beyond this land of parting...

This life is hard.  Plain and simple fact; difficult and confusing circumstances.

Losing someone in this life is never an easy thing to experience.  But when the circumstances are grim and the life still had so much more to live...that is simply heartbreaking.

Anyone who has known me for longer than about 2.5 minutes knows that I have a strong love for teenagers.  I'm the weird one who seriously loves the snark and the sass, the crazy range of emotions, the strong desire for independence forged with the strong desire to be taken care of; the awkwardness, the silliness, the whole shebang.  I love them.  

I always thought I would like the younger kids the most--both of my sisters are exceptional with young kids, and I always just figured I followed suit (nope...I would take 20 teenagers over 5 five year olds any day of the week).  But when I student taught, they assigned me to 8th grade (much to my uncertainty)...and I loved it!  I taught 8th grade for three years and loved {almost} every minute of it.  I went back the next two years and taught remediation at the high school for 9th and 10th grade, and I loved it.  But the work that has stirred my passion the most has been my role as "youth minister" to our teens for the past 8-9 years.

I counted last night, and I think we've had around 25 kids in our youth group during those years.  And still to this day and for every day after, they will be my kids.  We go through so much together--we've walked through celebrations and losses; laughed together more than I can measure, and cried together any time we've needed; we've prayed and learned and grown immensely; we've become family.  

And this week that family suffered a huge hit.  

Our sweet and precious JJ was lost this week.  And it has been so, so hard.

JJ was always one of our quieter kids who took a little while to open up.  But once he got comfortable, he fit right in with our crazy, quirky bunch and we welcomed him with open arms.  One of my favorite memories to share with him was our communion during Encounter, a practice of eucharisteo, gratefulness.  As we broke bread together, we went around the circle speaking aloud what we were grateful for in that moment.  And JJ's response about burst my heart open...he was grateful for our group, for a place he fit in and felt loved...  That dear ones is the meat of what the church is and my biggest hope for all of our kids who come our way.  

I also got to stand beside his mama as we watched the beautiful transformation of his baptism.  I got to hear the stories about his friends and provide encouragement about his struggles on rides home.  I got to see this once shy boy bloom into the star of the camp skit, jumping around singing "JJ's a cow! JJ's a cow!" (an inside joke that will always stay close to my heart and make me smile).  I got to laugh until I cried as I watched/made the teens play beanboozled--JJ ate every single one like a champ! (and then blew nasty skunk breath in my face and ran away giggling, haha).  I got to see him grow up into an incredibly handsome young man with such a tender spirit and kind heart.

About two years ago, his family began to attend church somewhere else, so we didn't get to see each other as often as we had before.  But just last month as I was visiting our group at Camp Red Oak Springs, I glanced around and a familiar face caught my eye.  My JJ was there and I was SO excited to get to see him and hug his neck!  He was so happy and talked to me about school and his plans to come back to Encounter next summer.  He laughed when his friend asked if I was his mom (I used to be confused for a teenager...somehow very quickly, now I'm confused as the mom of a teenager!  Gracious).  We hugged and promised to keep in touch.

And this week, he's gone.

This world and this life are so very broken.  We see evidence of that every single day in a myriad of ways.  Some pain is visible and public and seen; and some pain are kept in the deepest parts of people's souls.  You absolutely never know the weight every person you meet is carrying.  And sadly, so many people carry their burdens alone.

In the middle of the heartbreak though, I am able to find the tiniest bit of hope...a feeling of trust.  Because in the middle of this heartbreak and brokenness and suffering, my Jesus holds true.  And in the midst of all of the brokenness, he is making all things new.  All of creation is being redeemed.  Restored to the glorious perfection of its Creator's intent.  And when that work is completed, the heartbreak will be no more.  The pain will be gone.  The brokenness will be mended.  And all will be made new.

So while this week has been terrible and I have cried multiple times, often without warning...  While all I want to do is hold to my kids and never let go (my own kids and my youth group kids)...  While my spirit wants to be afraid...  I will still cling to hope.

Because our hope doesn't end with death.  Jesus walked out of that tomb and he brought with him freedom, hope, grace, and life.  He left death behind--the fear of it, the sting of it, the finality of it.  And that is such a beautiful truth to dwell on, especially in times like these.

JJ, you will always hold a dear and special place in my heart and in my memories.  I am beyond grateful for the time we were able to share, and I hope with all of my heart that you saw Jesus during your times with us.  I will always have so many questions and so many what ifs and so many wishes...but I will also have the solid belief that we will reunite again in a renewed creation.  I look forward to that day.  You are so, so loved and incredibly missed.

love, angie

"Beyond this land of parting, losing, and leaving...

Far beyond the losses, darkening this...

And far beyond the taking and the bereaving...

Lies a summer land of bliss..."

O, death, where is your sting?

Last Friday, I sat through the funeral service of a great man.  My husband's grandfather had fought a long battle with COPD and congestive heart failure, and his body was tired.  The previous two weeks, we had all been together for most of it, caring for him and loving on him and each other.  Those three weeks combined were and are a bit of a blur, but still very specific details stand out with such clarity.

Hunter and I started dating just shy of 13 years ago, and I have been through so much with his family.  Since we were so young, our families actually helped raise each other as well.  His grandparents have loved me so well since the very beginning.  They offer wisdom, work ethic, perseverance, stability, and loyalty--all doused in a load of humor.  Just really good people.

If this wasn't known already, it became very clear in the past few weeks.  Their five grandsons rose to the hard task of taking care of him in his last days; helping him be comfortable, moving him, talking with him, and being his strength as his dwindled.  It was also very clear as these five grandsons stood and bravely honored their PawPaw last week at his funeral service.  Each of them spoke of what he had taught them, what memories he had created with them, what he had provided for this family.  His reach on each of them was undeniable.  They also served as his pall bearers, carrying his body to its final resting place.  Nothing made PawPaw more happy or more proud than those boys.

A few moments from the service really stood out to me, aside from the boys' talks.
     --Kaplan loves to give fives, and it was always a way that he would interact with PawPaw (even with his oxygen on or in the hospital bed or if we hadn't seen him in a while...fives were always a sure fire connection).  Hunter was carrying him around at the funeral home that morning and he was dishing out the fives.  When they walked up to the casket, he still reached down and gave PawPaw a five.
     --my sister-in-law and I spent a lot of those weeks going through unbelievable amounts of pictures; I made a Shutterfly book and she made a video memorial for the service.  Seeing those pictures and the life in them was just amazing.  (Men--quit fussing about taking pictures!  Future generations will love them.)
     --If PawPaw got dressed up, he wore a blue suit; he was also buried in a blue suit.  So all the boys went out and bought blue blazers to wear to the service for him.  They looked so nice and I know PawPaw would have loved it.

PawPaw's boy dogs

 
     --We had congregational singing for the service and sang some of his and Grandmaw's favorites.  That big booming bass line on the front row (the grandsons) was enough to give me grins and goosebumps.
     --Because PawPaw was a Marine, they were present for the graveside service.  One played Taps, and two others folded and presented the flag to Grandmaw.  Such an honor and tribute.

     --When the pall bearers laid their boutonnieres on the casket, Hunter took Kaplan's off and handed it to him.  Seeing his tiny little hand place that small flower on PawPaw's casket was almost more than I could handle.

It was a hard day.  But it was a beautiful day.  Dignified and honorable, with just enough humor to feel like PawPaw.

Have you ever stood beside someone as they die--particularly someone who is losing a long battle?  I have, a few times now.  While it may sound a bit morbid or creepy to some, there is actually a strange peace that overtakes the moment.  There are tears, yes, and great, deep sadness.  But underlying all of that is a very present peace.  Their pain has stopped, their battle is done, the wait has ended.  Peace.

And do you know the reason I have felt that peace?  Because of death.

This Friday that we celebrate as "Good Friday" was actually so very terrible in it's happening.  It was cruel and bloody and loud and violent.  The only innocent being to walk this earth was nailed to a tree in absolute hate.  He gave his life's blood...for you and for me.  What an incredible gift.

You know how a lot of people will pick a word to focus on through the year?  Unfortunately, so far this year, death has chosen to be our word (believe me, it is not what I would ever choose).   Starting in December, we've had so many deaths...and most of them have been tragic.  It has been such a tough year--and it's only March...

But even amidst all of that pain and heartbreak and loss, an undeniable peace has been present for me.  Because of that tragic yet beautiful death so many years ago that we commemorate today, "Good Friday".

So how does death bring peace and why is today good?

Because three days later, he ROSE! 
Because that death defeated all death.  Because that death provides life eternal.  Because that death paved the way for creation's restoration.  Because that death allows all things to be made new.

Because sometimes in the darkest places, Christ's beautiful grace shines brightest.

So today is good.  And every day is good.  Because we serve a risen Redeemer.  O, death, where is your sting?

I pray you find comfort through your brokenness and hope in the Story.

xoxo, angie

one hand and the other.

Writing is my outlet.  Sometimes I don't even know what the words of my heart are until I sit and write them down.  This blog allows me to have that outlet when I need it...and tonight, I need it.

This year has been a bit bi-polar for me.

On one hand, it has been a beautiful adventure through new theology, ideology, and lenses; a new and fresh and bold grasp of Kingdom and Gospel and Church and Jesus; a constant hunger and excitement and need to ask more questions, read more information, and dive deeper.  It truly has been amazing.

On that same hand, I've jumped head first into the world of parenting two children.   Some things haven't changed very much at all and others are so very different...some of the difference are because there's two of them; some of them are because of their genders; some of them are because I also was parenting a threenager through this time.  So much of the adventure with these two tiny humans has been so incredibly amazing and fun.

And yet on that same hand still, I've gotten to travel quite a bit.  Small trips to familiar places mixed in with new cities and a few flights, all filled with some pretty cool memories.

However, that other cruel hand threw in some punches.

I try so very hard to keep my happy up, but this whole year it has been so very hard.  It's so hard to complain when I really have nothing major to complain about.  People receive devastating news, lose people they love, attempt to mend shattered families or accept the changes...really tough stuff every single minute of every single day.  As a speaker once said, "sometimes Satan launches flaming arrows, while others are tiny pebbles..."  I currently have no flaming arrows, and for that I am deeply grateful.  But the pebbles have piled high.

These past two months with Hunter in a new job has been...trying at best.  Without a doubt the hardest couple of years of marriage for us (you know since we've been married soooo long), but learning how to handle each other and how to function these past two months takes the cake.

This is also the loneliest I've ever felt in my entire life (which is irony of ironies since I pretty much am never alone--yay for mothering littles).  It makes me want to hermit up even more than I have the tendency to do already which in turn leads to cabin fever (remember the littles) that makes me want to scream as loud as I can.  I feel used up and useless all at the same time, like I am constantly doing but can never do enough.  I feel disliked, excluded, and unimportant often.  I feel incredibly numb and yet extremely raw, as if the two could coexist.  And I cry.  a lot.

And yet I cannot list to you what has led me to this state.  The pebbles have just piled high.  And the weight has found me.  I just don't have the energy or the umph to fake it or push my way or sometimes even be nice.

You'll notice that most of those in the list are feelings.  I know I am too emotional and a little crazy and all up in the feels.  I desperately wish I had the ability like some people do (i.e. my husband) to just roll things off my shoulders or not be hurt or not feel everything. But with this, I have had no luck.

Sometimes life is just so mean.  And exhausting.  And so very hard.

Thankful this day for pajamas, comfort food, and God's never-ending grace.

"...my track record for getting through bad days so far is 100%..."

Life Limbo

I have never been a fan of the game of limbo.  For starters, I have never been great with flexibility.  The V-sit stretch in PE was my nemesis (okay, I'll be honest.  PE was my nemesis).  The only backbend I could ever do was the cheater when you started out on the ground and lifted your torso.  I'm just not a flexible person.
Second, it consistently gets harder.  Ya know, it starts out all simple and  kinda fun, heading into something that you're pretty sure you can do fairly easily...and then with each level the bar gets lowered, the intensity grows exponentially.  You know for each person how sudden that one round goes--at one point, it's a little tight but still very doable; and then the very next round, you're out.
Third, when you're out, you either have to duck and dodge, or you have to fall...and both of those options are a low to no on the fun scale.


Anyone sensing that this is going to turn metaphorical in 3...2...1...?

Our life has been a game of limbo the past 12-18 months, and I am so incredibly over it.  It is even less fun when it's your life that is in the constant guessing phase, especially when that inflexibility tends to rear its head in my heart as well as my limbs.

Basically, we've been told for years now that we'll be moving soon.  The job and the location and the time frame have changed so many times, I've lost count.  We are kept very much in the dark about their plans for him and everything can change at whoever's whim that belongs to (I don't even know who it is that makes these decisions..."the man").

I very much feel like a pawn in someone else's game, not allowed to know what the next move is but forced to take it whenever "they" (again, whoever that is) see fit.

We're at the point in this limbo game, that I really do feel like it's the last round.  Bending and bending and bending so much that it hurts.  And although I'm ready to duck and dodge, I have a feeling it's going to be more like a fall.  Or who knows...maybe that flexibility will kick in when I need it most.

This year and a half of turnarounds has made me a stronger person in a lot of ways.  I've been forced to become more independent; to find strength I didn't know I had; and strangely, I've become a better housewife.  But on the other hand, it has completely drained me.  Hunter and I don't even get to talk much anymore; I do most of the parenting experiences alone...I do a lot of stuff alone actually (always in the company of my 3 yr and 7 mo old however); I'm constantly spent.  <---  and all of those things only amplify how much I hate life limbo.

I'm really trying to lean into this as a lesson my God is teaching me about letting go of control.  About learning to listen for his guidance instead of making my own plans.  About embracing opportunity and not getting in the way of something great.  I've been reading 7 and Interrupted and Barefoot Church and they are wrecking me...in all the best ways possible {thank you, Hatmakers,
for messing up my mind!  no seriously, thanks}.  And I'm trying to look at my life through those lenses of actually leaning into God and trusting where we are taken.  But at the same time, I feel so unsettled right now...just not right, like something is just off and I can't identify exactly what it is.

This post really wasn't meant to inspire pity, but instead to let myself vent and process a bit.  As my best friend put so well tonight, "I have a schizophrenic heart"...and that, dear people, will wear you plum out.

So we have no idea where we're going, when we're going, or what we're doing...but that's pretty much life in a nutshell anyway, huh?  This causes a lot of emotions to flood through me--anger, fear, exhaustion, uncertainty, anxiety...most prevalent tonight is some anger because I'm so over the changes.  Wrapping my head around major change is not something that's easy for me.  Little stuff, no sweat, I can roll with the punches and normally pretty laid back.  The big stuff, I need a lot of warning, a lot of process time, and usually a lot of tears.  So when I mentally prepare myself for something only for it to be shot down and changed, that just sucks and takes a big toll on me.  And it's happened a lot lately...

Hopefully this is just a season.  The lessons learned best are the ones that come through struggle.  So whatever we are being taught here should surely stick.  I still have a husband who cares so deeply for me and two absolutely beautiful children.  So come what may... (I really don't feel that way, but I'm trying, dad gum it!)

love, angie

Can I just be honest?

**Warning:  this post is a major vent session for me, and about a topic that has the possibility of being "controversial".  If you choose to read it and your response is ugly or judgmental, please, for the sake of this tired mama's sanity and sense of worth, keep it to yourself.**

I know I haven't gotten around to writing out the birth story just yet, but we had our little boy 3 weeks ago.  He was a biggun and all in all is a really good baby.

And golly, he's pretty.  Just like his big sister.  They are my greatest gifts and I love my babies dearly.

But can I just be honest about a couple of things?  A couple of things I really don't like?

1.  I really don't like (as in on the verge of using hate most of the time)...breastfeeding.

With Arabella, I only lasted 3 weeks.  And honestly, I don't know how on earth I lasted as long as I did with her.  I was sick (anemia, very low blood counts, irregular blood pressure, and a very destructive gall bladder) without really knowing the extent; so I was even more exhausted than newborn normal and I just never felt good at all.  I also never produced enough milk for her, so she was very restless and fussy...because I was basically starving her.  It became my strongest trigger for postpartum depression and things turned ugly quick.  After some talking with my husband and sister to work through my feelings of guilt and failure, and talking to my nurse about what all was going on and how I was feeling, I found myself no longer breastfeeding (one of the biggest feelings of relief in my life) and on a nice little dose of anti-depressant.  For me, it was the right decision.

After that experience, I really had no idea if I would even try to breastfeed again.  I shocked a lot of people (myself included) when we got pregnant with Kaplan and I told them I wanted to try again.  We're at the three mark right now, and I can honestly say things are going so much smoother with him.  I'm producing, he's latching (usually) and growing, he's put himself on a pretty regular eating schedule.  But guess what...I still hate it.

There are SO many pushes right now for breastfeeding.  And while I think that's great because I really do know, understand, and believe the benefits of nursing...I also find them pretty judgmental and detrimental to those of us mamas who choose to or must use formula.  I'm sure this post alone will get some feathers ruffled of those who are extremely passionate breastfeeders.  But that's not my intention at all.  I simply need an outlet and this is one of my best; plus I know there are other mamas who feel the same way I do, and I personally know how important it is to realize and recognize you aren't the only one who feels this way.

So why do I not like it?  Let's see...
--I'm so tired of being sore.  (plus, he has thrush, so that has made us both hurt and even more miserable.)
--I'm really tired of smelling all the time.  It's gross.  The combination of milk, saliva, lanolin, and just nastiness...it smells.
--Feeling helpless is exhausting and very lonely.  I'm so tired of being the only one who can "fix" anything that he needs.  I crave help...and I actually really enjoy (and miss) watching other people being able to feed my babies, especially their daddy.
--Having to sleep in a bra.  And wear one 24/7.  And they aren't cute or comfortable.  Oh, and let's add wearing nursing pads to that.
--I don't like having to remember what I ate and wonder what ingredient "messed him up" or caused him any tummy troubles.  I'm from Louisiana--I love spicy food.  When crawfish fettuccine gave him tummy problems the whole next day, that right there was enough for me to consider calling it quits.
--I strongly dislike comfort nursing.  That whole "strong bonding experience" that everyone claims comes with nursing--yeah, I've never felt that.  I can't stand knowing that he's not hungry but just wants to be on me all the time.
--Figuring out something to wear is even more difficult now than when I was clothing my huge pregnant belly.  I have to find a shirt that can easily be lifted and he fit under or can be pulled down in the front; and I run out of those quickly.  Plus, it's starting to get cold and I really want to wear my hoodies and long sleeve t-shirts...those are so inconducive to nursing.  And by golly, I really just want to wear clothes that fit!
--Feeding takes so long.  He eats pretty much every three hours; sometimes he'll stretch it to four.  Well that's every three hours from when he starts.  And then he eats for 45 minutes at the least.  2 hour breaks...and that's assuming he doesn't comfort nurse in between (which unless he is absolutely sound asleep doesn't happen).
--Convenient?  SO many people tell me all the time how much more convenient breastfeeding is that bottle feeding.  Well, in my opinion, that is definitely not the case.  Sure, it's nice to not have to wash bottles or pack them in the diaper bag.  However, having to plan everything I do around when he eats; having him melt down in the middle of a store or dinner because he's hungry; making sure I'm accessible all the time in case he gets hungry or has one of those needs for a blasted comfort feed...that's not convenient.  Being able to give him a bottle whenever and wherever we are--and that someone else can feed him if I'm doing something else (including taking care of or playing with my other child...)--that is convenience to me.
--It makes me frustrated with my kid, and that's not cool.
--I just really don't like it.


So why have I not stopped?  Let's see...
--everything is working and I feel really guilty and like a complete failure to quit (refer back to all of those pushes for breastfeeding over formula...  not to mention hormones).
--it's free.
--I do know the benefits (trying to decide how my mental and emotional states suffering compares to the benefits).

We're just over 3 weeks with Kaplan (apparently that's my threshold...)  I haven't decided yet how long we'll last.  I am somewhat starting the weaning process because I know it will happen at some point.  And since it needs to go so slowly, I really need it to start now before I lose my mind.  Who knows, maybe in the next couple of weeks I won't mind it as much or may even start to like it.  But even so, I'd be ok with at least a couple-few feedings be by bottle.  We'll see what happens.


While I'm ruffling feathers and being honest, let me tell you what else I'm not a huge fan of.

2.  The newborn stage.

Now, before you go condemning me and gasping in horror, let me clarify that I love newborns.  But it is a completely different beast when you are having to be the life source for one of those tiny critters versus getting to be a good snuggle buddy and then parting ways.

When they're sleeping, there is nothing better than a newborn.  They're tiny and they smell good and they snuggle so well.  But the problem is, they wake up and they wake up POed.  And they wake up a lot.  Especially at night when all you want to do is not wake up.  And they cry a lot.  And they poop all the time and spit up quite a bit.

I went to the Dollar Store by myself the other night to pick up a late night treat (really wanted some ice cream...)  Our Dollar General has an entrance drive in our neighborhood, so it is literally right up the road and I was only gone about 10 minutes.  But as soon as I got in the car and pulled out of my driveway, I was completely overwhelmed with a sense of freedom.  It was completely unexpected and it flooded me.  I had no idea how "trapped" I truly felt until I was able to just be me and just be alone.  Even if it was only for a 10 minute trip to the dollar store.

Call me crazy, but I much prefer about 3 months on up.  When they start to figure things out, gain some personality...when my hormones balance back out...

The really weird thing is that I know I'll miss the newborn stage, even though I really don't like it all that much while I'm in it.  It won't happen immediately, but this tiny, helpless being who is absolutely exhausting will have me missing this phase.  However, those well-intentioned tips to "enjoy every minute"...yeah, that's crap.  I will miss the tiny snuggles and the cooing and the weaker cry (vs. the all out scream fest an older child can produce...weak may not be the right word, but the cry of a newborn is softer and more delicate); I will miss the innocence and the wonder.  But I won't miss the exhaustion and unpredictability...and frankly, those aren't "minutes" I enjoy.


3.  Turnarounds.

Hate them.  And I am SO over this one that my boy is working.


So there ya have it.  Little Kaplan and I will keep trudging along, figuring each other out and what works best for both of us.    Right now though, we're going to take a nap :)

love, angie




PS--I really am ok (after my issues last time, my people start to worry when I get frustrated...).  We get along most of the time and everything is working as well as it's supposed to with a new baby.  Fret not family and friends...I promise I'm not going crazy this time.

a Box.

One of my teachers and women dearest to my heart posted this poem that her daughter had written.  In honor of Memorial Day and our fallen heroes...

I AM BUT A BOX

My Weary Soldier,

when this wretched war,
full of flying bullets
and haunting drones,
buried mines beneath the feet
of brothers,
and sudden midnight explosions
tearing into dreams
of a pleasant place,

when this desolate struggle
steals
the courageous beat
of your unfailing heart,

I am here.
My Brave,

when in sorrowful sacrifice
the gleaming blood
that sustained you
slowly seeps onto sand
and dries black
in the merciless sun,
when in solemn suffering
you release the last
breath
to ever fill your 
relentless chest,
when you leave this
bitter battlefield
for sweet peace,

I am here.

Though I be
mere trees
formed to frame
a humble, hollow space,

My Valiant,
you never knew wood
to be so secure
as when I cradle you
across the invisible boundaries
of foreign lands,
bear you
above the threatening depths
of endless oceans,
steady you
against the magnificent wind
whirling around our world,
fueling the rippling flags below.

My Strong,
I will keep you safe.
Though uncertainty may try
to vigorously pry
you from my beloved embrace,
I will never let you go.

No, My Allegiant,
I shall bring you home
though circumstance
may postpone me,
and danger may confront me.

Under ardent guard
of your uniformed devoted,
I will carry you for
dauntless days;
Dedicated, I too shall
return to the dust,
your comforting company
for eternity.

My Comrade,
I am your faithful fortress,
your steadfast rest,
though I do not deserve
to ever serve
one noble as thyself,
a selfless soul
earning such honor

as thy 
venerated 
self.

My Loyal,
I will lie beside
for that long, somber ride
together held close
by those three colors of pride
on a brilliant banner,
together
wrapped so gently by
that flag for which you died.

I am here,
for you have won
and I will secure you
forever on.

My Purpose,
I will never leave you,
but rather be buried
alongside,
beneath the
screaming sphere
on which we lived,
encompassing your
fragile figure—

I am
but a box,
crafted to carry heroes home,
holding hard,
and never letting go.

by Alexandra DeFelice

Oh wheeeerrrre, is my patience?

This pregnancy has really not been bad so far as far as how I feel (and I praise Jesus for that every single day).  I'm tired, as very much expected, but even still, I don't feel completely unable to function like I did when I was pregnant with Arabella. To be honest, this go round, I just don't have the option to feel that way.

I mean, really.  Most days, this is how I feel.

Or if we want to be real honest, this is more like it.

But one thing that has been affected greatly...my patience.

It's pretty much gone.

I lose my temper very quickly (at least for me, it's very quickly); I feel annoyed and aggravated with something almost all the time; my precious two year old who holds my heart drives me batty much more easily, and that makes me sad.  I'm just not me.

and since we're being honest and all...this is probably the root of my patience vamoosing.  "settled reality"...  "not in control"...  tough stuff.  (but I'm still letting you know that this little critter in me flipped the switch)

I'm also sure that the unbelievable amount of things I've had going on lately haven't helped much...  Three jobs...all of which I enjoy (for the most part, most of the time), but they wear me out nonetheless.  Having to find childcare for Bella every week--even just one day, since it's not consistent, it's tiring and I feel like I'm imposing on others.  LTC and all of the practices and preparation that went into that.  Easter plans that changed last minute leaving us all three in separate places and me driving a lot to get where we needed to be.  A wedding shower for my brother in law that has taken up a lot of my past two months and ALL of my last week.  Making 100 snicker doodles (from scratch...so good) and 15+ dozen sugar cookies (from scratch...so good) for the two previous weekends.  The emotion and drain that came with losing a student.  Pretty much being a single parent since Hunter is on this turnaround.  The constant state of disarray that my house seems to alway be in--there are piles everywhere, particularly in the sink and the laundry baskets...and every square inch of floor (seriously, I have suitcases that are still only half unpacked from trips all the way back in January through now...because we are gone allllll the time).  Hosting and planning a youth rally in August.   And it just goes on and on and on...

I mean, really.  But other times, it's great.  But a lot of times, dumb.

I've officially entered the 2nd trimester, so hopefully my energy and motivation levels will come up some soon.  And hopefully I can learn soon how not to be involved in everything that beckons my attention.  Because I'm not just tired...I'm getting weary.  And emotional, and frustrated, and overwhelmed.

desperately trying to remember this truth and to remember who I am...

May should be much calmer than April...but it's only the calm before the storm of June.  And then things should calm down almost completely after the youth rally on August 2 (they have to...)  At least until October when this little wee tot makes its debut.  So really, I guess it never does really slow down does it?

I just needed to vent and writing is an easy way for me to do that.  So thanks for lending me your ears/eyes as I figure things out.

Next week I am forcing myself to sit down and work on Bella's 2 year Shutterfly book.  That'll keep me sitting and reminiscing and having fun while working for a good little while.  Plus it's birthday week, so it's bound to be great, right?!

love, angie