Plans for Life

God’s purposes are not for me to understand His plans: His plan is for me to understand Who He is.

Ann Voskamp

 

When I found out I was pregnant with Littles, pregnant at 22, pregnant just 4 months into marriage, I thought my life was over. My hopes and dreams were dead. My plans for myself were utterly destroyed.

Three and a half years later, there are days when I still struggle not to think that. I've certainly been told that. That I'm wasting my life. Being a stay-at-home mom was not a part of my game plan. I was going to get my masters, graduate with honours, travel the world with the Man, teach and write and gain a name for myself in the intellectual community. I had the skill set to do so.

But, you see, God likes to remember things that I would rather conveniently forget. Things like my potentially life-ending depression, an ongoing struggle that has defined great chunks of my life.

Perhaps that is why He gave me the Little Man, because having someone else to care about and care for, while certainly obliterating my chance of worldly success, gave me a desire to live. He gave me something tangible on the dark days, something demanding that I stand up and fight.

Years down the road, I can see this. See that what I thought was the end of my life was in fact God saving my life.

That's why it makes me wonder, why twins? Why now? In what is arguably the worst possible timing available. Does He see something I don't see? Is He remembering something that I would prefer to forget?

This gives me hope.

Because I know that our God is good, He is sovereign, and He doesn't let even the tiniest detail escape His notice. And it may take me another three and a half years before I understand the why, or another thirty, or I may never know. The point is that I can camp out in fear and anger or rest in hope--it all depends on how I choose to understand what He has planned for me.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'cause I've built my life around you...

"Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac

 

Don't be led astray by the Fleetwood Mac quotation at the beginning. This is not a serious post. On the contrary, the "you" in that sentence would have to refer to regular sleep or some other such thing in order for it to be appropriate. I've just had that song stuck in my head while I've been planning this post.

Sweaty self-portrait

You see, things are changing around here. Every day I look around our house and things are different. The boys are bigger. My belly is larger (pictures to prove this will be posted next week). The Man's pre-deployment To Do list has shrunk a bit more. Last week, the Little Man opted out of night time diapers. This week, he and Tiny start their two day a week Mother's Day Out program. What am I going to do with all that free time? Oh, yeah, doctor's appointments. Never mind.

 

My crazy second child

 

Also, unfortunately for me, Tiny has finally decided that he's too cool for the crib, yes, even at naptime. This has led to a lot of excitement in the early afternoon for everyone involved and a lot of late afternoon grumpiness for me. So far, the boys have indulged themselves in water fights, each sitting on their own bed, slinging water at each other from their sippies while giggling hysterically. They have ripped the sheets off Tiny's bed and had a bed jumping party. They have man handled the blinds and done long-term damage to their library. They have gotten in a whole lot of trouble. And in between, maybe, they have taken naps. I miss them napping in separate rooms. Life is hard... And, incidentally, Tiny is an instigator--don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Demon Cat

Another, somewhat more positive change (depending on who you are in this scenario) is that the Man and I have finally reached our limit with being woken up in the middle of the night by Oswald. It took us seven months. Seriously. Nightly wake ups for seven months where that Cat demanded to be put in the room, then an hour later put out, then another hour later brought back in. And leaving the door open was not a solution. Neither was leaving the door closed. He would throw himself bodily against the door repeatedly until we let him in so that we didn't lose what is left of our sanity. But no more. As of last Friday, he (not quite voluntarily) sleeps in the guest room. Sure, this may seem cruel, but it's less cruel than my sleep deprived self accidentally strangling him in the middle of the night.

Sunday morning donuts--not a change, just awesome

I had another change I wanted to share with you, but I haven't quite made it happen yet, so talking about it seems a bit premature. Plus, there were supposed to be pictures. Awesome ones. So now that you know how badly I am slacking, I will just tell you that it has something to do with Littles and his deep and abiding love of schedules. First question out of that kid's mouth every day: Mommy, what are we doing today?

 

Evidently, today he's going to be building a pillow fort with his brother while his lazy mommy writes a blog and eats homemade bread in the kitchen. And on that note, I should probably go change (haha) Tiny's diaper.

Running for Three

I RUN. I'm slower than a herd of turtles running through peanut butter, but I RUN!

-Anon.

There are two things I love as much as books, three that make me sing "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!" with feeling (we do live in Oklahoma). All of these things were more or less taken away from me during my first trimester. But no longer!

First, I'm drinking my first cup of home brewed coffee in weeks. And it tastes good. And yes, moms and doctors of the world, it is decaf. I haven't wanted coffee since around the time I discovered I was pregnant. It just hasn't sounded good. This has been akin to looking in the mirror and seeing someone else's face. WHO AM I?!?! But don't worry, my soul has found its way back into its body. Once again, I live!

Second, this week, I started running again. I realized that I felt just as crummy running as not running, so I'm borrowing the Man's Newtons (it's nice to wear the same shoe size as your husband), strapping on my maternity belt, and hitting the pavement. I've logged 1.5 miles three times this week. In intervals. But before you start laughing, please remember that I am, as my sister reminded me, running for three. But with only two feet.

Monday, Littles joined me for my run as I pushed Tiny in the stroller and Trig-Dog tore along beside us chasing rabbits. As my dad likes to say, the family that runs together, stays together. And the Little Man did a great job. Sure, we stopped a lot. And looked for turtles. And he had to take a pee break beneath a bridge (little boys are so handy like that), but he did the whole 1.5 miles. Then Tuesday I stuck him in the double stroller with his brother and really got a work out (again, being half dragged by the rabid-rabbit dog). This morning, though, as a reward for surviving the week, I actually set an alarm, met a friend before sunrise, and ran with a little more purpose. It was wonderful.

And I got home in time to take a shower and read my Bible before the boys woke up (which is number three on my list).

At any rate, this morning, my cup runneth over. So does my belly, but that's neither here nor there. Pictures to come in a week and a half, along with a gender announcement. Gender announcements? I think that's more appropriate. See, the coffee is helping already!

Snarl of Yarn

I've been meaning to come write for a few days now, but I have so very many things I want to write about and they're all jumbled together in my mind, twisted around each other and tangled up until they are one gigantic snarl of incomprehensibility. So, in an effort to untangle and comb through a few of my thoughts, I give you...

Insert cute picture for dramatic effect

(drumroll, please)

And one of the Trig-dog playing legos

...a Bullet Post! Hurray!

• I have developed an incredibly beautiful varicose vein running down my right thigh. Guys, I'm only twenty six. This hurts my pride. How is it possible that I am even capable of having varicose veins? I may never show my bare legs again (somewhere my mother is breathing a sigh of relief). In the meantime, the Man is having a grand old time making corny jokes about "vain" and "vein". And this is why I married him...
• My maternity wardrobe is shrinking rapidly. I will be wearing muumuus by the time December rolls around. Or, since I'm no longer showing my legs, I may just let my belly hang out. Never mind, it's covered in stretch marks.
• This morning Littles told me he didn't want me to wear flats to church. He thought I looked better in heels. I'm still deciding how to take this. I did tell him that it was tough luck for him since Mommy and her new friend, Varicose, are wearing ballet flats until I get depregnanted. His fashion preferences are going to have to take a backseat for now as the Magical Pregnancy Unicorn is no more.
• On a completely unrelated note (but really these are all unrelated notes), I've been spending some time brushing up on a few theological points this last week, reading good books and having long talks with friends, and I realized that while I think it is terribly important to have well-thought out, biblically based theology, if my study of Who God is doesn't develop in me more love for others, then it's not benefiting anyone. Knowledge puffs up, while love builds up (1 Cor. 8:1), right? If I'm really learning more about God, then that knowledge should automatically fill me with truer love for both Him and those made in His image. Otherwise, all I'm doing is feeding my own intellectual ego. And honestly, it's big enough as it is.
• Being asked for help gives me a high.
• This desire of mine to have a contingency plan for every potential emergency is teaching me a lot about myself and God. I can't plan for everything, and I don't need to. That doesn't mean I've stopped trying.
• A paperback book without a creased spine just looks sad. What is the point of a gingerly read book?
• Somewhere between dinner and bedtime last night, I lost my water bottle. Now, not only am I thirsty (and still going to the bathroom every thirty minutes), but I'm mad and being driven insane by how I could've lost it when I never even left the house. Every nook and cranny has been checked multiple times. I am losing. my. mind. And my best source of un-cat-contaminated water.
• I need to hear the words "judge not" at least a dozen times a day. I'm not a quick learner.
• Gene Stratton Porter and I are reviving our friendship. If you don't know who Gene Stratton Porter is, please find out, or I will rethink my friendship with you.
• My favourite part of every day is when the boys kiss the twins good night before bed. Their sweet little kisses on my belly followed by Little's "Take a good nap, twins!" never cease to make me smile. And I can snarkily remind them that the best way for the twins to "take a good nap" is for them to stop giggling and go to sleep themselves. Why do we have such happy children?!?

This is how I feel about varicose veins.
And that's the Man ignoring me griping about my varicose veins.
And that's my sad, lost, lonely water bottle.
Littles is a true photographer, capturing the depths of who we really are.

And it was so.

Paleo Pot Pie (and some such things)

Those of you who know me (or read my blog regularly enough), know that I'm not a natural homemaker. I get by. Sometimes I use a jelly coated broom to more effectively sweep up dog hair, and the most excited Littles has gotten about something coming out of my oven was the time I baked the mouse. Still, I get by. For the most part. The Man still likes to tell the story of the time I served him still frozen (and consequently raw) chicken. It's why he fell in love with me.

 

But the last few months have been even more challenging than usual. You see, towards the end of last year, the Man, in an effort to eat more healthily (which is difficult when there is a snack bar directly outside your office door), went paleo. Don't worry if you have no clue what that means. I didn't either. Essentially, it's eating like a caveman (which is apropos for our family considering that a lot of our conversation around here consists of grunts and chest thumping). No dairy, no grains, no legumes. Organic fruits and veggies, grass fed meats, only natural sugars. You get the picture.

 

Needless to say, this has not exactly been my cup of tea. Not because I don't like eating healthily or exploring new things, but because trying new recipes is not in my comfort zone, and I've had to try a LOT of new recipes. This is what happens when you learn how to cook from your southern mother, southern mother-in-law, and definitely southern grandmother. A lot of my recipes contain butter and milk and butter and flour and butter and super healthy things like beans and peas and more butter and occasionally the tiniest bit of sugar and then a little more butter. And my Asian recipes contain wonderful things like soy sauce and MSG. So you see, I was in a bit of a bind.

But a few months in, I've started feeling pretty good about myself. I even made paleo lasagna this week. And may I say: what is the point of calling something "lasagna" that contains neither noodles nor cheese? I'm not saying it didn't taste good; it just wasn't lasagna.

 

Then, last night, as the crowning achievement in my paleo cooking career, I made chicken pot pie. Yes, without  flour, without butter, without milk, without cheating and using a can of Campbell's Cream of Chicken soup, and the Bisquick box stayed in pantry while my grandmother rolled over in her retirement home.

 

I will be honest: the little pies looked cute, but the medium sized one was a disaster. More importantly, perhaps, I wasn't the biggest fan. Although they tasted better than I thought they were going to, I still couldn't get Tiny to take a bite of his, and I felt a little queasy after dinner. But the Man gave his stamp of approval and even told me he'd eat the leftovers for dinner tonight. Littles was bribed to eat his portion with promises of applesauce and brownies for dessert.

 

And yes, I cheated and used frozen peas. Because while I can barely conceive of chicken pot pie without a Bisquick crust, I absolutely cannot imagine it without peas.

At any rate, come September, the boys and I will return to our steady diet of quesadillas, stir fry, and jarred curry--and more power to us. In the meantime, we continue to support the Man in his attempt to fight the good fight and finish the race. Besides, he looks good. I just have no desire to stop eating brownies in order to look good with him. And fresh bread with melted butter. And noodles. And beans. I love beans. And chocolate milk, preferably sipped through a crazy straw (can cavemen use crazy straws?). And all the rest of the things that make life taste extraordinarily wonderful.

 

Driving Captain Daddy

A few weeks ago now, we traded in both our vehicles and bought a minivan. There was really no point in keeping both cars since the Man is getting ready to head out of the country for a few months, and we thought it was a better use of our resources, down grading to one car payment and one insurance bill while he was gone. Naturally, after we had "done the deed", we realized that this meant we'd be sharing a car for an undetermined number of weeks until he hit the road for real.

Sharing is fun, guys.

The first week, realizing that we were both in need of a pair of wheels for the majority of days, me for the mundane excitements of life with toddlers (grocery shopping! doctor's appointments! out of town brace fittings! oh my!) and the Man for multiple pre-deployment appointments that were lovingly spread all across base, we bit the bullet and rented a car. The concept was lost on the Little Man who couldn't understand why the Man's super cool and manly truck had been traded in for a wimpy white sedan.

Since then, however, we've been sharing the minivan. At least one or two days a week, the Man takes the car to work and the boys and I stay home and catch up on laundry or go places within walking distance. The other three to four days, we give him a ride there, and he catches a ride home. I admit that I keep waiting for him to just commandeer a cop car, but so far that hasn't happened. The disappointment on my part is crippling.

At first, this seemed like a hassle. Really, it did. We have two super active kids, the Man works odd hours, and I get cabin fever (yes, even in my super pregnant, lazy state). But lately, I don't know, my perspective has been changing.

Instead of being frazzled by eating breakfast in stages, I'm thinking of it as a luxury--we have our breakfast in multiple courses. How upscale is that! Instead of feeling rushed to get up in the morning, I'm seeing it as motivation to get my day started instead of lounging around 'til the boys drag me out of bed. Most of all, instead of seeing it as one more thing I have to take care of, I'm seeing it as precious extra moments as a whole family before the Man leaves.

I've also noticed that I am less apt to put off my trip to the commissary until we're all eating delivery pizza since I actually have to schedule it into my week.

Anyway, point being, in case you couldn't figure this out for yourself, sometimes what looks like an inconvenience is actually a blessing waiting to be acknowledged. And I am grateful to be a one car family for a little bit, and more than just for the fact that we're saving on gas these days.

Just Rain

This was when I was still a super cool mom
who let her kids play in the rain
and before I unintentionally inflicted
muddy trauma on them.

Those of you who know me, know that I love rain. I feel like that is an understatement.

I am enamoured of rain. Rain is my other half (other than the Man, of course). It completes me. Without rain, I am nothing. Incidentally, the Man does know this about me, as is evident by this story here, and most days he's not jealous.

At any rate, you get the point.

Anyway, rain is hard to come by in this part of the U.S., I've discovered. At least lately. This is our third summer here, and each year we have had temperatures in the hundreds, drought warnings, water restrictions, and increase risk of fires. Yes, we are suffering for the Air Force.

Honestly, most days it doesn't bother me. Going outside in the heat reminds me of the Middle East, where you weren't sure if you were smelling a bakery down the road or the grass actually roasting in the sun. What I have really missed, though, is the rain.

We get rain storms every now and then, but they come accompanied by weird winds, tornado threats, and hail. They are exhilarating, for sure, but sometimes it would be nice to have a few days of steady, soft rain. And that's just what we've had since Sunday.

I don't know how it happened. I feel like we must have moved some place new, and I just wasn't paying attention. Is this really southwest Oklahoma?

In a nutshell, it has been wonderful. I have been in a daze of happiness. This afternoon, in fact, instead of taking a nap, I just sat in bed while the boys slept, read, ate second lunch, and listened to the rain. It was perfection. And I didn't even regret it later, as is so often the case these days when I miss my nap.

Can you see the tiny tear hanging
below his distraught eyes?
Happy first haircut, Tiny!

Then, after the boys woke up and we ran a couple quick errands, I decided to take them for a walk in the rain before we made dinner. In my opinion, this was a brilliant idea. I looked on this as a reward for their previous good behaviour considering the fact that I had dragged them to the DMV that morning and put Tiny through the trauma of his first haircut (he's fine--didn't even lose an ear or anything cool like that). And we were having a great time.

Until I talked Littles into jumping into a gigantic mud puddle.

In my defense, it looked incredibly fun. So much so that Tiny jumped right in after him. Then they both came out crying and distraught because for some reason, in their book, having mud in their shoes is not enjoyable. As the Man and I both said: whose kids are you? Luckily, I had taken the above picture of them before they dissolved into their own puddle of whining and had to be immediately taken home and thrown into the bathtub.

Regardless, I had fun. And while they were cheerily de-mudding themselves, I made a wonderful mess of curry for dinner and spent more time indulging myself by watching the rain out the window.

Yes, I am spoiled.