out of Kadesh

But first, a word about the things in my life that, for reasons entirely out of my control, often get neglected.

1. My hygiene. Oh, how I miss taking long, hot showers. And shaving my legs.

2. My nails. About all I can say about my chipped, various lengths, cracked toe and fingernails is…. YUCK.

3. My hubby. I love you, baby. I’ll get my calendar and you get yours and let’s pencil each other in for some nasty sex.

4. My blog. Hi, Reader! Are you still there? I miss you. But alas, gone are the days when I could plop Noah on his play mat and have a good half hour of free time while he stared at his chubby face in the mirror. Also gone are the days when I still had any brain cells left in my head after putting him down for a nap. Now I just sit on the couch and stare blankly at the opposite wall until he wakes up. But know that while I’m doing that, you’re on my mind, World Wide Web. Suddenly my brain flickers into the almost “on” position, long enough to flash “I should bl… wait, huh?” across my conscious before turning itself off again.

So there you have it, my excuse for cranking out maybe one post per week. It sucks.

Also, it totally doesn’t suck, because here’s what’s been hogging all my brain power:

Worth it!

And speaking of that little man, I started this post with a point in mind, and so help me I’m determined to get to it sometime today. On Sunday, Noah was dedicated at church. We’re protestant, so there’s no sprinkling involved, but we still dressed him up in a collared shirt and dressy pants. And shoes. OMG he wore dress shoes that shine. And then he barfed on himself. And holy crap, we got it on digital film. BRILLIANT!

Look how unsuspecting Lance and I are, just smiling for the camera. FOOLS!

Anyway, we stood up in front of the congregation with him and the pastor prayed over him and he cried a little. I think he’s kinda shy. He kept trying to bury his face in Lance’s shirt. Meanwhile, we the parents were charged to bring him up as best we can to walk with the Lord. And to help us, Noah was given his very own little kid’s picture Bible (which he thinks is very tasty, and which has pictures of angels that look like Johnny Bravo).

Afterward, we had coffee with some dear friends who were my pastors in college. They prayed for us before they left, and reminded us that when we pray, we should pray in faith. Meaning pray believing God will act on our behalf. Meaning don’t pray like I usually pray, asking God for things like there’s absolutely no way He’d ever do what I’m asking Him, not in a million years.

Recently I read a well-known scripture in 1 Corinthians. It’s the famous love passage and at the end, it says “…we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.” As I read what I’ve read and heard a hundred times, something new jumped out at me. I usually fast-forward to the “the best of these is love” part, but I was captured by the “Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly” part. I think it’s always seemed like a suggestion, you know? La la la, have hope, trust in God, if you have time or whatever. But these words have power. Trust STEADILY. Hope UNSWERVINGLY. Can you do that??

Hm.

Here’s my problem: how do you pray in faith, or pray with a steady trust in God, and somehow keep hope alive when He doesn’t answer? Because every time I pray something with as much faith as I can muster, and God’s plans are different than mine, I lose hope. I can know in my head that it means God knows something I don’t, that His thoughts are bigger and higher than my own, etc., but my hope still crumbles.

That said, I started writing prayers down. I’m still working on my experiment where I try praying for others as opposed to myself, and looking back over miraculously answered prayer is pretty amazing. It raises my hope and proves my theory that God doesn’t want us to be islands, but wants us to be in community with one another, praying for each other’s needs and helping one another. Side note: sometimes my experiment is easy and fun. I love sitting down with a cup of coffee and earnestly praying for people. God has actually started giving me dreams about people I haven’t thought about in years, and I pray for them. And sometimes my experiment sucks ass. Sometimes I don’t want to pray for you, Reader. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. Sometimes I am selfish. This is what I have to overcome. I have another theory that the harder it is to make time to sit down and pray for someone else, the more important it must be. End side note.

But I’m still confused about hope. How can you just HOPE? To me it seems more like a feeling. I get how trust and love are commands, but hope? It seems so fickle. The feeling of hopelessness is overwhelming sometimes when the smallest thing goes wrong, or it soars when things go well for me. It’s like trying to keep a candle burning in the wind.

What do you think, Reader? Anyone else out there wrestling with their faith? I’d love to hear from you. Anyone got it all figured out? Hey, I’d love to hear from you too.

Coming at you live at 11pm, when I should most definitely be in bed. But bedtime brings me no joy any more, only anxiety, because I know that as soon as I start getting some good REM ZZZZs, the boy is going to wake up and I’m going to have to shuffle my tired ass into his room, nurse him, change him, and then attempt to put him back in bed only to have him start talking/fussing into the monitor until I can’t take it any more and make Lance go get him and bring him in bed with us. Just so I can stuff my boob back into his mouth. JUST SO HE’LL SHUT UP.

I literally cannot tell you what I would do for a full night’s sleep. I mean, if you asked me if I wanted a million zillion dollars and my own private beach where, while I bask in the shade of a palm tree, servers in white coats keep silently refilling my glass with an endless supply of Sangria, OR one single night of sleeping, I’d be all, “SHOW ME THE BED.” What is it with babies and refusing to sleep, anyway? Can you imagine someone gently placing you in your bed and covering you up with a soft blanket, some nice white noise in the background, and you being like A NAP? NOW?? BUT I HAVE SHIT TO DO! (And if you answered “yes” to that, you need to stop reading this blog right away because we obviously have nothing in common.) I wish Future Noah could pay a visit to Present Noah and explain how wonderful sleep is.

See when I was in high school, my parents would bang on my door on Saturday mornings and be like “It’s 9am and you’re still in bed!? You’ve slept half the day away!” At the time I wanted to throw things at them, but now I realize it was payback. I can’t wait to wake up Noah’s sleeping teenage ass, but not just in the morning. I’m setting my alarm, sneaking into his bedroom, and bursting into tears at 11pm, 2am, 4am, and 6am. And then I’ll leave some literature laying around for him about how I’m going through a developmental milestone. Like Menopause. EAT THAT, KID.

And then I go to a coffee shop and meet a lady with a 3-year-old and she’s all, “Enjoy these precious moments; they go by so fast.” And that makes me feel like crap, because most of the time I’m just trying to survive. It’s hard for me to be this honest. (Hey, did you read that? It’s hard for ME to admit something! It’s a momentous occasion!) Let me clarify this: I so love being a mommy. It’s the single most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I love my life, I really do. But at the same time, I’m freaking out because I KNOW that if I don’t pay attention, I’ll miss it and Noah will be all grown up. I KNOW that every day is precious. I can see him getting bigger and smarter right before my eyes! And that knowledge, far from helping me capture each second, only serves to stress me out beyond belief. Like, if I stop playing with him to check my email, I feel guilty. I just missed four minutes of my son’s life. I think he was sucking on his toes, AND I MISSED IT.

I feel like a shitty mother. Suddenly, when Noah’s awake AGAIN at 2am, when I just nursed him at 1am, I want to scream. My sweet, perfect baby boy who I could hold and look at and laugh and play with forever, becomes my worst enemy. He’s a total ass who hates me and obviously wants me to die a slow, miserable death of sleep deprivation and guilt. GEEZ. So I give in because I’m too weak to fight this battle and bring him in bed with us, so he can attach himself to my boob for the remainder of the night. LIKE A LITTLE LEECH.

Oh man. I’m so dang tired that I feel (and probably look) like a zombie. I knew this was going to be challenging, but I was not prepared for my son to kick my ass. FOR 5 MONTHS AND COUNTING. And I see no light at the end of the tunnel. This is so freaking hard, y’all. And no one talks like this. Everyone I talk to seems to be Supermom, and I’m like Survivor-mom. I’ve been dropped into the Baby Jungle and I’m just trying to make it out alive. All my energy is sucked out of me before I even wake up in the morning. Some days I just need someone else to understand, someone whose baby also isn’t sleeping and being a perfect little sleeping angel. I need to know I’m not alone in this.

Other tired mommies? Are you out there? How the heck are you?

Way back when I first started blogging, and I mean WAY back, when I had a Xanga account for dang’s sake, and I was living in Huntsville, Alabama so there wasn’t a whole lot to do with my time, I used to read this website called Burnside Writers Collective. It’s a bunch of random authors who all contribute short stories or essays, and there was one writer in particular that I completely loved. Every time I read one of his articles I’d be at my desk at work (yes, I’m totally unethical, ok? Sue me.) covering my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. At which I usually failed. And then my coworkers looked the other way, because you don’t stare at crazy people.

That writer’s name is Chad Gibbs.

Long story short, I posted an excerpt from one of his articles on my Xanga blog, and afterward, he found me and friended me on Facebook, which is almost the same as being friends in real life. And I was at work like all DOOOD! DOOOOOOOD! And my coworkers are like, what happened?? And I’m like, just…. DOOOOOOD! I’m Facebook friends with Chad Gibbs! And they’re like, oh, cool… (don’t forget to look away from the crazy girl). It turns out, Chad Gibbs went to Auburn, and is a major awesome guy, just like his writing suggests.

The point is, guess who just became a published author? While it would be freakin’ cool if the answer was “MOI,” and that story was completely pointless, it actually is Chad Gibbs. And I am not ONE BIT JEALOUS, Y’ALL. Oh, who am I kidding, unless you’re a first-time reader, in which case, NOPE, NOT ONE BIT JEALOUS. I am, however, really excited to read his book, and you should be too, because my name is in the acknowledgments. What? I mean, because he’s the funniest writer I know. (Seriously, though, because of both reasons.)

Reader, do yourself, and my friend Chad, a favor, and go pre-order his book STAT. But don’t do it for me, do it for the free SEC tickets you could win.

And now, a note from the sponsor. Or, something like that.

In the fall of 2009, Chad Gibbs spent a football weekend at all twelve Southeastern Conference schools. Each weekend he attended a game and a worship service, all the while spending time with rabid, Christian fans like himself. The result was Gibbs’ first book, God and Football: Faith and Fanaticism in the SEC, an illuminating, laugh-out-loud look at the place where faith and football meet.

Set to hit shelves in August 2010, God and Football is now available for pre-order on Amazon, Books-A-Million, Barnes and Noble, and other online retailers. Pre-order the book today for a chance to win two tickets to the 2010 SEC Championship Game in Atlanta. For more information, or to arrange for the author to speak to your group or ministry, please visit ChadGibbs.com.
Join the group on Facebook.
Follow Chad Gibbs on Twitter.

Dear Noah,

Well, I already had my freakout about your 5-month birthday, Bubbs, so I’m not going to start this letter the way I usually do by reminding you that you’re growing up much too fast for Mommy’s taste. Instead, I will start by telling you how unfair it is that you are such a big boy but you still don’t sleep through the night, no sir not even close. Daddy tries to remind me that it’s not forever but I am pretty sure you will be in college, waking up at 3am and making Daddy drive over to get you and bring you back so you can get in bed between us. (So let’s just make sure you go to college somewhere close, ok?)

This month you are every bit the squirming, laughing, feet-grasping, pudgy little icon that comes to mind when someone says the word “baby.” Everything goes into your mouth. EVERYTHING. And I spend half of my life taking a washcloth to your hands after you’ve grabbed the dog, the cat, the floor, money, dirt, and strange old ladies’ fingers. Old ladies, by the way, LOVE you. However, you don’t seem to love them so much. Last week we went to church with some of Mommy and Daddy’s friends, and the old lady-ness was almost out of control. When you just couldn’t take it one more second, you burst into big crocodile tears until we took you outside. I don’t blame you. If a strange old lady were in my face talking real loud, I’d be upset too.

When you’re scared or sad, you do this little pout with your bottom lip and I swear, it’s simultaneously the saddest and cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I never want you to do it again, and I also wish I had a camera handy every time I see it. And when you sneeze, you yell first. It’s totally weird and amazing, and your Daddy and I laugh every time. You’re like “AAAHHH!” and then a couple of seconds later, “CHOO!” But the best weird thing you do is your poop face. You look like a muppet, with your mouth stretched all the way across your face and your eyes pointed downward in concentration. Then comes the BOOM in your diaper, and then you smile real big, like you want us to be proud. And we ARE, Bubbs, we ARE.

Before we decided to give you another month before feeding you any more solid food, we let you try some avocado and can I just say, you are definitely my son. I was worried you would be angry at us for suddenly feeding you something that tastes so different than breast milk, but I was wrong. You LOVED it! (Maybe it does taste a little like breast milk actually, since it’s one of Mommy’s favorite foods.) I’m excited about us trying lots of new flavors! I’m determined to make a cook and a foodie out of you. Repeat after me: Chicken nuggets and Chuck-E-Cheese pizza are BAD. Risotto with grape tomatoes, fresh basil, and a balsamic reduction is GOOD.

And you are definitely going to need good food to help your ever-growing brain. Noah, you’re so smart. I love watching you play, because I can see you figuring things out. Some friends of ours had an Exer-Saucer that we borrowed, and you look like you’re standing in a control-center when you play in it. A couple of days ago you were still checking everything out, looking a bit overwhelmed by how many things you needed to touch and, of course, put in your mouth. Now you know where your favorite toy is and how to push the buttons so it makes noise. And where you used to be oblivious, sleeping if there were too many things to look at or hear, you now are so aware of your surroundings. You love reaching out for the cat when he passes by, and you giggle when the dog licks you. One of your favorite things to do is go for a walk. You face out in the baby carrier, which your Daddy usually wears, and you kick your legs and hold your arms out like you’re flying, and you squeal with happiness when the wind blows in your face. It’s so wonderful to see your mind growing bigger with your body.

It’s been a good month for me too, Bubba. I completely abandoned any hope of a schedule for you, and as a result I am SUCH a calmer person. I used to not know how to handle it if anything was off even by a couple of minutes, but now if we don’t get you in the bath right on time or in bed right on time, or if I have no idea how long it’s been since I last fed you, it’s ok. I’ve discovered you are completely adaptable and really can sleep almost anywhere, once you stop looking around at everything. And as for eating, you will absolutely let me know when you want to eat. I’m learning from you even now, how to relax and enjoy life. You’re teaching me how to let go of my intense need to control everything, and it’s been a hard transition, but I’m loving it now. I’m so grateful to you for that.

The best part of my day is when your Daddy brings you in to me in bed after your first nap. I sit up and reach for my glasses, and when you see me you smile so big and kick your legs and wave your arms like I’m Christmas morning. You will know some day, when you have kids of your own, what that does to my heart. But until then, I want you to know I don’t take it for granted. I know this won’t last forever, the way your entire body expresses how happy you are just to see me again, and I’m working on savoring every precious second while I can.

Love,

Mommy

Why hello, we’re just sitting here in our own filth today. How are you?

In case you live on You Planet and hadn’t heard, as I have frequently been (quite fairly) accused of, Nashville got flooded over the weekend. The Cumberland River rose like 200 feet or something. I exaggerate because I don’t know the actual amount, and I already looked up one link for you, Reader, so I’m not going to research it. Have I not mentioned? I’m lazy. And actually, since I don’t know how high the River rose, 200 feet could be accurate. Hey, you never know. One day you’ll be reading this blog and there will be a shred of unadulterated truth to something I have written, and then the earth will implode and dinosaurs will repopulate.

Anyway, our house is on a hill and is fine. Our once lovely, square-shaped garden is now sort of spread out all over the yard, but with some people’s homes under water, we can’t complain. As far as I know we still can’t drive downtown, but we haven’t tried so I could be wrong. Mainly we are all affected by Nashville’s rapidly depleting water supply. With only one working water plant, all Nashvillians are under an urgent mandate to conserve water and the hippies people are really getting into it. There are trending topics on twitter like “floodlegs” and “floodbeards” (people vowing not to shave) and even a group on facebook called “No Shower Nashville” (people vowing not to shower for at least a week).

So of course Lance is like, “YEAH FLOODBEARD! Gotta do my part, babe.” And I’m like “But you use an electric razor.” And he’s like “AHEM let’s think of other ways we can save water, too.” Let me just say this, so it’s been officially stated. Lance is awesome. If it weren’t for him, I probably wouldn’t be green. Lance loves the environment, and he’s 100% on board with this whole water conservation thing. And it’s a good thing he is, because to be totally honest, I’m only like 90% on board. I was all about cutting our water usage in half. HALF. Meaning like, only one load of laundry every other day, and running the dishwasher every other day, maybe taking a military shower, maybe not shaving my legs. Maybe turning off the water while I brush my teeth instead of letting it gush down the drain. (No lie, I used to do this, until I married Lance. Then he started turning off the water for me. Then I was ashamed.) But Lance is like, let’s see how much water we can save. Lance is like, let’s go above and beyond. See how great he is? He really is.

BUT.

Sometimes I get a little overwhelmed, plus I’m grumpy when everything stinks. I beginning to think I may be just a big waster at heart. This morning Lance printed out flyers that say “SAVE YOUR WATER. Like water to drink? Might be time to stink,” and as soon as I woke up this morning he skips in the room, jumps up and clicks his heels together. “I thought we could pass these out on our walk later!” he sings. I’m like going “COFFEEEE….” and feeling around with my hands for my glasses. “And, as much as it pains me,” he continues with a sad expression, “we should probably go buy some biodegradable paper products to eat off of.”

Now I know it’s serious.

“Well I need to wash Noah’s diapers today… he barely has any left and I’ve already put it off as long as I can,” I say.
“Yeah, about that…” He looks at his toes in anguish. “I was thinking we should probably go get some disposables.”

That wave of cold you just felt? Yeppers. HELL FREEZING OVER. When Lance A. Roggendorff wants us to buy paper products and disposable diapers in order to conserve water, WATER NEEDS TO BE CONSERVED, Y’ALL.

Then I get out of bed and walk into the bathroom, and guess what I find. A yellow sticky-note has been stuck to the handle of the crapper to remind us not to flush. Which I find SOOO not ok.

Oh man. I gotta change my selfish ways.

So here’s what is happening in Kadesh:

1. We aren’t showering. I did sponge-bathe some crucial areas today, however, if you want to know. I also shampooed just my bangs and washed my face to make myself look slightly less greasy. This no-showering is hard for me. When you are up all night with an infant, a cup of coffee and a long hot shower really helps you feel like a real person the next morning. Ergo, I do not feel like a real person.

2. We aren’t washing dishes. Our sink is full of dirty plates, forks, pots and pans, glasses, etc., as is our dishwasher and most of our counter space. We’re out of clean dishes and cookware now so I guess we’ll be eating take-out until we buy some paper products. YUCK. I can’t even go into my kitchen without freaking out, so I’m staying out of there.

3. We aren’t washing laundry. You should see my ensemble today. I could only find a skirt, which sucks as I haven’t shaved my legs since like May 1. And this shirt shows my bra straps, so I think I’m going to have to trade it in for one of Lance’s old t-shirts if I decide leave this Dungeon of Filth today. Also, Noah is totally not doing his part because he keeps spitting up and drooling all over his onesies, which creates more laundry that we can’t do. SELFISH.

4. We aren’t watering our garden. I already mentioned that it got messed up with the rain, but there are still plants that are currently dying of thirst out there. I think I’m going to have to kiss my dreams of sweet bell peppers this summer goodbye. Damn.

5. We’re feeling guilty every time we flush the toilet or turn the tap on a trickle. It doesn’t help anyone but it makes me feel bad, which for some reason makes it seem ok in my warped little mind.

Regardless of every hippie I know doing things just like this, there have actually been reports of increased water usage in Nashville. The metro water authority is saying it’s probably from citizens freaking out and filling up their bathtubs in the event we run out of clean water. If this is you, let me just say this. YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. You are exacerbating the problem. Just stop washing your Dodge Ram and everything will be fine.

The bottom line is, man we Americans are a selfish, wasteful bunch. There are actually people without clean water in the world, which is out of my realm of understanding. If nothing else, hopefully selfish, shower-and-clean-laundry-loving citizens like me will be more aware and maybe be motivated to do something about it.