"Us" Thinking

When Andy and I were first married, we lived in a 2nd story apartment. I just realized this sentence makes me sound like I'm 75. The optimal transitional word here would be, anyway, there was one night when we were having some really bad weather blowing through. There were heavy thunderstorms with the potential for tornadoes and our eyes were glued to the Weather Channel. At about midnight, the sirens in our area started going off and as previously planned in an emergency, I phoned our downstairs neighbor to tell her we were coming down to seek shelter. I hung up the phone and I bolted for the door.

I left everything...including my new groom. My neighbor opened the door to my panic-stricken face (I am firmly anti-tornado) and stared at me for a few seconds. "Are you going to let me in?" I demanded. She just stared. I was annoyed...and panicked. "Where's Andy?" she asked looking behind me. I paused. Oh right, him. "There wasn't time," I yelled over the thunder in the background. Just then, my husband appeared behind me with his wallet, my purse, our wedding rings, the cell phones, the chargers and our passports. "Thanks for waiting," he managed as we made our way into safety.

Clearly my husband was good at "us" thinking. I, on the other hand, needed a little more time to adjust to thinking about the welfare of someone other than myself...like in a tornado...during an evacuation to a neighbor's house.

When Sam was first born, I would get ready to go somewhere and allot myself the 10 short minutes it basically takes to get myself ready. I would grab my purse, check the charge on my cell phone and then look down at the baby looking at me from the bouncy seat. "Oh, right. You're going too," letting it sink in that I would need an additional fifteen minutes to gear up to bring a newborn and that thought hadn't even occurred to me. It wasn't that I had forgotten about him, I just wasn't, as I previously stated, doing a whole lot of "us" thinking.

In the beginning year of being a mom, I would foolishly make plans during nap time and think that a 'late' dinner worked great for me. That was "me" thinking.

I look at my life today. I see how intertwined the three of our lives, minds and hearts are and I can't imagine, at this point, NOT "us" thinking. The love and devotion to my family has (thankfully) grown over the few years we've had together and I'm so thankful that they are a part of my life.

I'm also thankful that Andy didn't hold the tornado incident against me and that Sam was too young to remember the maternal hiccups I had in the beginning.

And just for the record, I would shove them both in a tornado shelter before me...now THAT is coming a long way, baby!

Bible Verse

According to Sam,


I pray this is only the beginning of a lifetime of delighting in God's word.

Sam's Mommy

Evil Sleeves

I hate the changing of the seasons. Not because of allergies or because I prefer hot weather to cold or vice versa. I hate changing seasons because of sleeves. Yep, I totally said sleeves.

You see, changing seasons means changing wardrobes. It means going from jeans and sweatshirts to shorts and short sleeves. Each time we have to make one of these seasonal wardrobe transitions with my child, its traumatic...for everyone. It also means, that once you've won the fight, you can't go back. It doesn't matter if there is a cold snap in late May...you've broken the seal, gotten through the withdrawal symptoms over winter clothes and going backwards is not an option. He's just going to have to be cold.

Every fall, the fight is about jackets and coats. It starts off in early October by a weeks worth of chasing him around the house, pinning him to the floor with, let's face it, your knee in his back so he won't get pneumonia on the playground. He stops running away from you by mid November, stops screaming by Christmas and is bringing you his jacket in early March when you're matching up his summer short sets. Let's not even talk about hats and mittens. I just don't even go there. Yes, I have the kid on the playground with blue fingers and red ears. You come over and put gloves on him.

A few weeks ago, we had gotten him into shorts and t-shirts. It took some difference of opinion sharing (tantrums). He pulled at his arms crying and yelling, "no shirt" while I was- well sweating because he was kicking me. I find I sweat a lot with a two year old. I'm not really sure I even need a gym membership at this point. I was arrogant to think we had gotten through the worst part and so I decided to push it with a sleeveless shirt this week and some new sandals. It was Saturday, 9:05Am - perhaps you heard the screaming and wasn't sure if you should call 911.

The truth is, I have about 15 minutes of a stubborn mommy clock. I let him writhe on the floor, screaming, crying and, I think, foaming at the mouth. I say things like, "well, you're just going to have to work this out, Samuel." and "I wish all I had to be stressed out about in life were sleeves.". If he is still showing the same passion about his opinion after fifteen minutes, I think to myself, "If I had $5000 right now, I would give it to him to stop screaming because this is the most miserable moment of my entire life. I just want it to be over."

What can I say? Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. Saturday, I lost. No sleeveless shirt, no sandals and no satisfaction when he stopped crying in the time it took me to say, "Okay, fine, you win," and skipped into the living room saying, "Max and Ruby."

The boy has got mad skillz sometimes.

Date Night is a Great Night

Door to door, Andy and I can do a date night in three hours. Nope, we're not trying to win a contest. We're just old, lame and really really tired. It's especially bad when your own parents, who are babysitting for you, mention that you got home like two hours before they expected you. It's even worse, that as they are telling you this, you are just wanting them to leave so you can put on the pajama pants you've been dreaming about all evening.

Last night, despite the Olympic qualifier of an evening, we had an especially fun time. We went to see an IMAX show about Arabia. It was really interesting. Upon watching the film, I have decided that besides the obvious core differences between being Baptist and being Muslim, I just really couldn't be Muslim because the one trip you have to take to Mecca involves a whole lot of people in each other's space. I'm talking a WHOLE LOT of people in space that was NOT MEANT for that many people. I'm too into my personal space to go to Mecca. Does this make me culturally shallow? I guess I can live with that.

During the film, we sat a few seats down from Mr. Talkstooloud and Mrs. Everythingihavetosayduringthismovieisreallycharmingincludingmyreallyloudandobnoxiouslaugh but we'll call them Bob and Betty for short. Bob and Betty were clearly on a date, and they were really cocky about it. I desperately wanted to shush them. My husband really just wanted me to mind my own business and watch the movie. Since research shows that the loudest sound on Earth is someone making a shushing noise to someone else, I caved and became increasingly more bitter as I tried to concentrate on the windstorms and galloping camels on the screen. It was all I could do to not tell Betty that they were the rudest people on earth as we passed in the ladies restroom. You see, I have this fear, that if I tell someone off, like what I truly think of their behavior in a way that is just nasty (you know like I'm thinking it)...they will decide to visit my church next Sunday. I know, that statement is all kinds of wrong and Jesus would never snear something ugly at a woman on a date in the bathroom at IMAX, but I'm just being honest.

I'll pray about that later.

Afterward we went to eat at our favorite pizza place. I mean favorite because I truly think they put something in their pizza that makes you sit up in the middle of the night and crave it. I only feel this addiction to three things in my life: Coffee, Gold Canyon Candles and this pizza place. If you are planning an intervention for us...don't bother. We happily plan our dates around this pizza place any and every chance we get. At one point in the evening, I told my husband a really lame joke at which he rolled his eyes and told me it was the worst joke ever. Then I laughed at it for fifteen minutes. I could not stop. It was mascara crying funny...to me.

At 9:30 sharp we arrived home to my parents who were sitting in our living room without a thought bubble over their heads. However, IF they were to have had a thought bubble, it would have said something like, "Geez kids these days do NOT know how to party." And its true, we don't. But what I have always loved about my relationship with my husband is our ability to laugh at ourselves. We laughed more last night, than we did in all of 2009 and it was wonderful!