Love one another.

Love one another.

It seems like a simple idea. Treat others the way they would want to be treated (which, as I learned in my first communications class ten years ago, is the real “Golden Rule”). The simplicity in phrasing of the commandment to “love one another” is sly. It makes us think it doesn't require that much effort, when in all actuality, it is perhaps the hardest commandment to follow. I mean, I personally don’t find it terribly difficult to not kill someone or steal from them. I only have eyes for my one and only Jason. I have been conditioned and raised to use the Lord’s name in reverence and thanksgiving… I could list all day how the other commandments are not rocket science. But, what I am descriptively getting at is that loving others is the most difficult commandment for me. And, I think it is for a lot of people.

So, why is that? Why can we not look at others of all race, creeds, sizes, genders, and lifestyles and just say, “Hey, I love you” and treat them accordingly? Why, when so many of us want peace and happiness in the world, do we find fault with our brothers and sisters, and thus withhold our love? Why can we not accept others without hesitation and simply offer the same love Christ would?

As individuals, we have been given different gifts and abilities from the Lord. We all walk our own walk and talk our own talk. In the same light, we have been given agency to choose to do with our gifts what we will. I think the difficulties in loving others come when we don’t agree with how others are using their gifts from the Lord. It could also be that we can see reflections of ourselves in others that we don’t like. I am blunt, care very little about what others think of me, and like to have the last word – when I meet others like me, I have a VERY hard time loving them. Why? Because I can see the negative aspects of my character that are dulled by my abnormally high opinion of myself; I see the ugly parts of my reflection.

I like to be in control. I like to be in control because I don’t want the ones I love to experience anything negative. I know this is a terrible approach to life and can isolate the ones I love, so I try to work on it. Like, right now, I should be cleaning the kitchen to create the perfect environment for my family to exist in, but rather I am sitting her writing a blog post while Adaline sleeps. See? I am trying to relinquish some control… Baby steps, but effort none the less. I learned that my need for control was an inhibitor to following the commandment to love one another when my sister came out of the closet as gay. Or lesbian? LGBT? Skillet-sexual? A goat? I am never quite sure I am up to date on the lingo… (FYI – that is a joke between my sister and I. If you are gay and reading this, don’t get your panties in a wad… ) She has tattoos, is a closet smoker, drinks, and can’t keep her room clean. So, this is a picture of my sister, she is the blonde one in the black tutu and fishnet shirt:

My sister, in addition to all her physical characteristics, is an astounding performer. She sometimes performs as a man, and sometimes as a drag queen version of herself. She spends a lot of time honing her talent. She is magnetic. She makes friends easily, she is generous and kind and she could not be more different from her straight-laced Mormon sister. This is her, too, in non-performer mode:

LaDonna and I spent several years hoping the other would be different, thus limiting our abilities to love one another. I just wanted her to be straight because I knew her life would already be hard because she has a tender heart; being gay was only going to make her subject to more cruelty from the world. She just wanted to me shut up and quit nagging about how she could be more mature and responsible; she wanted me to accept her wholly. Go to PFLAG meetings and whatnot…

After several years of tension caused by not loving one another, we made an effort. I don’t know where the desire to change came from, but I think it was born when we both realized at my father’s death that life is far too short.

Life is simply too short to not appreciate the diverse children God has put on this planet. Life is too short to wish someone would exercise their agency differently. Life is too short to be angry or upset at the actions of others.

This is not to say that we should be blowing sunshine and rainbows at each other all the time; quite the contrary. We are meant to have conflict, because out of that we can grow. But, when we find ourselves in those moments where we are hoping to write someone off – give up on them as a lost cause, I encourage you to think of the lost sheep. The prodigal son. The woman with an issue of blood. That is what we are to exemplify – the UNCONDITIONAL love the Savior exemplifies.

My sister never gave up on my ability to love her. Was there screaming? Fighting? Cussing? Slapping? You bet your backside there was, but I have never been more grateful for someone not giving up on my ability to love unconditionally. It took me a long time and a lot of effort (I am sure it did on her part, too) to realize my sister is not going to change, and in coming to that realization, I also had to realize that the simple wording of that commandment did not change. “Love one another” does not mean any of the following:

“Love when it is convenient”

“Love only those who are like you”

“Love when it feels easy”

“Love when you are ready”

“Love when they apologize/get it right/stop being wrong”

The wording of “love one another” is so simple because the Lord wanted to remove any justification for hesitation. He made it simple so, when we stand at judgment, there are no “buts” coming out of our mouths. He made is simple to we could follow it without wondering if we are doing it right.

What I have learned from my sister has made me a better wife, mother, friend, teacher, and business owner. Does this all mean that I love everyone I meet? No, I am and human working towards immortal perfection. In other words, I have a long way to go. But, I have made one massive realization that I would like to share:

Our choice to “love one another” has, in fact, very little, if anything, to do with others.

We are responsible for our own actions. Regardless of if my sister’s lifestyle agrees with mine, I am commanded to love her (she makes it pretty easy). Regardless of how much we yell at each other, I am commanded to love her. Regardless of how much I don’t agree with her sometimes, I am commanded to love her.

The commandment doesn't change pending my reaction to the circumstances of my life. The commandment doesn't change because my feelings get hurt or I feel offended. My love does not have to be earned or given as a rewarded. The commandment doesn't change pending my acceptance of others, their choices, or use of agency. My love is to be given freely.

It a hard pill to swallow if we think of our own actions and reactions regarding others.  Everyone has room for improvement. Perhaps this is a lesson others learned at a young age, but by the state of the world we live in, I think we could all use a reminder.

I close this post with a challenge: Find ways to show unconditional love. Start in your home, your neighborhood, your community. Wherever you feel ready to start and grow from there. Grow to touch others who aren't like you. Grow to touch others who have been shunned. Grow to see the need others have for a kind word, hug, or helping hand – then give it.  I am going to try and I hope you all do too!

Thanks for reading my ramblings!

Little.

I am not little.

This thought is sparked many times a day by various external influences. Yesterday, Adaline was in our bed and wanted me to come snuggle her. She kept turning off the light, laying down, and patting the three inch space between her and the edge of the bed that she intended for me to occupy.  So, one of my first thoughts today was about how I am not ‘little’.  So, I scooped her up crawled in bed and snuggled away in the middle with her.

Today, I was reminded I am not ‘little’ when a picture posted to a parenting group I am in on FB ignited outrage from people who associate heavy with unhealthy. Despite the fact that health comes in every size and that a photo tells nothing more about a person that what they look like, people in this group felt it necessary to attack every aspect of the character of the woman in the photo based on the fact that she was not ‘little’. As I debated, as a chubby health educator and professional, about whether to be offended by the comments made by the self-proclaimed “healthy moms” or to support their arguments that someone who is overweight is at greater risk for certain health outcomes, I again reminded myself that I am not ‘little’.

Call it little, skinny, thin, healthy, or toned, I am on the opposite side of what society what society would judge as an acceptable weight. Not that society has any business peeking over my shoulder at my scale, but had the picture of the woman that ignited this outrage been of me, the response would have been no different. People make assumptions about my character, abilities, habits, and personality because I am not ‘little’. It happens every day.

Even at my smallest, I am bigger than others. It is a fact that truthfully doesn't bother me. Especially now that I am pregnant again, things are growing at astronomical rates. It feels like puberty all over again, except I am growing hips on top of hips and boobs on top of boobs. I have always been abnormally strong, able to lift really heavy things without much effort at all, so a good portion of me is muscle. But, there is a lot of extra stuff, too. Extra boob. Extra booty. Just… extra. It is extra that I can live with or without, but I have learned over my relatively short life, that the extra does not define me. Just like the color of someone’s skin doesn't define them, my weight is just an aspect of who I am. And, much like a scarlet letter, my experience with society has been shaped by the fact that I am not ‘little’.

So, as a person, I am generally very confidant. I can cross my legs, have no health issues, and my body is never an inhibition to the things I want to do (unless it is growing another human being and I want to ride roller coasters – then it is a major inhibition). I am not a person who feels the need to cover up at the beach, nor do I think my size limits my fashion options. I am not shy, inhibited, or unattractive because of my size. I have run marathons, climbed mountains, jumped out of an airplane, and can chase my kid all day – even with my ‘extra’.  But, this thought of, “I’m not little” often leaves me feeling like I have less worth than those who are “little”. I cannot help but wonder why that is. And that is what this post is about.

Let me preface this with, I am not throwing a pity party. I have an able body. I can walk; have all my limbs and faculties about me. I can hear, speak, taste, smell, and feel. There are so many others who would love to have a functional body; I am certain they would not complain about the “extra”. They would be grateful to do any of the things I just listed, and I wake up every morning thankful for this very able and ample body.

So, why, despite my gratitude and confidence does this thought manage to pervert and sour the otherwise great moments that are making up my life? Why do I always remind myself that I am not “little” and thus feel like I am not as good, worthy, or needed as those who are? It usually comes out of nowhere, and makes me feel like I have dropped a bowling ball on my toe. Meaning, the pain and shock is very intense, but rather short lived.

We all have something that breeds insecurities within us. Some people might be worried about their hair or teeth. Someone else might be worried about their feet or eyes. Bodies are made up of lots of parts and pieces, and just about everyone’s parts and pieces look different than others. And, at some point in time, most of us have felt inferior because of whatever it is that we continually remind ourselves we are too much or not enough of.

My personal opinions regarding media and social expectations are what one would expect from anyone who has any level of self-assurance. IT SUCKS. The ideal idea of beauty created for women (and men truthfully) is so unattainable that is mind boggling that it is even debated. When it is socially acceptable for CEO’s of company’s saying they don’t want certain types of people wearing their clothes and models are airbrushed into cartoonish shapes, I think it is pretty evident we have a very imbalanced perception of beauty. When women would rather be seen as pretty or thin than intelligent because they are terrified to not be “pretty” (never really acknowledging that pretty and intelligent can peacefully coexist). We live in a world where a woman’s sexuality and appearance defines her more than her accomplishments and achievements – where the body speaks louder than the voice, and at the same time the voices of our young girls are screaming, “PLEASE APPROVE OF MY BODY!!!” I could go on for days about the evils of mainstream media and Photoshop… Come over sometime and we can chat about it!

However, this is not a feminism piece, particularly because I think our society unfairly depicts men in the media just as much as women. This post is about self-acceptance and how, if we can learn to accept and truly love ourselves, perhaps we can learn to accept and truly love others.

Since I am not ‘little’, I have been on the receiving end of lots of cruelty in my time. From those that don’t know anything about me to those who have had ample opportunity to love me. I don’t expect to make every person in society happy, but I do intend to try to be kinder than some of those I have met in this life. It is when I think about this little (no pun intended) fact, that I am almost grateful I have had the opportunity to not be “little”. That I have had the chance to be different in some way, which has totally shaped my perception on life.  

Why on earth would I appreciate the opportunity to be chubby? Large? Robust? Well, other than my husband loves something to pinch - this is why – I feel it has helped me become sensitive to the feelings of others. It has helped me grow a desire to serve and build up, rather than tear down the way others have attempted to tear me down. It has helped me be less selfish and more humane. I would never hurt someone intentionally, because I have been intentionally hurt.

I am not little. My butt is big, as well as my thighs. I have a round face and cleavage that a hiker could get lost in. What is comforting, and hopefully the message that is taken from this, is that it’s ok to not be ‘little’. Because while I may not fulfill societies expectations for stature, my bigness extends beyond my tummy, ass, and thighs, and that is where the bigness really counts.

I have a big mind that dreams big dreams. I have big hopes and a large quantity of faith that attempts to attain those hopes every day. I have a big laugh that infects nearly everyone I meet. I have a big voice that can be used to perpetuate positivity and love. I have big courage to do what I know is right in the face of someone/something telling me it’s wrong. I have big shoulders for those around me to lean on. I have the ability to have a BIG impact on the world. I have a BIG job as a mom and wife. I have a BIG responsibility to the women I serve in my business. Most importantly, I have a big heart, which feels deeply. I feel pain when others categorize me unjustly based on the fact that I am not little. I feel immense happiness at even the smallest thought of my growing family. I feel deeply loved when I catch my husband staring at me like I am the most amazing creation he has ever seen.  I feel gratitude when I count the many ways my life has been blessed. I feel anger when I see others mistreated. I feel successful when someone tells me I have helped them through something. Mostly, I just feel with my big heart.

I guess I just needed to immortalize, somewhere, for my daughter who just might be over six feet tall, that being big, or different in any way, does not deteriorate your worth, value, beauty, or ability to impact others in even the slightest way. Everyone faces their own insecurity, which is why I want her to know that she should always strive to be kind and sensitive to the feelings and needs of others. I hope that the cruelty of the world stays far from her and the she can see the goodness in humanity long before she experiences any of the meanness. I hope she can grow to love and appreciate herself as much as I have been able to. I hope she never looks at a mirror and stares wishing the reflection were different. 

Too many people wish that.

Most importantly, I want to raise my children to know that being different is normal. That the impacts that people can make for good are not dependent on their size, color, hair texture, or any other physical attribute. That as long as she works hard and is nice to people, she will go far in this life.

I challenge you all to stop before you judge someone, and make your influence a big fat positive one. Even if your judgment isn't made verbal, or really that harsh, just realize your making it. Think for just a moment before you say anything to or about anyone. Remember for a brief moment that we all have trials and struggles. That we all want happiness. Then, realize that your influence can bring that happiness to fruition. 

In that respect, none of us should want to be little. 

Warning - This Gets Sappy Like A Tree

A few months after Jason and I got married, Vaseline discontinued a lotion that they made that was my absolute favorite. I have a skin condition (along with roughly 45% of the population…) called Keratosis Pilaris. It’s more commonly called “chicken skin”. I have always had it and always will have it, but some lotions make it less noticeable and uncomfortable than others. The lotion that Vaseline made was PERFECT for my skin. It took care of the bumps without leaving my skin greasy, it actually moisturized, was affordable, and it didn't stink to high heaven. There are lots of lotions on the market that aim to help KP, but this one was THE ONE.

And then they stopped making it.

So, get a new lotion, right? Telling me, with my finicky skin to ‘just find a new lotion’ is like telling the U.S. government to ‘just go ahead and solve the debt crisis’ – it’s much easier said than done. Seriously, I have a collection of lotions that have had one or two uses out of and then I can’t use them anymore. They either irritate or stink or don’t work. So, unfortunately, shortly after we were married, my chicken skin took over and I have been at war with it for the entirety of our marriage. I was/am/will always be   self-conscious about it. I had found a miracle lotion for three years, then poof, it was back, worse than ever in my adult age. Life is funny.

Jason knows how self-conscious I am about my skin. I don’t like for people to see my arms and thighs. I couldn't care less about being chubby, but I don’t want people to see the red bumps that are symptomatic of my frustratingly annoying and common condition. He knows that I am going to look at lotions every time we go to the store, and he even looks at them when he goes alone.

Which is why this post is about him and not my chicken skin. Two weeks ago, Jason called me from the store. I can’t remember what exactly I had sent him for, but he called to ask me what the name of my lotion was (it was Vaseline Intensive Repair, just in case you are curious). He found one that had a similar name, and bought the big bottle of it. It wasn't exactly the same, but I figured I would try it because I have tried them all. And to my shock – it helped my itchy red bumps.

After 4.5 years of marriage, this man is still looking for a discontinued lotion that can help me feel better every time he is at the store. In his dedicated searching, he actually found a new one. I mean, it seems so unimportant, but it makes a huge difference to me.

That is why this post is about Jason. I am so head over heels in love with this guy that no words can do it justice. When he looks at me I feel secure, safe, loved, and treasured beyond words. He always says the right thing, even if at the time it sounds wrong. He is honest, gentle, good, and selfishly selfless (meaning he doesn't care how much you don’t want his service, you are going to get it…). He tries hard for me, every 

day, and exceeds any expectations I ever had for marriage. 

Every. Single. Day.

As many of you know, I am slowly bowing out of my full time job for the state to venture full time in self-employment. This is scary for the following reasons:

1 – I have yet to grow a money tree from the penny I planted last year.

2 – I wasn’t happy when I was a Stay At Home Mom, and while being self-employed will be different, until it all takes off, I see a lot of time in yoga pants in my future and it is somewhat terrifying.

3 – I know nothing about business, websites, or the technical aspects of being an owner/operator. I do, however, know that if you work hard and are nice to people, you will find success in the most surprising places.

4 – I am doing all of this while pregnant with a second child.

However, these feeling of fear are considerably softened for one tremendous reason: Jason.

Jason reminds me constantly that I am not only 100% cut out for this, but that it is the best idea I have ever had. That I am bossy enough to pull this off, but kind enough to do it wisely. That more women need help in getting unbiased information about birth and maternal health resources. That I can’t go to Target without talking to every woman doing her Baby Registry and give them fair and balanced information in the 30 minutes I spend with them. That I walk away from settings having changed people, usually for the better. I feel annoying when I do these things, like talk to people incessantly, but he sees me as a tender messenger, there to help others navigate birth and parenthood. What? Yeah, he really does.

Jason sees capabilities in me that are blurred in my own reflection. He loves me just as I am, but reminds me all the time that I am more than what I think. His calm demeanor amid my neurosis is exactly why we work. I know I am crazy; I get obsessed with ideas/things/creations/goals very easily (currently it is getting carpet down in Adaline’s room) and feel like a failure if I don’t get it all done rightthisveryinstant. His calm demeanor reminds me that life isn't about getting the house clean for every second of every day, or creating the perfect atmosphere for him and Adaline to exist in, but rather to exist with them. He reminds me that he picked me for a laundry list of reasons and that I am the best choice he has made. Being his maid and doing his laundry are not on that list… if they were, he would be naked.

I am literally in awe on a continual basis that someone so wonderful has chosen me to be his eternal companion. The mother of his children.

This of course was all sparked because I woke up this morning with less chicken skin than yesterday, all because he got me lotion.

It continued when I got an unnerving phone call at work, to which my sweet husband responded, “That doesn’t make me nervous at all.” He literally could not have said anything better.

In all the areas I feel the weakest, he is strong. Not for me – but with me. He reminds me that I am capable, but human. That I am not supposed to ‘do it all’, but just what the Lord expects of me. He holds me accountable for being the woman the Lord has trusted me to be and become, and for that, I could never be grateful enough.

He bought me a fancy cutting board that fits over the sink because it will help my mornings go faster. He helped me finish school (quite literally). He is the best father I have ever seen. He cleans the toilet because he knows I hate it. He never gets mad if I say, “I just really don’t feel like making dinner tonight”. His response when we disagree or I get my feelings hurt is “I need to do better”, rather than telling me I am wrong or he didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. He makes my lunch, even cuts my carrot sticks. He lets me have big ideas, and helps me have even bigger follow through. He drives entire road trips because driving for long periods of time makes me sleepy. He holds my hand when we are walking, pushing the stroller, or falling asleep. He charges my phone for me because I always forget and then have a dead phone for an afternoon. He laughs when I tell an inappropriate joke. He compliments the food I cook as though I were Bobby Flay/Paula Dean/Ina Garten all rolled into one. He says he loves me every time he closes the door – whether he is going to the bathroom, outside, or to the office… He calls me on his lunch break because he works close enough to home to visit our daughter, and calls just so I can hear her laugh and giggle while I am at work. He never gets mad when I change my mind (which is frequent).

I guess my ode to Jason is that I could not be all that I am. Do all that I do. Or even try as hard as I try without his support. He is more than I ever thought I deserved and I could not be prouder to be his wife.

I hope everyone, at some point in their life, feels loved like this. To be thought of and cared for by someone they admire. In return, I try to love as much as I can. I try to share the light that Jason helps keep lit in me with others. I am able to be optimistic, hopeful, and faithful for everyone around me because he helps buoy me up. 

I hope to help change the world someday the way he has changed mine. I hope to show others what their worth is, the way he shows me. My husband is the greatest example of the Savior that I know. He continually does good. Because of him, I can be all of the things I am, and try to use that to make the world better. 

Man, I love being married to him. 

Is 39 Days Too Soon To Start the Countdown?

When I graduate I will:

Take a nap with my family after church on Sunday instead of reading and writing.

Focus on developing my business plans so I can spend more time with Adaline and Jason.

Treat my mom to a massage for raising my daughter for the last 7 months.

Treat myself to a massage for finishing a master’s degree.

Write a contract to myself to never enroll in school again. Ever.

Write another contract with myself that outlines the many reasons I will never go back to school – just in case I decide to do something stupid like get a law degree or something like that.

Cook dinner every night until I run out of ideas of what to cook.

Call friends who have been severely neglected – talk until they can remember why they loved me in the first place.

Clean my house from top to bottom without the guilt of sacrificing either my daughter or my grades.

Sleep in on a Saturday.

Organize all my textbooks that I never opened but were somehow “required” for the course – and sell them for what I paid, if not more, because Heaven knows I am not going to read them.

I will buy a grocery store tabloid and devour it cover to cover and delight in the mindless education of celebrity gossip and fashion.

Be tan. Gloriously golden. Burned to a crisp. Either way, there will be no traces of a Vitamin D deficiency in my house. (Not that there is now, but you can never be too sure…)

Organize my pantry.

Write the book I have been putting off since I left Hawaii.

Run. Walk. Swim. Ride my bike. Draw. Do all the craft projects I have seen and want to do. Essentially, have hobbies again.

Throw my housewarming party – 10 months after moving in…

Put pictures in the empty frames hanging on my walls.

Sew Adaline an entire wardrobe of adorable stuff.

Did I mention clean my house?

Take my husband on a vacation – in the middle of fall – just because we can.

Meet friends for lunch or dinner or breakfast.

Make cookies for my neighbors, whom I have lived next door to for several months now and still haven’t delivered the first baked good.

Take a really, really long shower. The kind that uses all the hot water, simply because there is time for it.

Sit on my couch and watch TV for a few hours without papers and a highlighter in my lap.

Take my dog for a walk.

Trade in my phone that has been broken for over a month.

Host a Pampered Chef party.

Make Adaline’s activity chart that I have had the supplies for for longer than I care to admit.

Sit down and do the budget with Jason instead of just asking if we have money to do something.

Be alive again – knowing that I truly obtained all the education I could from school. I know there is more I will learn in this life from non-school settings, but my school setting education is D-O-N-E.

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting me and having faith in me along the way. I have 39 days left until I graduate, which means school will be done much sooner, and Public Health will have a new Master. I have 2 papers, 1 test, 1 portfolio, and 5 simple assignments left before I am done. It is happening fast because I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Stick with me for one more round of, “Did Melissa fall off the face of the planet?” and I promise you won’t regret it. Just a few more weeks. 

My Feet

I’m a working mom. That is no secret. I have written a post about working, and how much I have always liked it last summer when Jason and I decided that I would be a stay at home mom. About six weeks after I wrote that post, I received an amazing job offer. After prayer and heavy consideration, I went back to work.

I want to start with why I went back to work after having such a strong spiritual confirmation that I needed to stay home. I went back to work for four very distinct reasons:

1.       Money. We had just purchased our first home and student loans don’t pay themselves.

2.       I, like many women, have never felt like a good mom. I have good days and bad, but overall, as much as I love my Adaline, I felt like I was failing her. In choosing to go back to work, I rationalized that Adaline would have better care than I could provide her. I am not throwing a pity party. I love my daughter like no one else ever will. But, I am not always patient or creative or “mommish” if that is understandable…

3.       My husband. He works really hard and was talking about taking on more jobs so we could pay our loans off and maybe buy a larger car when I received this offer. By me working, Jason gets to be a husband and father, in addition to being a provider. I don’t know that I could sleep at night knowing he wasn't getting to be “in the picture” as much as he wanted because I passed up a job offer. He is a really hands-on and present dad.  I am his help-meet, not just his companion.

4.       When I prayed to know what to do, I was given peace in the idea that work was right. I don’t question that.

So, I took a job working for the State. I help schools implement healthier breakfast and lunch menus. I like my job. I use my education. My co-workers are fabulous – all of them. Truthfully, I have not loved a job like this since I lived in Hawaii.

While being a working mom, particularly one in the church, is tough, I have stuck it out. I wake up super early (usually 5:00 or 5:30), shower, ensure everyone knows their plans for the day, pack my lunch and leave for work/school every morning between 7:00 and 8:00. On my lucky days, my mom, who watches Adaline during the day, will bring her to have lunch with me. But, that is hard on baby girl because she doesn't want to leave me after we eat. So, I spend those afternoons fighting back tears at my desk. I do my job and my school work, and every day at 4:00, I run to my car and ignore speed limits as I head home (sorry Jason, but it’s the truth. I define the kind of bad driver you hate… Love you!) When I pull into the driveway, I take off my jewelry in preparation for the assault of hugs, kisses, and squeals that await me on the other side of the front door. Embracing her is my favorite part of every afternoon. My second favorite part of every afternoon is hiding somewhere obvious and trying to convince a toddler to be quiet as we wait for Daddy to get home so we can scare him.

By the time we do dinner, bath, clean up clean up, and family time, and any other service activity for the night, it is time for my growing girl to go to bed. We say prayers, read a story, and I still rock her to sleep because that is the time I get with her. Moms that don’t work outside of the home don’t understand that need for extended contact. Sure, I could have let Adaline cry it out and learn to go to sleep on her own as an infant, but then I wouldn't have a reason to hold her for 15 minutes every night in the dark. I smell her hair. Feel her heart beat. Kiss her cheek. Tell her my hopes and dreams for her between singing songs. It is my special time with her, because I don’t get a lot of time with her.

Once she is asleep in her bed, it is time to do whatever hasn't been done – by now I have been up and going constantly for roughly 15 hours and all I really want is to go to bed. But, homework, daily planning, laundry, and other mom things still need to be done, and usually take about 2 hours. So I do them. I go to bed exhausted and wake up tired.

Some of you may think I am dramatizing or being unrealistic. I suggest you live in my pocket for one day. This post is only getting written because my boss has been out of town this week and I am on Spring Bread, so my work load has been considerably lighter than normal. Others may wonder why I would subject myself to all of this.  Please refer to those four points at the beginning of this post. I am not complaining, just trying to give a realistic picture.

I described my day in effort to help others understand what it means to feel that constant tug between work and home. It is emotionally exhausting to wonder every day if I should return to being home. I decide not to because I revisit those four reasons from above. We need the money. I am not a super stay at home mom. I want Jason to be around. And I had a confirmation to work.

In addition, I work, not because I have to, but because I need to. The difference is in the fine print. My need to work stems from my innate necessity to provide for myself and serve others. I have always been this way. I don’t like to be ‘paid for’ or ‘taken care of’. Rather, I prefer to take care of others. As a mother, I have extended my instinctual need to care for and provide to umbrella my offspring. It is animalistic really. Unfortunately, in today’s workforce, being an animalistic mother is not supported. You are expected to throw your child in daycare and accept that the four hours you get with them in the evening is all you can afford if you want a career. I read an article today about how the workforce is still completely unequal - Men are still paid more and still hold the majority of leadership roles, despite statistics showing colleges are turning out more female graduates than males. I think the fact that women have one foot at home and one foot at the office is a reason for this. It is instinctual to want to be with your children – not a conscious resignation to being subordinate human. I don’t consider myself a feminist – there are aspects of gender roles I absolutely adore (read: I don’t take out the trash or pick up dog poop on walks – Jason does), but when it comes to working, being a woman and mother blows. HARD. And it does so because of gender roles.

Many of the aspects of career development for professional women are limited. Essentially, one foot in the home is one out of the office, and employers typically don’t tolerate that. Good employers offer flexible schedules, telecommuting, or have in office child care. Unfortunately for me, I work for the state and get none of that. I mentioned that my co-workers and supervisors are great, and they are. I work with mostly women – and while many have children, none have more than two. Most are older than me and don’t understand why I would choose to have my children “so young”. Newsflash folks – I am creeping up on 29, which is practically 30. I am not “so young” to have children! But, if I want to continue this path of professional development, I am expected to step out of home more than out of my office. As much as I want equality for women in the workplace, I don’t know that my heart can handle the battle it will take to gain that equality. I am not willing to sacrifice my whole life for money, either. And that has nothing to do with gender. As I read this article, a woman who is a medical doctor with two children is quoted as saying, “Jobs demand too much. It would be good if you could take 15 percent of your time to devote to family life – but this is a fantasy, right? The sheer volume of menial work that a mother has, I mean, you’re just exhausted. And then, all of a sudden you wake up and you’re 46.  And the train has gone by. And when it went by, you were in the basement doing laundry.” 

First, I think trying to take only 15% of our time to devote to family, and not even getting that, is a severe sacrifice on the part of any parent – male or female. Second, when my train goes by, I plan to be in the sunshine, with my daughter and husband, not in the basement with laundry. How to make that happen and still have a career is hard, but not impossible.

Because - I am smart, capable, and humble, nothing is impossible. But most importantly, because I am a daughter of God, with a divine nature that is alive in me, I am capable of changing this world if I have the faith and courage to.

This has become my mantra as I wait patiently to start my own business. Which is my solution to the whole “work/family balance” thing. Entrepreneurship is my soul. Even as a young child I wanted to be my own boss. In a congeniality pageant response, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, my six year old seIf said, “I don’t know. But I want to be the boss and make lots of money.” I don’t know that I will make a lot of money, but I definitely care about what I am planning. As I have aged in education and wisdom, in addition to being whole heartedly supported by a man who sees no limits in what I can achieve, I have decided that in one year’s time, I will open my own birth and maternal health education business. I will spend the next year working on certifications, marketing, and strengthening connections throughout the community.

In addition, I will be taking that one foot out of the traditional office and planting both of my feet exactly where I want them – which happens to be in my own office, right next to my sweet baby girl and selfless husband, as I serve mothers and expecting mothers in the Tallahassee area. 

Maybe She's Born With It...

I gave up make-up for my sanity and daughter. Stupid, right?  

But not really.

   

I know it may not seem like that big of a deal, and I am sure some of you are shaking your heads saying, “That’s not true – I saw her with mascara on just the other day…” Before you start gossiping, let me explain.

My love affair with make-up began early. I was - hold your breath - in beauty pageants growing up. No toddlers in tiaras crap, but beauty pageants… I actually did quite well in them, too. So, several times a year, I would get dolled up from head to toe and be judged on how I looked. I was also judged on how I spoke, performed talents (I kicked all the singing girls butts by jumping rope every year), and presented myself. But, regardless of where the pageant was or who I was competing against or what I was wearing, my favorite part was always putting on make-up. I loved how, even after the trophies were assigned and my fancy dress was back on the hanger, I still felt really special because my hair and make-up hadn't been washed away in the night bath just yet.

I loved it. Not because I had low self esteem or because there was something fundamentally wrong with me – make-up was just fun. I was, and always will be very feminine on the inside, and getting dressed up makes me feel very in touch with myself. On the outside, I am not the most feminine, but  with make-up I feel that way. Not that I look bad without it, but I just feel girly. And every now and then, I like that feeling.  I still get excited thinking about a ‘make-over’ and I am almost thirty.

I started wearing make-up on a daily basis in the 7^th grade. I saw my mom about to throw out some stuff she had purchased and didn't like, and I asked if I could have it instead. She relented, because I know how to be annoying enough to get what I want.  Because of the pageants, I knew what it all was and how it was to be put on, so I never needed a ‘lesson’ in how to use the powders, creams, and brushes. Although, someone could have explained to me about the concept of matching foundation to your skin tone! My middle school yearbook pictures will be forever remembered for the well defined jaw line created by some Maybelline that was a little too dark for my fair skin… In retrospect (thanks to pictures) I now know I could have gone a little – or a lot - lighter.  After all, Mr. Duggin’s 8^th grade English class was not being conducted under heavy lighting, being photographed, or really had anyone important in it to impress, so the prom worthy make-up may have been a little much.

But, like I said, it was fun and I didn't care how people thought I looked because I felt great.

Before I knew it, it became my routine to take an hour to get ready before I went anywhere – like most teenage girls I was selfish and thought the world revolved around me. If I was short on time, I simply did my mascara. Mascara has always been my absolute favorite product because I have very blonde eyelashes, and without it I can look like a kid. Nowadays, I look like a kid with crow’s feet, but younger than my actual years nonetheless. Make up became my tool to look older and more sophisticated as I aged.

Blonde curls, round face, and blue eyes are very easily discredited as “cute”.  I have always had to work a little harder and be a little more assertive than others with my same abilities because I am “cute”. Not hot-cute, more like cabbage patch doll –cute. Only with age have I learned that confidence can fix the problem of not being heard or listened to. As a youngster, I thought make-up gave me the grown up look that would make people take me seriously, but what I was missing was the voice that comes with the age and crow’s feet.

Just an FYI – snorting when you laugh also makes people not take you seriously, no matter how much make-up or crow’s feet you are sporting. Lesson learned.

Back to the issue at hand. Make-up. As I have aged, putting on make-up has become less fun and simply a habitual chore that MUST be done before I leave for work/church/grocery shopping/date night. I don’t wear much anymore, but I have my 15-20 minute standard routine. Buying make-up is now expensive and putting it on takes time away from my other, more important, responsibilities.

Let me preface the next part of this with the following: I do not think make-up is evil. I do not think make-up wearers are shallow (mostly, because I still put make-up on for church or important events, thus making me a make-up wearer). I simply had to take a step back and evaluate what is important to me, and make-up didn't make the cut.

In December, I started thinking retrospectively about 2012. I thought about things I did well and things I would prefer to not repeat. 2012 kicked my butt in regards to time management. I never felt like I was ‘caught up’ on anything. I was always rushed and never had time to myself. I can live with no time to myself – otherwise I wouldn't have become a mother. But, the feeling of always being rushed took its toll on me. I ended the year thinking, “Man, I am glad that’s over”. In efforts to create a more positive outlook for 2013, I wanted to manage my time better and learn to say no when I couldn't find the time. No more ‘squeezing in’ or double dipping my hours. My goal was to carry out my hours with one activity at a time, and to be happy I have the hours I do. Others pray for more hours, and I was glad to see an entire year go? That makes no sense. Time is our most valuable asset, and here I was saying “good riddance” to 365 beautiful days.

But, like most mother’s/workers/students/busy people, even with calendars, schedules, support, and planning, there are some days that there are just don’t seem to be enough hours. So, I started to look at where I lose time. My first thought was sleep, but I rarely sleep more than six hours in a night, so that wasn't it. I looked at my morning routine and decided that the 15-20 minutes I spend on make-up every day accumulates to over five days over the course of the year. So, I decided I would only do make-up for church or date night, or if I felt like it, but that I would no longer wear it on a daily basis. It would no longer be part of my getting ready routine.  

The reactions I have gotten to my natural face have been drastic extremes. Some people think I have great skin and cute freckles (coconut oil, folks – best moisturizer EVER), while others look at the bags under my eyes and assume that the bags, coupled with my “soft frame” means I must be lazy. To be honest, until I stopped wearing make-up every day, I did not realize the full extent of societal pressure to fit a female mold.

When I stopped wearing  make-up all the time, I found myself being looked at differently, and occasionally feeling bad because of the way I was being perceived. Now, I am an enigma. I have never deeply cared what most people think about me. If I care what you think about me, you know I care. Otherwise, I will take your opinion, but won’t be hurt by it. Self-esteem has never been my weak point. However, I have never been judged as harshly as I have been recently, either. From family members to strangers on the street, there are lots of people who have input on the way I look – especially without make-up.

Typically, it makes me feel bad. Not about myself, but about society. But, for people who might not have the self-esteem created out of titanium, the comments and glances can be terribly hurtful. For those with tender hearts, the sneers and comments can be detrimental. To put it bluntly, people are rude when you don’t ‘fit’.

I don’t want this feeling for my daughter. So, in addition to the time not wearing make-up saves me, I stopped wearing make-up for Adaline.  I want her to see that mommy loves herself because I want my sweet Adaline to love herself. We all know the best way to teach our children is by example, so that is what I am doing. I am showing my daughter that the bags under my eyes, the scars, and the occasional dot of acne do not degrade my character at all. I am showing her that confidence and true beauty have nothing to do with make-up, or even how I look. I am showing her that her father, who is a wonderful man, loves me in my simplicity and that real men love women who are smart, funny, kind, and accomplished, and not just a pretty face. I am showing her that spending time with her is more important than how I look. I am showing her that the scar on her nose, just like the one in my eyebrow, is a story to tell, and shouldn't be covered up for conformity sake.

Society will be telling my daughter who she needs to be long before I even realize it. She will be told to being thin and pretty is more important than being smart, kind, and having self-respect. That a boy will need to rescue her. She will be told modesty is for the birds and that dressing provocatively is the way to a man’s heart. There are lots of things I anticipate that this world will throw at my beautiful baby girl, but one thing I can do is prepare her to be who she is and make no apologies for that. To be honest, kind, and a hard worker. I hope that in my attempt to show my natural face, I can show Adaline that beauty is so much more than well-defined eyelashes and even toned skin. I hope to show her that she defines beauty for herself, and that no one can ever take that from her. That with or without make-up, she is stunning in her divinity and grace. That she is special because there is no one like her. Sure, we will have fun in make-up, but I want her to know that make up should be fun and not required.

That’s all I got for today, folks. Try it – just for a week, and see how much time it saves you!

My Cheeks Hurt

I am tired. Insomnia has kept me awake for the last two nights, and though my child is sleeping peacefully, and my husband as well, the dog has peed and my eyes are heavy, I cannot drift away into a dream. Why? Well, tonight the cause of my sleepless state is not because of my insomnia, but because of my neighbors.

Again.

For those who have followed my incessant annoyances about my neighbors, thereby becoming annoyed themselves, please know I am not simply whining here, but trying to squeeze out some sort of lesson from the madness and inconsideration. Brief back story:

When Jason and I moved to Florida, we found our complex and it was a blessing. We had a cute two bedroom apartment, and it was quiet and perfect. When we found out Adaline would be joining us, as well as my mom, we upgraded to a three bedroom in the same complex. I sincerely regret that decision. Since moving into an apartment with three bedrooms, we are surrounded by young, transient, and highly inconsiderate neighbors. On each side (except for one) the apartments are noisy, rude when approached, and extremely volatile (for lack of a better word). It seems someone different lives in each apartment every day, and each new resident is nosier and more rude than the last. The apartment manager will not allow me to file a formal complaint, even though I have tried multiple times. And, no amount of cookies or threatening seems to help them understand the consequences of their actions.

So, here I sit…

Tired. Very, very tired.

I can honestly say I did not hate young people nearly as much as I do now before this living arrangement.

Our current situation is this – our lease is up. We could move if we wanted. Which is the most annoying part about all of this. We are paying an extra $75 a month to continue to live in a place that we really hate month to month. BUT – we have an offer in on a house that is a short sale, and it is literally taking FOR-EV-ER. So, we cannot sign a year long lease, or even a six month lease elsewhere, because any new lease would eventually be broken. Essentially, we are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Noisy neighbors or more renting for at least another year. Both require patience that I often feel I do not have.

For most that know me, I don’t really take crap very well. I am blunt. Straightforward. I will call you out if I think you are being ignorant or prideful (two of my biggest pet peeves). I am nice about it, but I do not enjoy ‘game play’.

My neighbors seem to thrive on it.

I tell them they are loud, and they decide to throw a party. I call the police, they get a police scanner. I bake them cookies, they empty their grill on my front porch…

So, what am I to do? Well, as I read scriptures on my kindle while listening to what can only be described as what a nightclub sounds like from the bathroom, I ran across Matthew 5:39 –

“But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

Dang – it.

So, as much as I want to put on my husband’s pajama pants, and go next door in mama bear mode to remind these guys about the law that I have reminded them about at least 5 million times (which is the noise ordinance for the city of Tallahassee – no overt disturbances after 10 p.m.) I have opted to write a blog post about it instead. This is my effort to turn the other cheek.

I will recognize that they are young and have the right to make mistakes.

I will hope that one day, they have a baby that someone wakes up and they remember me and maybe feel a little regret. Just a little.

I will pray that they can have softer hearts towards all their neighbors.

I pray that I can have a softer heart towards my neighbors.

I will wish one of the new residents between now and when we move will be nice when I bring a baked good with a friendly reminder about how loud they can be and the effect that noise has on my family.

I will turn the other cheek, for no other reason than I am commanded to.

I am going to give them the other cheek for a while, too. The non-confrontational cheek. The cheek that doesn’t call the cops at 10:01. The cheek that leaves the cookies on the doorstep with no note – just cookies. The cheek that smiles when I see them instead of trying to figure out if they are a visitor or a new roomie. The cheek that has all my patience stored up.

Maybe we will see immediate blessings from this – like the fact that they just turned the music off. Maybe we will get into our home faster because the Lord is pleased with my cheek turning. Maybe we will get so many blessings from this that I will never think of a neighbor as bad ever again.

Maybe none of that will happen, but turning the cheek is the choice I have made and I intend to build my mansion in Heaven with smiles, patience, brownies, patience, no more calls to the police, patience, waves, and patience.

Say a prayer for me as patience is not my strong suit…