Where Prayer and Conjuring Meet

For those who may be new here, my grandmother passed away in February. 

My grief comes and goes, hitting in those proverbial waves.

Sometimes I talk to Jesus and the Father about it. 
Other times I talk with Grandma.

Hey Grandma,

Mother Nature almost missed the memo - not granting her usual showers in Colorado until late in the month of April, so May is catching up for us.

My Spring Thanksgiving Season

It always kicks off with Christopher's birthday.

Induction Day

His birth is what set everything into motion - or rather, one bacon cheeseburger at Chili's and my propensity for having "morning" sickness at odd times and/or so late in pregnancy did - for Pneumogedden.

I was already sick here, unbeknownst to us, incubating bacteria in my lungs.

And in the two weeks between his birthday and mine, it all settles in.

The reflections on just what hell on earth we went through.

The million little gratitudes for our families, those we were born into and those Seth and I built through our church, our neighbors, and that we created while in the hospital.

The awareness that my body is FREAKING AMAZING. (God knew what He was doing, eh?)

Sometimes, I get a little psychosomatic and my scars begin to itch terribly before I start to enter this spring Thanksgiving season.

Other times, I think, "It's been YEARS. Get over it already!"

But here I am, marveling at it all over again.

Specifically from the angle of how I was still able to nourish my then-newborn baby boy, despite all odds.

Eight is great...

I love this picture of you. 

It makes me just want to squeeze ya and kiss every one of those cute little freckles on your face.

And maybe tickle you till you burst.

I see the joy you bring to our lives with that smile.

I also see a sharpening of your cheeks and jawline that hints of time going by, of the inevitable transition  you'll be making from boy-child to a man.

Teaching Honest Beauty

I fell asleep last night in my Sunday-best hair and make-up.

Oh, c'mon, like you're so perfect you never wake up with crusted on mascara? Psh...

Pics or it didn't happen, you say? 

Well, here ya go.

Caution: Eyes are more red and puffy than they may appear.
Because my eyes are delicate flowers.

We scare because we care. 

Ooops, I meant I share because I care.

I care about an honest look at beauty.

I do not see a pushing-40 woman with blotchy skin, fine lines, bags under her eyes, etc. 

Ok, well I do have eyes in my head, so yes, I see her.

Let's try that again: while my eyes may see a pushing-40 woman with blotchy skin, fine lines, bags under her eyes, etc., my heart sees a tired mama hen rising before the shine in order to get her little chickies off to school at an ungodly hour with full and warm bellies, lunches for later, and encouragement to start their days.

That's beauty.

A Parent's Take on 13 Reasons Why

PLEASE NOTE:  If you experience suicidal thoughts or have lost someone to suicide, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. You can also call 1-800-273-TALK (8255). The Alliance for Suicide Prevention offers local support in Larimer County.

The other day, I was scrolling through Facebook (something I am doing entirely too much of lately in my unemployment) and came across an article for The Mighty called "Why I Wish I Didn't Watch 13 Reasons Why."

I'd seen the trailer for the show on Netflix some time ago, but quickly forgot about it. This article revived my interest in the series, and because I am the obnoxious type who actually likes spoilers, I read the review first.

a homecoming in the making

Some things will never change. Some things will always be the same. Lean down your ear upon the earth and listen.       

---Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again 

March 4, 2015

She sat, a pale and fragile 73, in the recliner, cannula snaking out of her nose down to the oxygen canister that pumped life-sustaining air into her body. 

Mere days out of the hospital following a cardiac episode for which the hospital attending physicians and the VA docs couldn't agree upon a diagnosis, she broke my heart as I searched for signs of the spirited woman I grew up knowing as Grandma.

Heart attack, said the doctors at the hospital, who'd tended to her from the ambulance to admission.

Transient Ischemic Attack, or a series of mini-strokes, said the VA doctor who read all the records of her admitting symptoms and saw her for follow-up.

Whatever had happened, it wasn't clear if she was out of the woods yet or if she would make it there. So Mom and I had thrown a rushed trip together to see her, the details of getting there ended up being dramatic enough for a Lifetime TV movie. 

That's a story in its own right. Most of it was told on Facebook, but the details - man, you can't make that stuff up. 

It was a wild ride, touch and go for a while, but eventually, we made it.

As we entered Grandma's house - not the home I'd grown up with her living in, she'd moved to the Tri-Cities sometime in the late 90s after Mom had moved us to Colorado - we met a haze of thick cigarette smoke. 

She sat, a pale and fragile 73, in the recliner, cannula snaking out of her nose down to the oxygen canister that pumped life-sustaining air into her body. 

I took the woman in before me with my eyes. She was thinner than I'd ever seen her, hair stark white, and pallid skin devoid of color. Had she not brown eyes, she could have passed as an albino. This was not the chain-smoking, dirty-joking spunky ole broad who always had her hair setting and nails painted of my youth.

I'd known to expect that - she had been in a declining state at my sister's wedding 6 years earlier. I'd known that her mobility was severely impaired, and it followed that, of course, she would have atrophied further.

For some reason, I guess I had some kind of fairy tale thinking that once we were in Washington again, that she would be herself in her own place. The head and the heart don't always work so well together, ya know?

We greeted each other, shyly and yet possessed by the raw hunger of emotions elicited by a a loved one's brush with mortality: repressed love suddenly bursting forth from compartments in the heart that were previously wrapped shut with ambivalence, and the Fear of losing time to say the Important Things that comes with the weighty dawning of reality that said time is growing ever shorter.

My uncle was there. David and I had been close when I was little, before he went to jail at age 16 and the arc of his life changed dramatically. He had taught me how to play chess as a pre-schooler and we played often. After he'd been in lock-up, he came back hardened, older, and had his own family to tend to not long upon re-entry to the world. Always a smartass, he played people with his wit, often in a game of hurt or be hurt. And sometimes the stings went deep. But, damn if he didn't love his people with a ferocity I've not seen matched by anyone else in my life. I always could count on him when it came down to it.

He made some snide comment to Mom about her weight and his face beckoned the challenge to her, "C'mon, sister, bring it on!"

He damn near killed me when he turned to me and the first words asked of me in oh some 20 years were, "So, you still play chess?"

I told him no, but quickly built rapport by good-naturedly throwing my Mom under the bus. Casting a [mock] baleful glance at my mother, I retorted, "Somebody moved me 1,200 miles away from my chess teacher 20something years ago. I seem to have forgotten how to play." My eyes may have leaked as I reflected on how he deliberately chose something of meaning to say to me, instead of some crass attempt to bruise with humor. He came and hugged me strongly. I felt a tear or two land on my shoulder, and my fissured heart cracked a little wider.

It hadn't been as long since I'd seen my aunt or my cousin, but still over a decade, so we embraced each other and worked to overcome the disjointed and awkward intimacy of being close family relatives who are practically strangers, having to merge who we were now with who we remembered each other to be so long ago.

Upon making ourselves comfortable, Grandma struggled to light herself a new cigarette.

Mom got up sharply and removed the cannula, saying, "I wish you wouldn't smoke with that on - it's so dangerous!"

Grandma shot her a black-humored look over the top of her glasses, chin cocked downward, seemingly bolstering herself for a fight.

There's a glimpse of that ole broad, I thought to myself, as a half-grin emerged on my face. Here we go!

"Mom, I'm not going to tell you to quit smoking - just don't do it with the oxygen, ok? I know that quitting isn't going to undo the damage that has been done and it is a comfort to you as a stress relief. I'm not interested in making you give that up when everything else is going to crap. I want you to be happy, so I'm not going to fight about the cigarettes. But, Jesus, be safe about it, ok?" my mother pleaded with her.

What happened next haunts me, and drives my desire to make others feel like they matter, in the work I do, in the faith I walk, and especially with the people I love.

Grandma rolled her eyes, pursed her lips, and looked around at all her medicine bottles, tubes, the walker she was forced to never be without, and said, "Tara, I'm not happy." 

Unspoken, she said, I'm old and my body is failing. My family is not Rockwellian or even similar to the Roseanne Barr show. I have regrets. A lot of regrets. And I'm sorry, but there sure as shit ain't nothing I can do about it now.

Later that week, we were sitting around and Uncle David tossed out some memories for Mom.

"Hey, remember that time Howard beat the shit out of mom, and we......" I don't even remember the story that followed - I was stuck on how nonchalant he was about what should have been a terrifying event. But it had been an all-too-common, normal even, piece of their childhood.

They reminisced about it, laughing that protective, gallows-humor chuckle that just barely covers gut-wrenching pain from the past.

Oh, Lord, does it grieve you as it does me?

How many times had she been beaten in front of them?

How many times had her children been beaten in front of her and she felt helpless to do anything about it?

How much shame and self-loathing did she still carry for allowing it, and other unspeakable abuses that occurred, to go on as long as it did?

How many times and in what ways had she been victimized as a child?

Had she ever felt loved unconditionally? 

That her life had purpose and meaning somewhere beyond all the abuses, lies, betrayals, and failures?

Does she know You love her - no matter what - and that she is precious? 

Has she ever felt her worth as You created her to be, not to be used and manipulated by men?

She sat, a pale and fragile 73, in the recliner, cannula snaking out of her nose down to the oxygen canister that pumped life-sustaining air into her body. 

The hardness of her life had finally caught up with her, trapping her in the shell of a declining body and the double-edged sword of a still-sharp mind. 

What we'd all missed for so long suddenly was plain and clear for all to see.

The erosion of her spirit began long ago, long before my time, I'm sure. Over the years, the constant pressure had to have depleted her in an ongoing manner, but because people saw her day to day, the changes weren't that noticeable. I sat there, looking at her in awe and sadness, able to see the canyon-like caverns in her joy, her spunk, and her energy. Life had been wearing away at her all this time, and only now with the passage of a lot of time had the erosion become noticeable.

My career has centered around poverty alleviation and human services programs that act as safety nets and/or create greater self-sufficiency. A lot of the work in recent years has shifted toward generational poverty. And this is well and good, as Scripture tells us we must address material needs of the poor in James 2:

15 Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. 16 If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?

But this poverty in spirit, this brokenness without hope for the future that I see in so many members of my family, the participants served by my employer, can be generational, too. And that also must be addressed.

May we be kind. May we be intentional. May we be seekers of those in need of love, and be prepared to give love to them when we find them. May we forgive things long past us.

I cannot bear the thought of people going to their deaths with such despair, self-loathing and loneliness.

***********
In the past year, I have spoken more with my grandma, aunt, uncle and cousin than I probably have combined in the last 10 years, particularly this spring.

Grandma kept asking me if we would be able to come out for the family reunion this summer, and I was hesitant.

We're busy. It is expensive. My family is colorful and very complicated. My kids are pretty sheltered. Etc.

But I couldn't quit hearing and seeing her defeat.

"Tara, I'm not happy."

So I started re-evaluating our budget, and an epic road trip was born.

The kids and I are going to embark upon a 10-day 3,000+ mile road trip to the PNW starting July 30th.

We've got a full itinerary and the excitement is building.

The kids have never been west of Vernal, UT, nor north of southern Wyoming, have never seen the ocean, are total history buffs, and are about to get a healthy dose of family roots, for better or for worse.

There will be a lot of feels, since I haven't been back to Kelso, my hometown, since 1999, and the house that built me is still around. We will drive by the old neighborhood for sure.

We told Grandma a couple of weeks ago, and she called me (a rarity!) Sunday to talk more about it.

And I heard her say, "I can't hardly wait."

We can't either, Grandma. It's gonna be great.

Purer in Heart

Wednesday my youngest son's school brought all the 1st grade classes on a field trip.

I, in my typical want to compensate for the lack of school volunteering, went as a parent helper. I, of course, had that one kid. The kid who doesn't heed instructions or redirection unless he thinks it is his own idea. But it worked out all right.

As we were walking to our various stations, we'd pass kids from the other groups. One of these classmates had a visible simplicity of mind and a difference in his gait. He also had his own adult providing individual care to him. Whether she was his mother or para wasn't clear to me..

We made eye contact, me and this precious soul.

And in a too-loud voice, timbre deeper than most 8th grade boys, he called out, to anyone who would hear, "Hi! Hi!" holding his hand up in a static wave so as to let everyone know the source of this raucous greeting.

"Hi," I said brightly, smiling as I held my group at bay for the moment.

"Wha's yer name?" he asked with an odd cadence, putting the emphasis on "yer."

I caught the microgesture of his adult helper, the ducking of the head and tug on his hand making both the unspoken plea to "quit bothering this poor lady," and apology to me.

But I wanted to let him know, he's not a bother.

And, knowing my own daughter's "twice exceptional" status with tendencies toward the autism spectrum and a giftedness that makes her very book smart, often left her struggling to engage in exploratory social interactions, not to mention the awareness of just how often this little guy probably got ignored, I responded.

"My name is Heather," I answered with a smile as my hand echoed his own still gesture.

"Oh! Hi!" he said with a megawatt beam of a smile as his helper smiled back faintly, urging him on.

Later in the day, I took my group for a bathroom break, when my toothy grinned, auburn locked new friend passed by once more.

"Hi! Wha's yer...." he began, and I recognized her embarrassment again.

"Wait, yer Heather, right?"

I nodded, smiling broadly as the pride of his remembering rippled across his face. His adult helper relaxed, some.

"You remembered," I said, initiating a celebratory fist bump with him, putting his aide at ease and pushing this happy-smiled angel over into a dreamy bliss.

"Yes, Heather....yer My Heather."

It takes virtually no effort to change someone's day, and often the reward profoundly impacts you.

I can't get that sweet boy out of my head.

I wish that we were all so pure of heart that joy would be so easily grasped. Instead, we cover our joys with worry, envy, conceit, etc.

Lord, give me a simple mind and a joyful heart. Help me see the significance of the seemingly insignificant actions and their impacts always. Help me to encourage those around me.

"Purer in heart, O God, help me to be;
Teach me to do Thy will most lovingly;
Be Thou my Friend and Guide,
Let me with Thee abide;
Purer in heart, help me to be."

Amen.

this and that (and a freezer meal menu bonus)

So, it's been awhile ....again.

But it's all good.

Happy Fall.

My life has been so FULL of late - the new job is really coming together (btw, please go like our page on FB!) and the feedback I'm getting from our students just warms my heart. It makes me want to do better for them each day. Also, every day, no exaggeration, I come to work thinking, "What blessing is the Lord going to drop in my lap today?" And, every day, something arrives. 

I have NEVER been so aware of His workings in my life. At home. At work. At church. He is THERE.

**********

So this happened.

My daughter is now in high school and she went to her first homecoming last month.

I feel a bit overwhelmed with that tidbit of information. For multiple reasons.

1. While most of my NoCO colleagues are just beginning their families, I have one that is not so far from leaving the nest. It's a bit surreal.

2. I feel so old - like I have a high schooler!!! - and yet, I was 20 when my mother was the age I am now.

3. I was only 1 1/2 years older than Kelsey when I began dating my husband. She could potentially meet (or already know!) her forever friend with benefits in the near future. I'm not ready for that, and am reminded that we need to be on our knees in prayer for her and her future spouse.

*************

Today's sermon (10/25...it wasn't up yet at time of this post) was just amazing. It had a little bit of this, and a lot of You Matter Intimately to the INFINITE GOD OF THE UNIVERSE!

Please, go listen. It will lift your spirits no matter where you are at in life. If you have weathered some storms and are in the sunshine once again, it will foster a sense of gratitude and remind you of the blessing that hindsight is. If you are currently in the storm, it will speak to your heart and whisper truths that the world may be overpowering at present. Listen hard for the quiet but firm voice of truth.

You? 

Matter. 

In ways that are inconceivable. In ways that inspire hope. In ways that speak purpose into your life.

*********

Any mama that's on Facebook or Pinterest has seen the "X number of freezer meals in A Ridiculously SHORT Amount of Time," posts, and I have fallen prey. More often than not, it is batch cooking, making 2, 3, EVEN 4 of the same recipes, times several. Which is fine if you have a family that lives in a rut.

I can barely get my family to eat leftovers, let alone would be unscathed if I made them eat the same meals several times in a month.

The other thing is that some of these recipes are just.... meh.

While I cannot vouch for the quality of all these meals just yet, I was really pleased to get a variety of meals (only 2 are repeats) from Michelle Pleiter's blog. (I don't know her, just think I happened upon this post while social media-ing the other day.) BTW...if you freezer cook, this menu is available in Excel with the recipes hyperlinked and shopping list itemized.

Yes, I am a nerd. But a nerd who shares the love.

I only did some recipes that I figured should be tasty by the ingredients, (but added some of my own touches, too, like southern style hash browns - read: pre-diced potatoes - for the chicken pot pie and adding some celery to a couple of recipes).

But.

I have to warn you.

This takes a fair amount of time.

Those Pinterest mamas that say it only takes 2 hours must have a small army helping them chop, label, mix, and assemble, because it took me several hours.

That said.

Have a great week, all!

the power of vulnerability...works for moms too...

So.

Hi.

Here I am, sitting shyly in the corner, about to get confessional and, well, REAL.

I'm a pretty authentic person, and usually what you see is what you get with me. I don't do fake and gamey sorts of relationships. Though I have a formal register vocabulary for work and my more casual register for conversational speaking/writing, my bottom lines are usually the same, just in different vernacular, so to speak.

But, that said....

I am not a reality TV star where everything I do and say is exposed for all to see, hear, and judge me for.

Well, yes. I do blog and share some of my weirdo neuroses - e.g., my word nerdisms, affinity for tying pop culture references into daily events- and deep thoughts - my faith is integral to who I am, thus I talk about it; I also entertain my inner Kant, Plato, Locke (philosopher for those of you unfamiliar) - and life struggles on occasion in this space.

So yeah, I do share more of myself a bit more freely than the average mama bear, but not ALL THE THINGS.

Like {what I feel to be} my huge failings in the parenting arena...beyond the standard mommy guilt, sometimes we have some really intense "discussions" in our home (see above picture's "We do REALLY loud."). With feelings so large, voices so loud, chaos so great, that our pets take cover. (Not kidding, or as my son said tonight "Hyperbole-ing.")

And it makes me so sad after these episodes, because that's not how I wanted this part of my story to go! I was going to be different than the examples I had.

My kids were going to come to me with ANYTHING and feel comfortable approaching me with their awkward queries, confusion about navigating their emotions, and the need for assurance and comfort when life was hard.

Anyway, that's not the way things are shaping up and more often than not I feel like Drew Barrymore's Beverly Donofrio, desperately wondering through tears and clenched teeth, "When does this job ever end?!?!"

Yesterday at our staff meeting, one of our organizational consultants shared the brilliance of Brene' Brown's TED talk "The Power of Vulnerability." I had already watched it numerous times, but seeing it again reinforced the truth in the paradox that through our vulnerability, we gain strength, power, confidence, and ultimately, contentment. (It's 20 minutes, but I tell you, it is time WELL spent. Click the link! Then come RightBack here)

And then I got home and we had much sibling rivalry over chores and other tween/teen miscellany that is minutia to the hubs and I and MOUNTAINS OF WOE AND ANGSTY STRUGGLE (cue Miley with The Climb) to them.

But I was enlightened. I had been reinforced with wisdom and truth!

And it didn't mean a damned thing.

This morning was a lather, rinse and repeat kind of deal, despite my best efforts to be mindful, present, and meditative during that window between the older two leaving and the littlest little waking.

Then my day at work got consumed by IT issues, that felt very real and worrisome....until at the end of the day, I discovered the reason my laptop couldn't recognize the hard drive, and therefore fail to boot up, was because it had somehow dislodged and was hiding in a pocket in my tech bag.

Seriously, I live a charmed life.

Got home, ate well, kids were behaved.

I felt a weight lifting.

Then the youngest and hubs went to Cub Scouts, and the other shoe dropped.

And by dropped, I mean that darn shoe fell with the relative velocity and force the Looney Tunes anvil had when being pushed out of the window.

I asked for some help with the household chores. Which has been the hot topic of late. I keep asking for help and all I get is push-back from all my room-mates at casa del Meyer. It's been a bit frustrating.

And it got really ugly and intense and I wanted to crawl into the fetal position and have someone mother me with the nurturing and support that EVERYONE in our house so clearly needs right now.

It passed through, and we took a timeout. I returned to my onerous task of comparing the costs and terms of health insurance and would it be better if we all went on my new employer's coverage or if we did a split of one of us with the kids and the other partner at their employer. (I live it up on a Tuesday night, yo!) The kids went to do the homework that was cited as the raison de la resistance, because, "Mom I can't do any chores because _________ never does jack squat, and I have homework that is due TOMORROW, my friends all hate me, yada yada yada."

After calming down, and the homework was done in, I kid you not, less than 10 minutes, I opened up to my son, the child with whom I'd particularly clashed tonight.

Was the cost of getting your way over not even 10 minutes of homework worth it?

I understand things are rough for you right now. I would never minimize that - and I'm not asking you to, but I am asking that you take a break from your own misery and recognize others around here are miserable too, for various reasons that may be different from yours, but just as real to them as yours are to you.

I am sorry. I don't want to be a dragon roaring in your face with ugliness and anger, and probably really bad breath. We did eat lasagne with a lot of garlic in it.

That garnered a chuckle.

We are in a lot of transition right now - and by and large it is good transition but new is stressful. New grades, new schools, new work, new routines. There is a lot going on, and I feel...... when ...... Sometimes, I don't want to come home after work because I dread the fighting so much. I'm so tired of this, aren't you?

Nods.

Right now, I've got a lot on my plate. I don't have a lot of time for fun. My ankle still hurts from spraining it last Saturday. When you guys where playing at the party down the street the other night? I spent hours grocery shopping for bargains and nutrition and then cooking/prepping it all so that we can do our activities and not have to wait to eat at 8:00. Would I have liked to play or read a book? Heck yes, but I also have to make things run smoothly or else we are always in unhealthy chaos.

I love you. Will always love you, no matter how mad you get or how hateful your words may feel - you're stuck with me for always. I'm so proud of you and really wish I got to see the awesome young man everyone else at church and school gets to see. Instead, I get all your insecurities and anger dumped on me, and I understand it is because you trust me to still be here after all of that, but I am so very weary and tired of it. My bucket is beyond empty...it is starting to crack because of the dryness. 

Then the scouts got home and bedtime routines started...sort of.

The littlest decided he didn't like the lasagne I spent all night cooking (along with a bunch of other freezer meals) Sunday so that we could eat at a reasonable time, so naturally, he was hungry when he got home. I went to make him a bowl of cereal when I saw the notebook over by the coffee pot.

It's a very hard balance sharing your adult self so openly with your child. You can't burden them with adult problems they can't control, and you can't blame them for things when sharing. But let me tell you, that ^^^ right there? 

That is power in vulnerability!

It takes a big person to apologize. Bigger still when one is only 12 and that full of heart.

That has given me some peace, confidence, and contentment. (Also? My bucket is no longer dry. The tears that were generated have filled my bucket pretty much to the brim.)

Peace that he gets it.

Confidence that he is so much more than the angry and sullen kiddo that I've seen so much of recently.

Contentment in knowing somehow I've given him the knowledge that sharing hard things makes us grow closer.

A heart that is lighter, fuller of love, and reduced in worries and weariness.

These are all powerful gifts borne of me sharing my hard truths with my kids.

"Share each others burdens (vulnerabilities) and thus fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:2.

^^^ truth that has been tested and proven by the work of the lovely Brene Brown. Why are we always so surprised when Scripture is proven time and time again?

Thank you, Lord, for your beautiful paradoxes in life. 

" 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' ...For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 9, 10.

It now stands to reason that I should be spiritually/emotionally strong enough to rival The Hulk's physical strength after this display of transparency, no?

Deo gratias; a counting of blessings

For the solid presence of his arm around me as my eyes reluctantly opened this morning.

Deo gratias.

For the inexplicable peace a mother feels when all her children are under the same roof.

Deo gratias.

For the sparkle in her eyes last night and the newly acquired Mexican accent on her Spanish.

Deo gratias.

For the little one stumbling into my room at 6:30 whilst I was fighting wakefulness; his quiet assent to me noting I had to get up. But can I still get in your bed? The peace on his face as he instantly fell back into dreamland.

Deo gratias.

For the gentle breeze caressing me as I walked this morning, soaking up Your mountainous beauty of in the midst of suburbia around me.

Deo gratias.

For the sun-washed extravagance of that particular time of morning, golden halos bouncing off every still dew-kissed leaf, pine needle, and flower petal.

Deo gratias.

For good friends and neighbors that stopped and talked while I was out.

Deo gratias.

For kindly forcing all these awarenesses into my conscious observations. Because You know as well as I do, I'm prone to forget. That all of these things? They're borrowed. And You chose me to give them to.

Deo gratias.

For the quiet peace and happiness on my heart this morning.

Deo gratias.

For the graceful glide of the pelican overhead

Deo gratias.

Sometimes as mothers, we can get swept up in the frustrations, the struggles, The Hard Things. Understandably so, because there are a lot of them. As a Christian mother, I get frustrated with how "They rise up call her blessed" does not seem to apply to my life. How all the strife and petty arguments (heck, I'll be real, the kicking and screaming, and not always by me!) seem to overwhelmingly season the days.

But then sometimes, the Lord gives me a morning like this that totally restores my soul. 

The resulting gratitude colors the day in a way words could never do justice to. Not just for the things I remembered above, but for the chain of grateful thoughts they birth. Like, wow, all those are great, but then there's Christ and His sacrifice; thank you Savior. 

There's a lot of mindfulness buzz out there that talks about how we have to be aware of our thoughts (hmm, sounds familiar) and while I don't disagree with the concept, I do feel like it is one more thing we feel like we have to do On Our Own. 

Be strong, and soldier on in your life. 

That has its place. Though when you're in the trenches of tantrums, potty training, work-mama balance, teenage rebellion, or whatever other mama meltdown du jour faces you at any given moment, how much strength do you have to muster up the mindfulness? Usually? I. Got. NUTHIN.

And that's ok.

Did you know there's no shame in asking God to put these things on our minds for us? Or for allowing Him to speak through a good friend who will do the same?

There's a reason why the song is called Blessed Assurance.

Thank you Lord. For this day and all the yesterdays and tomorrows you've written for me. For the countless blessings You've showered up on me. Please keep me mindful of them.

service with a {maniacal} smile

This is 21st century parenting, yo. No joke.

Since I went back to work last year, my kids have done summers at home.

:insert the public outcry, "They're how old?!?" here:

Answer: 14, 12, and 6. And provided that many kids begin babysitting for pay at age 12, by my calculations, I have a 2:1 caregiver to child ratio. Plus the age-old #whenIwasakid spiel. And, just for good measure, no one's been lost, injured, or malnourished in the meantime. So, it's ok, thank you for your concern!

They do a good job for the most part. There are 3 parks in the vicinity; they occasionally ride their bikes to Kids Bowl Free; there are friends and adult neighbors around to socialize with; and church activities like VBS have broken things up a bit.

But, left to their own devices, they would spend far too much time on their screens. This results in a rather post-modern parenting reality for me of having to ensure the child locks are in effect for the Xbox, Netflix, Comcast, the computer, and our wi-fi before I leave every morning.

Even doing this...we've had a struggle of late with them getting their chores done every day.

Now, y'all know that I just started a new job, so there's that transition. There's also the fact that the mister has had 3 surgeries in 9 months, the last of which was the end of June and has rendered him unable to bear weight on his foot for 6-8 weeks. Therefore, it is imperative that the kids carry their weight, because this mama's got a lot on her shoulders right now.

Enter last night, and the girl child really wanted to get together with her friend whom she hasn't seen much of this summer. Said friend has two younger brothers that our youngest plays with at school and they have fun together on these visits.

So I said sure. But there were strings attached.

Not only would she and her brothers be required to get all the chores done before she went, but I would need photographic evidence texted to me before said outing would be permitted. Might as well get the most out of that family smartphone plan, right?

It worked like a charm.

At approximately 11:40 a.m. the texts came in rapid succession...

Disclaimer, my teenager gave me full consent to post the following pictures. They are unaltered, appearing just as they did on my phone.

Laundry folding in progress

Not enough room for the 1,000 words this pic conjures

There was a vacuuming mishap,
so she swept the stairs.
With. A. Broom.

Rosie was unloaded and seen here,
is in the process of being loaded up

I ordered them to eat leftovers for lunch.
Photographic evidence that they complied.

Moral of the story...

If you give a girl a [smartphone] camera, stuff gets done.

it matters

The grammar OCD person in me has to point out that I almost didn't post this quote pic because of the typo (taskS) but it was the only one with the whole quote and the prettiest aesthetic. So yes, I know the task should be singular, and if you didn't, well, cue the The More You Know music and consider it a PSA.

These crazy days of three kids in school, with homework and extracurriculars, working, and omnipresent domestic chores are kicking me in the boo-tay. And not so gently, either; this season of mothering is, like, kick-boxing with Jillian Michaels strength jabs in the back-side hard. Brutal.

Last night, our only unscheduled night of the week, I was asked if we could play as a family after dinner. We were all set to go:

I felt so boss at this motherhood gig.

But.

Someone all of a sudden remembered s/he had foreign language homework that would have to be worked on now since it was due Wednesday and Tuesday was a practice night.

Pro: Yay, insight into time management!

Con #1: Poor time management in the hours between his/her arrival home from school and mine from work. 

Con #2: The resulting sullen, woe-is-me-life-is-horrible-this-is-stupid-everything-is-stupid trope that ensued for 40 some minutes and kept me home with said child working on foreign language homework.

My kids are the Fun Nazis: #NoPlayForYou! #SillyMomFunIsForKids

Tonight, the mister and the older two got home from lacrosse practice at nearly 8:00.  

The aforementioned, slightly complicated pork chop dish had been prepared, along with brown rice and steamed broccoli, dishes were running in the dishwasher and those still littering the counters were being washed in the sinks when they arrived.

We snarfed down dinner with few complaints, and then went to town in search of cleats for son #2's lacrosse class that starts tomorrow and a special binder for the girl's end of year project. Son #1 stayed behind and did homework.

One unfruitful trip to Sports Authority and only a partial yield of the sought after items at Target later (no dice on the cleats, it's like everyone in Fort Collins bought all the size 12K cleats in town), it was nearly ten when we got back inside. 

The unfinished dishes were taunting me. So I answered their siren song and started doing them, resentfully noting the mister's residence in the recliner.

No - homegirl don't play that. Don't give the devil a foothold. Do not initiate the pain cycle!

"Hey, I know you're all cozy in your chair there, but could you give me a hand, please?"

Maybe it was my tone, maybe it was he was just cranky...who knows? Our relationship has reached "old married" status, which means there are going to be moments of contention, some more familiar and routine than others.

Suffice to say it wasn't a full blown argument, but the vibe was not romantical either. It happens. We're human. Still in love. It's allowable ;)

The thoughts that ensued before I was over it, though, they raged on in my head quietly. I recounted how I used to write and sing and now all I do is work, chauffeur kids, and clean. I'd seen that one of my former colleagues had been named director of our community's new Permanent Supportive Housing development, and a wee bit of envy crept in. I'd had meaningful and promising career options once upon a time...

But - you chose this. It didn't happen to you, you wanted it. It's ok - there is still time and this is just a season.

The youngest Meyer was having a hard time getting to sleep, so the mister went to perform bedtime reconnaissance. He returned with the following bit of intel:

"He said he wanted you to come sing to him, and I told him to lay down, that you would be there soon, and he looked at me and said, 'Last time you said that, it was a lie. She never came.'"

(For the record, I did that time, he'd just fallen asleep before I got there. So we're clear.)

"Guess I'd better go then. Can you put away the rice and wipe the counters for me, please?"

"Sure."

Upstairs, the girl was STILL up. She'd been really ramped up at Target and was in full-on relentless mode, and well, 5:45 comes really early in the morning is all. So I did my go-to-bed-now snarl and she did the teen-aged I-knooooow sigh that I just love. Fourteen is soooo fun. It's not her, it's the age is muttered multiple times a day. I haven't forgotten - it was just yesterday after all, right?

Anyway, the youngest was rolled over in his bed, and while I knew he may already have been sleeping, I poked the bear anyway. After all, I was not about to be made into a liar this time.

He rolled toward me, puckered his lips that are only 5 years old for another 11 days into the big, puffy, hyperbolic kiss that he makes and pulled me to him. "You're the greatest Mom ever. I wanted you to be able to watch me at soft lacrosse tomorrow to see how good I got."

It's funny how these moments can pierce my soul with a conviction that stings and yet comfort my heart with the validation that soothes all at the same time. For all the times I start to entertain discontent with and the frustrations of motherhood, such words bring me to face the burning conviction that this thing called motherhood matters. For all the times I doubt the quality or effectiveness in my mothering, these glimpses provide the reassuring solace that mothering, with me cast as their leading lady, matters to them, and they do notice. Sometimes - they are children after all.

Thank you Lord, for the reminder. Thank you for him, this child who is such an encourager.

"Aww, you're sweet. And I'm glad to get to watch you tomorrow, too! I'm glad you're excited."

And so, here I sit, taking a moment to be real, granting myself the grace to know I'm human and get distracted from the things that matter, truly matter, from time to time. And bolstering myself against the knowledge that they won't truly understand until they are parents themselves that sometimes the greatest thing we can do for our children is set aside our own hopes and wants for a season and invest in theirs.

ding-dong witch; pleased to meet you

image source: ellisbenus.com

Recently MOPS International ran a post about on the spot hospitality, giving a few easy steps to keep in play if an impromptu guest drops in, and encouraging women to be brave enough to share their lives with others, even if the house wasn't in tip top shape.  Two out of the three tips were easy for me, and things I already do, keeping rooms at comfortable temps and offering a drink.  The first one, of getting over myself and my desire to have a perfectly clean setting, well, I’m getting there.

Those friends in my inner circle, well yes, they’re more than welcome to come in when things are the way they are more often than not: when I’m in the middle of a laundry marathon, three kids’ worth  of school papers are littered across every exposed counter surface (also, the floor, not gonna lie), piles of pet hair that one could make their own pet from are in the corners of the downstairs room and dishes from two meals ago are spilling out of the sink.  It’s more than a few stray crumbs on the floor and a load (singular) of laundry on the couch pretty much all the time here, and it drives me nuts.  For people with whom I’m not particularly close to see this inner chaos, is a different thing entirely and just thinking about it it makes me cringe.

So keep that in mind with what I’m about to tell you.

This morning, I was giving my youngest a bath before school when I heard/felt this loud, rhythmic noise that vibrated the house.  It gave me pause to wonder what it could possibly be, but I quickly assumed it was someone having their sprinklers blown out, likely the HOA with our greenbelt areas and  shrugged it out of my mind.  I was dressed but not made up and my kindergartener was just coming down for breakfast when my doorbell rang at 7:40 a.m.! 

7:40. A. M. 

What in the blessed world?!?

I opened my door to a strange man on my doorstep, assuming he was going to ask me if I wanted my sprinklers blown out for a low, low price.

You know what they say about you and (mostly) me when one assumes, right?

“You do realize that it is not even 8 am?” I snapped, while I opened my door, hunched over with one hand grabbing my escape-tendencied dog’s collar to keep him from running out, exposing my house’s current state of disarray to the street.

“Uh, yeah, that’s why I’m here – I saw your lights on and wanted to apologize for the noise.”

Sheepishness began to creep in.  

And my mouth filled with the flavor of my big, fat, foot.

He continued, “We didn’t know that the carpet cleaning was going to be so loud," as he nodded toward the Stanley Steemer truck in the street with hoses running into the newly vacant home next door.  "We’re your new neighbors.”

So much for on the spot hospitality.

I very hastily attempted to back pedal. 

“Oh!  Oh my gosh, no, I’m so sorry.  I’m not normally this grumpy, it’s just I thought there was a sprinkler company blowing people out and I thought you were going to try and sell me services and we don’t need that because we already did it,” I rambled.  “It’s just so early and the door bell's loud and my husband recently had surgery and well…”  I motioned my hand to the living room behind me, demonstrating the very cluttered and dirty layout of our home.

Then he said, “Oh, no, I’m really sorry,” referring to Seth, “I hope we didn't wake you – we really didn't want to start out like this…”

Now it was my turn to feel apologetic - I surely didn't want him to feel bad because of my stress levels.

“Oh!  No, no, no, no, you’re fine!” I rapidly tried to assure him. “No, I just thought you were a solicitor, but this, being neighbors, that changes it.  We’re good!”

We awkwardly introduced ourselves and assured each other that we’d come around at a more decent hour and get to know one another.

I hope I convinced him that I really didn’t mind the noise.  And that once I got over the initial assumption that he was a solicitor, I really actually thought it was sweet and considerate of him to come check on whether it was bothering us or not.

If not, I plead the very pathetic effect  the combination of lack of sufficient (any?) caffeination, not yet having taken my little blue pill for the day, a little mama bear in me, and sheer oblivion to the goings on of our street had on my current mental state.

So...while I'm still mustering the courage to let people see my horribly cluttered and dirty home, I think that I get a medal for bravery in sharing this story.  Isn't that like virtual bravery?

#likeagoodneighbor #really

All's well that ends well...

I am a rare bird amongst most of my friends.

No.  

Really.

Shocking, I know, right?

A love to eat good food is common to us all, but the desire and demonstrated ability to make good food is something of a lost art with many (though not all) of my 30-something, mommyish friends.

Now, I will admit, I have not always been a culinary prodigy - it just sort of happened over time.

As the tried and true recipes in my inventory got repeated, I got brave and started eyeballing measurements instead of getting all the cups and spoons out.  Then I started getting creative, adding spices that "I bet would be good with that," and before I knew it, the go-to recipes I knew so well became my recipes with a ton of adaptations.  Many of which I don't write down and so, it's always something of an adventure when it comes to recreating the yummiest versions.

Over time, I have become rather haphazard in the kitchen and my cooking has become increasingly extemporaneous.  Especially when necessity has forced me to use only the staples on hand over recent years.

And those little forays don't always work out.

Last night was such a night.  In my meal planning, I'd forecast salisbury steak for our dinner.  It's a standby meal at casa del Meyer regardless of which unrecorded iteration I've put on the table.  Seeing I was low on the usual potatoes, which would normally be served mashed, I thought, "Cauliflower mashes well - I have several bags in the freezer.  That's what I'll do instead."  Mind you, I'd never actually made mashed cauliflower, but I thought, surely it couldn't be too hard.

Heh.

So, on the tail end of my daily, 25 mile round-trip mad dash from work to the bus stop, to cross country pick up, to home, (phew! yes, EVERY. DAY.) the relentless witching hour that is two middle school siblings intent on making each other's existence miserable plus one 5 year old exhausted from full day kindergarten was in full swing.  I started cooking, trying to ignore the wailing and injurious sarcasm flying through the room, and was on pace to have dinner on the table by 6:15 - a record thus far into the school year!

I threw the cauliflower into the microwave to cook, took it out and started to mash.  The white veggies were resistant to my efforts.  Ok, I'd get my Ninja out.  Threw the cauliflower in, along with the assumed proportions of water, butter, and whole milk, whizzed that baby up.  And got white, gritty paste.  I tried a few more efforts to save it, but to no avail.

Hmmm....it was now 6:40.

Into the freezer I turned and came up with peas.  To go with the glazed carrots I already had.  So we had salisbury steak with glazed carrots, buttered peas, and slices of (whole grain) white bread with butter.  It worked.  The fam loved it but I was just a little meh.

But I still had a Ninja full of cauli-paste and I hate wasting food...HATE it.  Especially when we're in the middle of a pay period and I only go to the grocery store when we get paid.

So I culled the pages of my mental cookbook (and actually, due more to Colton's request for cauliflower soup) this recipe came to mind.  It is SO GOOD.  My kids request it.  Often.

So dinner for today was planned.

Except that I didn't have chicken stock.  (but I had bouillon!)

Or celery. (but I had dried celery flakes!)

Or onions. (but I had onion powder!)

See also: How the Spice Cabinet Saved Dinner.

So this soup would be of questionable origins.  But fingers crossed!

Then, because it didn't have enough substitution going, I realized tonight that we had no protein, something the Mister thinks is no bueno.  I wracked my brain, thinking maybe sandwiches - but then, no because the kids needed that stuff for lunches this week.  I finally lighted on a pound of Jimmy Dean Natural Sausage - no paid endorsements here, I just LOVE that sausage.  The flavor is amazing and there is no MSG!!  Sausage gravy, Olive Garden's Zuppa Toscana, oh, yes, this creamy sausage pairing would be a good match.  Paired with a beer bread mix I had sitting in the pantry, mmmm.  I was drooling.

And oh, my heavens, yes, yes, YES!

I love it when a crazy adaptation works well :)

I so did not see this one coming...

After the heavy of last week's post, I'm going to offer you something a little lighter today...equally mindblowing, but much lighter ;)

But before I do so, I'd be majorly remiss if I did not make this following statement:  Thank you, loves!  Thank you to those with whom I've long been acquainted, thank you to those I'm just getting to know, and thank you to those I don't know at all.  Your feedback has been overwhelmingly supportive, bolstering me to write more freely, well, to write more, period.  And yet, some of the confessional conversations that followed that post have further reaffirmed my stance that:

... as grateful as I am for those sideline nuggets of affirmation, these hallway assents to truth in hushed voices, these are the truths that need to be testified boldly, bravely, up front and center, and from people who've experienced the darkness and its unrelenting pursuit for their souls to shake the scales regarding depression from the eyes of everyone...

So, there is more to come on my journey witht depression and my counterpoints to some of the more conventional stigmas that may be out there.  Stay tuned.

For now, though, I bring you a plot twist that my younger self would never have anticipated.

I have somehow become a morning person.  What is happening?!?  I used to subscribe to truisms such as this:

Oh, I still love to sleep in.  Love to stay up late, love to cuddle up in the evening and unwind, but that's just it.

Whereas in the past I would just begin to get my energy in the evening and start grandiose projects (and finish them, even), I now am winding down in the evenings and, increasingly more, find myself yawning at 9:00pm.

I AM ONLY 35!!!  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!?!

In case I wasn't ready to admit defeat, I give you the overwhelming evidence of this transformation, by the numbers of this morning.

• 5:30 am - 1 alarm, 1 snooze button pushed
• 5:36 am - 1 rebuff of the snooze button's grace, I couldn't sleep and got up before claiming those extra 4 minutes of sleep
• 2 pubescent middle schoolers awakened
• 1 lb of sausage, 1 bag of hash browns, and 9 eggs scrambled and set to cook on the stove.
• 1 load of dishes unloaded that's a lie - that was simply wishful thinking - didn't actually happen
• 18 breakfast burritos assembled, individually wrapped and placed in the freezer to grab and go later this week
• Supervision of 2 kid lunches being packed (this is an improvement over the last 2 weeks where I ended up making them!)
• 3 humans fed (the aforementioned 2 pubescent kids, and 1 husband)
• 1 cross country uniform found, when the plaintive cry of, "Mom, I can find my uniform," was heard, despite my urging said child to get it ready last night.
• 1 book order signed
• 2 school picture orders signed
• 1 XC spirit wear order signed
• 4 checks written for all orders listed above
• 2 kids out the door on time (6:30 am)
• 1 reluctant kindergartener awakened (while he loves school, he asked if he could have just one day skipped this morning.  Uhm, no), dressed and fed
• 2 adult lunches packed
• 1 kindergarten lunch packed
• 1 bus stop dropoff
• 1 margarita chicken freezer meal dumped into the crockpot
• 2 fingers crossed that it still resembles the original contents after a day of slowcooking
• 1 harried woman fed, showered*, dressed and made up.  *showered = dry shampoo applied, sponging off the smellies, and deodorant applied.  I can't do it all!
• 1 blog post written

And off by 8:30 this morning.

Phew!

Where did this kind of productivity come from?

I have never, ever, considered myself a morning person in all my life.  But this is the third year of middle school mornings (which are ridiculously early, harmfully so according to this study) and like all great transitions, this switch toward diurnal living was facilitated by necessity. Also? Coffee. Obscene amounts of coffee consumed helps greatly.

I will be dead tired by 8:45.

A.M.

Behind the eight-ball...but it's all good!

So here I sit, almost 3 weeks since my last blog post - when I'd determined to write more frequently this year - and still yet to start the online bible study Made to Crave that started on the 19th.

But there's no self-flagellation this time, for I have two VERY GOOD REASONS for the silence.

1.) I've been more socially connected IRL (also a goal for the year as I spent a good portion of last year wanting to crawl into fetal position and hide from life).  I've been hanging out with girls from my MOPS group, seeing the bestie regularly, and all around investing more in lives of the folks I care about.

2.) I had a BIG INTERVIEW via phone on the 9th for a job I'd been praying about.  Followed by a face-to-face interview on the 13th.  I put a lot of prep time into these interviews as they were for a position I felt COULD BE THE ONE, you know, that forever job I would love and still be able to balance family with because it was only 3/4 time and amenable to school hours?  Yeah, that perfect storm was brewing, so I was miserly with my time and didn't get around to blogging.  The rest of that week was spent being busy so that I couldn't think about the wait...though I got an inkling that this would work out Thursday when my mentor/former boss texted that she'd been contacted for a reference and proceeded to rave about my abilities to them; this happened again in an e-mail Friday night from a fellow long-time non-profiter.  Sidenote: I have an amazing village of women in my life - locally and in my computer - and I am so blessed for each and every one of you!

Monday was MLK Jr. Day, and thus, another long wait that about drove me crazy (or maybe that was just having all three kids at home with little planned to do).  Tuesday morning, I got the kids all back to school, save for the girl child as her school had a special IB planning day much to the chagrin and "No fair"s of her brothers, and tried (unsuccessfully) not to will my phone into action.

At 9:48 am, my phone buzzed alive and caller ID showed the organization's number.  This was it.  The yes or no call.

I quickly told Kelsey to quiet the TV, this was about The Job, took a deep breath before answering, and kind of held it as the hiring supervisor introduced herself and did the whole "The reason why I'm calling is" preamble.  Then when she finally go the the part where she said, "And, I'd like to offer you the position," I breathed at last and this burden of the past 11 months' joblessness just fell off my shoulders while my soul simultaneously screamed silent gratitude to God.

I went in for my first day Thursday.  Yeah, consider that.  This time last week I didn't even know if I'd have a job, and now I've already got two days under my belt.  That is mind-boggling to me, still.  So the rest of Tuesday was filled with lots of squeeing on Facebook and also arranging morning care for the littlest guy (since he's only in pre-school in the afternoons), filling out transportation requests for him, and getting info to the school about the two ladies who are going to help watch him in the mornings so that they are authorized adults. Then I had to catch up all the housework so that everything was functioning come Thursday morning. It was insane how quickly Tuesday and Wednesday went by.

And the job - wow.  I just couldn't be happier or more blessed.

Despite only working 30 hours/wk, the organization considers that full-time for benefits purposes, so my portion of the premiums for medical, dental and vision are FULLY COVERED, and the family rate is affordable enough that we will all subscribe to my plan.  Also?  It is effective immediately.  No 90 day waiting period as is customary with many local employers.  Thus, we are happy to report that the rush to make sure we are in compliance with the Affordable Care Act mandate for coverage is over.

My schedule is 8:30-3:00 M-F which means I get home before my kids are done with school, so except for Christopher, not much is changing for the kids' time with me.

But the most amazing, makes-me-feel-so-grateful-and-see-God's-hand part in it?  Is the organizational culture.  It is CLEAR from a policy standpoint as well as the staff interactions that this is a place that values their employees and makes them aware of that at every turn.  The result is so much positive energy that I can't help smiling all day long.  I really have enjoyed getting to know my supervisor's personality and style, and am happy to report that we "click" very well.  On Friday, she and her boss, the medical director of the organization, met with me to go over more of the job duties and functions and they stressed to me how open and willing they are to send me to trainings that will help me grow and develop deeper skills helpful to my position.  I left the meeting feeling nurtured and ready to thrive.

2014 is off to a great new start!

"You and I, we're like diamonds in the sky.."

So...

Turns out, I have a pretty amazing husband.

This is not news to me, per se, I mean, eighteen years {fifteen of them married - we are getting O L D} with a person go by and you kinda should know what you got, amiright?

But this past week, I'm seeing him with renewed appreciation.  He shines brighter than ever.

He works a physically taxing job, despite a significant level of chronic pain, 10 hours a day, 5-6 days/wk. And then spends his Saturday doing the same job in a neighbor's garage to "help them out."  The man lives out Colossians 3:23 daily, doubly inspiring and blessing me as a result.

He is an active and engaged father - and his love speaks to our kids in ways mine can't.  He's the dad that is out playing with all the kids at church/school functions while the other parents socialize.  Currently, he's teaching a Wednesday night boys' class at our church, grades K-6 {what a spread!} and more boys are writing God's word on their hearts than I've seen in awhile.

He's a grade A smart mouth - which means he's quick, maddeningly so at times - and he entertains us all with his quips.  He's especially good at musical parody and can lighten a room's mood up almost instantaneously.

Even though gifts are not my love language, he still spoiled me above and beyond what I'd spent on him at Christmas with gifts that were thoughtful and just want I wanted/needed.  This was especially touching because I hadn't really communicated any ideas to him on account of I didn't really care what he got me because it is our time together, his praise and affections that mean the most to me.  He just knows me that well.

I love that his embrace totally envelopes me and his shoulders so readily absorb my tears when my demons try to breach their containment.  That over time, he's learned not to talk and explain away my feelings, but to hold me tight and soothe my pains as he patiently rides the wave of the moment with me.  That he's come to know my feelings are a whole process, and given time, I'll get over them.  And that his physical nearness and touch make me feel more secure in a world that's unpredictable and unfair.  Or when all is good and well, too ;)

But what really spoke to me, even though I hadn't specifically said I was low, is that he's astute enough to read between the lines -and then- act upon that intel.  I'm a words of affirmation girl, through and through, and the more people who hear/read them, the better I feel.  Typing that makes me feel incredibly shallow, like I'm a fisher of compliments, but it's more like the Proverb says:

Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the mind and healing to the body 

^^^ That?  Is Serious Romance in the 21st century for the words of affirmation types, y'all.

Babe, you make me feel better, but moreover, you make me want to be better.  Here's to another wild and crazy year.  I love you.  You shine so much, but we shine brighter together, you and me.

When you hold me, I’m alive / We’re like diamonds in the sky**

** Yes, I know the song is about drugs.  But I'm claiming interpretive license here.