The Garden | Post 29

The Garden of Gethsemane has been my accidental theme the last couple weeks.  It started with a purchase of My Mother's Hymn Book, a basic and endearing Johnny Cash album.   Though I have hymns I've historically enjoyed more, "In The Garden" has been my number one repeat - it has just crept in my heart.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there, None other has ever known.

Then I read these paragraphs in Grace-Based Parenting and I've been unable to move on from the ideas and "wow"-moments they have sparked:

"The unwillingness to give a voice to the hurts we have placed in our children's hearts is the epitome of high control.  High-controllers are not strong people but rather weak, small, and selfish.  In contrast, it is our openness to 'openness' that draws us closer to our children's heart and to God.

For example, Jesus came to do His Father's will; that meant everything His Father had sent Him to do.  But when the moment came for the Savior of the world to complete His job, reality washed over Him.  As Jesus stood on the threshold of the crucifixion and that His time had finally come, He was overrun and overwrought by the price of it all.  In that moment of humanness, the Son did what He knew He had the freedom to do any time with His Father.  He slipped to the back corner of Gethsemane, fell to His knees, and had a candid heart-to-heart talk with His Dad.

'My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.'

I just can't hear the Father saying anything like 'A deal's a deal; get up and stop your whining!'  There is nothing in God's nature that would even hint that He would say such a thing - especially to His child.   But I know there are human fathers who dismiss their children's questions and doubts with statements far terser.  They don't enjoy what was basic between Jesus and His Father. 

Jesus came to do His Father's will and was committed to seeing it through.  Ultimately, He said 'Yet not as I will, but as You will.'  He arrived at this place after His Father had listened to His pleadings and pains and identified with His human reservations.  The Father didn't rebuke His Son for asking or begrudge Him for hoping for some way out.  He listened to his suffering plea and came alongside Him with help for His resolve.  They both there was no other way to redeem mankind. 

And Jesus came back to His Father a second time, and a third time!  The Father's love allowed His Son to wrestle with the same issue even though the facts were not going to change.  That's because in the grace of the moment, the Father wanted to be available to His Son to listen as long as it took for Him to work through the weight on His heart. 

'Let us approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in times of need.'"

1 | Jesus' questioning, fearing, emotions and humanness was not sin.
The past few years I've become increasingly comfortable with being honest about where I am at and who I really am and how I'm really doing - with myself, and with other folks, and with God.  The 'comfort' is found in a new understanding that it really is true: when I am weak, then He is strong.  The point isn't to be "as strong/unaffected" as I can be, but to be in Him "as much as I can be."  Wondering, begging, intense feeling, numb-not-feeling, wanting a way out... It's not sin.  Jesus did it.  He wasn't "not trusting God."  The proof that He trusted God was that He went to Him, and that He went forward, not that He didn't wrestle.

Part of being a strong, good, "godly" Christian used to mean, to me, that I didn't "give in" to my emotions.  I didn't break down.  I had to keep it together.  I had to have the right answers - and if I didn't, I better get busy studying and knowing those right answers.  Life Poker Face.  Don't let anyone know how terrible this hand really is.  Keeep it tooogether.

I love that Jesus was like "Uh, screw it.  I'm a mess.  I can't take it.  Dad?  Please.  Get me out of this - if there is any way.  This is unbearable."  And He was welcomed, and given "grace and strength for the moment."  The Father gave Him enough to move forward into the following minute.  And when that minute was done, there was enough for the next minute.  I'm learning that Garden of Gethsemane Time isn't a guilt-trip about spiritual disciplines and something to become a noose: "Even Jesus went to be with the Father alone, how do you think you can face your trials without going to Him? Who do you think you are?"  No.  It's more of a picture into ferocious heart ache and how instinctual it was to go to Dad.  "He will help.  He's not ashamed of me.  He's not bothered by me.  He's not rushing through conversation with me.  He's not annoyed that I am still dealing with this.  He's not disappointed.  He eagerly awaits comforting me, and wants me to share everything - everything - on my heart.  I know I am safe with Him."  

Thank you, Jesus, for not over-thinking and over-spiritualizing "your heart" - the roots and the motives and the actions and the reasons - you made it so simple.  "When you hurt, you have a Father who wants you.  And He made you - and even me - to feel and need Him."  I love that. Thank you.


2 | Jesus knew the answers to "Why, God?" and "How will this be worked out for good?" and He still wrestled.
Before the physical world was made, there was a giant family-planning session.  And the three-in-one God knew the cost and wanted to proceed ahead.  Jesus' life on earth was a part of the agenda, and Jesus knew why.  He had known why for eternity.  He know how it would be good.  He wanted the good - that's why He was here.  It was a volunteer mission with a definite conclusion.

But the moment was still so hard.

It makes me feel better.  I know what the last chapter of my book says.  I've read ahead and know that "glory" and "paradise" and "no more tears" and "forever" and "eternally satisfied" and "rejoicing" is the end, and just the beginning.  I know the best is yet to come, and it won't be a tainted best - it will be thorough and full and tangible.  But I don't know the why's and how's for most of this life.  Many things I can look back on and say "Oh, whoa.  I see how that had to happen in order for this to happen, and okay, yes, that was good."  But honestly, sometimes I just don't see it and God doesn't seem to make any sense whatsoever.

And how refreshing is it that Jesus knew the facts, the plans, the details, the answers, the WHOLE story, page by page, word by word, because He was a part of the penning of the tale, but when He was set into a climax as a human character, He responded like one?  He allows us the freedom to work through and work out our salvations without fear of frustrating or resisting God.  He shows us that being a child of God doesn't mean we robotically and stoically crank through life.  He releases us to storm the throne room, dirty and disheveled, knowing that the scepter will always be extended, and that the King doesn't flinch when His royal garb is muddied by our tears and mess while He holds us.  It's where He wants to be.  Wrestling strengthens our relationship muscles with Him.  It's, again, not a sign of weakness as much as it is a sign of strength.  Thank you, Jesus, for showing me that even the answers to the questions can't ward off the pain and that I am allowed and invited to think, mull, weep, plead and interact with my Father.


3 | Jesus didn't have access to specific promises that I do.   
Lastly, it amazes me Jesus didn't hear the Father say "I will never leave you or forsake you."  Jesus wasn't promised "I will be hear.  I will never leave your side."  He had to deal with the silence of actually being abandoned by God.

This is never true for me.

However it feels, however it seems, however I act, I will not be forsaken.  I will not be left.  He is near.  He goes before me, and stays with me, and hems me in behind.  I am entirely safe.  He remains in me, and I remain in Him.  We're attached.  And Jesus didn't live life as a person with that same hope and promise.  He had to say "good-bye" and relinquish all the good He had ever known.  He handed it over at the gates of Hell.  'My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?'  It will never be my cry.  I scream 'Abba, Father!' and He hears me, and flees the house, and meets me on the road, and comes to me, and gives me all His good things - He showers them on me, and excitedly celebrates.

Thank you, Jesus, for making me a part of the pact - for putting me in your place and giving me a very real hope and security.

Rustic Recession Tacos | Post 28

{Rustic Recession Tacos}

Last night we were planning on bbq'ing so hamburger meat had been out thawing all day.  But come afternoon there were one too many bronchitis-cases and the weather was awfully dreary and rainy.  Nothing about it screamed "let's go outside and cooook!"  

Other than some buns and potatoes for a salad, we didn't have much else around.  I opened the fridge and their was english muffins, corn tortillas, four open jellies, and lots of tupperware with leftovers, about 12 salad dressings and chicken broth.  I opened the freezer and there was turkey sausage, frozen strawberries, pie crust, and two bags of peas.

Dad suggested making a meatloaf.  But for some reason I wasn't "in the mood."  After a quick google search I came across this recipe for what to do with hamburger meat and peas.  I modified it a bit, added a taco shell and wa-la!  Dad and all the adult and teenage boys who were over loved it.  Caleb, my meat-and-potatoes trash compactor had nine "tacos."

Everyone was trying to figure out what it was.  "It's like light Shepherds Pie?" "Or, like, British Tacos?" "It's a kind of 1930's 'depression dish.'  At least that's what it said online."  Whatever it was, everyone was a big fan and it took a total of 20 minutes to whip together.  We'll absolutely be making it again.

It's probably very customizable, but I have to admit that the simple, basic ingredients and no-fuss seasoning somehow worked really well together.  I wouldn't do too much to change it! 

pc: spinach tiger

Ingredients

• One large white onion diced
• Two large potatoes, boiled and chopped
• One pound ground beef (seasoned with salt + pepper)
• 1  bag of frozen peas
• olive oil
• 1 teaspoon butter
• red chile flakes
• freshly grated parmesan (optional - and I used Fontina because we didn't have fresh parm)
• fresh herbs (parsley, basil, oregano, thyme…they all work! and I didn't use any because we don't have any, but I bet it'd be great.)
• Corn tortillas

Instructions

1. Heat olive oil and butter in dutch oven or deep frying pan (perfect use for my trusty red Lodge). Add onions, saute until soft.
2. Add ground beef that has already been flavored with salt and pepper. Cook until medium rare.
3. In separate pan (we use an electric griddle) heat vegetable oil and fry corn tortillas.
4. Add in frozen peas, right at end and allow them to defrost and heat up, while the meat is on its way to medium-well done. Add potatoes. Toss in fresh herbs and red chile flakes. Season with salt + pepper to taste.  
5. Serve meat mix in tortilla shells and top with cheese.

(This is an EASY recipe. You may be tempted to keep adding other ingredients, but the simplicity is what gives this dish it’s proper structure and flavor.  More is not always more. 

You could also easily skip the tortillas and put the meat in a bowl and serve with crusty bread.  My fam was all about the taco-not-taco thing, but it'd be great on it's own!)

Dear Laundry Basket | Post 27

Dear Laundry Basket,

A year or two ago I saw a blog post a mama wrote to her son's blankie.  He had basically just, out of the blue, stopped "using" it.  She'd even try to sneak it back into his bed, but he didn't care about it.  It was no longer a signal of his trail, and where he was venturing off to... it was a signal of him leaving something behind, moving on and growing up.  I thought it was very sweet and honest, but that was about it.   My mama-friend who showed it to me, on the other hand, was a little misty and emotional while she read.

Another mama-friend wrote a short "Dear Breast Pump" letter with accompanying picture of the black machine when her babe stopped nursing.  The knee-jerk reaction I had (and apparently some other people who commented were like me) was to scrunch my face and think "...ew.  Breast pump notes?  On Instagram? Ohkay, moms."

You swear "I'll never let all I talk about be my pregnancy and my baby!"  "When I'm a mom, someone stop me if I'm posting weekly belly pictures or photo after photo of my kid during late nights... who cares?!"  But you make those promises before you've experienced it yourself, and before you get it.  Before you know how front-and-center every single part of this person's life is in your daily thoughts, your soul-searching thoughts and your conversation thoughts.  Before you know how your heart will embrace this person, much like your body does - stretched tight, filled full, naturally and without trying.  Once you're pregnant you watch your Human Making Factory do it's thing and somehow it just... happens!

And it never really leaves your mind.  What you believe and say and write about has more weight to it - "Would I teach that to my kid?  Do I really mean that?  Is that what I'd want him to hear me say?"  What you eat matters, and how you talk about your body getting all slashed and soft and uncomfortable matters, gaining weight matters - "Do I want him to believe that I was better 'back when'... before he came into my life?  When I didn't have the scars that prove he was in me?  Do I want him to hear a complaining woman, who is frustrated by... what he did to me?  Do I make food and eating so rigid and strict that it's not enjoyable anymore?  Do I make food and eating so lacking in self-control and health that it's not enjoyable anymore?  Do I talk about weight and size like I'm choosing cattle?  I don't want him to think 'Mom was beautiful because she was thin' - I want him to think 'Mom was beautiful because she was beautiful.'"  The topics are endless.  Money.  Church.  Treatment of friends and strangers.  Planning.  Education.  Personality.

But you don't realize, until you're pregnant, that getting cheese and sour cream and a side of chips at Chipotle can spark such swirling questions.  Before it was like "Eh, I should watch my calories."  Now it's like "But WHAT *IS* THE MEANING OF LIFE?!"

You make those promises before you know how many statuses and tweets and 'grams and pictures and texts and words you think of writing or speaking or posting, but you say "No, that's probably not necessary."  You make those promises before you know that you only share a sliver - maybe decimal point small - of what is in your head.  You catch yourself holding back all day long.  I appreciate my husband more than ever, and one reason certainly is that he never gets tired of talking about Baby Child either.  He happily spends a full hour discussing something like the position of our kid's spine or how excited we are to go on a family vacation with our own baby this summer.  No one else really wants to talk about that.  And it's okay.  I didn't either.

I wasn't moved to tears about blankies being forsook or breast-pumps being put away.  But now, Blue Laundry Basket, I'm experiencing the entry feelings of motherhood.  And I look at you, filled with clothes that my baby hasn't worn - most that were given to you, and I see their faces when I see that onesie or this footie-pajama or that jacket, and strawberry-sized socks for pink rice-paper feet, and blankets - so many blankets - and I get a little misty, too.   It feels funny to take perfectly clean clothes into the laundry room and wash them.  But the germs! So, I wash them.  Store germs and other people germs and hanger germs and gift box germs!  We must clean these germs.  But not with Tide.  Instead with dye-free, fragrance-free, toxin-free, baby detergent.  It takes a long time to fold an entire Blue Laundry Basket (let alone three) of baby clothes.  Because the clothes are very, very small and it takes a lot of very, very small clothes to fill a big basket, like yourself.  Small clothes like to pop back open after you fold them, too, so you have to figure out your system.  And small clothes are nearly impossible to not hold up and daydream about while you fold.

To be honest, if one of the clean blankets folded in you becomes "his favorite" and then one day, it's not anymore?  My heart will skip a sad little beat.  I know it.  He'll wear those clothes and most of the days will blur together.  But someday, in one of those outfits, something will happen, and I'll never forget it for the rest of my life.  A first smile or a roll-over or just checking him because he is still asleep...! Yes! or something.  Some of those clothes will get thrown away - stained eternally by his biggest blow-out yet.  I don't know.  I'm sure it will catch me off-guard.  In the same way I was caught off-guard with how long I sat there, staring at Blue Laundry Basket, like you were The Hope Diamond or an original Monet that had just been given to me.  The costumes for the set are in place!  We're just waiting for the actor to arrive and for the Director to say "action!" Someday those cotton cloths won't be ghost-apparel... they will warm and protect and decorate my child's body.  And, well, I guess I just had one of those moments.

I guess I underestimated what would cue my emotions and body to react so strongly.  When you dream about having a baby you don't dream about "the day he stops using his blankie!" or "the day the breast-pump is turned off for good!" or "the day you do their first load of laundry!" but when those days come they make the major-milestone list.

Thank you for being a part of the anticipation and memory of awaiting Ol' Boris Morris.  You're a good  Laundry Basket.  And I bet someday you'll be a boat or a fort or a crib or an airplane or a stage.  The best is yet to come.

With odd affection,
Mama Morris

Grace-Based Parenting | Post 26

"...learning to see our children through God's limitless tenderness,

 to raise our kids the way God raises us..."

I love reading about pregnancy, and talking with women who have been and are pregnant, and learning things on my own.  I love reading about labor, and how a mama's body and a baby's body work together to meet face to face. I love learning about what all 'the big words' mean, and what principals are important, and what questions are good ones to ask.  I love hearing birth stories and watching birth-movies.  I love reading up on newborn "advice."  Feeding and sleeping and swaddling and enjoying.  I love researching strollers and preparing a little room for a little boy and washing clothes in "safe" detergent and just getting to do any-and-all mom things I can.  I love learning about this new part of my life.  I love anticipating and voicing fears and wondering and feeling and preparing and getting excited about it all.

I love to talk with my husband about our parents, and I love to talk with our parents about raising me and my husband and their other 18 children.  I love taking time to elaborate on the things we most love and remember and care about our childhoods.  I love all four of our parents' honesty in saying "We had such good-intentions, and we loved you guys so much, and so badly wanted to raise you right, in a God-honoring way... but wow.  Would/do we do things differently now.  We learned so much."

One of my favorite parts of how my parents raised me is their very personal relationships with and understanding of us children individually.  Both of my parents "get" us.  They know us as "we are."  I've always felt like they loved me and liked me.  They engaged me in conversation about hard things and didn't keep me away from scary or painful things.  They loved letting me spread my soggy little wings and they prepared me well to be able to enter "real life" socially, spiritually, mentally and educationally.  They were just real - for better or for worse.  And they didn't fake for me or for others.   And honestly, they were just really fun.  I felt like they liked having me around and doing things with me.

So going into being a mama, I think about all these things.  I want to copycat my parents.  And I want to learn from them, too.  Mom bought me a book called "Grace-Base Parenting" by Tim Kimmel and said "I looked through this and wish I had read it when I was just starting out."

It's been fantastic.  It makes me delighted to parent, and not afraid of it.   It makes me think of memory after memory in my own childhood, and love my parents even more.  It makes me, most of all, feel a swell in my heart as I know the grace and love I'm reading about is something that's real in my life because my Father gives it to me.  It makes me love learning about Him more.  So, I'm sharing a few of my favorite quotes so far... I'm reading slowly so I soak up as much juicy-flavor as possible.

"The real test of a 'parenting model' is how well-equipped the children are to move into adulthood as vital, engaged members of the human race.

Notice that I didn't say 'as vital members of the Christian community.'"

Fear-Based Parenting

--- "[In the past] parents were armed with little more than a vibrant relationship with God that consistently served as the ideal springboard for great people.  So something changed.  We got scared.  And I think that fear is what motivates so much of Christian parenting advice..."

--- "We're scared of Hollywood, the internet, the public school system, Halloween, the gay community, drugs, alcohol, rock'n'roll and rap, partying neighbors, unbelieving sports teams, liberals and Santa Claus.  These fears seem to determine our strategy for parenting... Jesus says 'Dont' be afraid.'  We should be the last people afraid of just about anything!  Fear-based parenting is the surest way to create intimidated kids."

Evangelical Behavior-Modification Parenting

--- "... assumes that the proper environment, the proper information, the proper education, and the absence of improper or negative influences will increase the chances of a child turning out well.  This parenting plan works from two flawed assumptions: that the battle is primarily outside the child (it's not) and that spiritual life can be transferred onto a child's heart much like information placed on a computer hard drive (it can't)."

--- "Children brought up in homes where they are free to be different, vulnerable, candid and to make mistakes learn firsthand what the genuine love of God looks like." 

Grace...

--- "Grace does not exclude obedience, respect, boundaries, or discipline, but it does determine the climate in which these important parts of parenting are carried out.  You may be weird and quirky, but God, with grace, loves you with all of your weirdness and quirkiness!  You may feel extremely inadequate and fragile, but God comes alongside you, with grace, and carries you in those very areas of weakness. You may be frustrated, hurt, and even angry with God, but His grace allows you to candidly, confidently and boldly approach His 'throne of grace.'  His grace remains when you make huge mistakes.

This is the kind of grace that makes all the difference in the world when it's coming from God, through you, to your children."

--- "Grace frees you to make big decisions in raising your kids.  One of the characteristics of God's grace is how much latitude He grants within his clear moral boundaries to make choices."

--- "Grace is not so much what we do as parents, but how we do what we do."

--- "Grace allows you to tailor your parenting style... God is a God of variety, and He deals with us accordingly.  Take zebras.  God hasn't painted the same stripes on any of them.  Fingerprints.  Snowflakes.  Sunsets.  None are the same.  He's an original God who wants to have an original relationship with you and your children."

--- "Grace is what attracts us to Him and what confirms His love over and over."

--- "Grace keeps you from clamping down on their spirits when they walk through awkward transitions and places like the valley of the shadow of adolescence."

--- "Grace can help you know what matters and what doesn't.  It helps you give kids freedom to be 'kids' and keeps you from living in a reactive mode as they go through certain stages.

Without grace, you can turn high standards and strong moral convictions into knives that cut deeply into the inner recesses of your children's hearts."

--- "Grace helps you know what to write in pencil - with a good eraser - and what to write in blood."

Clarifications 

--- "Christ is filled with grace and truth, not grace or truth, or some grace and some truth.  It wasn't a balancing act.  He is describing two parts that makes up a single whole. Grace and truth.

That reminds me of the time I read about a set of Siamese twins who could not be separated because they shared the same heart and respiratory system.  The way their organs were arranged inside them, doctors didn't even have an option to separate them and allow one to live and the other to die.  For them, to eliminate either was to eliminate both."

--- "God gave us Ephesians 6:1 to help children respond to their parents' leadership and authority.  He didn't mean for parents to use it to pistol-whip their kids.  One of the standard ploys of grace-less Christian parents is to abuse Scripture to get their own way.  I've seen husbands do the same thing with a verse directed to wives... a lot of men use this verse like some kind of ball-peen hammer to metaphorically whack their wives into submission to their selfish agenda.  Ephesians 5:22 is between a wife and God, not a husband and a wife... These verses aren't weapons."


--- "... he wanted to raise 'safe' kids.  My wife and I would rather raise strong kids..."

Pregnancy Is Funny | Post 25

I've always been curious about how I'd like/handle/enjoy/feel/process being pregnant.  I had no doubt that I would love my wee small babe (mothers seem to agree on that one), but across the board there are such clashing reviews of the whole "being pregnant" thing.

I genuinely hated the first two months.  And would like to never do that again.  And I genuinely adore the rest of the months.  And want to do "this part" again, a lot.  So.  I'm considering how safe/healthy it would be to be knocked out for a couple months.  If it's possible to have some sort of big-brown-bear-hibernation-medication?  To finally unlock the powers of time-travel?  Forget going back in history or traveling 100 years into the future, I would - NO QUESTION - choose to fast-forward first trimester.

But maybe - in the sense that it made me more compassionate, more amazed at the capacity the human body has for pain, more aware of the physically hurting around me, and SO HAPPY TO THE LORD OF HOSTS FOR RELIEF - I'm glad I went through it.  And it probably helped me have a more laughable, delightful experience now... I'll take heartburn or kicked-in-the-crotch-with-a-steel-toed-boot-pain or swollen, stubby ol' body parts over nausea.  Especially if I can feel the babe of mine moving - that cures a multitude of sins (even if he's exploring my rib cage, which is as uncomfortable as everyone said it would be.)

I wanted to record a few of my "favorite" and I-never-could-have-known moments/parts of pregnancy because I think they're hilarious and part of what I'll miss... in their weird, inconvenient way ;)

- Burping like a preteen boy showing off to his mangy friends at a fast food joint after downing a pint or two of Cherry Coke. 

I'm not obsessed with manners (I do eat with my hands all the time) but I'm certainly not one of those girls who is all "dudebroyaPAAASSSSGAAASSSShahahahHILARIOUSpottyhumor!"  I'm conservative when it comes to bodily sounds.  Or I used to be.  I still feel this "pit of terrible" when a spontaneous wind breaks.  Everything goes into slow motion - it all starts before I even have chance to stop it, gaining speed and smell with every passing nano-second, and then BEEEELCCCCHHHH.  I'm left standing there with my mouth wide open, and my mother's heart, for some reason, wherever she is, a little bit sadder.

Grocery store clerks, "...Uhm debit.  And yes, I'll need threeBEEEELLCCHHHH!!!!! Excuse me, I'm so sorry."

People at church, "... we ask these things in Your loving name, amen." "AmenBEEEEELLLLLLCCCCCCCHHH!!! Excuseme, I'msososorry."  

On the court, "HEY!  COme on!  This is WEAK.  This is lazy.  Pick up the BEEEEEEELLLLCCCCHH. ExcusemeI'mverysorry."

- Going from "you don't look pregnant at all!" to "Are you due any day?!" "Nope, not until June!" "WHAAAT? Are you SURE you aren't having twins?" "Yup. Pretty sure." "Wow.  Well.  You are HUGE.  I've never seen someone so big who has two whole months left with just ONE baby! WOW." 

Thank you, thank you very much.  I'm looking into state fairs and circuses who need an extra act.  I really was bummed, at first, when people would tell me they couldn't see my bump.  I was obsessed with it growing and "popping" and was sure the world could see what I saw when I stood in the mirror!  I'll never forget the first stranger who saw me in public, looked at me, and said "Oh! Are you expecting?"  I wanted to cuddle her in my arms.  "Yes! Why, yes, I AM.  I am expecting."   And then it feels like I had about 72 hours before I, apparently, turned into quite the shock-and-awe.

An enormous beasty of a creature, shaking the ground with every step, a blonder King Kong, a modern-day Goliath, a portly half-female half-hippopotamus.  I'm surprised the government hasn't whisked me away for security and lab testing...! ;)  "Huge" is never a word that I've longed to b described as.  I do feel it - trust me - I feel heavy, large and not so cuteandtiny.  But in case I forgot, a discerning handful of folks remind me daily.   And when I insist that, no, I'm not having twins and that, no, I'm not due this week, some people argue with me...!  Questioning my doctor/midwives.  Questioning my health.  Questioning my timing.  "Are you sure you didn't get the date you conceived wrong?" "Aren't there stories of people who didn't know they had twins until they delivered?" "Are you sure everything is okay?"  "Yes, my midwife says I and the baby are measuring perfectly.  She has no concerns.  And happiest of all, we are both very healthy.  Thank you for your thoughts, though."

So, lesson learned:  keep my opinion on the size of a person to myself, pregnant or not.  And feel free to comment on how much I love a lady's bump, or how lovely I think she looks.  And to women all over, who I'm sure I've said "You look SO small!" or "Oh, man you're huge!" - I apologize.  I didn't know.


- Growing out of clothes

Bellies grow suddenly, and there is nothing quite like catching a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a window out in public, or putting your hand under your bump while talking to someone... and discovering that about two inches of your round midriff are undressed.  One day a shirt is perfectly long enough, and the next: it's not!  Grace and charm, always.  That's the motto in my head.  But my torso often disagrees.

- Bladder control and "where the *bleep* did my mind go?" 

This duo is best explained by a recent story.

On our way to Oklahoma, I had a fairly easy time with the whole drink-lots-of-water-yet-not-use-the-restroom-every-20-minutes thing.  I could last for the length of a tank of gasoline.  For the most part.  On the way home, it was an entirely different experience.  One month of Hungry Hungry Growing Hippo in me, and all of a sudden I couldn't wait - or give much warning.

So somewhere on route 40 in the middle of Arkansas, I panicked.  "Baby, we need to stop somewhere. Right now. Ohmygosh.  Hurry.  Ohmygosh."  Because the Lord is kind and good, there was an exit within seconds of my announcement.  We peeled off the highway ("Not too fast!  It hurts!" "Ah! Don't brake too hard! It hurts!") and pulled up to a podunk, tired and greasy, pathetic gas station.  Up until this point we stopped at very WaWa-esque gas stations.  This was not a WaWa and probably the home of weekly crimes.  The bathrooms were across the lot, on the opposite side of the snack shack.   It was a small, square cement (cinder block?) building, with a flat, weak roof.  I giddy-up-ed into the Promised Land of Soothing Comfort.  One of the faucets on the sink was taped down with a clear scotch tape "X" and a wrinkled and faded "sign" was taped to the grey, blocked wall: "Out of Order."  There were paper towels, brown and moist, all along the perimeter of the space but none in the old dispenser on the wall.  The toilet seat was yellowing, the water was cloudy, the room was cold, the trash can stank.

And I didn't care one tiny bit.  I made it.  Off the highway, to the station, INTO THE RESTROOM.  It was a Tony&Maria blur movie moment.  "Toilet.  All the beautiful sounds of the world in a single woooord. Toilet toilet toiiiileeeet..!"  I ran, sprinted, leaped, slammed, raced, rushed over to sit.  And I pulled down my pants.  And expected to be rejoicing.  But instead I had a weird de-ja-vu to sleeping over at the cool girls house in second grade.  It was her birthday and the whole class of girls was there.  And I wet the bed.  And I'll never forget the warm, terrible feeling when I woke up and realized what I had done... in front of MY WHOLE CLASS.  And in that moment in Arkansas I realized: I forgot to pull down my underwear.

This created a bit of a garden-house effect when you put your thumb over the spout to make the water come out faster and harder.  I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't stop.  Eventually I walked into the middle of the bathroom and stood on my fake Ugg slippers while I shimmied my yoga pants off and slung them over my shoulders like a sweat towel on a March Madness athlete during a time-out.  I think I had kept them from getting sprayed, and needed to keep them safe out of harms way - harm, at the time, was the drips coming down my leg and anything in the entire cement bathroom.  I somehow stayed balanced while I took off and tossed my soaking peach panties into the trash.   I stood there with a giant sweatshirt barely covering me, and I nervously pulled out my phone to call Caleb.  He didn't answer.  I scooted to the bathroom door, hid behind it while I opened it, peaked out and called him.  He didn't hear me.  My brother did though.  And he yelled at Caleb.  At the same time Caleb returned my phone call.  "I need help.  Quickly."  I shut the door and resumed my new yoga pose - the Standing Fountain.  Husband Dear flailed around the parking lot trying to locate the bathrooms.  He was preparing himself to deliver our child.  To use his pocket knife to cut the umbilical cord.  To wrap up Little Son in a pillowcase.  He was red and heart-race-y when he found me.  "What's wrong."  "I forgot to pull down my underwear and I wet my pants." "......" "Can you go get me some new clothes out of the car?"  "Kristen."  "I know. Trust me.  I need a towel or something too." "How...? Okay.  Yes.  Just a second."

Before long I was cleaned up, and needing some trail mix and sour rope to enjoy.  Don't worry.  I managed to lose my wallet during the 48 seconds I spent in the snack shack.  The wrinkled, course young lady was very kind and helpful.  The boys didn't know what to say, but they looked diligently.  We found it, and after waaaaaaay too much time, we set off on our eastbound highway - empty-bladdered and thouroughly amused.  

 It's a beautiful, odd, gross, delightful thing to be involved with.  And, like any person I love dearly, despite its flaws and issues, I love being pregnant.  It's high, sweet, bizarre honor to be a part of it.  Cheers to pregnancy! And our favorite kiddo! And getting stuck "in" the couch!