Working...

It's been a long time since I've posted anything about any sort of work we're doing.
I swear we're working.
Really hard in fact.
Sometimes it's hard to tell this because I have much more free time than I did a year ago.  And I am in a better mood.  And I am not stressed out.
Maybe this is the way we were meant to live.  Maybe this is the way people are actually designed to function.
Because I can tell you that I've never been so content in my work.  And happy with the job I'm doing.  And I've never before felt as though I was spending time actually getting to know my kids.
I've never before sat on my couch and wondered what I could possibly do next.
I don't know the last time I laid a blanket out on my lawn and just laid on it.  
But I do that now.
And I promise to update you on work.
But I'm in no hurry.
Because this is the new me.
I don't have to live by the deadlines I put on myself, because I've learned to love myself enough to let some things go.
I've learned to give of myself to those around me without the pesky boundaries I've spent years building.
I've learned that I have parts of myself that are worth giving.
I've learned to ask people questions without fearing they won't want to tell me things.
I've learned that most people want to tell me things if I just would ask.
I've learned that young people really do care that I have problems, and sadness, and anger. And they really care enough about me to take it on.
I've learned that people like you to ask questions and to have time to listen to the answers. 
And I've learned that 80% of the fear and social anxiety I have stored in my heart is pure bulls$%t.
So I do promise I'm working.
But more importantly, something is working on me.
And that something is pretty amazing.

A letter by an eight year old girl.

March 1988


Dear 32 year old Tiffany,
I know I'm only eight.
I know that you're probably thinking that I have a lot to learn before I turn into the person you are.  But I want to tell you something.  I want to make sure you remain the person I am.
I hope that you still love music.  I hope you can also now afford to actually buy tapes rather than recording music off of your pink radio.
I hope you still have your pink radio, because it is my favorite thing I own.
I hope you have two pink radios.
I hope you've seen Paula Abdul in person at least once.
I hope that you have two daughters named Wendy and Ginger because those names are my favorite.
I hope that your brothers have stopped being immature and annoying.  I hope that they play with you more now that you're older.  I hope they've started to see things your way.
I hope that you figured out the secret to climbing the rope in gym class before you graduated.  Because dangling from the bottom is nothing short of humiliating.
I hope you are an artist and get to draw all day.
I hope your thighs aren't big.  Or that they didn't get any larger.
I hope you still love ice cream and macaroni and cheese.
I hope you're in love with someone who is good at sports and likes to do nice things for you.
I hope that the baby inside your mom's tummy is a brother so you still get your own room.
I hope that Mrs. Damman gets to be your teacher again because she is the nicest teacher ever.
I hope that your mom will let you get a perm.
I hope that the perm makes your hair curly forever.
I hope you have a pink convertible car, like Barbie.
I hope you win the jump rope contest at least once before sixth grade.
I hope that you are still dancing.
I hope that your favorite color is still pink.
I hope you didn't kiss any boys in high school, because that's gross.
I hope you are still nice to people.
I hope you learn how to stick up for yourself.
xoxoxo,
Eight year old Tiffany


Dear eight year old Tiffany,
I don't want to tell you how the rest of it goes and spoil the living part.  But I can tell you that the baby inside your mom's tummy is a boy, and you will get a perm this summer before school.  And your brothers will NEVER see things your way. 

 

Also, sweet socks.

xoxoxox,
32 year old Tiffany

Marathon Man

On Saturday Dustin ran a Half Marathon.  You know those things that most normal people spend months training for?  This is how it went down.

Wednesday
Dustin: Someone needs a ride to the Half Marathon in Larne (one hour away).  Should I just run it while I'm there?
Me: (Not really listening) Sure.
Dustin: (Laughing) Are you serious? That would be crazy.  Do you think I could do it?
Me: (Still not really listening) Yes.
Dustin: Okay.  I'm going to do it.

Thursday
Dustin: Will you come support me while I run the half marathon on Saturday?
Me: The what?!
Dustin: The half marathon you encouraged me to sign up for.
Me: How fast do you think you can run it?
Dustin: Well, it would be at least a few hours.
Me: No.

Friday
Me: Have you trained for this half marathon yet?
Dustin: I figured the best training is to do no training at all.
Me: Did you at least carbo-load tonight?
Dustin:  I ate some rice at dinner.

Saturday
Me: Are you nervous?
Dustin: About what?  I don't really care if I get a good time.
Me: No, about finishing.  What's the furthest you've ever run? 
Dustin: 6 miles, and that was uphill pushing a stroller with two boys in it.
Me : (To Miles and Liam after my eye roll) Hey, did you know that today Daddy is running a big race?
Miles:  Like Rory the Racing Car?
Dustin:  (In the background) Let's not call it a race.
Me: No, he'll actually be running....we hope.
Miles: Like Little Einsteins?
Me: I think you may watch too much t.v.

So then Saturday morning we saw him off to his "not a big race" praying that the younger guys would take it easy on him.  Then Saturday afternoon he came back all in one piece and actually able to smile.   There has been a bit of limping around here since, but I'm actually really impressed with how he did (just a smidgen over 2 hours).  I would document here that Dustin has vowed to never do a half marathon again.  This is good, because I think it stressed me out more than him.

Job's Wife

Job's Wife

I am just the wife.
The wife of a man.
A mortal man who is revered.
Who is revered so much that God allows him to be tested.
This is not fair.

But I am just the wife.
The wife of a man who has lost everything he owns.
Everything I own.
Who lost everything he owns, including his children.

Ten children.
Ten children I carried in my womb and felt kick against the side of my ribs.
Ten children I balanced on my hip and sang to at night.
Ten children I've now buried into the dusty ground.
My children.

But I am just the wife.
The wife of a man with seeping sores running the entire length of his body.
A man who scolds me for doubting and shouts at my sadness.
A sadness that goes unnoticed.

Ten graves dug deep in the earth.
Twenty cheeks I will never again kiss.
One hundred fingers that will never wrap around my own.
The unnamed wife of a God-fearing man I no longer recognize.

Dear Baby

Dear Baby.

This has been a big week for us.  A huge week.  The type of week that makes a relationship cemented into the hearts of it's carriers. 
You must know I love you.  I've loved you from the moment you made your presence known to me. I loved you when I was up all night sick.  I loved you when I saw your beating heart for the first time.  I loved you when I was confined to my house because I couldn't find the energy to lift a single finger past my forehead.
But in the last few days that love has expanded into something so rich and amazing.
Two days ago I found out whether you're a boy or a girl.  Suddenly you are a person.  Suddenly I am picturing you at 3 and 10 and 25.  I picture the ways you are going to enhance our family.  I picture our family vacations and adventures.  I picture us going out for ice cream - because baby...you are going to have to like ice cream. I picture your place at our table.  I can not wait to name you, and meet you, and hold you.
Then yesterday you kicked so hard your dad could feel you for the first time.  It seems so early.  You must be so strong.  Fierce.  I'll warn you...there is a lot of fierceness in our family, but it is the type of fierce that we welcome and adore.  The type you'll need to have to survive in this family.  You have two older brothers that already have their opinions about you.
You have an entire house of volunteers that are just dying to meet you.
So these next few months as  I keep what I know about you a secret, know that from the moment I knew who I was going to be raising I was overjoyed.  And excited. 
Someone asked me yesterday what sound I made when I found out.
I'll tell you this baby.  I was silent.  Because the answer felt right.  And I knew instantly that you were the right one for the job.

Love, your mama.

This moment.

On Sunday I was hiding in a closet and I thought to myself: if I could bottle up this moment...
Okay, maybe I should explain further.  I was hiding from my children.
Okay, that sounds even worse.  Let's try again.
I was playing hide and seek with my kids.  Legitimately.  Trust me.  It wasn't like the one time I told Liam we should look for his red truck in my bed and then fell asleep for 20 minutes while they ran around the house unsupervised.  We really were hiding.  And it was fun.  And I remembered how in love I am with them during these small moments.
I could go on for days and days... but here is the short list.
If I could bottle up this moment I would want to remember...

• Liam saying "no thank you, I don't want to say thank you." when asked to thank his brother.
• When Miles says "mmmm...that's delicious" after eating tomato soup.
• "Heya." the local greeting they've both picked up from someone other than us.
• Sunday and how they both woke me up with kisses and by saying "Happy Mothers Day" over and over again.
• The way they chase each other around the house and laugh and laugh.
• When I overhear them pretending, and it involves "Mommy" in some part of the plot.  I love that I'm a part of their imaginations.
• How hard Miles concentrates when he is drawing something on paper.
• Facial expressions on tiny faces....who do I capture those in their true context and nature?
• When they both walked into our computer room yesterday with their matching pjs on and with hands folded and angelic faces asked "It's not to early?" (to get up)

Ten Truths on Tuesday

1. I know that I am 32 years old and when I am really really sick I still cry because I miss my mom and dad.
2. I know that this pregnancy has been by far easier than the first, and yet I have had to overcome hurtles that I either didn't have, or don't remember with the first.
3. I know that spring is coming, which makes me smile so much my face hurts by 10 a.m.
4. I know that the birds here sometimes get confused and chirp at night - which is such a weird thing that you wouldn't think about unless you experienced it.
5. I know that it will always rain, and my windows will always get dirty.
6. I know that if there was a worldwide enforced nap time then the world would be a better place.
7. I know that if I had to choose between peanut butter and nutella.... it will be pb every time.
8. I know we've got big plans for a trip with my parents and brother and sister-in-law for Christmas, and although it is too early to share them, I am super excited.  
9. I know that on Sunday the Ocean was such a brilliant shade of blue-green that you would never believe me if I told you how amazing it was.
10. I know that every time I feel a tiny kick inside of me, I stop what I'm doing and thank God for this thriving life inside of me.

To read about the origins of Ten Truth Tuesday, click here.