Living with Answers

It has taken years for me to settle into my skin, but as I do I find joy.

Approaching my 28th birthday means a step into being happier with who I am and that much more free of all the qualities I may not be destined to be.

I find I'm always struggling to answer certain questions.  Should I work or should I stay at home with my child/ren?  How do I reasonably achieve balance in my very hectic life?  How can I preserve and nourish my faith in environments which don't appear designed to do so?  And often my focus on these questions has me tormented to levels that I will likely find laughable in my 30's.  Or at least I hope there's some sort of positive take away from it all. Because if not, that's a lot of fruitless torture.

In 2013 I want less searching and more responding to the answers I've already been given. Answers like...

I know that the likelihood of my husband and I being happy with each other rises and falls on whether the dishes are clean but will appear as something else... like our ongoing argument on whether it is dish towels or paper towels which are the superior option for cleaning our kitchen.

I know if I miss Mass and find excuses to busy myself away from Reconciliation my soul feels so very dark.

I know that on any given day regardless of my job description, I can still make innumerable happy choices to read one more book to my son, to encourage him to laugh, and to help him form habits of a healthy mind and spirit--by picking up his blocks and saying excuse me after he fake burps at the dinner table in front of our guest.

I don't need to ask what the perfect job is for me or where it will lead me.  But I do need to write.  It is my charism, no matter how untrained or unread or unwilling.

I know that sacrifice is a good thing, something I need to embrace and resist much less.

I don't need to ask for the perfect way to be a wife.  My husband has told me over and over again.  He wants to engage in deep conversation, question the cosmos, argue, debate, reach for truth.  That answer has been in my hands for years. And I think he said something about playing one or more of those XBOX games too.

I already know how painful it can be to be an introvert, how uplifted I feel when I am making soup, and how alive I am when I know that the people around me are cared for and loved.  I know that a walk around the block is better than any long held intention to reclaim a runner's body and I'm aware that if I don't take the trash outside and leave it rather in our garage, gangs of mice will overlord that place where we use to park our cars and of which I now have sweaty nightmares about.

Living in response to the many answers already provided is sometimes just no fun .  Actually, that's why, despite the torture, asking the questions is such an easier task.  Responding to the answers means fixing the shoddy paint job in the bathroom which has my proverbial signature all over, working on the blasted budget even when I'd rather take a Saturday nap, and pulling out the video camera to capture whatever it is that this life is right now.

I have faith that my soul will find rest in Christ.  In responding to what is at my feet, He will shed light on what I need to know when I need to know it.  And in the end, I can at least say I took out the trash.

What Matters Most

I step up. This platform feels stiff. I am weary of another surge to get in shape but start by cue of lunging mechanics. Music whispers clamor within my ears.

I watch below me the blurring of my black and bright pink tennis shoes as they swish back and forth past each other, swallowed into the grips of the treadmill. 

I press my finger hard into the green arrow and move in place faster, urging my mind toward decisions, to do lists, projects, and books read, unfinished, untouched.  My body balances itself.  My knees ache from time spent away from exercise of any form.  My feet clumsily stomp in the direction of clarity.

Gentleness bubbles up to my brain.  It washes over my intensity. I close my eyes and reclaim myself.  I pace steady and breathe methodically.  Airy ringlets of my hair find my face and land on my open mouth.  My stomach turns as I remember my power.  I twist my hips and open my posture.  I pierce the space in front of me with my searching eyes.

I’m terrified I’m not living this one life in wild pursuit of what matters most. 

My arms lengthen.  My speed picks up.  My stride widens and my legs reach far in front, glide happy far back. My freckles dance on my exposed arms. I feel alive.

And this is the answer to my prayers lifted. The littles. The stringing of moments and breathing gratitude for all that’s already here.   

The harmony of chicken noodle soup. The way my sink washes white after its bath in Soft Scrub.  My heart beating into a song.  The sparkling of my wedding ring under high lighting. My son’s imaginary bat’s random disappearances.  The warmth of a scarf. The taste of pumpkin bread and the communion of family. The opportunity to serve my husband with a glass of water, a peppered egg, a kind response. Also, my freckles.

God made me a thinker. To enjoy life amid unanswered questions is a tenuous task.  My seriousness sinks as I breathe into simplicity, as I spring forward for the beauty of this life’s surface.

To think, to question, to pursue a higher good, a better stage as mother and teacher and wife—this is all good, but it can never overcome the tenacity of a life well lived in the physicality which surrounds us.

The laugh of a friend.  Fall’s generosity of color: gold, cherry red, tangerine.  A game of Scrabble. A glass of wine for no particular reason.  The cool walk through a dark night downtown.  Huddling around a bonfire.  Bruschetta spooned upon broiled bread. Front porch conversation.  Candles humbly glowing in the corner of church. Light sprawling fierce on hardwood.

I’m in pursuit of what matters most in this one wild and precious life. 

Me patient with my son’s potty training. The pause before I speak. The cleaning of my car before my husband murders me. 

Quick Takes

-1-

There will be nothing deep or moving or inspirational or vulnerable or anything like that in here.  Just in case you thought I had both guns blazing, fully loaded for an emotional blast. Nope, not here. Not now at least.

-2-

Yep.  These quick takes are void of serious thought because all the serious has been sucked right out of me.  This new job has me exhausted on so many levels. It's insane. And yet normal as new jobs go, I guess.

It is never a good idea to bring your two year old to work with you.  Never.  He just wasn't able to keep up with my sophomores. It was disappointing.

-3-

My husband has been in London for the past two weeks.  I would like to think that I do fairly well in his absence.  When his business trips take him away from home from a Monday to a Friday--well, those are easy.  In fact, I get some stretch room.  I do a little extra thinking, pondering, writing, scheming in his absence, the introvert that I am.  That did not happen this trip.  Every day during this absence I've wished so badly to talk with him, to laugh with him, and to feel that camaraderie of husband and wife lording over serving their child. But, vent session over, he's coming home this weekend!!! I'm thrilled. I even used three exclamation points as if to trump any protocol on grammar/normalcy/theEnglishlanguage. See. I did it again. That excited.

-4-

The library keeps calling me to let me know books are being held for me.  I got what you want. I keep ignoring the library like the clingy ex-boyfriend that it is.  I got what you need. 

Oh, except for starting Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts which is quite the pleasant surprise as far as post-modern Christianity and authentic voice are to be had.  Have you read it?

-5-

Thomas's language has exploded. I can't believe all I hear from him.  He asks so many questions, is using an array of prepositions, and has a sense of humor.  Every day is a delight! We engage in mini-conversations, as contorted they may be.  I love having evidence of how his brain, his memory works. This is the part of parenthood I dreamed about when I was pregnant. This little inquisitive person stage is absolutely my favorite. 

-6-

I love our after dinner walks.  My brain needs a reboot [or three] when I get home.  I've been switching up our routines here and there to create more order, peace, and happiness in our home.  Walking, or some form of outdoor outing, is making its way into prime time. 

My son is quite the gentleman what with all his proper posture and all.

-7-

My dishes are calling.  

Happy weekend to you!

Parenting

Twenty four hours, give or take a few, has cut the melodrama from my working mom home with a sick kid  charade.  It was yesterday that I received, amid a reading of To Kill a Mockingbird, a pink slip from the attendance office decorated with a scrawled "Your son is very sick. Please call..."

In typical Ashley fashion, passing the baton-o-teaching to the substitute was difficult. I had to beat into submission all those content details which would not have a chance to surface that day.  I had to veer my class into a path of moderation, just enough 'English' to earn a happy check mark in all things public school holy.

The pediatrician's schedule was packed to the brim.  So was her partner's.  My conversation with the receptionist ended with this note:

Me:  "I know I've been to the Urgent Care center, but could you explain where that is to me?"
Receptionist: "Sure.  Just turn right onto Primrose, and you will see the Turner Center behind..."

My brain's fuzzy remembrance of this place was legitimized five minutes into our visit.  And if it was legitimized five minutes in, at the two hours and fifteen minute mark it was carved into stone and placed, retroactively, next to the Ten Commandments as some sort of bonus necessity of soul survival.  Thou shalt not murder.  Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods.  Thou shalt erase all memory of the Pediatric Urgent Care from one's memory in order to preserve one's sanity.

While redundant to mention there were sick kids everywhere, let me mention this: there were sick kids everywhere in that waiting room, the majority of whom fell into the following categories a.) unsupervised b.)  b.) had a poopy diaper  c.) wandering aimlessly or d.) unsupervisededly wandering around as if to promote a trail of poopy diaper stench to circulate waves of disgust throughout the room for randomized, lingering intervals of time.

My sensibility to relinquish control fell into place yesterday. Or it was yanked from me.  Not sure which one. Regardless, it's this loss of control which reminds me what it means to be a parent, what it means to be a mother.

What a powerful prayer to live out, as mom or dad, a string of interruptions---lovingly.  Honestly, I've fought it since I kissed Thomas his first unspoken hello.  I have days, sometimes a whole week, wherein it's a happy task.  Those chunks of willful, consistent selflessness seem to come in longer, stronger waves as time edges forward.

But it is still difficult to give of myself--without excuse or hesitation or sighs or a mind doing the dishes in the kitchen while playing puzzles at his side.  This loss of self, however, is a gift of the greatest kind.  Less of my towering righteousness and pride, less of my clutch on autonomy, less of my isolation--it builds bit by bit a vessel of peace, somehow, within me.

Thomas was curious about our nurse when she came into the room. He asked her, "Doctor?"  In interpreting for her, I coached him to use her name first and then ask her the question as a sentence.  Chunked into parts, he repeated, "Irma, are you a doctor?" He looked curious as she described her role as nurse.  A few minutes later, the doctor did come through the door, and as clear as could be from Thomas came, "Are you a doctor?"

Even a two year old knows the equation for feeling better.  Doctor = Medicine = Happy.

I trust in God's doctoral plan, his beautiful design for me as a woman.  I was formed to love and care for children, to be both interrupted by them amidst my gathering of good and encouraged by them in their happy finding of it.

Today I write here and smile awkwardly at the laptop as I finish this blog post thinking of all the very un-poopy-diaper-on-a-random-kid-who-just-touched-me kind of relinquishing of control.  Today was a happy loss of control.  Time slowed down and ushered in some gentleness this morning.  Cleaning. Choosing positive thoughts.  Play-doh party wherein I was gifted with a "birthday cake". Probing Thomas's mind.  And a 101 of Puzzle Heaven, instructed by Mr. Thomas who insists his one rule is that we "do it together."

Yep, that's what I'm thinking too.

I Am Not an Island

There have been seasons of my life when I've allowed a mixture of pride and introversion to isolate me. That island is no more.

When we are put in a difficult situation and find ourselves instinctively reaching out for the rescue boat, this reinforces, by grace, that our ultimate purpose in this life is anchored in our connections with others.

One of the [five] classes on my schedule is taught by myself and two other teachers in my [tiny] classroom.  I was a hair shy of losing sleep this summer because I was anxious about co-teaching with just one individual. Now, I light up when I see my co-teaching peers step inside my room. The necessity of allowing less of me to make way for a greater good of more help for our students--it's wonderful!

This new role is presenting opportunities for growth I didn't anticipate.  Meeting new administrators, teachers, students, and parents has my mind frantically processing new ideas, new emotions, new connections.  I'm going deep into my well of empathy.  I'm reshaping some previously held notions about what it should look like to teach reading and writing.  I'm penning a new definition of "good disciplinarian."

Of course I call my mom and make myself vulnerable for advice with my husband and reach out to friends.  But I'm seeing this immersion into the unknown is a liberating kind of existence... which says to me things like: take risks, embrace opportunity, go where you are no friend, daughter, or wife.  The open-mindedness required of me and this output of growth has me giddy about more experiences which could kick me out of my comfort zone.

I am not an island. I am not perfect. I am not always right.

And I thank God that in the past two weeks I've seen those windows of perfection, righteousness, and isolation shatter and fall before my eyes.

What a beautiful sight!

A Time for Growth

I remember an aerobics class so challenging [for me] in college, it paralyzed my abs for three days afterward. When I was in that class, I would go delirious from the combination of difficulty meets exercise balls which had me looking altogether awkward, confused, and out-of-shape.

I've been either training for or working in my new position as teacher within a new school for the past two weeks.  The growth required of me has startled my immune system into freak out hibernation mode; I've been sick for over a week straight.  And let me say something to highlight the true meaning of sickness in relation to my job.  There is little more important in working with students than quick mental response which is the one thing exactly which decided to hitch-hike its way out of my sick body over a week ago.

I'm growing in a number of ways.  In just the past week, I've requested one-one-one mentoring for co-teaching, teaching ELL students, and new ways to discipline.  I've felt the heartache of missing my former staff and students, and I've been intentionally receptive in gleaning advice, humor, and camaraderie from my new staff.  I'm finding new ways to think of how my husband and I divide our duties and our times, respect each other's responsibilities, and keep grounded in what's important.  I've ushered in humility and silenced myself so that I could think outside the box of what has been and explore new ways to teach, connect, learn, and operate in all my roles as a woman.

This move to a new job was important. But that has little to do with how easy or difficult it has been.  Sometimes, we must take risks for what we value and forge ahead into the unknown.

The familiarity of our former lives beckons us back into safety, and we can waste a lot of time and energy in that mode.  As parents, husbands and wives, daughters and sons, and so forth we must plant our feet firmly where we are and allow great depth to happen there.

There is a time for everything: celebration, sadness, weeding, solitude, companionship, love, mourning, joy.  Right now growth is my season, and I'm not longing for all the other seasons that will surely, unquestionably arrive later.  I'm cognizant that, just as I look back and cherish my time of support, ease, and happiness at Sparta School District, I will also one day look back to this "new job" time in my life and smile at how wild and wonderful it was to grow so very, very much.

*Photo courtesy of thewallquoteshop.com

Quick Takes

-1-

I can't put into words my adoration of Downton Abbey.  That's why, when perusing Hulu Wednesday night in an attempt to numb myself to sleep on the couch and finding that the second season of Downton Abbey was available for viewing, I forewent words and squealed a loud, foreign sound similar to that of a teenage girl finding One Direction serenading her at the front doorstep.

-2-

Watching Downton Abbey has me yearning for a different sense of womanhood.  The love story of Matthew and Lady Mary wound by the allegiance to unforgiving virtues whispers in my soul a conversion to greater modesty, respect, and poise.  The show has me searching for new heights of femininity which I will likely follow up with a copious amount of reading and pithy actual change in my daily living. 

-3-

This morning, after debating whether a trip to Lowe's deems a shower necessary or not, I made an impulse decision to jump in the shower. I figured I could be quick and that I didn't need to secure/confine/white jacket my son in order to do so in peace.  However,  there was a silence when I stepped out of the bathroom, one that had me searching through the house in nothing but my bath towel.  While I should have been concerned about a possible neighborly sighting due to many opportunities for window exposure, I was focused on Thomas's safety...and the can of white paint which I spent thirty minutes trying to open earlier with every conceivable tool in our house.  A toddler has a way of sniffing out smashing impossibilities or excavating ancient paint cans their mommy has unsuccessfully attempted to open.  I spotted a splash of water on the entry room rock floor and my eyes shifted up to see in split second motion picture fashion an open front door, a garden hose gone wild, and a blur of a toddler wearing nothing but his diaper and a grin. 

The actions which followed were horrifying.  Me hiding behind a wall and hissing begs at Thomas to retreat inside.  Me sprinting to my room for clothes.  Me sprinting back to the living room because my bra was where I had left in that night I watched Downton Abbey wee into the night.  Me sprinting back to my room for clothes, 2nd attempt.  Me running out of the house to chase down a toddler, my eyes darting arrows of frantic madness and yet also thinking, "Do I have clothes on?" as a neighbor drove by and I politely waved so as to retain a semblance of normalcy.

-4-

This escaping toddler incident illuminates the stark contrast between me dreaming for a supremely feminine life and me celebrating a shower which doesn't invite chaos into my home.

-5-

Oh, and that 1st QT about me numbing myself to sleep.  No worries.  That was just because my husband was out of town.  He's back now, so there won't be any more willful adherence to television marathons.  Instead, we do this routine where I tell Paul every detail of my day, and the new evolution of my goals, and the progress on my project list and so forth until the point where I ask Paul a question and he musters a "huh?", "yuh", or a "hmm", and I decide I should stop talking and go to bed. 

-6-

Earlier this summer I posted about the ridiculous mantra all or nothing.  I'm still trying to put this into practice because I think, in appropriate instances, it can be a very healthy mindset.  My happiest moderation find has been taking a stroll around the neighborhood after dinner.  I don't put on a sports bra or tweet my mileage or push myself to a heart rate of any extreme.  The fresh air and the quietness is enough to reward me for an action so minimal.

-7-

If you haven't checked out Jennifer Fulwiler of Conversion Diary, the hostess of Quick Takes, you should.  She's equal parts helpful and hilarious.