SortaCrunchy

I Ain't Freaking*

I ain't fakin' this . . . *

Last night, The Coach surprised me with my Mother's Day/early birthday present - an impossibly tiny little nano.

That man.  Ridiculous in lavishness.

Anyway, I sat down with iTunes for the first time ever last night and was immediately overwhelmed.  Thanks to my friend Melissa's guidance, I knew I wanted to start with Patty Griffin's Impossible Dream (sitting in my Amazon cart for weeks now).  After that, I found myself browsing Laurie Berkner selections and was struck by what a lame-o I am.

So who wants to help a mama out?  Wanna help me build my post-career, pre-soccer mom playlist? 

What are your essential must-listen picks?

To give you an idea of the music I gravitate towards, there's the aforementioned Patty Griffin, and I've long been a fan of the Dixie Chicks (newer stuff more than older, and I have Taking the Long Way committed to memory).  I adore Joshua Radin and would be thrilled if someone would release a soundtrack anthologizing every song from every episode from every season of Scrubs. 

Let's see, what else?  I can never say no to George or Jimmy.  And I actually really do like Laurie Berkner and have been known to listen to her when the girls are nowhere around.

I'm totally okay with Taking it Easy, but I've been known to Blister in the Sun, too.

As far as spiritually inspired or inspiring music goes, I tend to have the same problems with Contemporary Christian music that I have with Christian fiction (let's leave it at that), but I am a hard-core fan of the old school hymns.  (Something feels very wrong about hard-core and hymns in the same sentence.)  Wanna expand my horizons in this genre?

I can't wait to hear your recommendations, as ya'll are some of the coolest people I know.  I just know you are listening to some very cool stuff that you cannot wait to tell me about.     

* For my more evolved friends and readers who don't watch commercial TV, the reference here is to the newest iPod ad featuring the Ting Ting's song "Shut Up and Let Me Go ."

Seven Things about Me Me Me Meme!

Dare I say it?  I think the girls and I are ready to rejoin the Land of the Living and Well.

I know different versions of this yucky, cough-y, lingering bug are all over the place.  Thanks so much for the sweet words of well wishes while we were down with it.

Weeks ago, my funny and insightful friend Missy at It's Almost Naptime tagged me with a Me Me Me Me Meme.  Last week, my wildly talented friend Stephanie at Providence Handmade tagged me with a Seven Things Meme.  In order to be efficient and to spare you from suffering through thirteen random blabberings about myself, I am going to mish-mash the two into a Seven Things about Me Me Me Meme!

Okay, here are the rules...

1. When tagged place the name and URL on your blog.

2. Post rules on your blog.

3. Write 6 (or 7) non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

4. Name 6 (or 7) of your favorite blogs.

5. Send an email/comment on their blog letting them know they have been tagged.

Here goes!

1. I recently shared this with my Prayer Coffee friends, but not many other people know this.  Human hair, off the head, completely grosses me out.  Like hair in a hairbrush, on the bathtub rim, in the sink . . . all of it, even my own.  Makes. Me. Gag.  As evidence of the sacrificial way my man loves me, let me tell you he has been cleaning out my hairbrushes for me for the past ten years.  My wonderful younger sister had to do it for me before that.  I don't know where this came from, nor can I explain it.  It's just one of my many quirks!

2. Although I was a hard-core Clinique fan for many, many years, last year I switched to Bare Minerals and haven't looked back.  I don't wear much make-up anyway, and the Bare Minerals just smooths things over for me.  I do still love some Clinique lipstick though!

3. I use the Oil Cleansing Method of face care.

4. Here's a quirk about the way my body works - I only nurse from one breast.  Last month, I told Megan about how my Righty doesn't quite work right, so we all have to rely on Lefty to do the work around here.  I don't know what is wrong with Righty - some kind of boob malfunction.  D never would nurse from that side, but I chalked it up to her persnickety personality.  When Easy Baby AJ shunned that side, too, I decided perhaps it is Righty who is persnickety and allowed her to opt out of the breastfeeding experience.  Just so you know, it's entirely possible to nurse from one side only - as all seventeen and a half pounds of six month old AJ will testify to!

5. My heart thrills to the announcement of the April 10th return of The Office.

6. I am very seriously considering getting my nose pierced.

7.  I would really like to lose fifteen pounds and/or get back into my size 8s before The Coach and I celebrate our ten year anniversary in June, but I reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally don't want to change my eating or start exercising.  So I'll let you know how that works out for me.

Two of the chicas I was going to tag - Alana of Gray Matters and Birdie at BirdBrain - just posted their 100 Things, so I won't torture them with this.  Instead, I choose:

GreenStyleMom at GreenStyleMom

Long-time friend and new to blogging Suzy at Coping with Chaos

Laura at Sweet Awakenings

Veggiemommy at Here We Go Again!

Sheila at Mom-fessions

Jen at Kickboxing Mama

and

Christie at 'Tis But a Season

Enjoy!

Unwell

Completely ultra non-exciting sick update . . .

Big Sister seems to finally be on the mend, but that pesky cough and lovely runny nose are proving to be tough to kick.

Little Sister is battling all the same stuff now, as well as a painful ear infection (and the lovely tummy upset that accompanies the antibiotics).

I'm trying to keep my head above water amidst the hacking cough, up-and-down fever, raw throat, and a voice that comes and goes.

The Coach, amazingly, is managing to keep this stuff at bay, no doubt due to the copious hand-washing and moving out of our room, which for the time being has become the eye of the sickness hurricane.  What a blessing he has been, too - coming home extra early from work so I can get some rest and taking on Dacey duty for the better part of the last four days.

Anyway.

It's a good thing we aren't going anywhere today because navigating the streets near our home may prove to be difficult as our little town prepares for a big rally. 

Surely the end is in sight and we'll all be back to our glamorous selves again soon.  In the meantime, apologies all around for not getting to your comments and blogs . . .

On learning to love . . . and to clean the toilet

This post is my submission for Scribbit’s Write-Away Contest for February on the topic of love. Thank you, Michelle, for creating and hosting this monthly indulgence in inspiration!

Tucked away in the back corner of our bedroom is the doorway to the room my husband loves the best.

His bathroom.

Not much bigger than a closet, this little master bathroom has always seemed to me to be more of a master afterthought. When we moved in last summer, we decided it would work better, logistically speaking, for him to have the tiny master bath and for the girls (all three of us) to share the roomier hall bath.

He carefully chose the long longed-for white bath linens (finally free of his wife’s protests that white bath towels and women do not a happy bathroom make) and meticulously lined the four narrow wooden shelves with the most choice acquisitions of his shaving collection. Bowls of luxurious British shave creams and hardy, robust shave soaps stand alongside soft but sturdy badger bristle shave brushes. Bottles of heady, musky cologne line the windowsill and cast brown and green and blue shadows when the sunlight filters through just so.

It’s definitely his inner sanctum. His sanctuary, really. It’s painful for me to confess that this room of such great significance to my husband is too often the location of my deepest neglect.

And anchoring the room, there stands a monument to my inattentiveness . . . a testament to my disregard.

Oh, sure, I could blame it on the hard water that curses our hometown, but that wouldn’t fool a one of you. All of us know that it takes more than hard water to get to that place of disgusting. It takes days, nay weeks, of avoidance and evasion and I’ll get to it later.

Of course, it’s not that I want for my husband to be greeted by such a revolting scene in his most cherished of places. It’s just that, well, like I said, his bathroom is his and rarely do I trespass into that territory. It is, quite literally, out of my sight and out of my mind. Besides, there’s a lack of urgency that accompanies cleaning a bathroom when all day long I have babies climbing on me, crying for me, and cluttering around me.

But when I read this passage from Gary Thomas’s Sacred Marriage, I felt the sharp pang of conviction as visions of my man’s filthy toilet appeared before me. Thomas references Betsy and Gary Ricucci’s statement that “Honor isn’t passive, it’s active . . . Honor not expressed is not honor” (Love That Lasts), and then he writes

The biggest challenge for me in upholding my spiritual obligation to honor my wife is that I get busy and sidetracked. I don’t mean to dishonor her; I just absentmindedly neglect to actively honor her.

Absentminded neglect.

It occurs to me that unintentional dishonor is dishonor all the same.

As a woman to whom words means so much, I try to love him with my words. Never is a phone call ended without my profession of love for him. I brag him up to my friends and his family. I embrace him with exclamations of how I admire, adore, and appreciate him.

But my man is man of action, and so if I want to be intentional in loving him, in tending to this priority relationship, this covenant relationship, this awesome man of mine . . . if I want to be intentional, I must learn to love him a way that surrenders to honor, even and especially when it’s inconvenient to do so.

So while I am sure the loving words are nice, nothing makes him feel more honored than when I go out of my way to take care of the little things that mean so much to him. Little things like making sure his favorite pair of jeans make it through the laundry jungle with great haste and not hogging the driveway or his side of the bed. Little things like taking thirty seconds of my life every few days to work that toilet over armed with a scrub brush . . . and love.

On being known

Last week, my mother-in-law, whom I love and admire very much, called to ask about a possible gift idea for AJ. She had found a really neat swing with all the lights and sounds and stuff that Fisher Price is convinced babies need on swings.

The thing is, we already have two swings. A simple one and a lights/sounds/overstimulation contraption. I sorta had to scratch my head a bit because my mother-in-law has been in our home very recently and had to become quite familiar with our ridiculous amount of baby gear. And honestly, I am just not a swing kind of mama. Granted, I have two of them, so it would be hard to guess that swings aren't my thing. It's just that I would rather tuck a baby in a sling rather than buckle her in a swing - and I find that most often, the desired outcome is still the same. Sleeping baby.

I was telling my sister later that day that I felt just a little bothered by this gift idea. I have a very close relationship with my mother-in-law, but her idea of getting AJ a new swing made me feel a little bit like she doesn't really know me. Know what I mean?

Juxtaposed against the swing suggestion was the arrival yesterday evening of my husband's gift to me. Our new camera.

I quite literally had butterflies in my stomach as we excavated the camera from its layer upon layer of packaging and protection. As we tinkered and toyed with our newest baby, I couldn't help but to reflect on what a meaningful gift this is for me. Not only did the man devote all of his share of the money given to us by our parents for Christmas presents toward the camera purchase, he also spent hours and hours researching what the perfect choice would be.

It made me wonder . . . Could it be that on all those road trips of our youth, when we would just talk and talk our way down the flat highways that cut through grassy plains of Oklahoma, could it be that he was really listening as I talked about the things I loved as a child? Did he remember how I had told him once how I so treasured the back issues of National Geographic my aunt would save for me? That I would drink in the power and mystery and beauty captured by those lenses?

And did he know that it was always the photography exhibits that called to me from the corridors of museums? That, yes, Botticellis and Jackson Pollacks make for amazing art, but what really moved me were the photographs. A hummingbird caught mid-sip. A new baby cradled in the arms of a new daddy. A village unconcerned with the advances of modernity. A brilliant diamond wedding ring on the finger of a hand dulled and weathered by time.

Eleven years ago tonight, a good-lookin' football player from Small Town, Oklahoma, slipped a diamond engagement ring onto the finger of his sorority girl girlfriend from Another Small Town, Oklahoma. Eleven years ago. Having dated for ten whole months prior to our official engagement, we thought we knew each other so well. I don't think my nineteen year old self could quite have conceived how much there was still to be discovered in that man.

This camera . . . it's extravagant. It is way, way more than I would have asked for or ever felt I deserved. But for me, it quite unexpectedly became a concrete fulfillment of that abstract desire I think every person shares . . . that longing to be known.

Labels: marriage

SortaCrunchy Q&A #7 - As long as there's football

Today's question is the first in a series of four from my wonderful friend Lori of Fairytales and Margaritas. I just love Lori. I have known her for, gosh, over two years now, but I am sad to say we haven't ever gotten to meet-up offline. She is a funny, passionate, smart, and loving mama to four, and she is also quite possibly one of the most generous people I have ever met. She's a lot of fun, and I highly recommend you stop by her place if you have time!

Lori asks "Do you think you'll ever move from Texas? Like maybe Arizona, we have football."

Well I never been to heaven
But I been to Oklahoma
Well they tell me I was born there
But I really don't remember
In Oklahoma, not Arizona
What does it matter
What does it matter

A little Three Dog Night there for ya'll. For some reason, whenever I think about Arizona, I think of that song. I love that song. I think it's one of my all. time. faves.

*returning from tangent*

Hmmmmm, will we ever leave Texas? I honestly don't know. The Coach and I love living here. Though both of us were raised one state to the north, Texas is definitely home to us now. The tricky thing about this profession (college football) is that until you get to be super successful, you don't really choose where you coach. The school chooses you.

And, of course, we both believe God's Hand of sovereignty is ultimately what is determining where we live . . . and actually whether or not we'll stay in this biz. It's been a tough season, and so often at the conclusion of tough seasons, we start kicking around the ol' is it time to get out of this thing? question.

There really isn't an answer for this question for us. I will say in my younger and more adventurous years, I would start itching to move after three seasons at a school. Now that we have children and I have found an amazing and loving and supportive community of friends, the thought of leaving here is quite unappealing.

Lori, I do have to say I would not be entirely unopposed to Arizona. I would rather have hot, hot, hot than snow, snow, snow any day of the week! But I hear the ladies are insane there, and they sure know how to use it . . . Or wait - was that Spain? What does it matter? What does it matter . . .

I figure if I am going to have that song in my head the rest of the day, ya'll might as well, too! Enjoy!

Labels: general chatter, NaBloPoMo

SortaCrunchy Q&A #6 - In the minds of men

Thank you so much for your kind words following yesterday's post on D's speech delay. I followed up in the comments with where we are headed next in terms of her speech therapy. I will keep everyone updated around here!

So, today's SortaCrunchy Q&A comes from one of my very most favorite blogarinas (who just happens to have a rockin' name, too) - Megan of FriedOkra. I know most everyone who is anyone reads FriedOkra now, but I can say I knew her way back when . . . Don't believe me? Go check out her very first post and you'll find a comment there from Yours Crunchy Truly. And hey! While you are digging through her back posts, may I recommend Skin, My Congenital Inelegance, and Public Pool Enemies? Megan also has some more serious stuff there, too - some gorgeous poetry, tear-jerking mommy reflections, and the captivating story of how she and her man came to be man and wife. Good reads!

Okay, on to Megan's question: Do you ever wonder what it'd be like to be a man? I mean besides the obvious physiological differences, do you ponder the deeper ones and how they shape the male experience? Have you ever read or heard anything that seems to sum things up for you on any level? Or does the male psyche remain a mystery to you?

Well, I must start by saying that men in general (and my husband in particular) are totally a mystery to me. Just when I think I have solved that riddle, another situation arises in which I am reminded that I absolutely do not have my man all figured out. I am not sure I would want to. I like a good mystery.

Have I ever wondered what it would be like to be a man? I think so - from time to time. I wonder what it would be like to not give a second thought to getting a little sideways with a friend because you know it will all be forgotten the next time you see him. I wonder what it would be like to be in a completely foreign environment and still have a complete grasp on which way is north. I wonder what it would be like to lift the hood of a car with confidence and not intimidation.

(Please forgive the gross generalizations and gender stereotyping . . . I'm just saying that's what I have wondered about . . .)

I do ponder the deeper things and marvel at how our perceptions of the exact same situation can be so radically different.

I will say that there is a book I read that helped me enormously in understanding how the male mind reacts to and perceives a variety of hot topics - from work to money to sex to what it feels like for a man to see his wife "let herself go." Shaunti Feldhan's For Women Only: What You Need To Know About the Inner Lives of Men is a great read on this topic.

She is a Christian writer, but this book goes beyond examining what church-going men think and believe. She carefully researched and surveyed one thousand men (in both religious and secular settings) and publishes her results in this book. If anything, this book is a great catalyst for important conversations with the man in your life. After I read it, I asked The Coach about various statements made in the book; there were some on which he said, "Oh yeah, that's totally true," and other things he didn't completely agree with. Anyway, as far as getting a better grasp on why men perceive certain areas of life so differently than we do, this book is worth the short amount of time it takes to read it.

My apologies, Megan, as I feel I didn't answer this question as thoroughly as I could have if I were operating on all cylinders . . . Between a baby with a yucky cough and a potty-learning toddler and staying up to visit with my hubby when he gets home (way past my bedtime), I am afraid my brain is sorta foggy today.

Labels: marriage, NaBloPoMo

SortaCrunchy Q&A #4 - Their future men

Elle was sweet enough to offer two questions for my month of Q&A, and here's her second question: " . . . as a mom of girls, what qualities would you ask moms of boys to consider in their training of future husbands and daddies?"

Well, a quality that I would personally place as the highest priority is to raise up men who know and love the Lord. Not just men who were raised with the memorization of scripture and perfect attendance in Sunday School, but men who had modeled for them what a real relationship with Christ looks like lived out in every day life. Men whose reality matches their theology. And ideally, men who have seen what a healthy and vibrant marriage can and should be.

Not that I have high standards or anything.

Men who would say to my girls when they are dating, "I only have eyes for you." And show it.

Men who would say to my girls after they have become man and wife, "You are more lovely every day." And mean it.

Men who would say to my girls once they have started the journey of parenthood together, "What can I do to help?" And do it.

Those, my friend, would be some mighty fine men whom I would welcome to our family with open arms.

Labels: marriage, NaBloPoMo

It's the simple things, like a well-cooked steak

It occurs to me that I don't talk about The Coach much here on the ol' blog. He is an extremely private person, so I try to honor that by not revealing too much about him on the web that is world wide. You know, because I have a lot of readers and all. But I am going to make an exception today to share this with you about my man.

My husband really is a Renaissance man. Equally at ease with coaching up three hundred pound defensive lineman as he is with shopping for and hanging brand new drapery in our living room, there is simply nothing he can't do. Well, except change dirty diapers. As much as he enjoys some good old-fashioned toilet humor, there's something about coming face-to-face (hand-to-diaper?) with real life toileting that brings him to the brink of vomithood. I can only handle one clean-up at a time, so he gets a free pass on the dirty diaper changing.

Anyway, one area where he really shines is in the preparation and grilling of meat.

(Vegetarian Friends, it's at this point that you may want to tune out.)

Last week, we had planned to celebrate a really big victory for the team with a really big steak dinner. However, in a week filled with the distractions of Halloween and intense game planning, the really big steak dinner plan never came to fruition. He hadn't forgotten the plan though, and called yesterday morning to say he had just received a nice bottle of red wine that needed some rib eye steaks to go with it. Off to the store I went and found some gorgeous rib eyes, marbled to perfection.

I set them up to bathe in our secret family recipe for meat marinade and spent the rest of the day comforting and cuddling a feverish Miss D. Because she was sick, the girls and I stayed home from last night's game, but by the time the last seconds ticked off the game clock, The Coach and I had another big win to celebrate! He skipped the post-game tailgates and hurried home for some quality time with his much-neglected grill wife.

Finally, a little after ten in the evening, we loaded our plates with pan-fried green beans, mashed potatoes, Hawaiian bread, and those gorgeous, glorious steaks. As we blew the dust out of the wine glasses, we joked that eating at such a late hour made us feel like them fancy New York types. And, oh, we were fancy, indeed! He in his wind pants and me in my gray running shorts . . . But the wine was rich, the potatoes were comforting, and the steaks were perfection.

D had long since gone to sleep and AJ snoozed peacefully in her bouncy seat. We talked about the game, the scores from the day, the weather, the future . . . It was the first date we had been on in ages. Our dinner last night reminded me of why I treasure simplicity so much. A great meal in the cozy comfort of our own home confirmed for me that in this season of life, simple is the new fancy.

What's that you say? You were wondering if I could share the secret family recipe for an outstanding meat marinade?

Well, if you are going to twist my arm like that, I suppose I can let it spill.

It's simple.

Combine equal parts soy sauce, vegetable oil, and lemon or lime juice (we like lime). Put the meat in a gallon size freezer bag and pour in the marinade. Let the meat soak for as long as you have . . . overnight is great, but even just a few hours will work. Before the meat is cooked, we like to generously dust the meat with garlic pepper. Works nicely for beef or chicken and is definitely, definitely good eats!

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Connected

"Come lay down next to me," was the invitation as I set the fresh and full coffee mug on his bedside table this morning.

I slipped under the sheets next to him (well, as much as my seven months pregnant self can "slip" under anything) and wrapped my arm around him, my chest to his back. Eyes closed, I am taken back to many, many mornings in the first years of our marriage when we had nothing else to do other than lay next to each other in bed and talk, accompanied by the music of morning birds and illuminated by the gentle prodding of the rising sun.

In those days, with my chest to his back and my arm around him, I remember my heartbeat keeping time with his. Now a pregnant belly is sandwiched between our heartbeats, confirming rather than interrupting our connection.

It is not always like this. There are times when I feel I am standing on a beach, watching our intimacy recede further and further away, washed out to an unswimmable expanse by tides of distraction, exhaustion, and miscommunication.

I operate under an unshakable belief that life moves ever forward in cycles.

A couple of months before we were married, we went through a ropes course together. I was so scared. He, of course, was not. Vividly I remember being up - so far up! - above the ground, shaking and unsure. He held my safety line and called up to me with words of empowerment and courage. My Coach.

It isn't until we awaken to find ourselves in a season of stress that I realize how tightly I am gripping that safety line. Daunting circumstances and difficult days can be a breeding ground for distance, severing the cords of connection; but, oh, what sweet surrender in allowing myself to slow down and accept an invitation to come lay down next to him. My man.

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