This was supposed to be a complaint.

But I'll just ramble instead. 

I have been walking around the past few days, in spoiled brat mode, making a mental list of all the miniscule things that were making me absolutely crazy. A list that included things like:

• If that dang dog whines at me one more time...
• If Owen doesn't brush his teeth like I've told him to do for the hundredth time...
• I just want to eat a full meal without having to get up from the table 14 times to fetch things for people.
• Do you people think I'm a short order cook, maid, roto-rooter employee?

From the lady behind me in K-Mart right down to the squishiest member of our family, I had a complaint relating to every single person I came into contact with during the last 48 hours. And really, it all boiled down to...

Why are you making me do this job that I so willingly signed up for?

And then last night, after being particularly bratty (let's be honest, bratty is my nice word for a not so nice word) to le husband, I read this post by Amanda about Martyr Moms.

Talk about a slap in the face.

A slap in the face that I needed so so badly.

And then I did something that I hadn't done in a long time.

I prayed. I really, really prayed. 

I stop ignoring that little taptaptap from the Lord and prayed for forgiveness harder than I ever had before.

I woke up this morning refreshed and ready to serve my family. 

Ready to raise them up instead of tear them down.

That's all I have for today.

Happy Wednesday..

Silly Groundhog

Being from a place where there only two seasons (hot and sort of hot) makes you appreciate how magical four true seasons can be. But tonight, I'm yearning for the days of summer dresses and sandals and barbecues and the sound of the ice cream truck. 

Damn that silly groundhog.

(photos by me. may 2011.)

Have a great weekend! 

Shenanigans

It's a wonder us women sign up for this.

The first trimester can be relentless. Teetering between insomnia and exhaustion. Vomiting at the smell of spaghetti sauce. 

The third trimester has us barely able to see our feet. Barely able to walk. We watch in awe and sometimes fright as our bodies stretch to their limits.

Birth is messy and beautiful. And bloody and painful. And traumatic for some. 

Newborn days can be isolating and exhilarating. Swinging back and forth between absolute love for this new little human and sheer terror at being responsible for something so fragile. 

Toddlerhood brings messes the size of the Grand Canyon. And discipline struggles. And potty training. Embarrassing "My kid just said what?!" moments. And public meltdowns. 

And that's just the first two years.

The under eye circles, the early morning wake up calls, the mess, the poop diapers, the worry, the incessant noise, the mountainous piles of laundry...

I would sign up for these shenanigans over and over and over again.