Dear Sleep

Dear Sleep,

We have a strained relationship, you and me.  I want you, I need you, I love you, it's true.  But, I also hate to need you, don't have time for you, and can't live without you all the same.  What's with you, Sleep?  How do you get me so frenzied and tease me with the lure of clean sheets and soft pillows only to be interrupted by toddlers and bad dreams and the occasional indigestion.  You can be cruel.

You weren't always so elusive.  I can still remember having you around so often that I basked in the luxury of having you.  I would run late to class, church, even meeting up with friends because I was too busy spending time with you.  They might roll their eyes at me, call me a procrastinator, and I most likely made many excuses about why I wouldn't be on time...but, the secret truth was that I loved you and wasn't very concerned with disappointing others at the risk of spending another second with you.

Oh, sweet Sleep.  I took you for granted.  Years ago, when I would willingly choose to ignore you so that I could joke around with others into the wee morning, or ignore you when I had to focus on a college paper that was due or a project I had left until the last minute, I simply held no gratitude for your talents.  Perhaps I was jaded by the possibility of missing something bigger, something grander, something more exciting, and so I blew you off time and again, only to come begging back for more when I truly missed you.  I'm sorry.

Sleep, it hasn't always been easy.  There's been many nights when I tried to get in touch with you and couldn't.  I've had a rough go at times, sitting in silence and missing you and preoccupying myself with ways to entice you back.  Some nights I thought you'd left for good, finally fed up with not being appreciated, leaving me to watch TV, read a book, or succumb to writing out my feelings until I finally, finally found you and collapsed helplessly into you.

And now, we're nearly strangers.  We've been haphazardly apart for so long since my babies have been born.  I hardly recognize you when I'm in your presence and you feel like a charade of something I once used to be good at.  Every night, I long for you and when we finally meet it feels like a strange reunion with an old roommate I haven't seen in years:  familiar, yet displaced.

I'm sorry, Sleep.  Please come back for good.  I promise to be more appreciative, more attentive, more attuned to what we need.  I know we can make it work, I just know it.  I've recently gotten a new glimpse of you, one that comes with dreams of joy and dedicated blocks of time with full attention, and I've got to say - I really want more.  I've missed you, Sleep.  I don't deserve it, but I'm asking you to stay.  I know now that I need you around, forever and at regular intervals of time, not just when I think I'm desperate for you.

Who knows, maybe it's because I'm getting older or because your arch enemies Stress and Exercise visit me more often than they used to...but, that's no reason to end something good that we once had.  What do you say, Sleep?  Will you give me one more chance to make it right?  I've got some warm milk and some Benadryl waiting just for you.  I've fluffed the pillows just like you remember.  I'll even hum a round of Sunrise, Sunset to send us drifting away together.

Sleep, just know that from now on, I'm ready to be a team.  I'm ready to absorb all you have to give.  I'm ready to rest.  I need you, Sleep, and I've come to a place where I recognize that you are necessary for more than just cognitive function...you are also best friends with Sanity and Motivation!  And I really love them too (seriously, bring them around more often if you can!)  Thank you for never letting me down, Sleep.  For always being there at just the moment I can't find restoration anywhere else.  For never leaving me for good when I tried so hard to shove you away.  And, for showing up just in the nick of time when I'm so ready to welcome you back.

I love you, Sleep.  Never go.

Zzzzzz,


Emily

Father's Day

It's Father's Day!  Well, almost!  Got that tie ready?  Or that pair of socks?  How about a Dairy Queen cake with a golf club iced on top?  Or a card with a chimpanzee wearing a funny hat and fishing and making some joke about farting after grilling burgers on a sailboat?  Ah, Father's Day.

My dad and my firstborn, Matilda (Jan 2010)

As I was deciding what to get the men in my life for such an occasion, I was realizing just how incredibly lucky I am to be celebrating both my husband and my dad as fantastic fathers.  My dad is one of my favorite people in the universe.  He is handsome and humble and smart.  He's lived like eight different lives and seemingly been successful at just about everything he's tried.  He loves Jesus and challenges himself to keep learning.  He listens well and encourages thoughtfully.  He is always there for me when I have a question or just want to hear his voice after a KU basketball game.  I always felt pretty in his eyes and that he was proud to call me his own.  In other words, he set unbelievably high standards for me in choosing a mate.

And, I gotta say, even though it took me a while to find him, God sent me someone who checks every box on the list of insanely impossible achievements to meet in order to fulfill my dream hunk.  I knew I was the lucky one when I fell in love with Josh.  But now, seeing him as a father to our girls, everyone else can see it too.  Sure, he is normal - he has his moments of frustration and forgets to take out the trash or lets Matilda have Cheetos for breakfast now and then.  But, he has revealed to me an entirely new perspective on the father/daughter relationship, and just how important it is.

My own father had no reason to be as good a parent as he was.  Don't get me wrong, my grandparents were fine, normal, law-abiding, Jesus-loving citizens.  But, what I mean is, my dad really didn't have much "baby" experience - let alone "daughter" experience.  Sure, he had my older siblings ahead of me (a brother and a sister) but, my dad didn't grow up with any sisters or many women around to "learn how to raise a daughter right" or anything.  There wasn't "Raising Girls" by James Dobson yet.  No podcasts back then with tips on how to keep your daughter from an eating disorder or a bad boyfriend.  There's really no reason that he would have known to go out of his way to make sure I knew I was pretty, or that I shouldn't be scared to be smart, or that a stupid boy isn't worth my time if he's going to treat me poorly.  No reason, that is, except that he pursued the Word of God, did the best he could, and...I'm sure...fearfully and wonderfully took my mom at her word when she would warn him about the wiles of girlhood (though, as I've been told, raising me was in a league all its own, anyhow).

Baby Daphne's birth day
 (photo by mathieuphoto.com)

Now that I see fatherhood in action on a daily basis with my own daughters, it is shocking to me how much influence Josh has on them.  I mean, I'm the one who is there most of the day...making the toast, folding the laundry, tying the shoes, diapering the bums, pretending and making up songs and coloring and trying to fit a giggle or two in between the yells of "get off your sister!" or asking "do you have peepee?" for the zillionth time....right?  But, no matter, as soon as he walks in the door - it's ALL about DADDY!!!  Daddy daddy daddy daddy!  Matilda wants to tell him all about her day, show him what clothes she is wearing, sing for him, dance a little, play with his phone, take him outside to show him birds, color sidewalk chalk with him...you name it.  Certainly, the novelty quickly wears and she gets back into a normal groove of ornery habits not long after...but, in that initial greeting, you can see the enthusiasm and expectation building in her, just baiting him for a reaction.  The thing that gets me the most is how much she wants him to see her.  Any time she changes her clothes or hair or is playing dress-up - it's always "let's show daddy"...this, innate kind of beauty pageant that is built into her psyche to seek approval and encouragement over her appearance and boost her self-esteem.  Scary stuff, really!  And, to see her face light up at his genuine delight and compliments - well, that is just like sunshine in our home!  There is nothing else like it in the world.  Simply put - once you see it, you just want your kid to feel that way as much as possible.

Baby Daphne, 6 days old
(photo by mathieuphoto.com)

Daddies are so important to daughters.  Which is why it has taken me (evidently) thirty some odd years to soak in just how blessed I have been to grow up with a man who has taught me so much, encouraged my standards to stay high, and shown me that Christ is the only answer for my needs...Christ alone...not some college or some friend or some dress or some hairstyle or some title or some career or some award or some man.  And, today, I realize that I'm the exception in the world for many daughters.  I don't want to forget that on this Father's Day, and year after year, there are a lot of daughters missing out on that tangible, quality, trusting, loving, God-fearing man to call dad...and, my heart just breaks over that.

But, here's the awesome thing:  those daughters are not forgotten.  Listen, sisters, I know it is easy for me to say "You may not have a father, but you have a Heavenly Father"...but, it doesn't make it any less true.  In the eyes of Jesus, you aren't any less loved or less beautiful or less worthy of holding out for a super-terrific-awesome husband who will be a super-terrific-awesome dad to your own daughters someday too!

When I think about all this, and how Matilda's face lights up in the presence of her father - this is how I want to think of my Jesus.  I want to be excited to show Him who I am.  I want to be bursting at the seams to tell Him about my day.  I want to be so overcome with joy at the thought of Him that I can't help but want to hug someone and make the feeling contagious.

I love my dad with all my heart - for a zillion reasons listed and unlisted - but, most of all, I love that he taught me that the one and only man I need to rely on no matter what isn't him...it's Jesus.  And, that's something that can be celebrated in each of our hearts, every day...and you don't even have to buy a stupid card with a chimpanzee on the front.

Silly

I'm really thankful for humor in marriage today.  On occasion I will reveal what I call Team Pardy rules for our marriage.  Maybe "rules" is too harsh of a word - but I also like the double meaning of Team Pardy RULES as if we are conquering the world, and since they are guidelines that we do our best to live by, I suppose "rules" is just as good a word as any to describe them.   Well, here's one for you:  Keep it silly.  That is, Marriage and the Art of Silliness, if you will, truly go hand in hand in the Pardy home.  And let me tell you, between a crazy flu-stricken Mother's Day and the great flea infestation fiasco of 2012...if we didn't have humor, we would have probably strangled each other by now.

Being funny is not only an art form in our home, it is a constant competition.  Both Josh and I value humor and rate it extremely highly on our list of necessary traits for deep friendship - at least, if you aren't funny then you'd better think we are funny - that is, laugh near us if you can't laugh at us in the very least. And it has made our friendship deepen through the years while we are maintaining and growing in our love for each other.  Having humor in common is not only healthy for our relationship, however, it is also just loads of fun.  And you know, above all, I love that we don't even care if other people find us funny or not (yes, that would be you I'm talking about) - as long as we find each other funny, with all our inside jokes and songs and voices and quips - if we laugh at each other...mission accomplished.  With each and every chuckle, my heart is reminded:  He gets me.

So, we do our best to keep the silly in our marriage.  What do we find silly?  Well, a while back, before Josh left for work, I stole his phone.  We had just seen the Hunger Games movie, and so I changed my contact information in his phone to Katniss Everdeen (the lead character in the movie, in case you've been living under a rock for the last several months)...so, when I texted him (all day long) he received messages from "Katniss Everdeen", complimenting him, flirting with him, and keeping him updated on all things Capitol and what was happening in the arena and so on.  Silly.  What's better?  The next morning I started receiving messages from Mad Men's "Don Draper" (the lead character in that series in case you've been living under a rock for the last few years) all day long.  Pure silliness.

What else is silly in the Pardy home?  Our Chipotle fridge.

We love Chipotle.  I could honestly eat from Chipotle like every other night if I could afford it.  We almost always order the same thing again and again, and thanks to the iPhone app, we can place our order ahead of time and then just run by and pick it up without having to wait in line (genius!)  When you place your order in the app, you "name" and place "special instructions" within each order.  I'm not sure when it all started, but one night instead of "Josh - steak burrito no cheese" and "Emily - carnitas tacos no hot sauce" I decided to put "Han Solo - steak burrito and a high five" and "Princess Leia - carnitas tacos and have yourself a fine evening" in the order.  And so -  we got a huge kick out of it when they obliged the order, and we kept the labels off our food, and stuck them to our fridge.  And voila!  The Chipotle-famous-couples-name-sticker-fridge was born.  (I have a feeling that our local Chipotle may get a surge of suspicious monikers coming through their app in the next week now?  Haha.)

Hmm, I'm spotting a trend here as I write this.  But, before you start wondering if all our silliness requires us to rename ourselves and trick the general public, let me list you some more silly stunts:  making up songs about each other (usually which involve free style rapping and a chorus involving our cat Dutch or anything that rhymes with Matilda), emailing each other ridiculous articles or YouTube videos that simply make us laugh (yes, this could potentially involve cats playing pianos), making fun of anything on tv at any time - there is constant commentary circulating our home of whatever happens to be on the tube at the time.  Even if we are stuck watching yet another episode of Olivia (the pig) or The Berenstain Bears because that is all that will calm Matilda at the moment - we humor ourselves by making up our own dialogue (i.e. Why yes, Brother Bear, it is unusual that there are no humans around, but remember - we ate all the humans and turned it into Bear Country long ago before the robot wars began and the planet relied on an energy source of honey to sustain its existence!)  And it helps us maintain our sanity a little longer.

How do you keep humor in your marriage?  What do you find funny?  When is the last time you pulled a prank on your hubster and got laughing so hard that diet Coke nearly shot out your nose?

I'm so thankful to be married to a funny guy.  Our humor thrives on being competitive with each other, always trying to one-up the last prank or joke or play on words.  We challenge each other and respect each other and do what we can to keep ourselves in tune with what each other finds clever or witty.  I once told Josh that it doesn't necessarily bother me so much if a pretty woman walked by and was noticeably more attractive than me (I'm secure enough to know that I will never look like Catherine Zeta Jones in this lifetime) but that he'd better never ever (ever) tell me that he thinks another woman is funnier than me.  Haha.  It's true!

And, if we can keep the silliness in our marriage going, the inside jokes and the billows of laughter that seep out the seams of our home and contagiously find their ways into our extended friendships and communities....then, I think we'll be laughing all the way to our graves...in love.  Don't underestimate the power of humor in your marriage.  A good joke can diffuse an ugly situation.  A kind smile or little smirk can break the tension of any unreasonable argument.  An ounce of hilarity can mend a week of frustrations.  It's free and fuels happiness.  It's healthy and promotes compromise.  When you are laughing, and always looking for new reasons to laugh, you will be amazed at how vulnerable and pleasant your home can become.

I'm thankful God gave us humor in this life.  It is certainly an optional component when it comes to survival - but, it makes life turn from bearable to enjoyable with a single giggle.  I'd love to hear how you keep things silly in your own home - maybe we can laugh ourselves silly into the weekend.  Maybe we can start a giggle revolution.  :)

Reality Bites

This will be a short post.  And, getting a Thankful Thursday post in just under the wire here, I'm determined to find something redeemable about the day.  So, here it is:  we survived. 

This was one of those days where you are brutally awoken much too early, and as the morning creeps on and you start to think "Okay, that was fun, that had to have killed half the day, right?" and then you look at the clock only to realize it is a mere 8am in the morning, you just know you are in for one of those days.  [Insert dramatic music here].

So, bear with me.  Here is a mega dose of reality.  Here is a nasty glimpse into the mundane, the necessary, the reality of how a "normal" day shakes down around here.  And here is why I am so freaking thankful it is closing in on 8PM and the house is finally silent for at least (fingers crossed) the next several hours (that's quite optimistic, mind you).

The baby woke up, hacking up half a lung.  The poor thing, just barely over the stomach flu now has a horrible cold.  Of course she can't complain about it or tell me anything or take a cough drop or Mucinex...so she just stares at you with those giant doe eyes blinking helplessly for you to do something about the frog in her throat that won't go away.  She's miserable and sad.  Sad enough to cry out and wake her sister up as well.  Alrighty, here we go.

We make it through breakfast and for some reason (why oh why) I decide that today would be a brilliant day to start potty training again (why?).  I have introduced and reintroduced this to Matilda multiple times now.  She has been in pull-ups since the beginning of the year and will go on the potty if I take her, but has yet to jump the hurdle of actually telling me before she goes (sort of an important component in the whole "making it to the potty in time" scenario).  Regardless, I get her chattering about panties and potties and poo poos and the proverbial ball is rolling faster than I can teach her the "potty dance".  So, okay, so we are just going for it!

This, then, of course, starts an ongoing, all-day battle of constantly questioning her about her (lack of) bladder control.  I'm putting her under fierce interrogation all day long:  How do you feel?  Are you getting that feeling?  Do you need to go pee pee?  Should we go to the potty?  and so forth.  It's relentless and a couple hours into it we are both sick of hearing me talk about it.  Still, she is super excited about the panty options and decides she does want to take part in today's activity (I can only hope she understands this particular activity will hopefully last from here on out!)

The baby takes an all-too-short morning nap.  Lunch is a disaster.  I spill banana goo all over my jeans and I'm pretty sure there is still some trapped in between the cushions of the couch (or is that from last week's incident?) and Matilda refuses to eat anything but eggs.  Whatever, sure, I'll cook you scrambled eggs for lunch, what do I care.  She gobbles them up and pleads for more.  Having just done all the dishes, I'm in no rush to dirty the pan yet again for second helpings that she will most likely not finish.  I try to entice her with another food, but this only leads to tantrums and screaming indicating that we are already past the magical window of nap time.

About an hour later (and a zillion readings of "Berenstain Bear's Weekend at Grandma's") she goes down for a nap.  Not two minutes later (just long enough for me to inhale a deep breath, but not yet exhale) an entourage of blaring sirens go screaming down our street.  Of course Matilda wakes up.  I put Daphne in her bouncer and go get Matilda back down.  Magically, this occurs.  Not five minutes later, there is a knock at the door (are you kidding me?) and the UPS guy wonders if I can take a package for my neighbor?!  (Not even a fun package for me!?)  Fine, sure, of course.  I check on Matilda again and she stays asleep (hallelujah).

I finally get a chance to sit while Daphne plays on the floor.  She romps around happily, until...SMACK!  Daphne slips and goes face first into our jaggedy edged coffee table.  WHAT!?  She screams at the top of her lungs, wakes Matilda, and I'm scrambling to just look her over and make sure she is okay.  Then I see blood.  BLOOD!  Blood is gushing out her mouth and this is when all the worst case scenarios start racing through my head and I start thinking how am I the only person here to figure this out!?  She's fine.  Teeth, fine.  Gums, find.  Lip is fat and bloody, but fine.  I get her sucking on an ice pack and she is settled down, meanwhile Matilda is beating down her door like a wild rhinoceros.

Welp, nap time is over.  That was it.  Done.  And now I have the entire afternoon to still kill and then on into the evening since Josh has to work extra late tonight.  Argh.  Matilda is insisting on more eggs for a snack.  Really?  Eggs?  Okay, fine, maybe I'll just nuke them so as to save myself a pan to not have to clean.  I ready the bowl, fix the eggs, and toss it in the microwave.  I kid you not, the scrambled eggs literally exploded in the microwave.  Exploded.  Now...I don't know about you, but scrambled eggs are definitely at the top of my list of things that I wish never to explode in my microwave...right above "bean burrito" and just under "cat food".  Gross.  It is so gross.  So, there was a pleasant little clean up that was unexpected.  Bah!

The afternoon is all a blur.  We played dress up and reviewed shapes and letters.  There were a couple potty accidents and at least a few times I had to yank Matilda up by her arm and move her where she was supposed to go (since I was also holding the baby, this is my polite way of not a) leaving her wherever she is or b) not barrel-rolling her body across the ground by my foot).  At one point Matilda found her pancake plate from breakfast and decided to give her feet a maple syrup bath, and then walked all over the carpet (which actually picked up quite a bit of cat hair that our vacuum can never seem too, so there's a plus!)

Luckily, we ran into some friends out front and were able to get through the last couple hours before dinner time with some playmates.  Thank goodness!

Now, bed time.  There is still macaroni and green beans in my carpet from dinner.  There are clothes and toys strewn alllll over the living room.  There are shoes and blankets in nooks and crannies where I will never find them.  The remote to the TV is no where to be found.  My phone has sticky syrup finger prints on it.  I haven't peed since like 3 this afternoon.  I am too tired to fix dinner for myself and will probably just stick my hand in a box of cereal while I watch a Frasier rerun until my husband comes home and wonders what I've done with his wife.

And there you have it.  I've spent my last brain cell pouring out my soul to all you other tired moms out there so we can all just relax and low-five each other (high fives just take too much energy, am I right?) and say THANK GOD, today is over.

Good work, mamas.  Good night.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day is this Sunday (set that reminder to call your mom right now!) and this year I am feeling doubly grateful for it.  It is my first with TWO daughters to celebrate with, and my first as a full-time stay-at-home mom.  This isn't to say that I was any less  of a mom last year than this year, but I will admit that it means a bit more to get some free time and be appreciated since I don't have the time away as often as I did last year when I was still working outside the home.

It is very (very) easy to complain about being a stay-at-home mom.  I do it, I hear it, I see it and live it every day.  I write about it, I talk about it, I even make up songs about it just to help make it through the day.  The truth is, misery loves company, and it is fun to compare notes and brag about how little of sleep we are living on and how we are loathing another poopy diaper or swapping stories about the latest tantrum in public.  It's funny and honest and if we moms didn't have-it-out now and again with each other than I think there is a good chance we would all go crazy or die trying.

That being said...I LOVE MY LIFE.  It's true.  I love it.  I know it might not be as popular to say as "Help!  I can't stand another episode of Sesame Street!" or "If I step on one more lego I'm going to punch a hole in the wall!" But, it's the truth.  And I don't just mean "I love it because I have to and because they are my children whom I willingly chose to bring into the world and if I don't say I love it than I'm admitting that I actually made an enormous mistake that I can't take back but I will instead go on living and just resent my kids and hope they feel guilty the rest of their life for ruining mine."  Nope.  And let's face it - even if that's not you...you probably know a long-suffering mom in your local playgroup that does feel that way...so, let's say a prayer for her and hand her another cup of coffee with a side hug of hope, shall we?

I love being a mom.  It is my dream come true.  I love staying home and taking care of my girls.  My crazy, chaotic, completely unpredictable, totally messy and sometimes despicable girls.  I know it feels more cute and funny and popular to sit and complain about how hard this job is...and it is...but, I also know that sometimes I can feel bad for how much I love it and want to shout it from the roof tops that this is actually what I really want to be doing right now...so, here I go!

There is this weird perception in the world that stay-at-home-moms should do more.  I feel this myself as I introduce myself to new people and sense a tension between the question "And what do you do?" and my answer "I stay home with our girls."  I will be honest and say that sometimes I am quick to add "And I write...and I cook...and I'm working on this or that..." as if my answer wasn't complete or enough.  But, who am I kidding?  Taking care of two little girls is MORE than enough, and some days it is too much!  Why do I sense this ridiculous need for justifying my choice of vocation?

That being said, I'm over it.  I love being a mom.

Now, I think there are a LOT of moms out there that actually completely and whole-heartedly love being a stay-at-home worker.  I think that oftentimes, though, we can feel belittled into thinking (usually via media or misunderstandings from those around us) that we are just suffering through these hard days, doing "what's best" for our family, putting our own dreams on hold or buy into the thought that "If I actually admit to loving such-n-such, than I will look/sound/seem not as motivated/academic/current as I truly want to be".  False.

We've heard it time and again - "Motherhood is the hardest job on the planet".  We've grown up hearing how it is rewarding and painful and difficult and that it pays off, but not without sacrifice and great steps of courage.  We've been brought up to respect mothers, but not without a glance of sympathy or a prayer of encouragement...of pity.  Yes, I know that when you read my blogs and millions others and you hear/share how crazy and exhausting this day-to-day life as a mom is that it can sound like a discouragement towards a job that we're all just "getting through"...but, it's not.  I hope no one reads what I write and ever walks away thinking I am less than incredibly grateful to be where I am (albeit, tired at times).

I wanted this job more than anything.  The fact that God granted it to me and hired me for the particular girls at this particular time amazes me every single day.  I work hard to keep up with the tasks of the daily life, yes, but I also have insane amounts of FUN and take immense JOY in watching my darlings grow and change by the second.  I get to have coffee on my own couch every morning.  I get to nurse my baby whenever I want to, right out in the open convenience of my own home.  I get to care for the things I love most - not just my girls, but also our health and wellness by cooking and cleaning.  I get to open the Word of God and teach my sweet girls about a man named Jesus who will hopefully one day soon be the center of their minds and hearts.  I get to teach them kindness, gentleness, and self-control by getting to practice it myself right in front of them...with every teething challenge or potty-training obstacle I might encounter.

And I get to shift and grow and slowly be shaped into a more and more selfless person with every hour I know my children.  I get glimpses of Jesus through their bias-free eyes and through the grace I give them that I know is not by my own strength.  I learn more about myself and who I should be just by showing them the things of life they are noticing for the first time.  I get to witness incredible amounts of beauty through the perspective of young minds.  They see people as "fun" or "super fun"...no race, no prejudice, no money or manipulation of any kind.  When my children look at the faces of others, they only see smiles.  And it's my job (my job) to witness that (learn from it) and encourage it.  And I hope my girls grow up knowing that they helped me to live the life that I wanted to live...that I am choosing to live...dustpans and sippy cups and burp rags and all.

This Mother's Day, I'm the one who is grateful.  I'm the one who is feeling the need to hand out the candy and cards and flowers to those who support me.  I'm the one who is so blessed to be able to say THANK YOU JESUS for letting me take part in this planet as a helper and bringer-upper of the next generation.  I love being a mother - a stay-at-home mother - and I'm not ashamed to say it!

Maybe it is the hardest job on the planet.  Challenge, accepted.  This is one mother who is willing and ready and excited to remember each year that it is also the absolutely best job a gal could ever ask for.

Happy Mother's Day, indeed.

The Write Stuff

A word about writing. I've been doing an awful lot of writing lately, and I thought I'd just take a minute and let you in on my life as a writer. If you are reading this, then you are the reason I am so thankful this Thursday. I never thought I would be a writer with an audience, let alone have the potential to reach people I might not even know. So, thanks to you and thanks to the "interwebs", here we are. Hello.

I can't remember the first time I was really inspired to write. I remember in grade school that my best friend, Jessica, and I would make up stories and I would usually try to illustrate what she so giftedly wrote. We were going to grow up and be a writing/illustrating team, marry blonde handsome ski-instructor brothers, and live in log cabins that overlooked the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. This plan seemed ideal and totally plausible...until I hit fourth grade and realized that my illustration skills had already hit their peak and the likelihood of this collaboration started to lose its footing.

Then, in high school, I had a promising time passing an "English Comp I" class. I enjoyed the instructor and it was the first time I may have felt creative and good at something all at the same time. Still, my interest remained in the dramatics, and I set my sights on something "higher"...acting. (Okay, you can stop laughing now.)

Fast-forward to college. I came out to California at the ripe age of 17, jumping into student films wholeheartedly with both feet. While my intention grew toward acting, I couldn't help but allow my attention to be drawn towards writing. I had a couple very encouraging and influential professors who very candidly took me aside and essentially said "If you want a family someday, you should write." Acting wasn't going to allow me the lifestyle I truly desired. Writing, however, might. As a film student, at the time, this meant one thing: screenplays. And, so, I wrote screenplays. There is a little something you may or may not know about me...I've written about 7 screenplays in my life. Whew. Some interesting, some terrible, all of which are gathering dust and helping hold up books on a shelf in my dining room. Still, they have all helped get me here...just like each and every post I type. Practice, practice, practice.

Now, I'm writing the most regularly I've written since being in school. And it feels great. I am finding a niche. I am feeling out my audience (wink!). I am working hard to just keep the words coming and praying often about what you all might want to hear or read about next.

Writing feels like a workout to me. I have to do it to keep wanting to do it. I might drag myself to it beforehand, but then feel so refreshed and back in balance after it is over. I am my biggest critic and almost always feel insecure until I hit "publish" and just let it go. Then, when I'm free of it, I just feel better all around.

Writing is work. It is mentally taxing to search for the right words or analogies or phrases. It feels uncomfortable and familiar at the same time, like catching up with an old friend you haven't seen in person for years. I love it, I hate it, I need it. It's a strange gift that only God can motivate, and I'm thankful for that. I am thankful for people who ask me "Are you writing?" as if to nudge me to keep it up, even through the thick of it...that is, the years of muck that you have to write and have people read before you start to get a knack for it.

I hope I'm starting to get a knack for it. I hope you stick with me on this whole "writing a blog" journey until we are both sick of each other and our kids are grown and the internet is the most uncool thing you can pass time doing, yet you still click on "pardymama" just to see how this old kook is doing these days. I hope we weave a rich history that becomes an integration of exchanges - one post and one comment at a time.

Thanks, folks, for reading this silly little blog that has taken over the creative/vulnerable/needy part of my brain. Some days I will spew some blessings of genius that the Lord has put in my heart...and other days I will reflect the bottomless pit of hap-hazardous mayhem that is my life as a mother and wife. For the first time, maybe ever, I'm starting to feel like an actual "writer"...so, thanks for letting me have this little moment to self-indulge and offer up a post of gratitude just for you.

The pen...mightier than the sword and a lot less awkward than a side-hug. You can quote me on that. ;)

H2O

Well, apparently I've been taking water for granted. I know this, now, because the other day we woke up to a sputtering faucet that went dry and sudden panic struck our home. No. Water. NO WATER?!? Then there is that sinking feeling that you have to call the landlord, find out what's going on, and anticipate the worst. Sure enough, some leak in some pipe somewhere needed fixing, so the water on our whole block was shut off for "probably all day" which almost always means "definitely all day and maybe longer".

Thank goodness we are "night showerers", so we all smelled relatively fine for not having water in our pipes. Still, the dirty dishes from the night before sat in the sink and we prayed our children wouldn't cause too huge of accidents throughout the day to dictate a need for a hosing-down (no promises). We were sort of pathetic. I mean, we still had our electricity! (Thank goodness!) But, you'd be surprised at how you just get in the habit of hitting that faucet or flushing that toilet or getting that drink...again and again I would totally forget, only to be frustrated and disappointed at the turn of the handle. Ugh! Where's my water!?

Finally, Josh ran down to our local grocery store and picked up a couple jugs. Our day seemed brighter as we could now brush our teeth and pretend we were camping in our own home (this is about as close to camping as the Pardys get anyway). We adapted easily to pouring water into cups or tapping the giant jug's spout to wash up.

And that's when it hit me: I've totally been taking water for granted.

Yes, we all do, I suppose. We live in a country where we can shower multiple times a day if we feel like it. We can boil water to cook with the ease of turning a handle. We can even play in water for sport or fun and not think anything of it. And then, we are reminded from time to time that there are others less fortunate. We see an ad at Christmas of a little African village you can donate to. We hear about friends raising funds for missions that are going to build a well somewhere. We may even give up drinking anything but water for lent so we can do our part for social justice.

But, there's nothing like just being home, and watching your little girl pretend to be a dolphin in her tub of suds to make you stop and be thankful, so thankful, for water. I know it sounds simple, silly maybe, but that's what got me. I don't have to walk for my water. I don't have to dig for it or haul it in buckets. I don't have to wonder where my next glass of water will come from to quench my thirst. And you know, that's okay. I'm not here to say "Feel bad for being privileged" or "give to this organization" or whatever. (Though certainly you know of one already that is worthwhile and if this stirs you...give!) But none of those movements mean anything without starting with one simple step: be grateful.

I watch Matilda take her bath with sheer joy and completely free of worry. She dunks her belly in, splashes about, spits on her own toes, and plummets her tub toys in and out between the bubbles and suds that surround her. She loves bath time, and it's a good thing since she needs one nearly daily! And it humbled me to go without water for one day (not even 24 hours!) to be able to stop and recognize how ridiculously blessed we are to have it.

Water is such a simple substance, yet so essential to our lives. So essential that we are greatly debilitated to go without it, even here in my privileged little bubble. I will never know the pains some have had to endure to have to get their water through difficult, even dangerous, means. I know it is a great need that truly only our God can provide and solve. But, I can do something daily to help my perspective, to help keep my focus in the right direction...every time I turn that little knob, I can be grateful, and pray for those who don't have it so easy. I can do that. It doesn't require any monthly pledge. It doesn't pressure me into giving up something (though, probably I should). It doesn't come with any guilt over what to do about an issue you or I most likely won't solve ourselves.

The truth of the matter is that most of us are home, taking showers and sipping coffee we probably won't even finish. Most of us are busy and forgetful and only feel bad when we hear stories of poverty. So, it's easier to turn up the music, play with our iPhones, click on the tv and take our kids to the park and most of the time not stop and think about how others are struggling to survive the day. That is the brutal reality.

yes, I washed my sink just for this photo

So, if you are like me, and you aren't planning any missions trips anytime soon, or you can't dig any wells for a village somewhere or you are just not even sure where to start with it all...start here: be grateful, pray for others. And one more...stay thirsty. Thirsty to help where and when we can. Thirsty to seek out opportunity if it presents itself. Thirsty to follow where God leads us to give. Thirsty to stay reminded of how blessed we all are.

Yes, maybe with enough hope and heart we can change the world with God's help. Maybe our children will find the solution or even their children's children. But, in the meantime, while we're busy updating our Facebook and turning on another Yo Gabba Gabba...let's start with just teaching our children to know the truth and to say thanks for something as simple as water. And, the next time my water gets turned off unexpectedly, maybe I'll be able to respond with a little more humility and a little less frustration. Here's hoping.

**Please, if you know of a legit charity that helps provide water to those in need, list it in the comments below! I'd love to help give a shout-out to those actively making a difference.

Playground Goggles

"Swide, mom-mom? Pwease?"

When your toddler stares at you with those little Bambi eyes and pleads with you to take her to the park to go down the slide, well, it is pretty darn hard to resist. As my husband reminds me - this season of life is short-lived, when the answer to her desire might be so simple and within our grasp (though perhaps just out of range for our energy level at the moment).

Every time we go to the park, I think "We should totally come to the park more often!" and then, every time we leave the park and she throws herself on the ground in a rage of despair thinking she will never return again, I think "We're never coming back to the park!" Whew.

But, the other day, she got me at just the right time. Both girls had taken their naps (you know, the usual 30 minute-er) and were ready to either destroy the living room (again) or take out their aggression on the playground. So, to the park we went!

Just two words: Wanna play?

And the afternoon was turned into an adventure.

We are super blessed to live across the street from a park, but oftentimes we are deterred from going there simply because the kids that play there are too old or rough and might potentially knock over a toddler who's bound and determined to go down the tunnel slide eight thousand times in one afternoon. So, we totally lucked out this particular day when we arrived and only saw two other boys who were completely disinterested in us. Yay!

As Matilda made her rounds (rope ladder, slide, stairs, slide, ladder, slide, stairs, tunnel, slide...) I observed the other two boys on the playground. While my attention was primarily on ensuring Matilda's every-3-minute-rescue-from-certain-death attack of the playground equipment, I couldn't help but catch myself listening to these other two little fellows.

They were as different as different could be. While they were both about the same age (maybe 6) one was rough and rowdy - he had blonde, spiky hair and blue jeans; and, the other was proper and polite - he had squirrelly dark hair and wore a navy prep school uniform, cardigan and all. The rowdy blonde kid was hopping all around the equipment, testing the limitations of every rope or slide, all the while inviting the shy boy to join him. While the quiet fellow would timidly follow along, he awkwardly mimicked the same moves in a much less suave fashion.

I couldn't help but think that each boy fit a very obvious stereotype we see as adults. It was almost as if I was witnessing a flashback sequence from Saved by the Bell where Screech and Zack Morris meet for the first time. I'm telling you, it was so strange. I just kept thinking - "If you two were ten years older, you wouldn't be caught dead hanging out together!"

Now, maybe this all sounds super judgmental and superficial. I know I'm canning these poor kids into a stereotype that they certainly could outgrow or not even be close too becoming - but, it was so striking in the moment that it couldn't be ignored. In a world where bullying is making the evening news, these are the kinds of stereotypes the children of today are experiencing. And here they are, two future oddballs, the jock and the nerd...absolutely having a blast on the playground.

Better yet - these new little buddies had JUST met. I overheard the rowdy boy's dad say that they were just visiting from out of town, that they'd never been to this park before - so, these two had no reason to want to necessarily play together. No reason, except the only reason you need when you are six: to play.

These two opposites possessed all they needed to have a wonderful afternoon: joy! They didn't care what time it was, who was watching, what so-n-so had just posted on Facebook, or even that dinner time was just around the corner. They just wanted to PLAY! And the fact that there was another kid there - any kid at all - was such a triumphant bonus in each of their proverbial books, that it didn't matter if he was different or half-alien or growing a tail - anybody can become a buddy when you just want to play.

They both had their playground goggles on. Totally blind to the future potential that this other person might not like them. Completely unaware of their background or differences or home situation. Having no idea what they believe in or how expensive their shoes may be. Absolutely not an inkling in their head of how the rest of the day might pan out beyond the next couple minutes of focusing this ridiculous task of pretending this slide is a surfboard over an ocean full of zombie sharks. No guard up. No preconceived notions. No caution or judgment. No doubt that a good time won't be had by all. Just two words: Wanna play? And the afternoon was turned into an adventure.

Somewhere around age 10 or 12 I think I lost my playground goggles. Probably on the bus to school one day when I decided to not sit next to the smelly girl with the dirty sneakers. Or I may have left them in the locker room at recess after I got told I couldn't be a pretend cheerleader with two other "prettier" girls. Or maybe I broke them on purpose the day I made a joke in the lunchroom that got everyone laughing, but left one girl crying and alone.

Growing up is hard stuff. Nobody does it "right". And every day we have the choice as adults to make a conscious effort to step in the direction of something that used to come to us totally unconsciously, something that used to be second nature, something that used to be as easy as smiling: making friends.

These boys were so carefree and funny. Their joy was only interrupted by the time constraints their parents reminded them of. And, when they had to depart, and go their separate ways, they each took with them little memories of a happy afternoon.

That day, so did I. And, along with the happiness, a new pair of goggles to remind me how to look at the world. A new perspective to give others the benefit of the doubt. A new lesson in remaining transparent. A new insight on loving through the simplest and smallest of actions.

Thanks, boys. I sure hope you never lose your goggles.