Saturday

I was voluntarily snowed in yesterday. I’m not sure exactly how much snow we received in the past couple days but it was enough to be inconvenient. Eight inches at least, maybe more. The snow plows were busy and I’m guessing the roads passable but I chose to have a slow Saturday at home.

I slept in a little — late enough to feel indulgent but not so late as to feel lazy — and rescheduled my only outside obligation (the hair cut can wait another week). The past few weeks have been so busy, what with the Holidays from Thanksgiving to New Years, and all the other obligations of a busy life, I haven’t had a weekend that was truly my own in a very long time. I suppose this weekend isn’t fully my own either as I need to spend most of today logged into work but yesterday was the Sabbath I needed to recharge my batteries.

Most of the day was spent plopped on the couch. Knitting on  a couple of scarves – finished the scarf that was turning into a chore — boring yarn, simple pattern  (it served it’s purpose as mindless knitting to bring along to Christmas but the last quarter of the scarf turned into obligation rather than fun) and added 6″ to my cheap alternative to the Noro Two Row Scarf. I’m using cheap acrylic yarn but I love it anyway — it’s soft and smooshy, drapes like a dream, and is just plain pretty. I don’t think I’ll be giving this one away.

I worked on the stack of movies on the coffee table — Darjeeling Limited (a bit slow but worth the time), Surviving Christmas (Very funny), Princess Bride (the movie that never gets old no matter how many times I watch it) — and watched the food shows on PBS (I love Jaques Pepin). I didn’t even know the football playoffs would be on Saturday. I didn’t have a favorite so could cheer for both teams.

I didn’t cook much. The resident Teen Boy cooked bacon and I added omeletes about 3:00 and that was it. The rest of the day was spent grazing (although I did get all the dishes washed and found there actually is a counter in the kitchen)

The day ended at a reasonable hour curled in bed with The Gun Seller. Boy am I glad my kids recommended this book!

Today is not so free and I should already be attacking my ever-growing to-do list. The laundry has been started (yeah! no one else in the apartment building had already snagged the washer and dryer). The next thing on the list is to pull out the crockpot and start a batch of “clean the fridge soup” with the starring role in the mix going to some salsa-ish flavored turkey breast. Then comes the work obligation that will steal most of the day (not so much fun but it keeps a roof over our heads).

If I was one to make resolutions I would resolve to carve out more days spent relaxing and refreshing that inner me. I feel so much more ready to face the next few days after a day spent breathing deeply.

ali’s african adventures

When I was four and asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I clearly remember saying that I would become a nurse and marry a doctor on the good ship Hope. Here I am 45+ years later and I’m not a nurse and never married a doctor on a ship or otherwise.

Recently I came across a blog from a young woman who is living at least part of my childhood dreams. Ali is a 25 year old pediatric intensive care nurse currently working with Mercy Ships and a gift for sharing her life. This is one of the few blogs where I have wanted to go back and read every post.

Set aside some time to immerse yourself in this young woman’s life and don’t forget to bring the kleenex.

I asked for it

My daughter cut my hair yesterday. I’d been considering getting it cut for awhile as I think my last haircut was 18 months ago, possibly longer. Overally, I’m pretty low maintenance in this area (as long as the gray stays hidden). I prefer my hair longer and I can’t stand the short-hair-framing-a-fat-face look. It was time for a trim, way past time, as my hair was starting to look a bit worse for wear. Too many split ends and grown out layers. I wanted it just past my shoulders (which would have meant cutting off about 4 inches) and all one length. That way I could still clip it back out of my face, or lift it off my neck in a pony tail.

So I asked her if she felt confident and was willing and she scrounged up some scissors (maybe that should have been my first clue). All the giggling was the second. It’s not horrible but it is rather short. Chin length, framing my face. It’s a little blunt across the ends but maybe if I give it a few days…

Today at work I got the comments. “You got your hair cut… it’s…. cute”. Said with just enough pause between “it’s” and “cute” and the voice raising into the “you know I’m lying” range. Someone even asked me if I cut it myself.

Tonight the remaining hair received the overdue dye job that I’d been postponing.  My hair is still up in a towel so I don’t yet know if it will behave when I blow-dry it. If it’s not too awful, maybe I’ll get a picture tomorrow. Or maybe not.

Trust

Trusting God doesn’t come easily for me. It’s not so much that I don’t believe He’s in control or that He knows what He’s doing, but more that I’m afraid that what he chooses for my life will be painful and I’m afraid I will be left to deal with the pain alone. Trusting God means fully accepting the consequences and trusting that He will be there through it all.

Life hurts, I get that. Being a Christian, following God, doesn’t somehow save me from difficult circumstances. God isn’t obligated to protect me from physical, emotional or even spiritual pain. There would be a certain naive security if I could believe that, if I could lie down secure at night knowing that because God loves me, nothing bad can happen.

But that’s not His promise. God doesn’t promise to keep us from the fire. His promise is to keep us through the fire. We will have fire, no doubt about it. Do I trust God to keep me whole?

I know the scriptures… “will the clay say to the potter “what are you doing?” (Is 45:9)… “cast your anxiety on Him because He cares for you” (1 Pet 5:7)… and there are more, many more… but do I really believe them? Life is a freefall without a parachute. Do I really trust God to catch me?

What is it that makes it so hard for me to trust? I’m tired of being broken and long to be whole. I’m tired of walking through the fire and wondering if there will ever be an end. I’m just plain tired. Where is the rest? Is it there and I’m afraid to reach out and take it?

Is finding the peace, the rest, the place of trust up to me? Do I have to do all the hard work and drag myself broken and bloody and crying into His arms? Or will He reach out and find me, see my hurt and hold me close to His heart? Does He even notice I’m in pain and care enough to reach out and comfort me?

If it’s up to me then I’m lost. I don’t have the strength to bridge the gap between me and God. I need Him to see my pain and take me into His arms. 

Cooking Dinner

Maybe if I did my grocery shopping Fridays on the way home from work, the week between paydays I would be more realistic. Those nights find me exhausted, mentally spent, brain dead, and cash poor. Timing shopping then might mean that I’d bring something home that would actually get cooked and eaten during the week instead of food that languishes in my fridge longing for attention.

Instead I tend to shop Saturday morning the day after payday. I’m feeling, well, not rich exactly, but maybe a little spendy. Creative. Ambitious. Hungry. I buy things that actually need cooking rather than heating up. I imagine that I’ll make muffins or banana bread or maybe even an apple pie. I picture real meals with a vegetable, starch and meat and a dessert even. I imagine that we’ll sit around the table, enjoying good food and great conversation. Of course the children will love everything I cook even if it includes mushrooms.

Then the week happens. Up too early and out the door for a too long day. Home 12 hours later and I try to remember what I had planned to do what that lovely food. Meatloaf? Marinated chicken breasts? Cauliflour? I can’t fathom any of it.

I make pancakes (a mix, just add water), eggs and toast, ramen (if I’m creative, maybe add a chicken breast), mac and cheese (I’m not sure there’s a way to make that adult friendly but I keep trying), tuna sandwiches, tacos. The only requirement seems to be how quickly I can get it on the table with the least amount of effort on my part.

I’d like to think that a day will come when I have the time and energy to remember how to cook. In the meantime, I hope the kids can taste the love.

another beginning

So a girl with a track record of writing once every few months starts a blog. I suppose it’s proof that some people never give up. In my lifetime I’ve started dozens of journals that generally fizzle out after a few entries. Will this be any different? Maybe, maybe not. Does it really matter?

I added a few things I’ve written in the past and maybe I’ll dig up some more. Maybe someday I’ll even point the way here or someone will stumble along on their own. And someday I’ll have the time and the energy to purty up the place a bit.

 For today, it is what it is.

Saturday reflections

I’m a single mom. To say it more accurately, I’m a mom who happens to be single. I don’t have the freedom to be single first. It is impossible to have quality time with teenagers without lots and lots of quantity time. If I don’t spend the time with my boys, I cannot be the mother they need. I know not everyone sees things this way but I don’t care too much about ‘everyone’. I care about what my family needs. People have told me that I need more “me time”. I ask them what I’m supposed to cut out of my life to get that time. Accepting the challenge of parenting means accepting the sacrifice that may come along.

I don’t mean to say that my life is only about my children or that I’m obsessed with them. But right now I could do everything else in my life ‘right’ and totally fail my kids. I only have one shot at raising them, influencing them.

As much as I am committed to being who my kids need first, it does get lonely. I am not outgoing by nature, never been a party person, not one to strike up conversations with strangers. I’m comfortable being a homebody. My idea of a good weekend is one spent curled up reading. A great weekend would also include someone to curl up next to and meaningful discussion about what we’re reading.

I long for a man who wants to be a friend, who sees into my heart, recognizes the gold, isn’t afraid of the chaff and helps me get rid of it. A man who is willing to be transparent to me in the same way. I’m cautious about romance, about giving my heart away. Romance is the easy part but it doesn’t last without the foundation of friendship built first.

For now I’m a mom who happens to be single. My life is not on hold until the kids are independent. Some days the road seems lonely but I don’t think I’ll look back and regret the choices I’ve made.

2/3/07

Growing up

When I was young life seemed so sure. I’d grow up, get married, have babies, be a wife and mommy. That worked for awhile, or rather, it appeared to work. Below the surface, life wasn’t that great, but that’s a whole ‘nother story for ‘nother day. Now, the babies don’t require as much attention and I can even start to dream about when they’ll have babies of their own. I stopped being a wife years ago.

Someone once said that a man defines himself by the work he does. Ask a man to introduce himself and he’s likely to say “I’m Mike, and I’m a fireman”. A woman defines herself by the relationships around her. When she introduces herself she may say “I’m Sara and the mother of 3 children”. A generalization, I know. I know men that are very relationship oriented, and women that are very job focused, but overall, I think this is true.

There was a day when every relationship around me changed drastically. No longer a wife. A single, working mother instead of the stay at home variety. Friendships were broken, most beyond repair. Working full time I learned to navigate office politics for the first time. Moving meant I left my house and familiar neighbors and faced new ones. Every relationship that had helped to define who I was had been changed in some way, great or small. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know the person staring back.

Ever so slowly relationships have grown again. Again, they help to define me but they are no longer my only measure of who I am. Who do I want to be when I grow up? The calendar tells me I’m here, I’m an adult for keeps. I always thought that meant being sure of yourself, knowing where you want to go and how to get there. Most days I don’t even know what I want to eat for dinner, much less what I want my life to look like in five years.

Who will I become and why is it taking so long?

10/6/2006

Weakness

Who aspires to weakness? There is so much implied —  Failure. Wimp. Inadequate. Debilitated. Delicate. Exhausted. Fragile. Spent. Uncertain. Who wants to wear those adjectives? I would much rather be Strong, Independent. Resourceful. Triumphant. Capable.

I don’t want to be needy, but I have to admit that I can’t do it on my own. I do need others. I need community. Friendship. Trust. Hope. Love. Somewhere there must be a balance between fiercely independent and ‘what a leech!’ I want to stand on my own two feet, learn to take care of myself, do what needs to be done. And I want someone alongside me, a friend to encourage me when I’m down, share my joy on the good days, help me figure out how to fix the toilet.

“It’s not good for man to be alone” relates to a lot more than romance. I’m weak without relationship. When I’m in relationship with others it’s safe to share that weakness. I do aspire to weakness. I aspire to living in that safe place where I can honestly be who I am and be loved because of/ in spite of that fact.

10/5/2006

My Crowded Brain

My brain is crowded. Filled with dreams, ponderings, books to read or those I’ve finished, music, worries, plans. Filled with little bits of lots of things. Jack of all trades and master of none. Filled with memories, good and bad. Filled with work, with deadlines. Filled with poetry and stories. Filled with pictures of my children, with their love, dreams for their future. Filled with quilts I wish I could make.

Every corner of my brain is stuffed to overflowing and there’s no room for anything new. Incredibly, every day, more is added. I wish I could pick and choose what fills my brain, clean it out like I clean my closets. Remove the ill-fitting dreams and worn out worries. Sweep the corners and organize the memories like pictures in an album. Instead I’m a packrat gathering information. I’m a bag lady with my shopping cart overflowing with unrelated bits.

How do I clear my head and focus? How do I learn to quiet the constant soundtrack and learn to rest? From the moment the alarm blasts me awake until my last moment of conscienceness I’m rehearsing my lists, following my rabbit trails, making plans, dreaming dreams. Where is the calm, the peace? My brain is crowded. 

9/28/06