Confessions of a Crazy Lady.

So, a few nights ago, the wicked witch came into my room and waved her wand over my head, sprinkled some crazy juice into my mouth and BAM! I turned into a 5 year old smack dab in the middle of a tantrum.

At least, that is my excuse. Really, I was just a 28 year old full grown woman ACTING like a 5 year old in the middle of a tantrum. And there was no wicked witch to blame. That outburst was all me.

I even said this to my husband, "I don't like you." I mean, let's all point to the girl in the room who needs a nap. Could I have said anything more embarrassing? I don't like you.... I have heard more 4 year olds proclaim that to their mommy's under their breath because their mom wasn't going to cut their pb&j sandwich in half. I almost wish I would have said something worse or more mean...at least it would have meant I was beyond the stage of bedtime pull-ups.

Marriage is difficult...and when you have to deal with baby Steph, it can also be exhausting, I am sure. Marriage is the most rewarding thing, but can be the most frustrating thing at the same time. And, when I get to the bottom of my issues with it, I come to this super annoying conclusion.

I want my husband to do for me what I am not doing for him.

On my drive to work yesterday morning, for some reason, I was picturing myself on a bike ride. And my tire popped. Because I filled it up too much, of course (SIDE NOTE - I am petrified of filling anything up with air for fear of it exploding in my face).  I pictured myself calling Scott and making him drive 20 minutes to come get me and my deflated tire.

And, he totally did it.

Then, as I was marvelling at story-time Scott's quickness to come to my rescue, I thought of what my reaction would have been if his tire had popped on his lovely bike ride.

And, in the middle of watching an Oprah re-run...in my comfy pants and messy hair bun...snacking on dried fruit...ok, oreos...I would answer his call for help...and if I am honest...

be completely annoyed that I had to interupt my uber important activities to go get him.

And OUCH. My daydream instantly became my own personal Dr Phil show.

I am selfish.  Crap.  I mean, really selfish.  I remember hearing Gordy Smith say during a Marriage Matters class that marriage is NOT 50/50. It is each person giving 100. And, man, I struggle with that.

As much as I see marriage as a partnership, I fail to see it as something that I give 100% to no matter what. I want more than I am willing to give. It's not like I keep a tally in my head of how many times I have made him dinner compared to how many times he has or anything like that. That kind of stuff doesn't bother me. But, if I were completely and embarrassingly honest, I spend more time focusing on what he isn't being for me emotionally than what I am not being for him.

I am quick to let him know where he is failing on the emotional attentiveness scale. But, the second he tells me something that bothers him, I have a hard time shutting up and taking it in without thinking of valid reasons as to why I did what I did.

I heard a line in a movie the other night that hit me kind of hard. The wife asked the husband why he did something (that he soo didnt enjoy but she enjoyed)....and he said, "because it matters to you".

And of course, my first thought was, "THERE SCOTT! See?? You should compliment me and my post-baby body that I am not proud of to make me feel better about myself...not because it is true...but, because that matters to me!!! And also, please, for the love of God, TAKE ME TO A MUSICAL!"

When, I should have thought "Steph, even though you don't understand why it is so important to turn every light off in the room when you leave it or close every cabinet door when you are done...do it. Because it matters to your husband. And also, please, for the love of God, stop asking him to TAKE YOU TO A MUSICAL!"

There are a lot of things in life that seem like a constant battle...trusting God with my life and path...believing the best in people...choosing other's needs before your own...

What I am learning though, is it seems like a constant battle...because it IS. And I can't run from it. I can't spend my days imagining and skipping through the fields with a basketfull of flowers and jellybeans.

But, also, I can't go through my days thinking that my marriage could be better if my husband were better. My marriage will be better when I, again, shut up and take inventory of my own crap and start working that stuff out.

Man, for someone who loves to talk, I feel like a lot of my lessons lately have started with the phrase, "shut up..."

This could be a problem for a girl who uses all 297,879 words a day. Plus some.

I Was Blind...Literally...

I started writing a blog about being J-Lo's overweight cousin and my only hope for regaining my ability to wear anything in my closet again was running...and how I feel like running is one of my closest, dearest friends and now, because of my kidney, I can no longer be friends with running.

I really wanted to spend some time complaining about how this wasn't supposed to be my path. How one of my life's goals was to run at least one half marathon a summer...to run the entire 13 Rock N Roll series Half Marathon's. I really wanted to spend some time pouting.

And then, I remembered something that my real-life dear friend, Lennox Barnett, said over the weekend. He was talking about being grateful and about how good God was and said "Guys...I was blind. I was literally blind. And there is no explanation for why I see today. None. And that is why I can't praise God enough..."

I am beyond blessed. I have a house. We have TWO cars. We get to mow our lawn with a motor powered machine that actually self-propels! I have shoes for every season and enough scarves to make a third winter coat (because I already have TWO winter coats). I have water at my disposal WHENEVER I want. I get paid well for the work that I do. I have a job to begin with. We have insurance. Beyond that, we have hospitals and doctors at our disposal.

I have a gorgeous daughter. and three more that probably look a whole lot like her waiting to meet us in heaven.

I can breathe without reminding myself to do so. My heart pumps blood to my body without question. My limbs move and my hair grows and my eyes can see. Heck, my eyes can blink without command and then when I need to command them to, they can blink even more!

I can sing. And sing loudly. And I can hear beautiful melodies and voices and laughter.

I am surrounded by love. By a husband who prays for me and takes care of me. By a family who believes the best in me and accepts all of my very strange and sometimes annoying quirks. By friends who tolerate weird voice messages and strange picture texts and long phone calls and love me without question.

I am not orphaned. I grew up knowing my mom, my dad and my three brothers.

So, if having one kidney is the reason why I can no longer do something that I love. If having a blood disease along with it means that we have absolutely no guarantees when it comes to having more children naturally. If I have to restrict my diet or go on medication or stop doing certain things.

WHO CARES. WHO CARES. WHO CARES.

I have Emara Jane, my miracle baby. And she is more than enough reason to be grateful. I have Scott, who again, more than enough. I have life. I have God. I could go on and on (and probably should on a daily basis).

And, even if all of this is taken away. my child. my husband. my health. my precious running (inserting sarcasm).

God is still good and I still believe in hope. And heaven is still coming.

So, Stephanie, take a big bite of perspective today. And be thankful that you have so much more than you could ever need or want.

Just need to grab my son...

Words I spoke to an elderly gentleman in a parking lot waiting for me to move so he could drive away...but I couldn't move because I was trying to get Emara out of the car.

And I said, "Just need to grab my son!" in the most cheerful voice ever. And I didn't even notice that I called her a him until the old man said, "What's his name?" through his open window....to which I snorted out a "Hremmphenddaa," grabbed Emara's carseat and made a run for Walgreens.

Nice one. Emara is now a son who has a name that sounds like a grandpa burp.

Moving on. I started work yesterday. Full-Time. Yikes. At least, I was yikesing.

Anyways, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I didn't cry. I didn't call home every 5 minutes to make sure she was ok. And I didn't even spring a leak when I heard her crying over the phone when I did talk to Scott. Ok, I forgot...I did cry when he called me...but my boobs didn't, so a small victory.

I think I am ok with going back to work because I have 2 incredible people taking care of her (besides her daddy) while I am gone... That, and I prepared and prepared for leaving her. I psyched myself up so much that it really helped me get through it.

What I didn't prepare for? Oh honey. Oh child. Again with the "things people forgot to mention". But, don't worry, I will blame nobody but myself for these mishaps. Nobody made me call my daughter a son.

That one was all me.

I was prepared to pump. NOT prepared for the LONG walk from my desk to the kitchen to the file room (where I pump) while carrying the worlds largest pumping contraption and a "cooler" full of breastmilk (note to self...get the slightly less obvious milk carrying apparatus next time). EVERYONE knows what you are about to do and I can't help but think they are all picturing me in true "utter" form. All of our offices have glass walls. So, I spend the walk around the building pretending to read something incredibly interesting on my phone.

It doesn't help that the file room is directly across from 2 dudes. One who is married and has kids so he probably gets it. The other? 25 year old city living single and loving it wants to write a tv show about his fraternity flag football team? Not so much. Definitely avoids eye contact with me at ALL costs.

He would probably throw up if he knew that my breastmilk was being stored in the same fridge where he gets his lunch.

Speaking of breastmilk. I drank a LARGE gulp on accident the other night. At 3am. What can I say? I was delirious. And apparently very thirsty.

I was THIS CLOSE to throwing up. Poor Emara! That stuff tastes horrible! I need to eat more candy and sweeten that stuff up. Or at least eat something that will make it taste less like a booger.

So, with that. I will leave anyone who ever in their entire lives needs to feed anything a bottle with this tidbit of advice.

If it seems clogged. Do not stick the bottle in your mouth and suck to try to unclog it. Well, at least don't lift the bottle in the air so all of said contents comes rushing into your mouth once you unclog the bottle.

This, my friends, is a serious and disgusting mistake. As my sister-in-law, Kelly, would say to her daughter....you made a sad choice.

Indeed, I made a very sad choice. Let's all learn from this, shall we?