out of Kadesh

1. I momentarily forgot how to spell Tuesday.

2. I had a craving for Chick-Fil-A.

3. I ate Chick-Fil-A.

4. I felt guilty for eating Chick-Fil-A.

5. I listened to Adele and Justin Timberlake on Spotify.

6. I put a pot of chickpeas on the stove to boil.

7. I took the dog on a long walk with my two favorite boys.

8. We stopped at Ugly Mugs on the way home for a pumpkin latte (and a blackberry Italian cream soda and juice, respectively).

9. We sat outside for almost 30 seconds before mosquitos started trying to bite my ass. THROUGH MY PANTS.

10. Lance said, “Haa haa I can see your under-wearrr” in a singsong voice. I said, “What!?” He said, “You have a hole in your yoga pants. You’re wearing bright green underwear.” I said, “I just stood in line at the coffee shop with a huge hole in my pants! …Awesome.”

11. We stepped back in the house and it smelled like horribly scorched chickpeas.

12. I put a pot full of scorched-to-hell chickpeas on the back patio.

13. I opened all the windows and turned on all the fans.

14. I mourned the loss of the hummus I was looking forward to.

15. I sat on the toilet while Noah sat on his potty. Nothing happened for either of us.

16. I taught Noah the sprinkler dance.

17. I took a nap.

18. I snoozed my alarm.

19. I snoozed my alarm.

20. I snoozed my alarm.

21. I drug my ass out of bed.

22. I did a bunch of work for the theatre.

23. I contemplated how much more work I need to do for the theatre.

24. I fed Noah a snack of yogurt and strawberries.

25. I realized the yogurt expired on September 8.

26. It smelled fine so I put it back in the fridge. I figured, it’s yogurt, right?

27. I procrastinated making dinner until 5:45.

28. I finally got up and started dinner.

And by “the whole story,” don’t worry. I’m not going to tell you that I came out of the bathroom wearing lingerie and I had shaved my legs for the first time all summer. And no, I’m not going to tell you that I’d been tracking my periods so I didn’t have to take hormone pills as birth control. No, I’m not going to tell you how in that crucial moment, I whispered the words that every man wants to hear: “It’s cool, baby, I’m not ovulating! Don’t worry about a condom. IT’S FINE.” I’m not even going to describe to you the haste with which Lance tossed the wrapped condom aside and how he even almost completed the whole question: “Are you sure?” Yeah, so don’t worry, because I’m not going to tell you any of that.

(p.s. “The Rhythm Method.” Otherwise known as, my friend Amy told me, “Parents.”)

What I AM going to tell you is that all of this is Noah’s fault.

Ever since he was born… LITERALLY, since my water broke while we were trying to have sexy pregnant sex… every time Lance and I started giving each other, you know, the look, Noah has been there to put a quick stop to it. If I even THINK about my husband in a husband-and-wifely-duties-type-way, or if Lance like, throws the merest of glances at my boobs, Noah is suddenly awake, alert, around… whatever. It was so uncanny that Lance started calling it “Operation Prevent Siblings.” Which was very amusing since, of course, he was NOT going to be having siblings because we were NOT going to let Lance’s sperm anywhere NEAR my egg. (p.s. A brand new study proves that wearing a condom helps with that…)

People would ask me when we were having another one, and I’d be all, Maybe when this one learns to sleep. Which I have given up hope on happening before he becomes a teenager. Because y’all. I haven’t slept in TWO YEARS. My plan was to sleep for a full year with no interruptions before even THINKING about Number 2. No way was I about to get myself knocked up. NO. WAY. (p.s. CONDOM!)

It’s Noah’s fault though, because he slept while he was on the job THAT ONE TIME. And just like that, “Operation Prevent Siblings” failed. I don’t know what this means for his future assignments, but it does not look good.

After the initial shock wore off, though, I started feeling excited. And happy. And scared out of my mind. And so stupid. And really, really happy. This is gonna be great, you guys. My Bubbs is going to be the best big brother ever. I’m really excited. And scared happy. Did I mention happy?

But still. Today Lance told me, “You know I’m never going to believe you when you tell me I don’t have to wear a condom again, don’t you?” And I was all, “Are you kidding? I’m not even letting you NEAR me with that evil Pregnancy-Maker of yours until after the Vasectomy.”

Hello? Is this thing on? Ok, just checking. It’s been so long since I’ve Facebooked/Twittered/Blogged that I forgot how to type, but if I put my coffee down it seems to be a bit easier. Two hands. Huh. I’m not used to having access to both.

My poor Bubbs is recovering from a fever. I think it is a teething fever, which comes on for no reason about a week before he cuts new teeth… but before that he had the shits, and before that he had a runny nose, and before that he threw up one time. So my gut tells me it’s teething, but the Internet tells me it’s something life-threatening.

Excuse me while I pick up my coffee again to calm my nerves. Counter intuitive, you think? Just wait until you have a toddler.

I feel great. Well, my boob feels like it’s about to fall off, but that’s just the plugged milk duct that came on the other day to remind me that even though I’m weaning, I’m still a slave to breastfeeding. But I feel great otherwise, really. I started running. I’ve never been a runner… I dislike the feeling of Jelly Legs/Jelly Belly/Blood thundering in my ears/Can’t get enough breath/Searing pain in my lungs… things like that. And then as I’m running and trying not to die, I typically reason with myself like: “This is painful, why am I doing this? No one’s chasing me, and even if someone WAS chasing me, I wouldn’t be jogging this embarrassingly slowly. I’da cut through that alley and I’d be hiding behind that trash bin by now, or at least I’da taken the trash bin lid off and I’d try using it as a weapon. It makes no sense to do what I’m doing right now, and look, here’s an air-conditioned ice cream shop! Bump this crap.”

But I’ve always been jealous of runners. They look like they are having a great time, getting fit and being alone and not talking themselves out of doing it.

It came about after we joined the YMCA. I took Noah to the nursery a couple of times, thinking he would love it, but it turns out he… um… didn’t. Quite the opposite in fact. In fact I am fairly certain I know the first topic he’ll be discussing with his therapist one day: the day his mother left him in the nursery at the Y for FOUR MINUTES and he screamed and cried so hard and long that by the time she got back, he was hoarse and shaking. And I will also be discussing the psychological ramifications of this with my own therapist, because I think I am STILL shaking and second guessing every decision I’ve ever made and my abilities as a competent mother.

(Also, do you think this explains the vomit/fever/runny nose? Four minutes of exposure at the germ-infested YMCA nursery? Internet thinks maybe.)

So my desire to get in shape was countered by my desire to protect my son’s tender emotions, despite the rolled eyes and “He’s fine”s and the “This must be your first kid”s of the YMCA nursery workers, and so I decided to quit the gym and do something else.

Except I haven’t actually quit yet, because I am holding onto the hope that we might take ourselves swimming before the summer is over, and also because it is impossible to quit the gym, don’t you know?

The first time I got the crazy idea in my head to go for a jog, I was angry. And upset. And things were feeling pretty hopeless. And I was able to use that anger to fuel my run, and I ran for over a mile, and I know that probably doesn’t sound like much to you, but please bear in mind that it was hotter outside than the fires of Mount Doom, and, not being a runner, by the time I got back to my house I had to retrace my steps to look for my ass, which had fallen off from the stress of being thrown back and forth in a way it was not used to for 20 minutes. But I felt amazing. Powerful. That mile might as well have been 10 for me, and I actually had this naive thought: I can do this.

I’ve been running ever since, but I think I have hit a snag. Unless I’m upset about something, I don’t run as well. Yesterday I ran for 1/2 the time I did that first time, and felt just as worn out as if I’d done the whole mile. Which technically means I’m getting WORSE the more I run. But nothing was nagging me. I was all happy and content. And I didn’t really want to run… what I really wanted was to watch Hulu and eat leftover Lance’s birthday cake. (The other problem of course, is how much I hate running when Noah is napping, which is really the only time I can run, but the last thing I want to do during my ONE BREAK OF THE DAY is stop watching Hulu and put down the leftover cake so I can pump up my heart rate. LAME.) So I found myself wearing down on the run and I started trying to think about all these social injustices so I’d get a spurt or two of energy, but it just didn’t have the same effect as when it was a personal injury.

Which leads me to this conclusion: I’m like, hella selfish.

So, in an attempt to change my evil ways, I had this idea that for one year, Lance and I should give something up every month. (Welcome to marriage, ladies and gentlemen. Lance is probably all, um, but I feel ok about myself…? NO. We’re in this together. We’re gonna make the world a better place so just SUCK IT.) More on this um… later. Hopefully.

This month is No Chain Month, otherwise known as Buy Local Month. See we pray this prayer before dinner, all together (meaning Lance and I pray, and Noah watches and then claps when we’re done), and it goes “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. And may we always be mindful of the needs of others.” So that’s what this project is really all about… we’re going to try to be mindful of the needs of others. This month, by supporting our local farmers and businesses, and by taking away the convenience of Target/Kroger/Home Depot/Etc., which needy people do not always have access to, especially in third-world countries. Also, we are going to try to NOT be mindful of the needs of The Man.

Amen.

(How does this help me run better? When I find out I will tell you.) (Meaning: it has nothing to do with me running. I’m just telling you two stories in the same blog post, but I love my segues and it seemed like a good one. Try to keep up, Reader.)

The short version: I’ve been trying to wean Noah. It’s not going well.

The long version: Holy shit. My kid is more addicted to my titties than an old man with emphysema is to his cigarettes. Weaning Noah from breastfeeding is like taking one step forward and two steps backwards, EVERY SINGLE DAY. Which technically means I’m nursing him more now than I was when I started weaning, and that’s kind of what it feels like some days.

In all seriousness, I’m trying to do this as gently as possible so that no emotional damage and/or breast infection ensues. But there are times when I’m nursing him for the fourth time in the span of one bedtime routine, because he refuses to even let me put him into bed without waking up and crying AS SOON AS HE COMES UNLATCHED, when I think to myself, Dear God, I’ll be breastfeeding this little leech when he’s 25.

I AM JUST SO OVER IT. I have to step back and try to gain some perspective. Worst case scenario: I’ll breastfeed him longer than I intended to and he’ll continue to receive nutrients and antibodies and I’ll continue to bond with my son and burn calories.

Either that, or I’ll end up in a padded cell.

1. I fucking hate summer. Mosquitoes. Mugginess. Melting. MURDER. (Just kidding.) If I ruled the universe, we’d have one month of 85 degree weather where you could swim if you were hard core. Then there would be five months of fall and three of spring, and three of winter. (Does that even equal 12?) Seriously. Didn’t we just have snow on the ground like, a week ago? What is with all this weather? If it’s not a blizzard, it’s hotter than hell or there’s a tsunami or a tornado tearing through my hometown. Or an earthquake and a radiation leak. You know. (Oh, man, first paragraph is about weather. This blog post might be doomed.)

2. I think I have gallstones. Yesterday, for the second time, I felt like I was going to die shortly after eating dinner. I laid down, sat up, took four antacids, tried gagging myself, tried pooping… nothing made me feel any better. It was such a weird pain too, like a constant crampy heartburn only in my stomach/intestine area. So I did what every smart person with internet access does in my situation: I WebMD’d that shit. Word to the wise: if you are feeling sick, look online to see what you could have, because self-diagnosis is the best thing to do. NO WAY was what I had gas. IT WAS GALLSTONES I TELL YOU. And I’ll be lucky if it isn’t cancer. If it happens again, I’m going to the ER. No, seriously.

3. Today, my son ate almost half a box of cheese crackers. I took him to the supermarket with me and he ate them the whole time I pushed him around in the cart. I couldn’t believe how easy my shopping trip was. Then when we came home he kept asking for more (“MAH! MAH!”), and I was feeling so lazy so I just gave him the box. It’s just that I hate snacks, for serious. 90% of the time, I’ll give Noah a banana (which he walks around eating with one hand), blueberries (which he can eat out of a bowl on the floor), a mozzarella stick (see banana), cereal shaped like an “o” (see blueberries), or cheese crackers. Because those snacks are easy. Is that terrible? 10% of the time I take time to peel some other piece of fruit or give him some yogurt and a spoon or do something fancy/healthy, and it ALWAYS ends up on the floor. But I did feel pretty bad when I looked up to see him walking around the house carrying a box of sodium-laden non-nutrition around with him all day.

4. I spent the evening at a board meeting for Street Theatre Company. I feel so empowered to be doing what I love. Not the meeting part. The being part of a theatre part. It was a “working meeting,” so we brought our computers and the President of the Board gave us all a task to do. Mine was finding contacts for a sexual abuse prevention play we put on for children, called No More Secrets. So I googled “Nashville TN child abuse support.” And then I looked at websites devoted to support for children who have been abused. (You could have told me that’s what I’d find, right?) And I cried a little in my heart. I just. can’t. understand. how anyone could abuse their own child. Or any child, for that matter, but especially their own. I hugged my buddy really tightly when I came home, which he TOTALLY appreciated and he didn’t try to squirm his way out of my arms AT ALL. Then I hugged my hubby, and told him “I’m so glad I married such a good man, who I know will never hurt our children.” And he said, “Me, too.” And I said, “Except for the man part, right?” And he said yes.

5. Yesterday was my second Mother’s Day. To celebrate, Lance and Noah took me out to Marché for brunch, which is my favorite restaurant in East Nashville. It’s really expensive, so we have to save it for special occasions. Like Mother’s Day. And my birthday. And Groundhog’s Day. And Trash-Pickup day. And I-Just-Got-A-Bed-Bath-N-Beyond-Coupon-in-the-Mail-Again Day. And Noah-Pointed-at-His-Dumptruck-When-I-Said-Dumptruck Day. And hey, Noah turned 17 months old today! I almost forgot. I guess we’ll have to go celebrate tomorrow. But Marché was only the semi-best part of my second Mother’s Day. The best part is getting to be a mother to my little boy. It’s so easy and wonderful. I have the best job ever because I have the best Bubbs ever.

6. I am about to eat as many oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies as I can before I make myself sick. Which reminds me of a time in college when I was eating dinner with a friend of mine who was in Pre-Med. We had eaten so much food that we were miserable, but we were still eating, because it was dessert, and it was delicious. (My sources can neither confirm nor deny that I’m talking about a freakin Chili’s right now.) And I go, “At what point do you think your stomach would just explode? I mean, how much could I technically eat before my stomach bursts inside my body and kills me?” And my doctor friend said matter-of-factly, “I think you would throw up before that happened.” And I was all, “Oh. Well, that’s a relief.” And really this story is about my stupidity, no doubt brought on by the intense surge in my caloric intake at the time, and how funny it is. But the story is also about what a disgustingly first-world problem that is, that I would ever actually wonder how much I can eat before I explode. AMERICA, FUCK YEAH! Now, where are those cookies?

7. My computer is out of batteries.

Easter is tomorrow. (Is it incredible to anyone else?) Things I have to do before then include finding an outfit to wear to church, since you’re supposed to look cute on Easter. Don’t ask me why; I’m from the south and I just follow the rules down here. And I hate shopping, and I don’t have time to shop anyway, so it’ll be something from my closet, which means it will probably be too big since I lost weight after my pregnancy (but I still look flabby anyway). Also it will be from at least three seasons ago, so it will be nice and outdated. So that’s going to be a fun task.

Other things I have to do today:

…use my birthday present to make some cinnamon rolls…

…bake Noah some oatmeal cookies for his candy-free Easter basket…

…and iron my pants for work. No, that has nothing to do with Easter; I just have to go to work tonight.

Things I’m doing instead of the aforementioned things I need to do today: sitting on my ass. No pictures for you, unfortunately. Just use your imagination.

And what the heck do Buzz Lightyear, cinnamon rolls, and fake grass have to do with the resurrection of Christ, you ask? (We didn’t actually use fake grass in Noah’s basket, but I wanted a third item for my sentence. My name is Megan, and I will lie if it makes my paragraphs sound more complete.)

I have been asking myself the same question, and the answer is, of course, nothing. Just like a Christmas tree and stockings have nothing to do with the birth of Christ. We Christians just go with it. Bring on the pagan holidays and add a side of Jesus. I LOVE THEM Y’ALL.

Tomorrow I’ll turn 28, which is actually not all that weird because I’ve sort of been thinking of myself as a 28-year-old since the beginning of the year. I wonder if that’s how it will be from now on. Now that I’m getting old and all.

For real. You haven’t seen the right corner of my widow’s peak. It’s a gray-hair party over there. I was just plucking them out every time I saw one, but I can’t keep up with them now. Which might be because they really do grow back faster when you pluck them out (it’s not a myth). Also I stopped because it hurt. I’m not a big fan of pain, and there isn’t a whole lot more unpleasant than methodically ripping perfectly healthy hair out by the root. I mean, I only pluck my eyebrows when I start to look like Bert from Sesame Street, and a bikini wax? My first one is scheduled for NEVER. The only way that would happen is if I had a tragic accident and surgeons had to somehow operate on the tendon that connects my inner thigh to my pubic bone and I was already under deep anesthesia.

Please stop picturing my bikini line.

Maybe the reason I already feel my age is because last year on my birthday I made a list of 27 things I wanted to accomplish before I turned 28, but then at New Year’s, I made New Year’s Resolutions, which superseded my 27 for 27. It makes me wonder how many of those goals got tossed. Let’s explore together, shall we Reader?

audition for at least one play I didn’t even remember this was on the list. Huh. Yeah, definitely didn’t happen.
finish my children’s book It would help if I ever opened that document. Ever.
sew curtains for master bedroom and dining room, sew a diaper bag Well, I sewed the diaper bag! This is half a goal accomplished.
always be reading a book Yes! Finally, a goal accomplished. Of course, by reading I really mean starting and carrying around with me, but let’s not split hairs here. And I started a book club, which has helped.
work on the house: redecorate master bathroom, paint hall w/ chalkboard paint, make dining room warm, put flower boxes outside windows Yes, yes, yes, and yes. YES! (Do I get some sort of prize here?)
take yoga Nope. But I popped in a prenatal yoga video a couple of times! One of those times I even put down the tub of ice cream to stretch a little.
open a bank account for Noah, pay off credit card bill, focus on savings account Crap. We haven’t opened a savings account for Noah yet. I can almost HEAR his college tuition creeping up behind me. We did consolidate our credit card debt, but we didn’t pay it off quite yet, and we don’t have any savings to speak of. This will have to be a carry-over goal.
don’t talk bad about anyone I could almost say I accomplished this goal, but if I did say it, I’d be lying. But “not lying” was not a goal, so what the hell? TOTALLY ACCOMPLISHED THIS ONE, Y’ALL.
record some songs by Christmas No. But yesterday Lance restrung my guitar, so I might actually take it off the hook on the wall and play it once or twice this year now that it doesn’t sound like old cats being hit over the head with violins.
go to 5 concerts Sadly, we didn’t even make it to one concert, unless you count symphony concerts. If you do, then I far exceeded the goal! Of course, I was ushering people to their seats the whole time, but still.
OPEN A BOOKSTORE I like how this one is all in caps. Probably because I knew it was way too ambitious and I wanted to feel better when I didn’t accomplish it. And in fact, I think it worked, because not only do I not feel bad, I’m kind of glad I didn’t since all the bookstores in Nashville have now closed due to lack of money.
pray and read my freaking Bible like a real Christian Oh, this is such a long, long story involving no longer thinking that being “a real Christian” means reading a Bible for one thing… but it will take another blog post (the one I keep promising myself I’ll sit down and write, but the one I haven’t yet because of a) how painful and introspective it will have to be and b) this little guy called Noah who runs around sticking things in his mouth and putting his arms in the toilet.)
blog at least 2x a week Heh.
answer my phone and return phone calls I really suck at this. I haven’t gotten any better at it. I never know where my phone is and it’s usually on silent anyway, and that’s when Verizon decides I should have service in my house. Which is never. And when I do get a phone call from someone I really want to talk to I’m usually in the middle of changing a dirty diaper while grocery shopping and breastfeeding, baking a loaf of bread, and slicing an avocado. And I just think trying to answer the phone sounds a little CRAZY.
hang out with friends more often I have so done this. My New Year’s Resolutions actually make me have a coffee date with a friend at least once a week, and that has been one goal that has been easy to keep.
don’t miss any opportunity to play with Noah This is a tough one. Some days it’s so easy to get down in the floor with him and wrestle and tickle and zoom his cars around and chase him and help him stack blocks and put together puzzles… and some days (like today) I just want to sit here with the computer in my lap and a cup of coffee in my hand and watch YouTube videos. I can definitely tell a difference in his demeanor when I take time for him though. He’s less clingy and needy and whiny when I play with him throughout the day, and I always have so much fun. This will have to be another carry-over goal. I don’t want to wake up one day and he’s tired of playing with me. Like that episode of Parenthood last night, where the mom keeps trying to do all these fun things with her daughter, and her daughter is finally like, Mom, how many things do we have to do together? Heartbreaking. I can’t let that happen. I gotta take advantage. The pressure is on! I HAVE TO HAVE MORE FUN!
be more intentionally romantic (and have a date at least once a week) This would be a laugh if it weren’t so sad. Definitely didn’t even come CLOSE to happening. Well, not the second part anyway. It’s ok though – I amended it in my New Year’s Resolutions to one date a month. MUCH more attainable. And I have, of late, been more intentionally romantic. More details coming on that one, but a certain husband of mine reads this blog from time to time and I wouldn’t want to give away too much too soon…
have a Halloween party Yep. Other than my naive, liquored-up husband hovering over the toilet bowl and a man I’ve never seen dressed like Freddie Cruger, who came bursting into my living room after all the guests were gone (and, coincidentally, while said liquored-up husband was shall we say, incapable of picking himself up off the bathroom floor), the party was a total blast. (Freddie was just at the wrong house, for those of you who were worried he tried to kill me. BECAUSE I FOR SURE THOUGHT HE MIGHT.)
buy and cook healthy food for my family Oh, man. I had this goal for breakfast. Healthy, home-cooked breakfast.
get a tattoo Yep. Tattoo number two on my shoulder. It’s a bunch of butterflies, if you’re interested. They are symbolic of spiritual transition. I was petrified when I sat down in that chair, but it wasn’t so bad. I think the Oxicodone I took before it helped. (JUST KIDDING.) Now I’m looking forward to #3. I’m thinking something in Hebrew on my wrist. (GOTCHA AGAIN!)
see theater (subscribe?) (work p/t or volunteer for discount/free tix?) Yeah! I passed this test fo’ sho’. I volunteered with the Tennessee Rep and saw an A-HA-MAY-ZING production of To Kill a Mockingbird. And now I’m on the board of directors at the Street Theatre, y’all. WHAT’S UP!
go to the beach Oh, yeah, Savannah… miss you already, beautiful.
discover more East Nashville restaurants, bars, cool spots Seeing as we never leave our neighborhood, this has become more essential if we want to ever leave our house. So yeah, I think we’ve tapped into every resource available to us here in East Nasty… may be time to find other places in our city…?
take daily walks I became a total pussy when Noah was born about this one. It used to be so easy; if I didn’t walk at least two miles a day, rain or shine, I felt like my butt was getting bigger by default. Now if it sprinkles or drops below 45 degrees we don’t walk. Sorry, Lucy… sorry, Big Ass… I need to man up on this one.
adopt a Watoto child (Financially adopt, that is.) I’d wanted to do this ever since I saw these amazing children at our church in Washington. Finally did it last spring, and it is such a joy to support this cause. I want to support a new cause this year. Any ideas, y’all? I was thinking about charity: water because of how much their ads on hulu make me cry. Seems a good reason to open my checkbook, right?
go to counseling Did it. It brings me no joy to cross this one off the list though. It didn’t end well. In fact it didn’t go well at all… but yes, I did it.
start a vegetable garden Yes! Of course, the floods in May saw to it that we only got a few green peppers and a shit-ton of jalapenos (which we still have in the freezer – jalapenos freeze beautifully, if you want to know), but that’s ok because I had never done a garden before and it taught me how to do it, and now I have to start another one before it gets much later in the season. Of course, the weather making up its mind would be helpful in this area… (hint, hint, wink, wink).

Time to reevaluate my New Year’s Resolutions and add some of the carry-over goals in. Birthdays are a great time to try and live life to the fullest. It’s like a starting-over for free. Forget last year, and the crazy headaches and all the sickness and the stress of being a new mother and the realization that my sex life would never be the same and the racking up credit card debt because we were so broke and the bangs that I cut WAAAYY too short that one time. Forget it all. Because now I’m 28, baby, and this year is going to rock.

See y’all when I’m older and wiser. Which will be tomorrow.

I just said goodbye to my neighbors, who are moving to California tomorrow. Luckily it’s raining, which is perfect weather for such a sad day.

***Let me just pause to say that even though I know this is a day for weeping, if Lucy doesn’t STOP THAT WHINING FROM THE CORNER I WILL WRAP UP HER MUZZLE WITH DUCT TAPE. I keep trying to explain to her that we ALL miss Lance, and that shrill sound she’s making isn’t speeding his return one iota. (What the heck is an iota anyway?)***

The first time I met my neighbor Tracy we were walking the dog down to the bakery, my pregnant belly stuck out in front of me like a backpack facing the wrong way. As I huffed and puffed up the hill, we ran into a young woman with beautiful tattoos, wearing Vans and carrying a sling over her shoulder, a teeny tiny baby tucked inside. She introduced herself as our new neighbor and she introduced the baby as Winston, her three-week old.

Over the past year and a half, Noah and I have grown really close to those two. I have admired Tracy from the beginning, and I have learned so much from her. She inspired me to become a vegetarian again, to share sleep with Noah and not expect him to sleep through the night, to gently raise him in an attachment-parenting kind of way, and to try our best to live all-natural, organic lives. She has given me tips on food, nursing, sleeping, parenting, holistic medicine, where to get a tattoo from a gentle tattoo artist, and she was the first person to tell me about the Patterson House, which is a really neat underground bar that’s built into an old house here in Nashville, and I feel definitely not cool enough to be in there.

But Tracy and Chris are. They’re some of the coolest and nicest people I’ve ever met.

It’s going to be so sad looking across the street at their empty house. And even though I took Noah out shopping and bought myself some new pajamas and him a new toy bus (which it turns out he is frightened of, because if you push the driver’s head it takes off across the floor and that is just not natural), when we got back home to this empty neighborhood I immediately came down from that temporary shopping high.

I hope our friends are happy out in Cali, but I’m going to be bitter about it for a long time. I’m so glad they were in our lives, even for such a short time.

I hope someday we meet again.

In this rare moment of peace, I’m sitting here looking out my window at the snow falling in my front yard. In Tennessee. For the third day in a row. The Bubbs is asleep, the Hubbs is working, the house is semi-clean, all the laundry is folded and put away, and the dishwasher is running in that swoosh, swoosh, swoosh way it has. And I only half want to take a nap, which is really saying something. I could get used to this. I’m such a homebody that the prospect of being snowed in is always exciting for me, although I still wonder if I could convince Lance to snow-boot it up with me and walk down to Eastland to get some lunch later.

I hate making lunch.

January is a great month. I used to hate it, because the holidays were over and suddenly you have the entire year standing in front of you like a great big wall, and you wonder how you’ll ever get over it, but I have reconsidered. It’s a month of beginnings. Of resolutions. Of endless possibilities. The old behind you, the new in front of you, like a breath of fresh air. On December 31, you can put down all the baggage you carried with you all year, and take your first step without it all weighing down on your back. A clean slate.

It feels nice.

And even though Spring seems so dreadfully far away, right now I’m looking at a cardinal hopping around on a blanket of fluffy snow and it seems symbolic somehow, like all the baptist hymns I grew up with that talk of being washed in the blood of the Lamb and being made white as snow.

I made resolutions this year. I don’t do it every year because they are usually just another source of guilt-ridden anxiety for me, and I feel like I have enough of that already, but this year I made some. And now you’re all, “God, PLEASE don’t tell me your resolutions, lady.” Believe me, I TOTALLY get you. Being an avid blog reader, my eyes are tired of rolling around in their sockets every time I read how someone else vows to lose 25 pounds and their 3-step goal program to get there. Good. Do it. Seize the day and all that. I won’t tell you all my goals, so you can move your mouse away from the “X” at the top of this tab.

There is just one thing, though. I have resolved to chronicle the Great Crisis of Faith 2010. It’s possibly the most important leg of my Faith j0urney so far, and even though I haven’t quite reached the end, I hope writing it all down will help me get to that elusive light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

And while you chew on that, oh Faithful Reader, here’s some more food for thought. As Lance and I drank cocktails last Sunday afternoon we stumbled upon a most interesting question that has been haunting me ever since. Last weekend I was out in Green Hills, which I hate because it’s full of yuppies and their yuppie cars, when suddenly a tall, gorgeous woman walked by and, after my obvious double-take and spluttering of the coffee I had just sipped, I realized it was Nicole Kidman! I love her! I tried really hard not to gawk at her, which is impossible given her breathtaking beauty, and I elbowed Lance and kicked my friend Kelly and whisper-shrieked that NICOLEKIDMANISRIGHTBEHINDYOUOHMYGOD! Later, when I was recounting (in vivid detail) how Nicole Kidman, emitting an inhuman glow, had been three feet away from me reading a newspaper and talking to her husband (Keith Whatshisname) in her purring Australian accent, my dad asked me if I had gotten her autograph. “Are you kidding?! No way! I can’t go up to her!” My dad scoffed at me but then I asked him if he’d have seen her, would he have gone up and asked for an autograph? He paused a second in thought and then laughed, “No, probably not.” Yeah. BECAUSE SHE’S TOO AWESOME, and like, WHO AM I?

So while Lance and I were talking about this for the millionth time (or maybe I should say, when I was talking about it for the millionth time and Lance was listening) (or maybe I should say, pretending to listen) (it’s not his fault; how many times can you feign interest in the same sentence that begins “Can you BELIEVE we saw…” or even “Would you at least CONSIDER a threesome with…?”), I asked him who he would be completely floored to see sitting in a coffee shop? And he answered, Morgan Freeman.

And I’m like, Uh, YEAH, because Morgan Freeman is like, God.

And for anyone who has seen (or even HEARD of) Bruce Almighty or Evan Almighty, you know I mean that he played God in a couple of movies, but that statement made my brain do a back flip, and I thought of a new question. The haunting one, y’all.

If you were to walk into your favorite coffee shop today and see Jesus sitting there, sipping a latte and reading the paper (or finger-scrolling on the screen of His Holy iPad, if you’re a poser and that’s your thing), what would you do? If you’re not a believer this probably won’t mean as much to you, but feel free to ponder nonetheless. If you are a believer, seriously, think for a second what you would do.

Response 1

You would run up to Him and bow your face to the floor. You would pull a Mary M and start weeping and wipe off His feet with your hair.

Response 2

You would walk up and give Him a hug or a high-five. You’d say, “Hey.”

Response 3

You’d say, “Jesus! Comrade! Can I get you a refill? Buy you a muffin?”

Response 4

You’d bring your kid up to Him and humbly ask for His blessing. Or if you didn’t like your kid you’d be like, “Suffer this one, if you CAN.”

Response 5

“OMG JESUUUS! I love your work in Matthew 5! Will you sign my NIV, which I carry with me at all times?”

Response 6

You would put your hand over your brow so He wouldn’t see you, nudge your version of Lance, be all, “Oh my GOD it’s… GOD,” and scurry out of His line of vision, before He caught you pretending not to stare.

Guess which one I am.

While I was sitting there, cocktail poised in the air, paralyzed with the weight of realization at how I would react to seeing the Savior in Ugly Mugs, I thought of something else. You know how you have 500 friends on Facebook, but only like 20 are ACTUALLY friends? When I first moved to Nashville, I had the unhappy experience of seeing an acquaintance from high school at the movies, and I literally stopped in my tracks, turned, and started walking the other way to avoid having to have an awkward conversation with her. She’s my friend on Facebook, y’all. Sometimes I even comment on her pictures. But she’s not a friend, obviously. A friend you greet with enthusiasm when you see her unexpectedly, right?

So then, is Jesus is my Facebook friend? An acquaintance I wouldn’t know what to say to if I saw Him in my coffee shop? One I’d avoid until He left, when I’d finally feel at ease again?

I don’t want that, y’all.

I’m not sure how I identify myself anymore in matters of Faith, as I will delve into later in the Chronicling of the Great Crisis of Faith 2010, but I knew, in that frozen moment, that’s not who I want Jesus to be in my life. So in finding my way toward the end of what has been a very long, arduous road throughout the past year, I guess I’ll start there. This one thing I’m sure of. I want more out of my relationship with Christ than a casual, awkward acquaintanceship.

Noah had three Christmases. THREE. I’m still recovering. I’m sure it’s not actually January yet. I think the calendar is lying. I need more time to organize all these toys. In fact, we’ve decided to convert the dining room into a play room. Seriously. There are so many toys that we are giving up our eating space for a playing space, and I’m happy about it.

Family Christmases

My brother got Noah this monkey that is EXACTLY the same size as he is. They’re friends. They climb trees together. Also they fling their poo.

The queen mother of all the gifts: this ginormous bus. It doesn’t fit in our house, which is why it’s a good, sacrificial gift. Can anyone help me figure out where the heck to put this thing? Anyone? Can I store it at your house?

Whoa. Nice career move, Bubbs.

A really loud, ADD-inducing ball-spitter-outer. It plays Monty Python tunes! Complete with phallic mushroom on the side.

A very needy little toy that tells Noah “I LOVE you!” and “You’re WONderful!” and asks him “Will you HUG me?” Lance and I aren’t sure, but we think maybe this toy was abandoned as a child.

All us sibs. I love this picture.

(Thanks to everyone for all Noah’s gifts… he is in toy heaven over here.)

Christmas Morning

Piano!

This is the face I was hoping for.

The most annoying toy on God’s earth. This laptop encourages Noah to “Keep going! It’ll be fun!” And asks him to choose between “Math Exthplorer!” and “Thuper Thporth!” It also tells him to “Go to an island of FUN!” which I’m pretty sure he is NOT old enough for.

Christmas carnage. Our living room still looks like this.

I’ve learned one thing about photography, and that is you can’t get a good shot of your one-year-old. Period. And don’t even THINK about trying to get a close-up of those precious cheeks. It’s not possible. They are too active, and your camera will not be able to capture the moment you want unless you don’t mind blurry photos. This photo is called getting a really great close-up shot of his face for the first time in months in the brilliance of the freshly-fallen snow on Christmas morning. It was a beautiful thing, y’all.

So you see why it can’t be January already. I’m still putting toys away.