My Random Crazy Beautiful Life

Sometimes, sharing my life with five other people makes me crazy.

Four of those people were physically cut out of my body and I wanted them with all my heart and still, they can drive me bat-crap crazy.  I love my husband and basically he is like my right arm because I've known him since I was 13 and we even dated for a while in high school but he was crazy back then so we didn't get married for eleven more years. Sometimes, he's still crazy and sometimes I join him on the crazy train and then we're both crazy.  And sometimes, I'm crazy and he waves at me as the crazy train goes by because he absolutely refuses to join me on the ride. I'm grateful for that later. Usually.

The other day I screamed at my kids. They weren't really doing anything other than being kids, but I screamed at them anyway. My heart was heavy for the rest of the day until my fifteen year old came into my bedroom where it's possible that I was maybe hiding in shame and he hugged me for no reason other than because he loves me anyway, even when I'm not really doing the Mom thing all that well.  I keep reminding myself he learned that from me and David...to love people even when they're not being super loveable. Awesomesauce! 

Last Saturday, I needed to clean in the worst way because we had company coming over but cooking dinner was all I could manage, so my man swept the house and we basically shoved everything else under the beds because I just couldn't.  We still had a great time, though. I have cool friends like that. I think they probably went to the bathroom while they were here and I was thankful I didn't hear anyone scream from peeking behind the shower curtain at the experimental penicillin ring I had going on in the shower that day. I cleaned it a few days later and I may should have saved some of it for testing. 

Today, I took my oldest daughter to get her hair cut and I was scared she would hate it because she hacked most of it off but she insisted it's what she wanted and, frankly, it's her hair so I let her. Secretly, I was kind of thinking I'd let her have it cut and then she'd hate it and she'd learn all those lessons about listening to her mom.

 I was wrong and she was right. She looks cuter than cute. I didn't tell her, but I cried a little because she looks so grown up and I'm watching time steal my baby from me and I'm both sad and glad, all at the same time. She's kind of fabulous and mature and smart and sassy and I love it because I often think she's the type of woman that I always choose to be great friends with! But, she's also kind of fabulous and mature and smart and sassy and it scares me because she's growing up and I hope she wants to be my friend one day when SHE'S grown up.

We had lunch after the haircut and she told me all about how "cute" so-and-so is and I wanted to punch him in the face a little but then she flowed right into conversation about this REALLY cool cartoon (her words) and I felt a little better. I mean, how gone can she be if she still gets tickled over a cartoon, right?  RIGHT?!

My boys are now 20 and 15 and my girls will be 14 and 11 at the end of this month.  I'm thrilled that one day soon it'll be just David and me!! And I'm heart broken that one day soon...it'll be just David and me!!  I'm holding out for some grandbabies before we empty the house of our own, but if that's not my children's choice for their lives, then I hope they know their little pitter patters in the house made mine and their Daddy's heart sing and dance and cringe!!!  (God, please let them experience that so they will understand the fullness of my heart when I use those words!!!)

Sometimes, this life seems slow and plain and simple. Almost provincial.  Then, I'm caught up in the crazy roller coaster again, longing for time to slow, the clock to pause and I remember, I see, the beauty of every day moments that aren't every day at all.  They are THIS day and this day will never return. There will be no do-overs or re-dos of this specific moment and I'm infinitely, painfully, grateful for the five beautiful people that God has so graciously allowed me to share my life, my time, my love, with. 

It is crazy, but it's my crazy.  And I'm thankful.

Snackopoly: A Gaming Pictorial

My husband is a gamer.  He's a hard core game lover of all kinds.

 I hate games. I'm a hard core game hater of all kinds. I can tolerate Mrs. Pac Man. (I know...that is lamer than quoting Mean Girls, but it's the truth.)  

Anyway, my husband sometimes channels his love of games with the intense love he has for our children and they mesh over the dinette table I've shoved into the corner of our kitchen (because the dining room has a trestle farm table in it and they can't punch and noogie each other across it's vast distance).  

Yesterday, he brought home a weird version of Monopoly called "Snackopoly".  It's a Little Debbie version of Monopoly. (because we are crazy cool like that, ya'll).  

Welcome to our world:


 

Yes, that is a Little Debbie Nutty Bar (you're welcome)

 

A small glimpse of my man's Disney's tea glass in the background. That is ALWAYS how he rolls, ya'll. 

 

The Dough

I don't know.  It appears that David is equally clueless. Awesome.

Loki's attitude about game night. There wasn't any food, peasants. Why bother? 

I hope you enjoy your family nights as much as we do. I also hope they are filled with as much love and weirdness as ours.  

Kristi  

The Burden of Guilt...

    As a woman, the world has convinced me that I’m not “doing my job” if my house isn’t spotless, the kids aren’t perfectly groomed, my husband isn’t wallowing in sexual bliss, I’m not earning a big fat pay check each week, and I’m not impeccable at all times.  Is it any wonder that so many women simply cannot find the contentment they know is just around the corner.  Or at the very least, available at the next shopping fix?   FYI ladies, retail therapy works only as well as the length of the walk to the car.  The clothes wear off and so does the feeling. (well, until the bill comes…another lump of guilt?)

    The burden of guilt, when we find that we’re not perfect, can be almost astoundingly overwhelming.  We find every pair of shoes left where the feet removed them to be some form of obstacle, or intentional slight. After all, WE’RE the ones going to be judged if “someone drops over”.  How often do people just “drop over”?  Not very often in my world.  There’s usually, at least, a courteous phone call in which I’d have every opportunity to pick up those shoes, or have the violator return to the scene of the crime to remove the evidence.  And yet, almost every time I find some perceived slight that would clue the world into my imperfections, I’ll feel at least a moment of my contentment slip away.  Why is that?  Does anyone else out there feel this way?

    Why is it that women, almost universally in the U.S., feel the need to not only run the household, but be singularly responsible for caring for everyone in the household, even if she has a perfectly capable partner living under the exact same roof?  Usually one who makes just as much, if not more, money than she does, yet works no more, or less, hours at their job.  Added to that, we must pile upon ourselves the burden of guilt to have groceries bought, dinner cooked, checkbook balanced, the kids doctor/dentist appointments at perfect six month intervals, hair and nails done, extracurricular activities down pat (and you know they must be the “right” extracurricular activities) and everyone must be happy about it.  Where did life teach us that this is living?!  I cannot fathom what mothers whose kids go to institutionalized learning must deal with when homework, after 8 hours of school, is factored into that hectic life pace.

     I hear those that say this is women’s liberation.  Really?!  Are you kidding me?  Sounds like women’s hell, to me.  Now don’t get me wrong.  Really HEAR me.  If there are women out there, and I know there are, who LOVE the constant go of working 40 hours per week at a traditional job, taking care of the home, kids and checkbook, then more power to you woman!  I cheer and applaud you.  However, I’d say it’s pretty arguable, based on divorce rates and single moms, that this is, in fact, the norm. The status quo isn’t working. Women, and men, have lost their way…dare I say it…perhaps they’ve lost their place?!

     Women are nurturers.  We just are, we’ll have to deal with that.  We want to make things right (and I know “right” in that context is up for debate but work with me for a moment).  We enjoy a neat and tidy home, kids who are well versed and well dressed.  We like the security of knowing our checkbook is balanced, the bills are paid, and they’re going to stay that way.  We enjoy the comfort of a job well done and knowing we were instrumental in that.  The conundrum comes in when we burden ourselves so heavily that nothing is ever done well, and rarely on time.  Our homes become places of disorder, our work is good, but not great.  Dinners aren’t eaten together and family is placed on the back burner, while impressing others and driving the “nicest” car is placed firmly on the front burner.  Wearing the “right” outfit takes the place of having one that you love and can afford.  Our children become the coup d’ gra of the perfect image we want to project and God forbid if they aren’t comparatively doing “as well” as the mom whose respect we’d like to have. Our priorities are misplaced.

     Men are allowing women to run the show.  Yep, I went there.  Men have allowed themselves to lose their place in the home.  As the HEAD of it. As the one who makes decisions based on prayer, well thought out logic and what is truly best for his family as a whole. They’ve replaced that with golf, surfing the web, and the remote. Somewhere, we’ve allowed men to convince themselves their primary job is bringing in the money, and the women can handle the rest.  Us women are at fault for that.  Yep, I went there, too. We LIKE being in charge, but rarely are we completely capable of doing so on our own.  Be clear, I’m speaking in terms of families here.  A family has an order. We have a clear, concise order that when deviated from brings heartache, confusion and guilt that feels like a Mack truck weighing on our chests.  And frankly, us humans will do anything to remove that truck. Unfortunately, we don’t choose God’s way often enough.  We choose our way.  And we’ll always default back to the flesh. It feels good…for a season.  God’s way feels good forever.  That’s why He’s God. 

     God has a plan for each of us.  However, there are some of God’s plan that’s just plain universal and it works for ALL of us.  Women are the nurturers.  We’re the mothers, the caregivers.  We’re not designed to bear the burden of guilt alone, nor are we designed to be the head of our households.  We were designed as helpmate to our husbands.  Not as doormats…a helpmate.  We are the companions and counterparts to our husbands.  What a wonderful thing to be!  The world has told us that we’re “more”.  The world has told us that we “deserve” better.  Really?!  What could be better than having your partner, husband and lover that God gave you view you as his helpmate, his friend, his partner and equal?  Yes, equal.  Helper doesn’t mean less than.  Not in God’s eyes.  That’s the world talking to you, sister.

     It’s time we remove that cloak and burden of guilt and wallow in our contentment that we can find by honoring what God placed us here to be.  We can argue that that’s backwards…but, I’d staunchly disagree.  REALLY look around you.  Think of all the couples you know and really dig inside yourself.  How has the world’s view on women made us liberated?  How has trying to be everything , to everyone, liberated us?  How has this burden we’ve placed upon ourselves set us free to be who we want to be?  The answer is almost painfully obvious.  It simply has not.  It has entrapped us in chains and told us to be happy with them.  It’s told us what we should be, without caring about who we are.  I refuse them wholeheartedly.

     I’m David’s wife and the homeschooling mother of four.  My house in is order and my children’s laughter is ringing in the background.  We’re off for ice cream…and I’m content and thankful.