"When God closes one door, he opens another, but the wait in the hall is a b*tch. As far as I can tell, that’s divorce in a nutshell."

-Rachel Gladstone, Excerpted from The Petty Chronicles

Have you read The Petty Chronicles?  If you're going through a separation, divorce, or even difficult time in your marriage, and you need a humorous read, in very short installments, this may just be your cup of tea.  It's not all G rated, but then, neither is divorce.  (Start on installment #1, and then search for each "new" episode as you progress along. I'm only up to installment #14, but it's been a cathartic read so far.)

After all that....but before anything else

It's been a tough month around here.  There's been drama.  And I have felt a heaviness.  The initial freedom of casting off from the moorings has given way to a different sort of weight.  A weight of all the responsibility without breaks: Single Motherhood.  Maybe even a little depression.  And a good dose of ugliness on the part of certain people, including, sometimes, myself.

Admittedly, I've also hit busyness.  Not "business."  No, busy-ness; the kind of "busy" that doesn't stop.  It's like, "The holidays are over, now get back to the insane-busy schedule of having four children."  Since the family kinda fell apart just before the holidays, nothing was "normal."  But I suddenly realized last night that we only have one unscheduled night a week now--and even that's about to go away, once the spring sports hit.  I guess that's "normal."  But I'm hating normal.  I'm hankering for an early midlife crisis (Hey, I'm only 34, so I've been informed it's "too early" for a real one!) where I don't run the suburban rat race.

So as the busyness has increased, and people observe that we appear to be "back to normal," I'm again encountering the dreaded "How are you?" question.   But I, frankly, feel a little "stuck."  Elizabeth Corcoran posted an essay about not knowing how to answer the question, "How are you?" and I found I resonated with her thoughts.  In my comments, I mentioned that what I really feel like saying is something like,

"Well, everything looks OK on the outside, but it's not.  So, I'd hate to say, 'Great!' Because I'm not! But I can't very well say, 'Well, I'm past that stage where I literally couldn't sleep at night; where I was on the verge of panic attacks; where I couldn't see a road ahead; where I couldn't feel the sunshine. Yeah. I'm a bit past all that now, most days, at least.  Now, I'm pretty much in a phase called--'After all that, but before anything else.'  That's how I am."

Sunday Serenity: Hope

Hope is a funny thing, isn't it?  It's usually such a good word.  But it's a real be-yotch when you've been putting your hope in something that doesn't work out.  I mean, if you've really been putting your hope in it; in an all-your-eggs-in-one-basket sort of way.  The funny thing is, I rarely realize I'm doing that, until all my hope comes crashing down, and it hits me, "Uh, I had no Plan B."  That's when I know I've done it, but usually not before.

Now, I know that the problem isn't hope, in an of itself.  It's what I put my hope in.  And that's usually my own best-laid plans.  And those plans usually involve some variation of:

[Maximum Happiness + Minimum Pain = My Master Plan] 

It's usually followed up with some sort of prayer to sanctify it, such as, "Oh please! Oh, please! Oh, please, God!  Make this be Your plan!!!! And Thy will be done and all that too.  Amen."  If I was Catholic, I might throw some Holy Water in the direction of this "hope."  And then I'd call it a day, and go about my business. 

Until it doesn't work out.

Then, I go back to God and ask, "What happened?  Why did You mess up the plan we'd agreed upon?"  (Actually, usually I try to weasel my way into going back to bed and hiding under the covers, but that, thankfully, doesn't usually work out.)  And then, if I'm lucky, I might finally hear that still, small voice.  And I start to get an inkling of the fact that I've been putting my hope in something other than the right thing.  Actually, something other than the right person.  'Cause I know He doesn't let me down. 

My hope is built on nothing less,

Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

Refrain:

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

Refrain

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

Refrain

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand by Avalon

Hugs, Ruthie

Snort Laugh Saturday: Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG'S DIARY
Day number 180
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

Day number 181
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

Day number 182
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
and so on.....and so on.....

EXCERPTS FROM A CAT'S DIARY
Day number 180
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.

Day number 181
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair ... must try this on their bed.

Day number 182
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was...Hmmm. Not working according to plan.

Day number 183
I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth.

Day number 184
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...
____________________________________________________

Same environments, different attitudes, right?  Today, I heard Max Lucado read part of this on the radio.  He cracked me up, and reminded me that gratitude is all about attitude.  It's a choice.

Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat Adapted from here.

Cherishing the Moments

She cupped my cheeks in her chubby hands and whispered,

"Momma, you da apple of my eye.  I love you."

She is two.  Really.

My baby.  My "Isaac."  My "Joseph."

Two recent posts on Motherhood had me, in turns, busting a gut, and then feeling (somewhat) graciously reprimanded.  What do you think? 

Is motherhood just getting through the Chronos, in hopes of the Kairos?

Or is it to be cherished every minute, of every day.  No matter what?

Or is the magic of motherhood, maybe, some of each?  Or, even, both at the same time?

I thank God that whatever it is, there is grace when I miss it, in the midst of the Chronos, and grace that awakens me to those moment of Kairos.

Wednesday Randomness

This actually came out of my mouth yesterday:

"Son, the floor is for walking on; not a storage area."

Conversation on the home front:

Me (speaking to the same seven-year-old son.) "Hey, do you remember that new kid who just joined the track team?  He has blonde hair."

Son (several minutes later)  "What color skin does he have?"

Four year old Daughter "Well, if he's blonde, then he can't see.  So he can't run anyway!"

The End.

Snort Laugh Saturday: Breastfeeding Humor

I figured I'd just spell it out in the title.  This post is about breastfeeding, and if that's not your cup of tea, read no further. 

I'm what I like to call an "Avid Breastfeeder" as opposed to a "Militant Breastfeeder."  I'm all about helping women to breastfeed as long as both they and their baby want to: whether it's one month, or several years.  As long as mom and baby are happy, I'm happy.  If breastfeeding isn't working, and formula is, then great! And vice versa.  I just want mothers to feel empowered to make the choice that's right for them.

I have done extended breastfeeding with both of my biological children, and to this day, I wish I'd been able to breastfeed my adopted children.   Breastfeeding has been a wonderful bonding agent for me, a Mom who isn't naturally the "nurturing type."  (For anyone who knows me, they'll admit that's basically a huge understatment.)  I can be strict.  I can be stern.  I can be a disciplinarian.  But nurturing?  It doesn't usually come naturally, and that's why I loved breastfeeding.  It was probably the only area where "nurturing" came easily.  And for that, I thank the good Lord. 

Anyway, I'm linking to an article published in The DC Moms about a woman who was kicked out of a local DMV for breastfeeding.  Yeah.  Ridiculous.  You don't have to be a "Militant Breastfeeder" to be incensed on her behalf.  Anyway, if you want to read the whole story, it's entertaining.  However, what I want to highlight today is the author's final remarks, which, if you've ever been reprimanded yourself for breastfeeding in public, completely ring true, and may also make you laugh out loud:

"Oh, and for anyone who is offended by the sight of a woman breastfeeding? This former nursing mom suggests that you carry a light blanket with you and gently drape it over your head if a breastfeeding mother is nearby."

Touche!

The Right To Breastfeed
by Rebekah at DC Moms

Lastly, here's another funny breastfeeding cartoon.  It's PG-13ish, so I'm just linking to it.

~Ruthie