On Balance

I've been writing a lot of posts lately that don't get published. Occasionally I start writing about what's been going on around here the past few weeks, but most of these posts end up as a diatribe about finding balance in parenting. And if you're interested, here's the summary: It's not possible to obtain balance as a mother...yet I'm obsessed with finding it.

It's finally summer in the Tri-Cities and we have been doing a lot of hard work in the yard, traveling and generally having a good time. Needless to say, the laundry is never done. But I try. It is also physically impossible to get dinner on the table before 7pm. Yet I try. And I also feel the increasing need to spend every waking moment showing those two girls all the love I have in my heart for them. But there's the laundry and dinner to make. It's a vicious cycle.

John has been giving me the old wary eye the past week or so and asking me more often than usual if I'm okay or telling me I work too hard. Apparently I've been giving him the old I'm-exhausted-and-don't-have-time-for-this-right-now look more often than not. I also happen to have a stye on my eyelid the size of Texas that popped up and won't go away. I hear these things are caused by stress. Apparently it's a physical reminder that I'm trying a little too hard to make things balance.

Anyway, the observation that I'm visibly stressed out kind of came as a shock to me since I feel like, personally, I'm making a lot of progress in my efforts to take it easy; I'm trying to be slower to anger and faster to forgive, I let situations with the girls that would normally make me want to rip my hair out wash over me instead. I try to find God's grace in the seemingly bad things and rejoice in the unquestionably good. And then I look in the mirror and see that horrible bulging red bump on my eye screaming to the world: " she's falling apart!"

Listen up, unsightly stye, I'm just trying to do it all here. Is that so much to ask?

Let's just say I haven't grown in the area of giving up ridiculous aspirations.

While I may not be good at giving up things like letting anyone else fold the laundry, (lest the world should come to an end without my shirts folded uniformly) one big thing that I have recently conceded is that having two kids might actually make our family complete. This is a huge departure for the lady who wanted nothing more than to have her own personal soccer team of children. I love being pregnant and for the longest time it just felt like my default state of being. But pregnancies most often result in an infant that you're expected to love and shower with kisses and pay college tuition for. That's a heavy burden of responsibility, especially considering it takes more time and energy to take care of my oldest than it does her baby sister.

Audrey is fantastic and hilarious and generally a real treat to be around, but she's challenging. That kid lobs curve balls at me every day--sometimes they make me laugh, like her demanding I stop driving and get out of the car. Other days I struggle to keep sane when she suddenly decides she's not potty trained and wets through four outfits in one morning. Yet every day I find myself amazed by how beautiful, intelligent and special she is. A kid like that requires a lot of attention, especially as she's struggling to understand her wild emotions.

Now, the Gunni? She loves her sister just as much as I do. The two of them are already in cahoots; Bailey loves wrestling with Audrey in bed, grabbing at her face and trying to eat her hair. It makes Audrey laugh hysterically which in turn makes the Gunni gurgle. There's a lot of love between those two. Bailey has a tendency to get fussy at the dinner table (I think she's starting to feel a bit of jealousy about table food) and when bouncing her on Mama's knee doesn't help, her big Sis can always make her smile. A few nights ago while we were eating Audrey told Bailey she smelled like a monkey and kept waving her hands in B's face yelling "Pee Yew!" Much laughter ensued.

So what does it all come down to? I cannot describe how fulfilling it is to be the mother of these two girls. I am constantly challenged and in awe of how amazing God has made our lives. I feel like my life would be perfectly whole if we weren't blessed with more children yet I'm keeping my mind open to the possibility of more. I also should resolve that I will stop trying to be a super mom, expecting balance in my life...but I just can't let go. There's a reason Audrey has a stubborn streak a mile wide--she's learned from the best.

For The Addicts...

Because I just recovered from weekend of traveling with two little ones and an amazing migraine headache, I'm taking the lazy way out--here's a video from last month. I'll post some newer ones in my next post.
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It's About Time!

I have been slacking. But I'm not really going to offer any apologies because I've been busy...busy grocery shopping. And cooking. And cleaning, cooking some more and then loving on my babies. But don't ask about the laundry. The horror!

Anyway, the girls are now officially 4 months and 22 months old. That means my little Dragon is almost a two-year old! How did this happen? I remember going to the hospital and then bringing her home, but this all seems so sudden. It really is surreal, even though hearing Audrey bark orders at everyone in the house (including the dog) should remind me that she's growing up. And man, oh, man do I have my work cut out for me. I can already see the little seed of teenage rebellion planted in that kid's head. She is constantly testing every adult figure she comes into contact with to see what she can get away with. And here I thought I had gotten off the hook with a kid who doesn't leap into parking lots without a thought or try to climb the drapes. I've always found joy in how advanced Audrey has been cognitively and verbally, but now I'm starting to see the challenges of having a smart kid who can talk. John and I joke about it, but she has already mastered the art of diversion.

Mama: "Audrey, we need to go get ready for bed."
Audrey: "Mama, I need to go potty bad!"
Mama: "Ok, let's go to the potty."
Audrey: " I see Caba!"
Mama: "We're going to the potty."
Audrey: "But I see phone!!"

It's not working kid. Mama's impervious to shiny objects.

In addition to trying to distract us to get her way, she just outright orders people around. I can't tell you how many times I heard her yell "Seth, come here!!" this past weekend. We're working on manners.

Little A is also experimenting with temper tantrums, especially when she's tired or hungry or needs to go to the bathroom. It's loud and emotionally draining (for all of us) , but we're working on nipping those emotional breakdowns in the bud. Sometimes I forget how difficult it is for kids to figure out emotions. Heck, I feel justified biting anyone's head off who looks at me funny before I've had my coffee in the morning. I figure not being able to work out what intense emotion you're experiencing is much more frustrating than just being a sleep-deprived crank.

In the mean time, Bailey is still my super chill baby. We went in for her four month appointment and she now weighs 16 lbs. 6 oz. and is 25 inches long. That means she's made the jump to the top of the charts in both height and weight; there's no way she's gonna let her sister out-do her just because she's younger.

The Gunni is really just a happy kid; she loves lots of attention and will reward you with the world's cutest shy smile if you give it to her. She's also showing much more interest in moving than her big sis did as a baby; she's already rolling over, almost able to sit independently and she loves to pull up on my thumbs to stand. She's ready! Even Dr. D said she'll probably be an early crawler/walker. I know most parents shudder at the thought of another mobile child, but I like the idea of taking a step toward independence for both of us.

Life at the Ranch has been busy as usual; we had the Moore kids over for the long weekend and we had a fantastic time. The women-folk had a ladies tea (complete with scones and cucumber sandwiches) on Saturday and the boys barbecued and camped out in the back yard. Sunday was the Indy-500 (an institution in the Schweighardt house) and I was so busy cooking and *cough* shopping *cough* that I didn't get to see it. shame.

Marlene is staying with the kids in Vancouver for the next few weeks and we somehow convinced her to let Hannah stay with us until the 11th when we'll drive over to see D'Arcy debut on pointe. I'm so excited to see Duck dance again and I cannot wait until Audrey is old enough to don her own little tutu and flit about stage. The tippy toes don't lie; that girl's going to be a dancer.

The same weekend we're going to see D'Arcy dance, Steve and Julie are going to be in Portland for a conference. Joe has decided to fly out too and then they're all driving over to spend the rest of the week with us in the Tri-Cities. Having company that loves food really is dangerous; I'll probably be about 10 pounds heavier by the end of this visit.

The rest of the summer is going to go by in a blur of travel, celebration and food. Coming attractions include: Father's Day, my birthday, Marlene's 70th birthday!, the Schweighardt's annual 4th of July crazy extravaganza, a visit from my best buddy Jessica, a trip back to the Midwest with the girls, my parents flying back to the Tri-Cities with me, Audrey's birthday and a camping trip to Mt. Adams. somewhere in there I have to convince my sister to come to the Benton-Franklin County Fair; it just feels wrong to go without her now.

I'm exhausted just writing that out. I think I'll take a nap now while I can.

What a Bunch of Lazy Bones

We've been having a lot of fun around the Schweighardt complex this week. Most weekends we try to accomplish something productive around the house or at least have goals in mind for projects we'd like to complete. But not this weekend.

Instead:

Audrey taught me how to hula as only a future cruise director can

Lil A's original crib was recalled, so we bought a new one and Papa put it together for her. Right here she's saying: "I'm bouncing!!!!"

We got a matching crib for Bailey too!

We went to Reagan's first birthday party; Bailey charmed everyone in attendance.



While Audrey made herself at home in the kitchen. Soup, anyone?


We napped...

And the girls played

while I folded a metric ton of laundry

Then I got to take it easy on Mother's Day. I couldn't ask for two more amazing girls.

Oh, and Monday? I'm pretending you don't exist. Please feel free to comply with that delusion. I'll be lounging in bed if you need me.

On All Things Controversial

To begin with, the only reason this post has come into existence is that my daughter, the angel baby, is currently sucking on a pacifier in semi-content sleep while I remain awake unable to keep from writing this entry in my mind. (Feel free to pick your jaws up off the floor; I promise I'll try to keep her from becoming the 4 year old with a binky)

Not that I've ever been concerned with the readership this blog garners, but I've found myself afraid of sending posts like this out into the blogsphere. I'm going to be preaching (oh, yes! It's gonna get preachy up in here) about trying to spread tolerance in a very controvercial light. That's right: Let's talk about religion! I would promise I'll try to keep money and politics out of it, but as long as I'm potentially offending people, what have I got to lose?

And that brings me to my main point: Why are Christians so dang offensive? And why am I afraid of being seen as one of the offensive ones? I think it's fair to say that most people who know me are aware that I'm a 'God-fearing' woman. I hope I give credit to the Big Man upstairs enough for people to realize I'm in love with Christ. But it doesn't stop there: I want everyone to know that he's my everything. My relationship with God comes before the relationship I have with my husband and my children and my family--because they are all His children as well. I believe he has control of those relationships; that he brought John and me together and made us one unit because there's no one else in the world I could fit so seamlessly with, that he gave me those two amazing girls to take care of for Him because he knew I could love them more than anyone on the planet and that he gave me my parents and my siblings because he knew no one else could love and influence me in the ways they have.

I feel like I just came out of the closet and I'm thinking I probably just lost quite a few people with those statements. Is it because I used the cliche phrase 'All His children'? Are ya still at least with me Mom? Ok, good.

That's exactly what I'm afraid of; I know I can't get away with using phrases like 'His children' or 'non-believers' without offending people--I know because I used to be one of those people rolling their eyes. Let's start with a little background, shall we?

I grew up 'in the church'; my parents attended, so I attended. As a child I remember vividly latching on to the idea of the ever-loving God and, oh, what blind faith I had. It was beautiful. And then I grew up. And somehow I lost it. It probably got mixed in somewhere with the teenage angst and my concern with my own appearance. I grew up in a beautiful area in Arkansas, but the unfortunate thing about that half of the state is there are a plethora of racist, bigoted, intolerant people. And I know that can be said for pretty much any area of the country, but speaking from the crunchy side of the fence, I see the other side to be my hometown. Don't get me wrong, some of the most loving, caring beautiful human beings I know also hail from Northern Arkansas, I just particularly remember the amount of intolerance and prejudice I encountered; the KKK held a public rally in our town square for pete's sake.

Needless to say, there weren't many non-Caucasian people in my town; instead there were kids flying confederate flags the size of Texas out of their trucks, slinging verbal vomit around to anyone who'd listen. Amazingly, they didn't manage to run everyone off; I had several gay friends in high school whom I loved dearly and had to see them struggle not only with the rightness of their own sexuality, but with the intolerance and persecution of others. This made me question religion. A lot. Because those confederate flag waving folk? Those people judging and persecuting my friends for feelings that felt wrong for them to suppress? The kids going to the Southern Baptist youth group and then getting high, drunk and gettin' jiggy with it on the weekends? They were all adamantly Christians. And I sure did not want to be one of them.

That's not to say I lost my faith over those issues, I was more afraid, having shed the beautiful skin of child-like, blind innocence, that being a Christian meant I had to find fault with others and seek to right it as my service to the Lord. I was confused. Meanwhile, I had a heck of a lot of tolerant, well-meaning, God-lovin' folk around me; they just weren't my peers--they were people like my parents who, at the time, it was un-cool to model myself after. So, I went to college and drifted farther from God.

I definitely won't go into detail, but I made a lot of dumb decisions in college. I also tried to make 'good' decisions by doing things like attending hip college-kid Christian jam sessions and I sat in those coffee houses, listening to Phil on the djembe, slurping my smoothie, thinking I was lost because my connection with the Lord no longer felt tangible. Lost was definitely the word.

Luckily among the poor decisions I made was one to become a German major and to spend a year abroad. All the paperwork was filled out, filed and approved and then a letter came in the mail requesting a signature that would commit me financially to this decision: after I signed that paper, there was no going back. And my heart sank; my stomach felt like it was simultaneously trying to escape via my throat and my butt. I've never been so physically ill over a decision in my life. I stared at that paper for days and tried to purge my body of the feeling that something was so, so wrong.

And then I realized that I didn't HAVE to go. I could risk humiliating myself and just choose not to leave. And that, my friends, is the best decision I've made in my life. If I had gone to Germany I never would have become a Hospitality major, married John, and had those two amazing children. But most importantly, I stopped drifting from Christ and began a series of never-ending steps to try to become closer to him. That sick feeling that wouldn't go away had been a slap in the face telling me to just let him take the dang reins already. And the decision to let him lead my life felt good; my stomach stopped trying to make an exit and instead my heart rejoiced.

So, that's where I come from. Are you still with me? Mom? You're probably the only one who's made it this far...especially considering that whole blip was only the beginning.

That brings us to today: God-loving Jesus freak that I am. And I want everyone to know it. More importantly, I want everyone to experience the love and tolerance and grace that is living your life for Jesus Christ. And you know what Christians call it when they try to get others to see that?

Witnessing.

A word those redneck, intolerant folk made seem dirty and offensive to me.

So when Pastor Keith says I should be witnessing every day, I start to cringe. And it's not just because I'm technically sitting in a church belonging to the Southern Baptist Convention. Until two days ago, I truly believed that witnessing was forcing your religion on someone you saw as a sinful 'non-believer' like the clerks trying to get you to sign up for store credit cards. It only served to push people further from Christ in my mind. So I prayed. And I felt guilty for not witnessing. And then I prayed some more. But God is good. Oh, is he ever good.

I was fortunate enough to extend a general invitation for a Mom's night out that only one other person attended. Most people would see that as a failure. At the time, I did. But God made sure no one else wanted to go, because He wanted to show me what it really meant to witness to someone in the most beautiful sense of the word. At this Mom's night out I met with a woman I would have called a mere acquaintance. She had previously told me that she was, if not a non-believer, then at least confused, and for now she had chosen not to believe in God. That struck me hard. Because she's been through a lot of hardships and struggles that I can't imagine dealing with while feeling like Christ was not at my side. Being a member of MOPS with me (a church-based Mom's group) and being open about her religious disbelief and confusion, she has experienced 'witnessing' in the harshest sense of the word. She felt outcast and set-upon by these well-meaning people and ended up hardening her heart toward the church because of it.

Luckily, for both of us, after all of those lost attempts by people trying to 'fix' her, God sent me just to tell her that I knew where she came from; that our pasts were not identical, but our views were alike; that she had an ally in me not because I pitied her or wanted to save her soul, but because more than anything, God wants us to love and tolerate one another as He has chosen to create us.

For the first time in my life I felt the Lord actively using me--to call this woman to him. And it didn't puff up my ego and make me pat myself on the back like I saw those Christians of my youth doing. Instead, it was the greatest high I've ever been on in my life; I literally had to stop myself from singing and dancing and screaming praises to the Lord. Because I eventually had to go home and it would've woken the kids. But God could hear my bursting heart. And if you haven't already, someday I want you to feel that too.

So, after all that initial frustration and prayer for guidance, the Lord answered my prayers in the coolest way possible; he filled me with his spirit and allowed me to realize how he works through me. But more than the amazing high I felt from speaking with my friend, it made me realize that the most effective way for me to 'witness' to others is simply by living my life for Christ every minute of every day; by doing that, I am daily witnessing to everyone around me that the Lord is my life and my salvation.

Now go get a snack and take a potty break; you deserve it for sticking with me to the end.

I'm Feeling a Little Crunchy

I was going to put off this post until Earth Day (Mark your calendars!) but both the girls are asleep and John is downstairs watching the Mariners, so I figured I'd jump the gun a little. We've already established that I celebrate quite a few unorthodox personal hollidays and Earth Day is really no different aside from the fact that it's written in most calendars and, luckily, corporations latch on to the green movement in any way possible in the hopes of profiting from us silly hippy folks.

My giddy anticipation of Earth Day must have started in 2nd grade when all the students in my class were given baby pine trees to take home and plant. I think mine is probably the only one that survived...and that's really just because we buried my sister's dead goldfish, Fluffy, under it. (p.s. I highly recommend dead fish as fertilizer--we did the same thing for our baby Blue Spruce out here. It was a touching ceremony. I sang 'Circle of Life' from the Lion King.) Anyway! Back to second grade! Being the goody-two-shoes kid I was, I really got a kick out of feeling like I was making a difference in the planet by planting this tree...a tree that now boasts a single poof of foliage about the size of a grapefruit. But STILL! Every year after that, I looked forward to Earth Day. It made me feel good to be crunchy.

Now every year Earth Day seems to signify a new year for me; it's a time to reevaluate the choices I make in my life and try to make them more environmentally friendly. Having kids has also changed my perspective on how crunchy I'm willing to be. It is amazing how much children pick up simply by observing the people modeling behaviors around them. And if I'm committed to loving my planet, hopefully my kids will be too.

This Earth Week started out as many before have; I have plans for planting in my garden and my main goal was something small-- to get back on the cloth diaper wagon for Bailey since I've been lazy and probably only doing half and half. But, fortuitously, my cousin Jinnie sent me a link to a blog post at Sorta Crunchy. I started following the blog. And then I became obsessed with reading the archives. And before I knew it I was washing my hair with baking soda and contemplating giving up toilet paper. It's a slippery slope. And I just love being crunchy.

so, without further ado, here is my 2010 list of ways I want to crunchify my life:

• I finally convinced John to buy a universal battery charger. Kid's toys/gear suck up so much battery juice and batteries are expensive! My inner Scrooge McDuck cackled when I got my hands on that new charger. And I get to play it off as being concerned for the environment.
  
• Using hankies instead of paper tissues: we already did this with the girls, but why not ourselves? I've started putting a stack of flannel 'wipes' in the bathroom for this purpose and I hope to invest in some quaint handkerchiefs.
  
• Using cloth in the kitchen: it is so, so easy to just reach over and grab a paper towel to dry your hands, but I've been trying to catch myself and reserve the paper towels for messes so yicky-sticky I wouldn't want to try washing it out. On that note, I'd also love to convert to cloth napkins eventually.
  
• Natural, homemade shampoo and 'conditioner': This one John was (read: IS) very skeptical of and it might just merit it's own blog post some day.
  
• For food: growing our own produce, composting, buying local meat/milk, fair trade coffee and trying to shop more at our local farmer's market/health food store
  

Now, I have to clarify that most of the things I want to commit to also speak to my inner cheapskate self. Going green in many cases saves money and I love saving money! It's an excuse to feel better about my gluttonous Starbucks addiction.

I also want to make sure this does not come off as an excuse to toot my own horn; there are many areas of my life that are hideously wasteful and making strides in areas I do enjoy conserving makes me feel a little less guilty about taking sinfully long hot showers or forgetting to turn lights out when I leave the room. Everybody has their own areas they feel more comfortable going granola in and mine tend to be more extreme than the average bear...or Midwest resident. Seattlites and Portlanders, though? This steel-cut-oat-eatin' Mama's got nothin' on those wack jobs. Now go hug a tree.

Reaching the Summit

Reader Beware: This post will most likely include a ludicrous number of mountain puns, but bear with me; that's just how I roll.

Even though the girls have been under the weather and there were a million other things that we really should have been attending to on Saturday, John and I decided to get out of the house and hike Badger Mountain together. I don't remember the last time we did this. It was when Audrey was not so large and in charge...that's for sure. She definitely wasn't mobile or capable of yelling the phrase "come on!!" yet.

Even though John and I have a great love for hiking, we've found ourselves reluctant to take the girls with us. It's a hassle; there is so much more gear to carry. Add in potty training and feeding schedules and you've got another mountain to traverse before you've even left the house. But we NEEDED to get out of the house and get some exercise. Spring had sprung! We had to be out enjoying nature! So, we took the mandatory hour and a half to get the girls fed, clothed, packed up, diapered/potty break-ed and into the car and we headed to the mountain. John carried the camelbak pack and Bailey in her front carrier while I proudly wore Audrey in my Moby wrap on my back. It has been a long time since I've worn Audrey in a carrier and she was not ecstatic about it from the get-go. But, I'm the Mama...and I'm more stubborn than she is. If only by a hair. After a few minutes of shrieking, struggling to get out and screaming anything from "UPPY!" to "I Potty!" or "I'm Heavy!!!" The Dragon finally gave in (for the most part) and allowed me to carry her on my back up the Mountain. One mountain conquered. Check!

We had decided to take the back way up Badger; it's not as steep, but the trail is much longer. And I was plugging along, trying not to stop for water breaks because I knew Audrey would come out of her sick-sleepy stupor and start screaming again. And I started thinking...like I haven't been able to think since having a baby...because recently every waking moment consists of thoughts of parenting and what I need to be doing next. But, what I needed to do next on the mountain was keep walking. And that was the easy part.

I started thinking about how difficult it is to hike when you're flabby and out of shape and when I wanted to rest I remembered how hard labor was and the climbing seemed like sissy stuff. I thought about my girls and my struggles with breastfeeding and how I've come to peace with my decisions for them. I thought about how proud I am of the things I set out to conquer successfully like natural childbirth, baby wearing and cloth diapering and I was proud for having succeeded. Mostly I thought of all the struggles I've been through as a parent and whether I felt I had come out victorious or struggled relentlessly instead.

Amidst all this John insisted that I stop for water breaks or to catch my breath and eventually he told me it was time to turn around; that we didn't need to make it to the summit today; that we had gotten some great exercise and a lot of quality time with the girls. And he was right. I had set out to hike the summit to prove that I could do it. But I didn't need to. So I turned around and on the way back down I thought about how parenting is really just hiking a series of mountains, trying like hell to reach the summit, knowing you might never reach it and being ok with it.