Have Less Expectation

Friends, why are we so hard on ourselves? Why can none of us give ourselves a break? If it's not one thing it's another. We should be over this. We should not have done that. We should be "farther along" in life. We should have pursued a different dream. We should have taken that chance opportunity. The list can go on....

I am post high school twenty years this June. And the ride has been so eventful. And it looks NOTHING like what I had anticipated. And it's been awful, and wonderful, and blase, and exhausting and exhilarating. Through it all I always point to, "Well, I WAS going to do that..."

It took a conversation with my son today to give me some perspective. The lad is following exactly in his mother's footsteps to his own detriment. He is so hard on himself. I tell him all the time he is doing well but it doesn't get past his head to the place it matters. His heart. Just. Like. His. Mother. He's watching and his mother is failing to show him how to navigate. He's watching, observing, and listening.

I currently feel stuck in a very hard place. I do not desire success so much as I feel failure. I absolutely fear being less than my expectations. No truer statement can I make than this: I could never live up to my own expectations. And this is the legacy I am leaving for my children.

The best words in the Bible? Jesus wept. (Insert somewhat chuckle-ly emoji/somewhat serious emoji) I take that seriously and weep periodically just for good measure. This has been one of those weeks. It's good to feel. When you've lost the ability to feel those hard times, you might as well hang it up.

I'm working hard. Yes. For what?

My path isn't what I expected. Does that matter?

My children are learning what they live. What am I teaching?

And through these thoughts, as they all tumble out in what may not be a logical order, I'm still being hard on myself. I'm placing myself in the category of failure as a parent.

And it feels so much worse to fail in this arena.

And I'm weeping.

I'm going to have to do better. I need to let perfection go. I need to fail more and find some comfort in that locale.

Realizing that, as I had to reassure my son, my first priority is him. A job I signed up for many years ago.

Let go to live more. To live better. To have more fun.

When I attend my reunion, I might not be nearly as successful as my peers, but I certainly have life lessons to spare. And the joy and heaviness of parenting two boys through life.

The Fairer Sex

One thing, among many if I'm honest, that irritates me is when I hear women complain about men. And marriage. Yes, it may occasionally be funny as it is obvious that there are many differences between men and women, but overwhelmingly, the opinion seems to be men just cannot do, and be, right. When did women collectively and individually decide that they are superior?

In my corner of the world. In my little cul-de-sac in upstate New York. I find this message so damaging. Long term. What are we teaching little girls? The women who follow behind us... What will they lose?

I am a strong woman. Very independent. Capable of many things. You should see me move a trashcan up a hill while on crutches. Seriously. You should have seen that. It was one for the books. I am a strong, independent woman, who just so happens to find strength in the protection of a man. Friends, note here that that trust does not come easily or lightly, strong and independent women take their time in forking over the pieces and bits and control of their heart to another.

I know my own identity as an individual, and yet, that identity only increases by the grounding I receive in the stability of the love of my husband. I've been married for twelve years. Just twelve. And so far, I can honestly say there has not been one day that I considered it a drudgery or "so much work and effort" in the context that it is an unhappy experience. I do not think my husband is an idiot who does stupid man things. In fact, if I allow him the opportunity to speak, he amazes me with his wisdom. I'm learning to say less so he can say more. When he says more my heart finds safety. Strong people need safety. A place where one can weep and still be counted a warrior.

I want to raise my boys to appreciate a strong woman. To let her have strength. But be a man that God intends. The role of strength, honor, and protection for women. Say all you want about women's rights, blah, blah, blah, but it is not in the power of a woman but in the power of a man. A man usually sets the course of a woman's life, for good or bad, starting with Dad.

Girls, it's not very popular right now to think you are less than a man. And I'm not suggesting that you are "less than" so much as "worthy" of being cherished and honored by a man. Allow yourself to have that. Take a break from girl power and strength and.... Breathe. A man naturally wants to honor you. The fairer sex. Let that happen. Mothers raise your sons to fulfill and be proud of that role. Mothers raise your daughters with these expectations.

As a strong woman, I can just as easily pay for the bill without blinking an eye. But there definitely is a special feeling when the bill is paid on your behalf. Honored. "Let ME take care of YOU." Cherished. You aren't going to lose, dear nieces, dear girlfriends everywhere, you are going to flourish.

This One Is For The Parents

I love being a mother.

I think God had this in his heart when he created me. I am a natural caregiver. It comes so easily from my heart to others.

Those early days were exhausting, and some of the best and worst moments of my life. For example, the day that my oldest son, at the age of two, sprayed his younger brother, who was chilling in his crib, in the face with cleaning chemicals. His eyes were basically glued shut for 24 hours. I maybe got 457th place in the category "worst mom of the year" in 2008. By 2010, I hadn't improved very much, and son #2 was once again on the losing end of a war with his brother, and was being seen by the doctor for a large puss filled blister on his face that housed 4 large splinters of wood from a "sword fight." Seriously. Seriously. What in the world?! But, truly, the countless moments that I spent rocking and kissing babies was far more rewarding than the embarrassing moments I spent defending myself in the office of my children's pediatrician. You just never knew what each day would bring as the mother of littles. I often wish I could go back, as the person I am today, and redo a lot of those moments. I think I would do it better. Most certainly I would.

But we only get to live life in the present tense though. And the stage of parenting that I am in now, I'm definitely rocking it, as I did shaking in my shoes with a screaming baby who couldn't see. I have all the wisdom I need. Said no mother ever. In ten years I will look back and know all the things I should do. I will know that this stage is the best, and you can't get these years back, and an empty nest is weird. Because. In ten years, I will have essentially launched, hopefully successfully, two sons. Ten years. That's it. I will be 47, and ohmaword, have the potential to be a Grandma. Ohmaword. It's true. But let's hope not.

Today my real life scenario is all about the emotions. Dealing with complex issues of how to deal. How to manage action, reaction, repercussions, and thought processes. I get you, friends, I get you. When you tell me that I'm hard to deal with because. emotions. I get you. It might have taken me 37 years to fully comprehend that I am a handful, but I'm there. I. Am. Tracking. Thank you for your grace. Thank you for loving me anyway. Truly.

I'm exhausted every day because I work all the hours and come home to mold and guide. And it's hard. And it requires effort. It requires coaxing, encouraging, and vigilance. Because you could just let this moment and that moment slip, but then what? Let the moody silence go because you can't even, or stop and address it? I know next gen me will have all the answers. I wish I could be her. 50 is the new 20, right? But no, I will not wish away a whisper of this vaporous life.

These sweet, sweet sons of mine are my whole heart. (I know I am completely over-the-top biased, but they are so lovable.) I see they are uncertain of themselves and this new world. I see it is difficult to make the transition to life as a process that I engage and do, rather than receive. It's a big leap. Uncharted. Intimidating.

I'm in for the ride, kiddos, Mommy is here. We're quickly approaching the "Don't touch me" phase. We're past the "Rock me" phase. So while we're stuck somewhere in the middle, somewhere that it's okay to hug that hurt today, but don't ask me about school tomorrow, know Mommy's heart is always for you. That it has always been for you. It has been my greatest joy to watch over you (or try to...Sorry Aaron). And as the distance between you and me begins to expand, know that as it is a hard transition for you, it is also a hard transition for me. In almost equal parts I want to hold you tight and watch you fly.

All I can ask. All I can hope. Is that in the end....

May passion be the wind
That leads you through your days
And may conviction keep you strong
Guide you on your way
May there be many moments
That make your life so sweet
Oh, but more than memories

I pray that God would fill your heart with dreams
And that faith gives you the courage
To dare to do great things
I'm here for you whatever this life brings
So let my love give you roots
And help you find your wings

Have you ever thrown a pickle?

Do you take pause, dear readers, do you take pause and consider your influence? Each person has a sphere of influence whether they realize it exists, or understand the implications of the impact. The words you use. The body language you employ. The company you keep. These all express you. People are reading. People are interpreting.

Influence.

This is one area of my life in which I spend a lot of time reflecting. I realize that this life is passing away. Soon Angela will be just a memory. Soon her high pitched voice will be silent, her blue eyes will stare unseeing, her "pen" will be still, and for-the-love she will finally stop eating all the carbohydrates she can find. I so desperately wish that I could attend my own funeral. Ya know? Listen in and roll my eyes at the stories. Aside from the pickle story being told verbatim, I cannot begin to fathom which memories will be vibrant and which have paled.

If you follow my life, if we're close friends, or barely acquaintances, you likely know that I am not afraid to let it all hang out. I am stubborn. I am opinionated. I think more of myself than I should sometimes. Sometimes the opposite. I'm pessimistic - the chocolate bar is always half gone. I love Diet Coke and sweet tea and coffee and hate water. (My future plans do not include visiting the desert.) I have had many, many life experiences which means I have a treasure trove of stories. (Perhaps rather than a novel I should write about my life... But, again, that is what a blog is for!) I have done some ridiculous things. I almost died in the desert. For realz. Which is why I refuse to return.

I don't know what others would share about me. But it would be so neat to hear. When I reflect on who I am, when I close my eyes in this world, and open them in the next, this is what I hope you will see...

Food. We gotta mention food. Food is the universal bonding agent. I hope you know how much joy I received in having you for a meal in my home. I hope you will invite others in the same manner. It's so important.

Caring. I hope you felt cared about by me. I hope you felt empathy for your woes, and your joys.

Joy. I hope I made you laugh. Laughing is so fun. It's so necessary.

Passion. I hope my passion is evident. For so many things. Talking is one. Oh. My. Word.

God. I hope that somewhere in my life you will have seen even a small glimpse of who he is. That you will know he exists. That his love for you is relentless. That you are beloved.

These are areas that I hope will be my legacy, and by so declaring, I pursue these. I won't be around to hear if I have been successful, but one thing I know, someone will laugh at least once at the pickle story. As told by Fred, Robert, Chris, or Joyce.

Birthday Post

It's my birthday today, so it seems fitting to start the day with the statement, "The older I get..".

It's also fitting that I begin with my favorite thing. Writing.

It's early on a Saturday morning, I'm sitting in bed with my usual TERRIBLE bedhead. (Am I the only one that has serious hair issues in the morning - it's EVERYWHERE. Look at Christmas photos dating back to 1983, when I first had hair, and you'll see the pattern. Bless the people who see me first thing in the morning and still love me.) Piles of blankets and a big fluffy scarf are my closest allies, and the house is quiet. I think my husband might be making me coffee. And breakfast. I'm not sure. But I think. And, yes, if you are keeping score, he will earn meaningless brownies points for these actions.

Shall we begin?

The older I get....

1) I see so much value in understanding yourself.

In being fully aware of the strengths and weaknesses you possess. When you are able to name the good and bad, your contributions increase. For example, I know for a fact that I am very hard on myself. I will almost never be satisfied with the work of my hands, because I could have always, always done at least one, or twenty, things better. Being cognizant, I can plan steps to lessen the impact of meeting less than my own expectation, noting that being satisfied with a little less is better than a complete breakdown. On the flip side, without a doubt, put me in charge of spelling and writing all the things, cooking and canning for a group, and loving people, and I will absolutely shine. (At least from YOUR standards... See the first example.) Know yourself. Be yourself.

2) I see that pain gives birth to pain.

I'm sure I've said it before, I do not have the corner on suffering, but I am also not immune to the deep, dark roots of anguish, anger, and bitterness. Someone in pain, caused me pain. It was life changing and not for the better. The cycle perpetuates all over this great nation, and all over humanity. We decry the perpetuation all the while stirring up the pot ourselves. Humanity loves to pass along our opinions and feelings and angst, loving the reaction it brings. Naturally we all assume we do not want to increase crimes of hatred, but it is all in the small details. The little words here and there. The planting of seeds in the mind. And it all stirs up to big things. Painful, life changing events that people perpetuate. Be someone who stops pain. End a cycle with you. Because. Maybe. Love gives birth to love.

3) I am consistently amazed at entitlement.

As a CNA, I have wiped just about all of the bodily fluids from a variety of sources. I have cleaned up vomit, diarrhea, garbage, blood, urine, and the like. There is not one job I can think of that I feel I am above. I would work at McDonalds. I would be a school janitor. I look around me and all I see are people who think they should not have to do this and that. I have X number of educational degrees, why would I be the one? I have X amount of seniority, why would I be the one? I. I. I. My father recently retired after working 46 years at a grocery store. He did not have a college degree or many accolades,a simple man by the world's standards. But, with dedication and humility he served this company, that did not always treat him well, with his life. He worked with fruits and vegetables for 46 years. With respect. With humility. Without entitlement. His example shaped me. Readers, I hope you have the same example. If not, note this one. Stop being entitled. You do not deserve anything. Regardless. You should work hard at whatever task you see right before you. Always.

4) Beauty is around us and God is near.

I always wondered why "old" people talked about the weather so much. I'm beginning to understand. I appreciate more, with each passing year, the seasons and patterns. The colors of fall are so magnificent and I'm grateful to be back in the land of trees. Growing things - plants, flowers is such a joy. The grass that needs cut every week is lush, soft and beautiful. The beauty we are given is evidence that God is near. He knows about the pain cycle. He knows we ache and hurt at this life. When we look out the window at the big puffy flakes of snow, we can't help but smile. A little message of hope and love from the God who loves you. He says, "I am here. Unchanging as the seasons. Like the sub zero weather that hangs on for four months every.single.year I am constant." He gives us beauty in exchange for the ashes of our lives. He gives us beauty to see. He gives us beauty in the form of people he places in our lives. God is near, readers. Immanuel. Thankful.

On this day, I'm thankful for each of you joining me on this blogging journey. It brings me so much joy and you are a part of that.

Thank you.

Seasons With Pancakes

Do you ever crave pancakes? I'm sitting in a quiet house, it's late, a familiar Julia Roberts film is playing in the background, and I'm craving pancakes. Pancakes are the syrupy, pillow-ey equivalent to happiness.

Happiness can be elusive, as are pancakes at this hour. I'm sorry about both those things.

Tonight. My heart is longing. I'm so lonely. Have you ever been lonely? Have you ever been in a room full of people and felt entirely alone? Do you long to look across and lock eyes that know you? Wordless communication is my favorite. A simple look and a message is exchanged. Do you think it's possible to survive with half a heart? With half a heart that feels like two quarters held together by tape and glue? Sometimes my heart feels that way.

Oh, for the most part, everything is fine. I carry on about the daily business of living. I go to work. I listen to all the complaints. And there are ever so many. On all sides. I come home and offer support and encouragement to the men I'm raising. I make dinner. I do laundry. I check dates off the calendar. All the while, there are little holes in my heart that ache. This is the process of grief. It ebbs and flows. It rises and falls. We live and we ache. We cry and we laugh.

The season of parting seems never ending and yet, quick. Have four years past? Or two? Ten? Do you feel that time stands still or speeds up? The layers of life bury the ache, but it spills over from time to time and the past years of coping disappear completely.

I miss you, my beloveds. You cannot be replaced. Your value is immeasurable. I'm content to eat my sensitive feelers and mourn your loss.

Maybe one day I'll look up and see you. If only in my imagination. Our eyes will meet. Your heart will recognize mine. And happiness, however fleeting, will be ours to hold.

January

January is well on its way.

I love January and not because it houses the best Facebook day of the year (read: my birthday).

I love January for its calm.

No one makes a lot of plans. There are no school concerts or events because, frankly, the schools also "can't even" at this point. Corporations decide you must restrict your working hours. These are all good things.

The rest I have so longed for is here.

A week in and I've had ever so many chats with my children. One very interesting one that involved me getting a baby sister here sometime soon, to which I replied, you'd better start asking Jesus for that today because Mommy is getting old. I instantly regretted my choice of words, because this is just the type of thing Jesus might use to build a child's faith. I was then directed that the baby sister should be adopted and be in preschool, so as to avoid all that baby stuff, "unless you really want to because I know you love all the babies."

I will pause to say, Friends, dear readers, I'm so known. And I love that. There is nothing more special than being known. It means you are loved. Someone has listened. Someone has cared enough to retain. Someone knows you. Someone loves you. Treasure that in the quiet places of your soul.

Adding a baby sister is not in any of my plans. But our carefully laid plans are in the hand of a Father who adores us and wants to give us good things this year, and every year. I am almost eye level with one such good thing, and it overwhelms me. So soon he grew. So quickly he is passing on his way. I'm thankful for January. I'm thankful for quieter days to enjoy my good things.

All the best things, as you should already know, all the best and good things are people. The people in your life are just waiting to eat all the Mr. Goodbar and race camels with you. And maybe a baby sister. But especially just with you, the person who is already here and loved.

January is calm.

Use it wisely. Rest well. Relate well. And I am sure that this will better lift any despondency, and "post holiday blues," and "seasonal angst" that January is most known for.

Um. And it's my birthday. So. It's pertinent that I share for the record, in case you may have missed it in any prior social media post or blog, my primary love language is gifts. But. I am also specially qualified to adhere to all 5...so, there's that. Alright. You've got options.