Silver Linings Jesus, Round 2

I wrote this entry earlier this Spring, before I decided to make writing a formal intention.....between the time I wrote this entry and now, I came across the song "Love will have the final word" by Jason Gray.  And I got really excited, like, somehow, my "Silver Linings Jesus" was such a phenomenal idea that he wrote a song about it.  Obviously, I recognize the irrational grandeur of this.  I also know that mentally reviewing every worst case scenario for every situation doesn't actually keep it from happening, but if the irrational thought makes me feel better, I keep it around.

Please file this under the "Not Actual Advice" category and not under "She's a Therapist, it must be real advice" category.

Besides it being inspired by my earth-shattering blog post, I really like this song because it gives me a version of God that I feel nurtured by.  I don't feel nurtured by a God that causes hardship, then says it was my fault, then rescues me, so I will have a deeper faith.  That feels as twisted as me hiding Kiddo  2.0's binky, kindly telling her that if she kept better track of her things she never would have lost it, then stepping in as the hero in the 11th hour, revealing the long lost binky.  As I write this, it actually makes me think of lots of cases I see in my office, big and little people tricked by those who were designed to nurture and guide them.  I've always experienced God on the healing, not wounding side of things.  And this song says so.
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April, 2015

So, this bizarre thing started happening about a month ago.  I would have these cravings to write.  I'm used to cravings for caffeine and sleep and good music.  But not writing.  So I ignored it.  And then it kept happening.  So, here I am.  Not because I have all this extra time and energy and my house is spotless for Easter and the laundry is all done.  Not because something worth writing about all of a sudden happened, over a year later.  Really, because I have very low impulse control and I have a tendency to give into cravings.  Like, the entire tray of chocolate dipped pretzels in my freezer because I couldn't make it through the evening without some sort of sweet-salty deliciousness.

So, the latest writing craving was about my Silver Linings Jesus.  Yep.  Let me fill you in:

This weekend, our family took a mini-vacation.  There were some really great moments, like swimming and picnicking and snuggling in the fancy hotel bed.  But, there were also some pretty tough moments, like Kiddo 2.0 getting car sick (public service announcement- "I full" is two year old for "I'm going to vomit all over the place), and the hotel smoke detector battery beeping at 4:00am.

And on our drive home, sometime after the SECOND bout of carsick toddler, and preschooler question number 4,532,349,321 regarding our EXACT location in relation to "being there," it occurred to me that this Easter season, "resurrection" is the promise of the silver lining.  That there are storms, but Christ's death & resurrection is the promise of a silver lining.  That the storm does not have the final word.

In mini-vacation terms:
Kiddo 2.0 got carsick all over the place, I forgot to pack extra clothes, Kiddo 1.0 is a sympathy puker (storm).
Both kiddos were exhausted and ASKED to skip kitty playdate so they could nap (silver lining).
Smoke detector battery starts beeping at 4:00a, immediately above the sleeping toddler & preschooler (storm).
My sweet husband ripped the thing out of the wall before the girls woke up & the hotel gave us 10% off our bill for the disruption (silver lining).

See?  Now, God didn't concoct gastrointestinal distress and battery outages so that I would love Jesus.  Those things, unfortunately, just happen.  But taking time to notice the silver lining left me feeling grateful, not grumpy.  And usually, the grateful version of me is more patient and gracious and all those things Christ calls me to be with my babies and husband and co-workers and hotel front desk worker.

So, this Easter, I'm rejoicing that our God is a God of silver linings.  That we have a built in holiday to remember that life is hard, but it doesn't stay that way.  Now, say a prayer that the same can be said for the smell inside my car, which my husband has affectionately renamed "Vomit Comet."

Deep Breathing

Besides time with family, I spend a lot of time at my office.  My office is this magic space where kids and families come with their struggles, bravely share them with me, then work really, really hard to make things better.  The official term is "Play Therapy."  The process of play therapy is pretty magical.  It's also frequently noisy, messy, and unpredictable.  Big feelings in little people are like that.  Sometimes when it feels like there's more feelings and people than there is magic, I make some magic of my own.  I turn on some music and light a candle and take deep breaths.

If you'd like to re-create the sacred, here's how:

Pick a song about grace or love or mistakes.  My current favorites are "Not Right Now" by Jason Gray or "Grace Like Rain" by Todd Agnew.

Turn off the lights and light a candle.

Focus on the light and take deep breaths through the song.  Breathe in the love and grace and breath out the messy, noisy heartache.

Sometimes if I'm blowing out lots and lots of heartache, I blow the candle out.  And a little of the magic is lost because I'm already overwhelmed and I just EXTINGUISHED ANY LIGHT I HAD LEFT.  At this point, I do 1 of 2 things.

(1) I relight the candle and breathe more carefully.

OR

(2) I mutter some curse words, stop the music, and walk to my nearby coffeeshop.  Because music and God and light are great, but there are somethings that only cursing and caffeine fix.

Pity Potty Party

I've been working on a post in my head for awhile, reflecting on marriage and love and awwww.  And then Husband went on a business trip and I am on day 4 of single parenting Kiddo 1.0 & 2.0.  And marriage and love and awwwwww are so.not.my.vibe.right.now.  Instead, prepare yourself for a post full of sarcasm and potty training casualties and some capital letters.  If that's not your thing, check back after Husband returns and rescues me from single parenting and I feel the love and awwwww.

Kiddo 2.0 is potty training. So, it's a disaster when she announces its time, and her sister is already on the potty.  So we have a potty accident.  While we are operation de-con upstairs, epic screams come from downstairs.

Me: "Kiddo 1.0, what happened? Are you bleeding?  Kiddo 2.0, stop playing with the toilet water."
Kiddo 1.0: "Waaaaaaaaiiilll.  My hand screeeeeaaaammmm fell in the toilet after I hhooowwwwllllll pooped."
Me, wrestling kiddo 2.0 out of the toilet: "Did you consider washing your hands with soap?"
Kiddo 1.0: Silence

Fast forward through bedtime snack and teeth brushing and the nice-mama-reading-singing-snuggling routine.

Kiddo 2.0 announces that she needs to pee.  I put her on the potty, she pees.  Back to bed.
She announces she has to poo. I put her on the potty, she poos. Back to bed.
She announces she has to poo.  I put her on the potty, she poos.

FIVE TIMES.  We repeated this cycle FIVE TIMES.  Answer me this: HOW does a toddler not hold it long enough to make it to the 2nd potty in the house, but has the control to "stop & go" to make what should be one trip turn into FIVE TRIPS?!?!?!?

After I escaped the hostage situation nurturing, soothing bedtime routine, Kiddo 1.0 announced she would like another bedtime snack and time to play with her dolls.  I deal with my impatient parenting by having consistent, firm boundaries, giving in to practically anything.  So, Kiddo 1.0 cashes in an extra 15 minutes with a second bedtime snack and the following play scenario:

Kiddo 1.0: "Mama, will you help me put the doll's helmets on?"
Me: "Sure."
Kiddo 1.0: "Waaaaaiiiilllll. Hollllllleeerrrrr. The pink baby lost the pink helmet. Scccrreeaam."
Me, taking deep breaths and conjuring up images of women around the world who have to deal with real problems like cancer treatments and poverty and Ebola so I don't get tricked into thinking this is REALLY A CRISIS.
Kiddo 1.0: "Oh, here it is."

On the doll's head. She found the helmet on.the.doll's.head.

Even as I write this, the mama shame kicks in. I was *technically* only with the girls for 4 awake hours today, thanks to my village that watches them so I can work.  I am *technically* an expert in early childhood mental health.  My children are healthy, resourced little creatures.  So, really, there's no excuse for this rant.

Except that the helmet WAS ON THE DOLL'S HEAD.