When Life Hands You an Awkward Phase

There are times when I feel like my whole life has been one big awkward phase (can I get an "Amen?"). Don’t get me wrong, there have been some particularly awkward stages… I was once told by a group of boys on the playground that my freckles looked just like I had boogers all over my face. Boogers. Kids seriously know how to cut each other deep. For years, I would think about that when talking to people. “Are they thinking about how ugly and gross my freckles are?” For years, I had to work to look people in the eye, I felt so ashamed of how I looked.

Since those playground days I’ve grown to love my freckles, appreciating that these angel kisses (who told you they were sun damage?!) are something that makes me “me.” The only awkward thing about the stage in my life where I hated them was the fact that I listened to some 10 year old boys and let their thoughtless words become my reality.

A few months after we had Henry, I attended a work event with Tyler that a few potential clients had flown into town for. Small talk has never really been my jam, so I have to put on my big girl pants to go to these things (and usually drink wine).

I started having a conversation with one of his client’s girlfriends, who was only a few years older than me and already had a wildly successful career. She stood tall in her stilettos and spoke with calm, measured words about her work and her travels. I listened, in awe of the life she had built for herself at such a young age. Suddenly I realized the conversation had turned to me.

“So, Kelly. Where have you and your husband been traveling lately?”

Umm. “Well….” I thought. “I’ve carried, birthed and nursed 2 babies in the last 18 months so sometimes if I time things juuuust right between nursing sessions, I get a lovely little vaca to the neighborhood Target where I order an Americano and bask in the soothing glow of fluorescent bulbs while perusing the dollar section for super cute polka dot gift tags that will surely end up forgotten in the bottom of a dresser drawer… Hmm… Oooo and if I really want to take a good ‘holiday’ I pour myself a glass of wine and retreat to my sofa to watch The Bachelor, where I promptly fall asleep. I haven’t seen a rose ceremony in 2 years! It’s the peak of luxury, let me tell you!”

I didn’t want to make her envious of my super glamorous lifestyle so I just said “We haven’t been traveling a lot with the babies, but are hoping to plan a weekend getaway when my son is a bit older.”

The woman stared at me for a long moment, poorly attempting to conceal a smirk. “Aww, well that’s ok.” She patted my arm and then mumbled something about refreshing her ¾ full glass of champagne before disappearing into the crowd.

I felt tiny, standing there alone, and soon went off in search of the man who had convinced me to marry him and then impregnated me… twice… crushing the vision I’d once had of getting all my ducks in a row before I even thought about this life. I never doubted that I wanted to be married someday, but kids? I really hadn’t thought much about it. I was an only child for most of my life, I liked kids, I babysat all the time... but I really liked having the ability to go home to my own space where there was peace and quiet and books that weren’t about talking elephants. I had never thrived in chaos and I just didn’t know if I had the skill set to be a mom.

The truth is, Tyler didn’t have to convince me of anything. When I met him, my dreams just changed. They didn’t change FOR him, they changed with him, and because of all of the new things I discovered about myself in a relationship where I could be the realest version of Kelly there was and still receive unconditional love. I remember watching him interact with his sweet niece Bella, a month into dating, and just knowing he was going to be the father of my children. Wait, what children?! Who were these “children” I was suddenly dreaming of?

Fast forward 3 years to me staring at a perfect, tiny little human that God had somehow entrusted Ty and I with, feeling like a fish out of water in a strange land of play dates and minivans. So wonderfully fulfilled and grateful and simultaneously fighting a daily battle against feelings of inadequacy and emptiness. Who let me make such a big life decision without, at the very least, filling out some sort of personality assessment?! Had I unknowingly thrown myself another awkward phase? 

Our church is currently in a sermon series on the life of Moses. And let me tell you, the man chosen by God to free His people and receive His commandments has a lot more in common with us mammas (and dads, and students, and pretty much everyone) than you might think.

We live in this culture that places such obsessive value on purpose. What is your purpose? Are you seeking out your purpose? Are you living out your purpose?! This push is compounded by social media, where we can daily scroll through a reel of beautiful snapshots that exude drive and success. Instagram is like an episode of "Friends," isn't it? We see the 2% of the day where besties are sipping coffee from oversized mugs, laughing together on a burnt orange sofa at their favorite coffee shop... but rarely the 70% of the day spent quietly filling out paperwork in a gray office. (Look, I get it. I post the pretty stuff too. No one wants to see the nasty dishes that have been sitting in my sink all day or the mound of diapers in my garbage.)

But what I think can happen, on a search for purpose, is that we forget the beauty of the minutia. Grasping for a sure and immediate “purpose,” we forget how, for a season, the minutia can be our purpose. The middle FORTY years of Moses’ life was spent tending sheep. The last FORTY years were spent wandering in the desert. He wasn’t parting seas every day, y’all.

As a stay at home mom, for instance, the loving rhythm of diaper changes, meals, clean up, books, puzzles, bedtime, laundry, laundry, laundry, laundry… (You get the point. But really, can someone explain to me mathematically how each tiny new baby increases the laundry tenfold?!) can lead me to actual feelings of guilt… I start to feel like I’m not engaged in society in a meaningful way and yet I’m still so freaking exhausted. Who are these energizer bunnies starting non-for-profits and serving on the PTA and planning dinner parties every week? My main goal some days is to keep my babies fed, alive, and relatively happy, and to keep the pile of laundry to be washed and/or folded from reaching the ceiling. It sounds an awful lot like minutia, when you put it like that.

But if Moses, arguably one of the key players in the story of the Bible, spent 40 years of his life quietly and faithfully tending sheep, then who am I, Kelly Barnett, to downgrade the blessed role of quietly and faithfully tending to my children, day in and day out? Who am I to call it minutia, and let my restlessness to BE something NOW (insert foot stomp) stand in the way of seeing what a miracle it is to build a Lego tower with a little boy who grew in my belly?! Who am I to say that there is anything more glorious and life giving than lying in my daughter’s bed while she scratches my back and tells me an imaginative bedtime story about an adventurous traveler following a treasure map to find his favorite rainbow shovel?!

“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself; tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches." -Rainer Maria Rilke

The desire for purpose is, intrinsically, a good desire. But what I fear for us mammas (and CEOs and presidential candidates and, again, pretty much everyone) is that we’ve confused the appearance of purpose with actual purpose. We’ve grown to value the high of loud, big picture achievements over daily, quiet acts of work and service... the "minutia" that make up the majority of a life... even the life of a man like Moses. 

If you, like me, feel as if you spend most of your days tending sheep or wandering in the desert, uncertain that you are even doing the “little” things right and unclear about what the future holds, I’d like to encourage you that there is a season for everything, that your work is meaningful, and that he who is faithful with little will most certainly be entrusted with much.

Xx

kb

Author's Note: My mom sent me this today. Of course, it's perfect (and much more succinctly put than my musings):

"Obedience is not a moment: it is a process connected by countless moments. Jesus neither started obeying nor finished obeying in John 12. In the midst of Jesus journey, he felt troubled. Clearly, then, a troubled soul is not always the sign of a faith deficit. A troubled soul is sometimes the signature of obedience-in-the- making." 

40 days of Decrease

When an Insomniac Loves a Narcoleptic

On Monday, Henry woke up at 3 a.m., sobbing, so I went to his room to calm him down and "asked" Ty to run down to the kitchen and warm up a cup of milk for him. I hoped that with some efficient teamwork we could get our little night owl right back to bed and avoid yet another too-early wake up call.

I started reading "Dragons Love Tacos" to sweet, sniffling Henry, finished it, and then read it again. I heard the microwave door slam downstairs but 5 more minutes passed and my husband still had not arrived with warm milk. Henry snuggled up and pleaded "more, mamma!" so I opened the book and read it again, starting to worry about Ty. 

As I turned the last page my husband appeared, eyes half-shut, wobbling at the top of the stairs. He carried no warm milk, but instead, a wooden bowl. 

"Ty" I rushed over to him, "are you ok?! Where's Hank's milk?"

He blinked a long blink and handed me the bowl. It was filled to the brim with what looked like half melted ice cubes and water. "I don't know what you wanted." He said. "I brought you this." 

Our working theory is that he put a wooden bowl of ice in the microwave. 

In the words of Jim Gaffigan, "Thaaaaanks hoooooney."

One morning, early in our marriage, Ty's phone alarm kept going off but he was dead to the world. I super sweetly grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Honey! Your alarm has literally been going off for 10 minutes. GET. UP."

"Wha? Huh?! Kay."

He shut off his alarm, slowly climbed out of bed, and walked across the room to our dresser. He opened a middle drawer, leaned over, and started whispering into it. 

New to his unique sleep habits, this was super creepy to me. 

"Ty! What are you doing?"

He ignored me and continued speaking in hushed tones to his undershirts. After another riveting minute he closed the drawer, walked back to our bed, and cuddled up like nothing had happened.

"Ty!! Wake up!" I put my hand on his cheek "Hello!"

He opened his eyes, slightly, and smiled. "Hello."

"What were you doing over there by the dresser?"

He closed his eyes and smiled again. "Tiger Woods is in our drawer. He gave me all of the secrets to golf. All of them." He rolled over and went back to sleep.

   sweet, sleepy loves

•••

It is currently 3:47 a.m. and I have been awake for the last 2 hours, not because of our children but just thanks to some good old pregnancy induced discomfort/insomnia. The worst kind of awake to be, in my opinion. And yet, as I type on my phone and giggle about what a weirdo my husband is at night, I can't help but feel overwhelmingly grateful for my sweet, funny little family and even for our sleepless nights.

Don't get me wrong, becoming a parent has made me a firm believer that sleep deprivation is a form of slow and painful torture. Moms who can slam some coffee, put on makeup, and happily function on 3 hours of sleep are like strange, beautiful unicorns to me. When I get 3 hours of sleep I feel like I spend the day trudging through thick mud, and I definitely don't look cute doing it. 

Everyone says we are going to miss this and while the sentiment can sound a bit like nails on a chalkboard when I am walking around with mascara smudged under my eyes like some sort of deranged zombie-mom... "surviving not thriving," as they say... I know their words are true. 

I already miss it, in a way. Even when the days are long, the months go by so fast. I blink and Violet has stopped calling smoothies "mooshies." Henry is helping himself to a cup of water (preferably from the fridge)... time is flying faster than it ever has before.

This morning I'm thankful for the hard stuff because I am reminded that it so very often comes hand in hand with the best stuff.

Now, to make some coffee and start my day. This sleep thing is for the birds (and Tyler). 

kb

To Know + To Love

Years ago I asked a friend what their thoughts were on what the Bible calls "Faith like a child." We've all seen so much by the time we exit childhood, and especially into adulthood. Not one of us comes through scot-free. Death, failure, divorce, war, famine, cancer, job-loss, love-loss, miscarriage, depression, abuse, addiction... How is it that we could possibly "become like little children" after all that we've been through and all that we've seen?

My friend responded and said that to tell people to have child-like faith is a slippery slope. He said that it promotes ignorance and immaturity within the church to instruct people to blindly follow and never ask questions.

I thought about this a lot, at the time, and in the moment wasn't sure how to confidently counter that statement. I knew Christ wouldn't say something as bold as “unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven,” if it wasn’t true.

Almost 10 years passed with that question invading my mind again and again. Obviously when Christ talks about "faith like a child," He isn't likening it to some sort of spiritual immaturity or carelessness. He isn’t saying “be child-ISH.” So what DOES He mean?

Last week I started re-reading a book my grandfather wrote called "The Immortal I: Restoring the Sovereignty of the Soul.” In it, he talks about loving and knowing--unique faculties of the soul--and how these are modeled in the life of a child. I flipped through his book, excitedly, as the answer to my question began to materialize in a new and beautiful way.

TO KNOW

“Um mommy, how is that baby going to get out of your tummy?” Every. Single. Night. “You know Violet,” I say for the 27th time, “God has a special way that He helps mommies have babies when they are ready. I’ll go to the doctor and daddy will be there too... and when we come home you will have a little baby brother or sister! Isn’t that amazing?!”

“Well, yeah.” Violet wrinkles her forehead. “But HOW does the baby get OUT?”

Umm….

“Why is the sky gray today? Why are my feet stinky? Why does daddy make eggs better than you do? Who made the park? Who made the trees? Why are there bad guys? Why did Henry pee on my floor? How do I make a house out of play-doh? How do I make a castle out of play-doh? Is heaven bigger than a castle? Why doesn’t my play-doh taste good? Is God bigger than the BIGGEST WHALE IN THE WHOLE OCEAN?” And 'round and 'round we go on the merry-go-round that is questions asked by a 3 year old.

Contrary to the assertation that a child is somehow blissfully ignorant, anyone who spends 5 minutes around a young child quickly finds a tiny person that is hungry for knowledge and delights in gaining understanding.

TO LOVE

As I write this afternoon I can hear Violet singing a made up melody to herself in the next room:

"I love mommy and mommy loves me. I love daddy. Daddy loves me. I love my fam-i-ly. Henry loves me and I love my brother Heeenry. We are a family and we loooo-oooo-oove each other..."

Children delight in the gift that is the ability to love and be loved. With no agenda (usually) they dole out kisses and praises and gratitude and adoration because they know the infinite pleasure of the self-less love that God created us for. And while they are surely not perfect, a 3 or 4 year old hasn't been tainted by a hunger for

money or power or wordy accolades… the gifts of loving and being loved, in and of themselves, are new and beautiful miracles to a child.

“Airplane! Airplane! Airplane!” Henry cries, pointing wildly at the sky. He does this when we drive, he does this when we walk. He waits by the window on garbage day and stands in silent wonder at the splendor of a garbage truck lifting and dumping bins, over and over. I read him “Corduroy” 20 times in one morning and every time we get to the page with the night watchman he jumps up from my lap and yells “Flashlight! Flashliiiiiight!” Children do not miss the miracles that have become like white noise to us. They see the good that is everywhere with fresh eyes and open hearts.

“Life is not lost by dying. Life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in small uncaring ways.” –Stephen Vincent Benet

Tragically, like any good and perfect gift that has been abused since the fall, we lose sight of the perfection of the Love of God. We begin to twist and taint and hoard love to meet our selfish needs. We can’t see the forest through the trees anymore, forgetting that God’s ways are higher than our ways. We are hurt and broken and blind, fumbling in the darkness to fill our emptiness with a love that we design, a love that is selfish and half-hearted and riddled with contingencies.

FAITH LIKE A CHILD

How many sitcoms or dramatic series have you started watching loathing a main character? Then, by the end of the series, you adore them and even miss their quirks? Great character development in cinema is achieved by showing us the true, multi-faceted nature of imperfect, lovable people. We are only able to LOVE when we truly KNOW (understand). We seek to KNOW when our barriers are down and our hearts are open.

I believe what many brilliant people have said before me (including my grandpa Gene-Hey grandpa!), that this only happens in a deep, transformational way when we seek to know and love a perfect God who already knows and loves us. Christ’s words about entering the Kingdom of Heaven are not about exclusion. They are about giving us exactly what we’ve been seeking in this life.

If we knock, the door will be opened. THAT is what Christ means when he talks about “faith like a child.” And THAT is Good News.

kb    

   

Author’s Note: For more on “The Immortal I” by Eugene B. Shea: http://www.theimmortali.com/

Perfect Love

"Our whole business in this world is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen."

-St. Augustine

I don't usually set New Years resolutions (per a somewhat depressing track record), but this year in our small group we were encouraged to set a goal for our spiritual walk. I knew right away what my goal should be. It nagged at me every day. "Wake up before your kids do each morning and spend time in the presence of God." 

As far as goals go, this one is pretty benign, right? I just set my alarm for 5:30 a.m., get up, make some coffee, and start my day from a place of peace instead of chaos. Sounds heavenly really.

But here we are, a month into my goal setting, and this has happened exactly once. Kind of... That day I hit snooze until 6 a.m. and the kids woke up 5 minutes into my quiet time. Another day I woke up early with the best intentions but started putting dishes away and got distracted with chores until I realized it was light outside and Henry was screaming "Mammaaaa! Hungry!!!" from his crib. 

Since that time, he has learned to safely climb out of his bed on his own which, as you can imagine, has set off a whole new chain of interesting and wonderful challenges in our household. This morning, for example, he woke up at 3:30 a.m., bright eyed and bushy tailed, screaming that he wanted to "GO PLAY!! PLAAAAAAY!" 

Of course. Why wouldn't you wake up at 3:30 a.m. thinking about Legos? 

It is now 7:15 a.m. and here we all are, still wide awake. Lord help me today. My alarm went off at 5:30 for quiet time but at that point our house had been anything but quiet for the last 2 hours.

This morning I decided I wasn't going to abandon my quiet time all together since I couldn't do it "just so," so while Henry played with trains and Vi watched an episode of The Magic School Bus, I pulled out Jesus Calling and flipped to a few of the dates I had missed this week. February 7 says this:

"Come to me for rest and refreshment. The journey has been too much for you, and you are bone-weary. Do not be ashamed of your exhaustion. Instead, see it as an opportunity for Me to take charge of your life." 

I love that. "Do not be ashamed of your exhaustion." Isn't shame what is holding so many of us back every single day? I'll speak for myself.. I fear failure, I fear others seeing my weaknesses... Gosh, I fear people knowing how much I am controlled by my fears! 

I forget, in my frenzy to get things "perfect", that God does not dole out love and acceptance the way the world does. His love is free and abundant and endless, and not based on my striving... or my failing. It just IS. 

I know that word perfectionism is often over-used, worn like a badge of honor. But if I've learned anything in 29 years of obsessively trying to get things right it's that (worldly) perfectionism is anything but honorable. In the end, no matter how layered or veiled it is behind good deeds and good habits, perfectionism is about prioritizing self-image above everything else. It is selfish. It's an addiction and while it may feel good for awhile, might even offer some great highs... it is ultimately crippling and will always leave you wanting. 

I would argue that we all struggle with perfectionism, in our own unique way/s. We have each grown to place value on different things and therefore each have different requirements for our ideal self-image to remain intact. Some "perfectionists" have more classic traits, but not one of us is fighting an easy battle. 

We cope with it differently. Some quit before they can fail, some obsess until they get it right, some mask feelings of inadequacy with other addictions. 

What starting my day meditating on God has done for me in seasons where I have been more disciplined is shut off my autopilot. It resets my mind to seek a different kind of Perfection. It is not a worldly perfection driven by pride, or shame. It is the ultimate Perfection that we were created for, which is to love and know God, and to love and know his children.

I'm not saying we shouldn't strive to be great at things. We've all been given unique and wonderful talents which we absolutely should utilize and multiply! As with just about everything in life, it all goes back to the motive. 

If we aren't ever quiet, if we don't ever listen... how will we ever truly know our own hearts?

This year my only resolution is to make space every day to be silent and to listen to God. If you aren't doing this already, I would love for you to join me in this journey!

Happy Valentines Day! You are Loved!

kb

*Author's note: The morning after I wrote a draft of this post, I had my first successful quiet time in a long time. When the kids woke up, a copy of Jesus Calling was still on the sofa. Violet brought it to me, opened to June 5, and asked me to read that page. Here is what it said:

"Remember that you live in a fallen world: an abnormal world tainted by sin. Much frustration and failure result from your seeking perfection in this life. There is nothing perfect in this world except Me. That is why closeness with Me satisfies deep yearnings and fills you with Joy.

I have planted longing for perfection in every human heart. This is a good desire, which I alone can fulfill. But most people seek fulfillment in other people and earthly pleasures or achievements. Thus they create idols, before which they bow down. (...) Make Me the deepest desire of your heart. Let Me fulfill your yearning for perfection. 

Sweet little Valentines

Gratitude, Game Changers, + The Boy Who Dumps Everything

Monday 6:52 a.m. 

Henry wants to help me make coffee this morning. I let him press the buttons on the Keurig and hold him as we wait. He pushes his warm, velvety cheek up against mine and is perfectly still while the coffee maker hums. 

The smell of hazelnut fills our nostrils and steam swirls lazily out of my coffee cup. "Woooow" he whispers softly, his eyes wide, as if coffee brewing is the most wonderful and miraculous thing he's ever seen.

"My feelings exactly Henry. My feelings exactly." 

Monday 7:40 a.m.

Lately I've realized that I can send the kids to play in the basement playroom together, unsupervised, for small chunks of time. This is a game changer because for the last 3 1/2 years I've had to have eyes on at least one of them pretty much every waking moment. (And in the brief moments I haven't, as you've read, destruction has been swift and certain.)

So now, on mornings when we are at home, I make the kids breakfast and then send them down to the playroom for a bit. In the 5-15 minutes (usually 30 seconds) that they play together happily, I sip coffee, clean up, write, read, flip on the food network.. It's a serious luxury and in these moments I think that maybe adding a third to the mix isn't going to be so tough! (Moms of 3+, I can HEAR you collectively LOL-ing as you sip your ice cold coffee... just let me have this one ok?!)

My secret to success in this time has been telling Violet that she's the babysitter and needs to let me know if Henry gets into mischief. (Mostly because I love the way she says the word "mischief.") 

Today, I send the kids downstairs to play while I clean up the kitchen after  breakfast. "Ok mamma!" Shouts Violet gleefully. "Don't worry." She puts her thumb to her chest, "I'LL let you know if Henry gets into mischief!" 

As I vacuum the last few crumbs off of the kitchen floor and the microwave beeps with my reheated coffee, I hear Violet shout from the basement "Mommy! Mommy! Henry just got into THE BIGGEST MISCHIEF EVER."

Bye bye, sweet, hot, coffee. Maybe we will meet again when these crazies go to college.

Monday 9 a.m.

The challenging side of having a 2 year old with the body of a ninja and the mind of an engineer is that he can pretty much get to and open/disassemble whatever he wants in under a minute. 

The bright side is that he's crazy observant. 

This morning Hank wanted to help me put away the dishes. I was hesitant, because as much as my life can (and does) get chaotic and messy and disorganized, I have always functioned better in order. If my kitchen cabinets don't look like this:

I start to feel a little bit like the whole system is imploding. (Tyler can attest to how often I talk about this "system." He totally loves it.) 

I watch Hank as he grabs a cutting board, walks it over to the proper cabinet, and slides it in sideways, next to the other cutting boards. I wait as he goes back for the ladle and puts it in the drawer with the large utensils, then grabs a tiny whisk and puts it in the drawer with the small utensils. "More please mamma!" He looks at me, waiting to see if he can continue.

...By all means son, PROCEED!

He pulls out the kids' plastic plates and heads to the pantry. He stacks them the way I do, with the large plates on the bottom, the medium plates in the middle, and the bowls on top.

Game changer. 

Later in the afternoon, I ask him to start cleaning up his blocks before nap time and he does this...

...so clearly I'm not raising a child prodigy over here. But still, game changer. 

Monday 5:03 p.m.

If you ever happen to call yourself "zen" in a blog post, you'd better be prepared for something like this to happen (again), causing you to question if your life is actually the movie Groundhog Day and if it's time to purchase a wet vac so you can stop lugging one to and from The Home Depot every 2 days:

   

The kids are not in the picture because this time they knew they'd better RUN.

Shout out to my sweet husband who--with full knowledge that he would be the one retrieving and operating the wet vac for the next 2 hours--returned home from work, caught sight of the detergent crime scene, and hugged me. "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry" he said. "I'll head to Home Depot"

Dear Lord, give me this man's patience. 

And may we all have the patience of Tyler Barnett this week.

kb

On Vulnerability and Parenting a Ninja

Inspired by Brenè Brown and so many other women out there writing and sharing and championing vulnerability, I started my own blog last week. At the moment when I wrote it I was feeling more.. how do you say... "On the verge of losing my marbles" than "inspired." Fortunately being on the verge of losing your marbles can be really helpful when it comes to writing something real. 

After I posted my blog I had some really kind and wonderful people encourage me and offer to help me in my pregnant/sick/sleep deprived/wild-eyed time of need. I was reminded that even in the moments when I feel lonely as a mostly stay-at-home mom, I am surrounded by this amazing, caring community of people--many of whom have been right where I'm at--and that I am not at all alone. Thank you so much for that reminder. 

The other thing I took away from the experience of sharing was just what Brenè Brown was talking about when she wrote "The Power of Vulnerability." 

Once I shared a parenting low point (and lest you think that wasn't so bad, we have been much lower, trust me), I began noticing some changes. 

For instance, I didn't feel my blood pressure rise to dangerous levels when Henry found Christmas sprinkles in the pantry the next morning and dumped them all over our floor (Yes, he dumps out all of the things. All of the time. We are working on it. Anyone who knows him can attest to the fact that he is basically Dash + Curious George combined. So fast. So sneaky. A toddler ninja really.) 

    Our little Ninja at work 

Anyway, I'm looking at this blanket of sprinkles on the floor and wondering why I don't feel my usual bubbling rage/anxiety. And these are the super tiny sprinkles, guys. They are freaking everywhere. His face is dyed green. His hands are dyed green. My pantry door is covered in green handprints. 

I bathe the kids and we have another great flood but today I don't care about it as much. I calmly grab the towels that I had to wash from the bath time flood the night before and soak up the mess. While my kids giggle and cover one another in bubbles I ponder where this new zen Kelly has come from. Where has she been all of my life?! Then it hits me. 

The great power of vulnerability is that the perfection jig is up. Hey world! I'm not always awesome at my job and don't always love it and my home currently looks like a frat house that got hit with the flu (for reals), so if you stop over unannounced you won't be surprised that I haven't showered in 3 days and there's pizza sauce on my walls and I am throwing bowls of Cheerios (Now gluten free! Mom win!) at my children for breakfast while they sit on the couch naked. Sorry. We buy organic and I make some awesome green smoothies (those are still in right? Or is that soo 2010?) just about every day around here but every once in awhile Portillos cheese fries are in order. I'm only human. 

Phew. That felt good. You guys already knew I wasn't perfect. Now I know that you know and this is all just soooo much easier. 

Freeeedom!!!

I'm not saying that because I shared with you all how many times I pee my pants every day when I am pregnant and have bronchitis, I'll never lose my temper again. I obviously will. The other day Henry walked into the bathroom with an empty plastic cup and emerged with a full one... It hit me as the cup touched his lips that I NEVER HEARD WATER RUNNING. That's the kind of stuff I'm dealing with over here. 2 year olds chugging toilet water. Barf. 

I AM saying that after one of the most dark and challenging years of my life (I'll go into some of that another day), I needed some light. I've been praying for healing. And I feel like God answered my plea by reminding me of two incredibly important things this week. I'm sharing them for anyone else who needs a little light right now:

Be Real

This one is obviously not a novel idea... Many have said it before me and more eloquently. But sometimes I have to hear things a million times before they sink in so I'm sharing it again for people like myself... Find a community with kind people and in your own time, in your own way, share your reality. For me, writing helps a ton because I have always communicated better that way. But hey.. You do you. 

Find Your Yoga

We all have a thing (or multiple things) we like to do where an hour passes and it feels like minutes. Whether it is quilting, writing, drawing, actual yoga, running, building model airplanes, singing.. Whatever isn't a paid job and brings forth a sort of meditative state in your day.. Make it a priority. The hard things don't seem as overwhelming when you are tackling them from a place of fullness. And don't make the mistake of thinking that just being busy will fill you up. Be intentional! 

Fortunately for me, writing hits both of these items on the list. So now that I am feeling restored and have a sleeping toddler, I am off to tackle the mountain of laundry that has been staring at me for weeks. (And by "tackle laundry" I clearly mean turning on The Barefoot Contessa and doing lunges while I text my besties.)  

Praying your week is full in all the best ways! 

kb

"Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light."

Brené Brown

Keep Your Friends Close and Your Toddlers Closer

I pull a Tombstone pizza out of the oven, sneeze, and pee my pants.

Damn.

I quickly slice pieces for the kids, pour them some Gatorade (mixed with water, I'm not a monster), and try to silence the voices in my head telling me that the preservatives and refined sugar in this meal are most definitely going to give them ADHD and cancer.

Hey! Self! You've had bronchitis for a month. You are pregnant. You haven't been able to sleep more than 3 hours/night in a week. They'll survive. It's ok to be imperfect.

But is it?! I immediately picture 10 horrifying articles posted by well meaning friends that prove that it is in fact NOT ok and that with each frozen meal I cook or (gasp!) pop in the microwave.. I am slowly but surely poisoning my sweet babies. My heart aches.

Ok guys, mommy has to run upstairs and change. Work on your pizza ok?

Ok mamma!
Kaaaay!

So sweet. So innocent.

After searching through the pile--nay, the EVEREST--of unfolded clean laundry covering my bedroom floor for 2 minutes I snag a pair of underwear and leggings, get dressed, and race back downstairs. 2 minutes was plenty of time for my kids to cover their bodies with pizza sauce and knock their Gatorade-water on the floor. Henry has pulled his stool away from the island and over to the counter. He wobbles precariously on top of it, victoriously waving the pizza cutter in the air.

I rescue Edward Scissorhands from himself and am too exhausted to get angry about the pizza-tastrophe.

Ok guys. Dinner is done. Bath. Now.

Yay!!! They squeal and get naked as they run up the stairs, throwing pants and diapers and underwear into the air like confetti. Bath! Bath! Bath! they chant. I follow them up the stairs frantically trying to wipe their hands with baby wipes as they smear pizza sauce all over the walls.

Once they are in the tub and satisfied with the quantity of bubbles, I breathe and remind myself Ty will be done with his meeting in an hour and a half. I can do this. They are so happy in the tub! They are nutso but I really have the sweetest babies. I really do... Sigh..

I cough and pee my pants again.

DAMN.

In the 30 seconds it takes me to run to my room and put sweats on they have somehow flooded the entire bathroom floor. I step into the bathroom before I realize what has happened and soak my socks.

Nothing pisses me off more than wet socks. Nothing.

I yell like a maniac and say this bath is DONE! DONE!!!! I use all 2 of the clean towels in our house to soak up the lake formerly known as our kids' bathroom. I lecture them about wasting water and the dangers of mold damage and they look at me like I'm speaking Portuguese. I drain the bath water and go searching for clean jammies. I can't find one pair. While I am looking they start to refill the tub and dump out an entire bottle of shampoo. 

To pass the time until the bath fills, they begin throwing their bath toys into the toilet. They can't play catch from one foot away but when it comes to tossing toys in the toilet they are draining shots like MJ. What the heck.

GUYS! I fish the toys out of the toilet and put them in the sink to sanitize later. Add it to the list. You don't throw anything in the potty! Ever!!!! I shout with my squeaky half-voice. Understand? You guys are making me crazy!

I am reminded that I need to call a plumber about our powder room toilet which is currently clogged since Henry flushed a half roll of toilet paper down it. I remember I need to call a contractor about the laundry room door that my little Hulks have somehow pulled off the track. I step in a still-damp blue spot on our carpet and realize that I really do need to call a carpet cleaner about this situation that happened the day before when a sweet babysitter thought my kids were napping upstairs:

I cry an ugly cry, dress my children in the comfiest clothes I can find, and tell them to get in bed. I will bring them their milk. It is 6:18 p.m. and tonight, that is bedtime.*

*Author's note: Not every night is like this. Fear not, humans of the world, we are not raising a couple of Caillous over here. (I hope!) The redeeming moment of the evening actually came when I served my kids their pizza and Violet grabbed our hands and prayed this prayer:

Dear Father,
Thank you for this wonderful day.
Thank you for this delicious pizza that you and Kelly made for us.
Thank you for helping my mommy feel better.
Amen.

Amen.