, he devotedly prayed daily that Jesus would "flip the baby and help her stand on her head." When she did flip, he was the only one not surprised.

I'd like to think that I'm as faithful in prayer and expecting a listening ear as Caiden is. I'm pretty good about praying over the big things, like our house selling or the upcoming birth of our baby or the health of family members. It's those "little" things that I sometimes can't bring myself to ask--like help with the garage door--because I feel guilty for sometimes thinking of God as a wish-granter. But it occurred to me tonight while he was editing his own prayer that Caiden doesn't hesitate to ask God for anything and everything because he also feels free to ask us for everything. And to Caiden, if we as his earthly parents are willing to help him in all things, then God the Father, who is good and kind and loves him, also wants to help him out in the small, as well as the big. Which makes sense--it is biblical, after all. Maybe this is one of the reasons God gives us children: to show us that faith like a child truly is simple, if we can get past the guilt we sometimes feel for not making it difficult.

Writer's Block

I've thought about starting a blog before but always stopped cold when it occurred to me that what I write might be boring. Or that I'd only use it as a way to complain about my life without having my husband remind me of all our blessings (which never makes me feel blessed and content, only guilty). Or maybe that after years of thinking of myself as a writer, I'd realize that I'm no good. Or, even worse, that I'd end up writing posts and reading others' all day, instead of doing the mundane tasks I'm supposed to, like laundry and vacuuming and feeding my constantly-hungry children.

Then it occurred to me:
1. It might be boring, but as long as noboby actually tells me it is, I won't know it, and that's okay.
2. I might complain every once in a while on this blog, but that's better than complaining to my husband. And usually when I read my complaints aloud, I realize they're only little annoyances that aren't worth complaining over, and I can count my blessings for myself--and not feel guilty.
3. I might be no good, but I can still think of myself as a writer if I want to. Delusional thinking is sometimes okay, isn't it?
4. Regardless of my good intentions, my children wear the same jeans all week (they're boys; they don't care!), and vacuuming daily still hasn't made it to the top of my to-do list despite living with the hairiest golden retriever I've ever seen, but even if it's just peanut butter and marshmallow cream sandwiches, I do feed my children at least three times a day!

So I'm going to give this a try. I really want to maintain this, but my track record with consistency stinks. On the other hand, the thought of being able to record my thoughts without any little ones interrupting them sounds close to heaven! So here goes . . .