Sunday, November 8, 2015

On my knees

Halloween is one of my most favorite days of the year. I had planned to dress up as Ace Ventura, ala tutu...
but then my beloved Grams had a stroke and passed away on Halloween day. Yes...massive bummer.

Grams is 91 in this picture. Isn't she stunning?!?!?

I had made the 10 hour trek to see her before she went and I was just going through the motions with my kids on Halloween. I could not muster enough oomph for Ace, as required and so I ended up as this. I kinda, sorta went as myself.

Well, it has been 8 days since my dear Grams has left us and I am nursing swollen eyes and a hive covered neck. THAT is what I get for letting my true colors show. All of that green has done a number on me. No bueno.

I have a monumental birthday coming up this week. It's a biggie. I have been dieting and planning for months. I want to look GOOOOOOD for this birthday. I feel pressured to really rock this one. I have not celebrated a birthday of my own since having chitlins and I am making up for it with this shindig. Makeup, nice dress, friends, drinks, dancing. THIS is going to be EPIC.

My hubs gave me the afternoon to go to my favorite store to buy a dress for the big night out. Score! And without kids? Oh yea...I was psyched!

I went! I saw! I tried on a dress without my boys trying to wrestle in the dressing room....I fit into a size 6. Ladies. For real; let us stop and let that sink in because honestly that is a miracle. My booty has it's own area code. Yes, I had dieted, not so well recently, yes I had been working on this for ages....but nature is nature. Even today the booty is unreal. And here it was in a 6. It fit like a glove especially over the booty so I decided I really needed an 8. With none in stock, I left empty handed. The goal is to look amazingly hot after all, not for sale. I attempted to make up for the no dress situation with shoes.
I found no joy at the shoe store either but I was still high on the fact that I fit into a size 6; so pssht. Who cares.

Life was good, the drive without my rabid children was quiet and fun so I decided to make an unscheduled stop on the way home thinking that the perfect dress could still be found. This is where the day went pear shaped. Yes, just like me. Pear. Shaped.

After perusing 10 or more shops in the pouring rain, I ended up in a shop.  There was a dress. Lovely. Black. Unique. A tad on the stiff side. Why was it so stiff? Starched. Who wants a stiff dress? Could I move in it? I do intend to get down with my bad try it on or not.

I caved. I had to try it on. I grabbed a size 8, not pressing the miraculous 6 luck.....and headed for the dressing room. One quick tug and the dress was on. Now, the sleeves were snug, not the snug where you must quickly turn the sleeves right way round or risk losing an arm, just a tad snug. Like a constant, intense hug on my upper arms. No biggie. It was cute. It fit like a glove, a starched, stiff glove but it was cute. I turned. I oogled. I turned again.  I did a little dance. No. Sadly it was just too stiff for the night of merriment I had planned. The dress was not coming home with me.

Okay. Wait. Here is the deal. I have a rash on my neck that kept me up all night itching. It's a nice angry welty neck. I may or may not look contagious. When getting ready for church I did not stop and think that my husband would suggest a shopping trip right after church so undergarments and shaving were not at all a consideration this morning. With that in mind I went to my go-to. My all time favorite. My comfortable, 2.5 year old nursing bra. a sports bra but inifinitely less cool. If I am being brutally honest its more like a really, really  tiny, flesh colored tank top than a bra. I had zero makeup on in hopes that hivey-mac-hiverton would be gone by my birthday. Are you getting the picture yet? I am clearly saving all of my hotness for my birthday night.

So...the dress had to come off. I unzipped the tiny zipper under my armpit and proceeded to try to take the dress off over my head. It had gone on that way, surely it would come off.

It. Would. NOT. Budge.

WHAT THE BLEEP? I did not wrestle myself into the dress. Yes, the arms were snug. As I tried and tried and contorted, I could not lift the dress over my shoulder blades. I stopped. I started. I stopped. This went on for longer than I care to admit.

I eventually realized I was stuck. Well and truly stuck in the stiffest dress in the history of the world.

With a face as red as my hive-covered neck, I went in search of the dressing room attendant to help me. OH WAIT...the dressing room was literally in the middle of the shop. I had to walk about 10 feet to the register to ask for assistance in the dressing room. I was so calm...I am still proud of that phrase. "Assistance in the dressing room." Sounds simple enough.

The employee follows me to the dressing room where I whirl around to face her and whisper "I am stuck  in this dress."

Of course she did not hear me so I got to repeat myself.

Her eyes widened and she pushed both of us all the way into the dressing room but did not close the door all the way. At that point, I realize that she might be 5'2" with heels on. My heart sank as I also sank to my knees. With my arms raised in supplication I began mumbling non-stop about how strange that I was able to easily put the dress on.....and apologies about the situation and my bra; clearly intent on making the situation as embarrassing as possible.

Little employee tugged and yanked and grunted (NOT KIDDING) until that dress came off, leaving angry red marks on my arms. Now they match my neck too. Awesome.

I thanked her profusely for her help and I got dressed quickly, unable to look at myself in the mirror as I readied myself for the worst walk of shame ever.

I took a deep breath and exited the safety of the dressing room. The employee that helped me was at the register again with another employee. They were smiling and watching me.

I thanked her again.

They were still smiling and watching me. Of course they were!

I couldn't  just leave. They were watching me still. I had to say something.

"So, I don't think I am going to buy that dress. Thank you, though. It's uh...sure...cute!"

I managed to walk to the door. It may have resembled race-walking but I did not run.

I may be wearing jeans, a t-shirt and my nursing bra on my birthday night. Perhaps that is as it should be, it is much more ME. As much as I would love to wow people with my super hotness despite my old age....I refuse to find myself on my knees again in pursuit of that.
I love you Gramma! I hope you did NOT see my awesomeness today!

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Grace and Waterproof Mascara

Dear Diary,

Mama is about to unload. I am hoping it makes sense.

Oh, the changes and blessing that God has brought with our move, it boggles my mind the ways that my life has changed and improved. I have been given some amazing friends that are on a similar path to mine. Being present with them on their journey has been eye opening, it has made me more mindful of my own journey. This is a blessing and a curse. Self awareness can be humiliating and painful. I prefer to face the embarrassment then to bury my I get what I get.

******I feel rushed to get this all out as I should be frosting cupcakes and preparing my house for the party that should be happening here in a few short hours. So, again, bear with me as I attempt to spat this all out and make poetry out of my gibberish. *****

These friends of mine are so incredible that it makes me wonder WHY they are my friends. Without thinking, I fear I have been eager to show them all the ways that I suck and the multitude of reasons why they would be crazy to be my friends at all (((mixed in with my inherent awesomeness, of course.))) And yet, they stay. ((perhaps because despite all of my crappiness, I love them immensely and I can be quite entertaining at times.))

I am humbled and grateful and nervous about that. Clearly I have some attachment issues. Yes.

Captain Obvious, struck like a lightening bolt of clarity today showing me that people near and dear to me are exhibiting similar behaviors. Aha moment. I sadly do not always react well to behaviors I am guilty of myself. Sigh.

This morning I went to church with this Aha moment marinating in my head and a list of people to offer my Mass up for.

As anyone with children knows, Mass with kids is a circus. I had the good sense to sit front and center this morning so the whole congregation could enjoy our three ring circus today. And a circus it was. well circus with a healthy dose of WWF style toddler wrestling.

Anywho...the snippets of Mass that I caught were few and far between and honestly fell on my deaf ears.

 And then someone from the choir began to sing this:

And I wept.


Mhhm...because all our WWF Circus needed today was a weeping Becki. I thank God for waterproof mascara.

I bring my ugly and unworthy self to God every day. And HE still love me. ME. ME? He who sees ALL of my fails. All of my wounds. All of my weakness. All of my ugly. Despite all the ways I distract myself from talking to HIM. Despite the fact that sometimes all I have to offer is crap.

How can we even begin to comprehend that? As my boys came back from Sunday School to find their Mama weeping, aha moment number 2 whacked me upside the head. As I hugged the boys that strive to drive me stark raving mad every single day, as I hug the boys that trust me despite all of my parenting fails, as I let myself feel all the motherly love that I have for them, I started to grasp just a teeny bit just how LUCKY I am. To be seen. To be on this journey to the ONE who loves my in such a way that I cannot even fathom it.

Your grace is enough.

Well, YOUR grace and waterproof mascara.

The end. (Kind of. I will work towards that being then end, after I spend a lifetime trying to understand this and simply let go of everything else.)

I openly thank all that are putting up with me on this journey. I love you all more than I can say.

This Lent is really quite amazing.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Away.....In a Manger.

I don't cry. I don't wallow. I don't remember the date he was due. I mean, what is a due date anyways, i have never gone into labor and delivered a baby ON a due date.. . it is simply a number. I don't count days.  I DO send love every time he crosses my mind and I squeeze my babies here on Earth. Other than that I do not actively mourn Beckett. It has been 3 years.

Even after 3 years, the day is heavy. Just heavy. It is as if my body remembers that moment, holding my sweet baby in my hand. My entire body hunching over the sweet baby that fit in the palm of my hand. I know this is graphic. But my body, my heart still holds Beckett in my hand on this day every year. That is my reality.

Grief and loss...well these beasts are tough for me. Especially with Beckett and Lazarus. The loss of a child that I so desperately want to hold and tickle and nurture affects every facet of my day. I struggle to picture Beckett in heaven, which for me is an integral part of letting go. I struggle to picture him at all. I can remember counting his ten perfect fingers and toes. Stroking his minuscule body, but I cannot hear his laughter, remember his squishy
scent or picture his smile. How hard it is to grieve without that. How devastating it must be to grieve once you HAVE all of that in your heart and mind.

I know Christmas is over, but is it ever REALLY over? I like to stretch the Christmas holiday out as long as I can without appearing too nutty. So Christmas is slowly disappearing from my living room. One knick- knack at a time.

As I was putting away my Kenyan banana leaf Nativity set, I dropped baby Jesus. GASP! Major party foul!   I instructed my boys that dropping baby Jesus was an enormous no-no. They both looked at me like "Duh! No one drops baby Jesus but you, Mom." I thought eye rolls didn't appear until teen years. . ..I was wrong.

To further drive this point home (I am not sure why I went on this tangent, but I did.) I demonstrated how to be ever so gentle with my porcelain Nativity Set. You, know... The one I keep up high and out of reach. They "oohed" over the angel as they stroked her wings. They held Mary so gently.

And then Eli asked to hold Baby Jesus. I didn't hesitate, putting him in the palm of Eli's hand.

And it hit me.

My baby Jesus fits in the palm of my hand just as Beckett did.

I felt my body hunch in that familiar way, wanting to hold HIM with every inch of me. To protect and love. I could easily count His precious fingers and toes. I was suspended in my heartbreaking moment of loss.

What a gift. To have such a poignant reminder that when I yearn to hold Beckett, I CAN hold Jesus. In my heart and in the palm of my hand.

I am not sure that Nativity is coming down any time soon. NUTTY? not. care.

Merry Christmas to all my loves!