(Franklin and me on this day, May 7… exactly 8 years ago. He’s 2 days old.)

A mother’s body remembers her babies—the folds of soft flesh, the softly furred scalp against her nose. Each child has its own entreaties to body and soul. It’s the last one, though, that overtakes you. . . A first child is your own best foot forward, and how you do cheer those little feet as they strike out. You examine every turn of flesh for precocity, and crow it to the world.

But the last one; the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after—oh, that’s love by a different name. She is the babe you hold in your arms for an hour after she’s gone to sleep. If you put her down in the crib, she might wake up changed and fly away. So instead you rock by the window, drinking the light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams. Your heart bays to the double crescent moons of closed lashes on her cheeks. She’s the one you can’t put down.

-Barbara Kingsolver, Poisonwood Bible

Oh boy. This quote makes me cry. I read it a few days ago, just a day or so before my youngest turned 8. The one I can’t put down. She described it so perfectly…how you cheer those older ones on. You’re so excited about every milestone, so proud of them. So amazed by what they can do. You certainly do love them.

But the youngest. Oh, that youngest. You hold on a little bit tighter. Your cheering quiets a bit and starts mixing with tears when they reach a new milestone. Knowing it will be the last makes it so bittersweet. In fact, at times, if I’m not careful, just bitter.

I ought to put up a celebratory post of him, how wonderful he is and how happy we are to have this wonderful big kid. We certainly are. But for a moment, I just need to hold on to him before I send him on. The biggest comfort is knowing that I really did learn how to slow down and enjoy it by the end. Young motherhood is crazy and exhausting and hard. But by the last one, I really did learn to appreciate and savor those gone-so-quickly moments. Maybe that makes it harder, because it was so beautiful and I miss it so much. If it had passed by in a blur and I’d just succumbed to the exhaustion and wished those moments away, would it be easier for me now? Because I’m enjoying the relief of the different pace? The full nights of sleep? Could I look at those days as something I’ve survived and can be happy to never return?

Instead, I enjoyed them. I held on. I rolled it around on my tongue like a piece of fine chocolate. I watched him sleep. I touched the soft hair. I kissed the tiny lips. I smelled that sweet breath. I bounced and patted and sang and snuggled.*  I grabbed the moments I could and realized they were great at the time.  And there’s a big part of me that aches to have that tiny person back. And aches with every step they take away.

* I didn’t enjoy it ALL the time. I don’t mean to over-simplify. It was difficult much of the time. Motherhood is crazy and exhausting. But the pain of it all fades, and the beauty of it lingers like a scent… you can almost taste it, just out of reach.

(Franklin on his 8th birthday)

My caboose. I’d say the train analogy is very apt, especially with babies. The first one, the engine, rips into your life and shakes it upside down. It’s noisy and chaotic and you can barely get your bearings. The middle ones do the same, and fill your heart and expand your skills and make your home the crazy wonderful, full, exciting place it is, even amidst the chaos of a train running it down. And then the last one. The caboose closes all the doors, cleans up the mess, ends each chapter before you’re quite ready, just at the time you began to feel accustomed to and even really enjoy the commotion. Suddenly, the train has moved on, and all is quiet again. You’re still the same person, yet everything… EVERYTHING is different after that ride.

I know the ride isn’t over. We’re probably on the most scenic, calm, fun part of the ride, before teenagers threaten to pick up the speed again. I really really DO enjoy this part of the ride. It’s amazing and wonderful, and my kids are so much FUN to hang out with. Even when they’re awake! And they can do so much for themselves.  I know this is a stage that I’ll again reflect on tearfully someday.

But just for today, I’m going to indulge myself. I’ll let myself wish for a time machine to go visit the Littles. I’ll mourn my empty arms and feel a bit weird and out-of-sorts in my quiet calm house, before the train comes home and leaves socks everywhere and loses its homework and fights with itself and spends too much time on the computer and reminds me that we really only have this very day to enjoy fully.

Ahhh… spring break. This year I struggled with the difficult decision of staying home and spring cleaning or going camping. Luckily, Dave managed to sneak away from work and drive us down to Southern California for some camping in Joshua Trees!

As a kid, I went camping over spring break every year in Arches National Park. It’s been at least a decade since I was there last, and I miss it sorely. But given that it’s about a 17-hour drive from here, it wasn’t feasible. So I thought Joshua Trees, with it’s desert landscape and gobs of rocks to climb around on, would fit the bill. It pretty much did. It didn’t hold all the memories, but it did have a lot of the same fun.

It was so nice to spend the time together as a family, away from computers and homework and schedules and laundry and shopping and all that business of daily life. It kind of cracks me up that we find camping to be something fun to do…. giving up most of our modern conveniences, sleeping on the ground, eating fairly sub-par food and getting sunburned and wind-blown and in this case, rained and snowed on. But I guess it just goes to show that it isn’t all the “stuff” that makes you happy, but the people. And that is for sure the case. I have the best people around. Also, the fact that it is temporary is a plus. I doubt I would enjoy living like this if it was my only option.

Joshua Tree feels like another planet. One with its own kind of beauty. This is the view that greeted us as we set up camp, the view looking to the west from our campsite.

Dave and I learned to love each other at the end of our rope. I just made that up, but it seems like a really good analogy. The way we spent our time together as we got to know each other (I’d say dating, but it wasn’t really… we were just friends for a long time) was rock climbing. Every chance we got, we’d head to the crag, lace up our shoes, and climb. It was his greatest love (until I began to compete for his heart). But alas. Kids came along. And climbing became a huge hassle (not to mention a bit unsafe) with little kids toddling around the base of a rock, so we have rarely climbed together since having kids. But now, they’re finally big enough. They’re all old enough, brave enough, coordinated enough to participate on their own.

I loved seeing how happy it made Dave to see his kids pull off a tough move or even power through fear to make it further than they thought they could. I loved seeing how happy it made my kids to make their dad and themselves proud. I loved feeling the sun freckle my face as I laid on my back on a rock at the base, feeling exactly like a lizard warming itself, as I watched our children do, successfully, what we first loved together.

We also hiked around Ryan Ranch:

Matthew especially loved climbing. I think he read the guidebook cover to cover and begged for more climbing time, even when the rest of us were begging to just head home and out of the wind. Speaking of the wind… our last night there was crazy. After a morning of climbing, the clouds began to roll in. We knew that rain was in the forecast, so this wasn’t a surprise. We decided to just get in the car and take a drive for a while. We visited Keys Point, then went to a visitors center (where Shelby learned that Joshua Trees are actually lillies, not trees) and to the nearest town for Mexican food.

(Key’s Point, taken with iPhone using Instagram)

By the time we got back to camp, it was cold enough and windy enough and rainy enough and late enough that we decided to just go to bed. The wind was crazy (plus the rain and SNOW), but our tent is a good one, and we knew we’d be fine. Sophia spent much of her night fearing the tent would break, as it did for one of our neighbors. Dave and Matthew got up to help them move about a dozen kids into the van, while the mom packed up, fearing that her lantern would very likely set their tent ablaze. Luckily, it did not. They were from a nearby town, and I couldn’t help but feel grateful that I wasn’t her, where a night setting up camp by myself with all my kids in the wind and rain and cold felt like a better option than being home. [Although, I guess in some ways, that is exactly what I did as well, except for setting up and tearing down camp by myself in the worst conditions.]

After the night of dismal sleep, we awoke to more wind, and by the time we finished breakfast, we decided to just head home a bit earlier than planned. The drive home was beautiful. It really made me appreciate California, how diverse and beautiful it is. I’m feeling glad we didn’t move. A few shots from the road:

I always feel refreshed and appreciative of my life when I get back from spending a good deal of time outdoors. There is just something about being out in nature that is restorative to ones’ soul and mood and stress level.

It inspires my brains out. Tears and goosebumps through every episode.

For example, there’s an episode about a lady in the LA area who is a bus driver.

She spends her days carting kids to and from school, feeling like she’s doing a decent job. Then, one day, as she asks a kid how he’s doing, he mentions that he’s failing most of his classes. She asks more kids and finds that there are A LOT of them failing a lot of their classes. It makes her kind of mad. She’s leaving her babies to come drive these kids to school for nothing. They’re failing. They’re ALL wasting their time.

So she decides to give them an incentive. If they can improve their grades, she’s going to take them on a ride somewhere cool. She puts out the challenge, and many of them meet it, and they take a trip somewhere. That started her mission. She now spends the summer taking these kids, most of whom have never even left their neighborhood, to see things all over the United States. She uses what she has, access to a school bus and a special driver’s license, to show them the world. To show them what exists beyond their limited experience, and to show them that if they can make it through school and get a good education, that the world is full of possibilities.

People, she is a BUS DRIVER. She’s not a nun. She’s not a movie star. She’s not a business guru. She’s not even a tour guide. She’s a regular person with a regular job who is just doing her one little thing to make the world a better place.

She’s not the only one.

There’s the engineer who figures out how to make wheelchairs affordable that can be shipped all over the world. The musicians playing in hospitals. The woman who rescues abused animals and then creates program where people with all sorts of emotional issues help care for the animals, and the people and animals heal each other (even remembering that makes me teary). The music program. The restaurant. The boxing club. The health clinic. The lawyer. The farmer. All regular people. All doing one thing that makes a difference, just using what they’ve got.

STORY AFTER STORY of this stuff. It’s so beautiful. So well-done. They talk about their story, their turning point, how they decided to take this crazy leap to answer the call only they could here. It makes me happy to know that this is out there, behind the scenes. These people aren’t doing it for a publicity stunt. They’re not doing it to become rich. They’re not hoping someone will come along and clean up this mess. They’re not waiting until they’re better or richer or stronger or have more time or less to do… They are just rolling up their sleeves, using what they’ve got, and getting to work on the business of making the world a better place for a few people around them. They’re not even attempting to conquer the world, just to make a little bit of a difference to a small set of people in their tiny corner of the world.

It explodes my head and my heart in a really really good way.

(Piper and Shelby at the park last Sunday, taken with iPhone, processed with Instagram)

I thought Piper had developed an eating disorder.

She would go days without eating, turning her nose up at her food. Literally. It’d put it in the bowl, she’d go sniff it, turn her nose up, and walk away. Then, when we would leave the house, she would either climb up on the table or break into someone’s backpack and binge on whatever she found. Of course, she’d then go purge the whole thing somewhere in the house. The worst. We lost a perfectly good rug that we only had for like five years and spent like a hundred bucks on! (smirk) It was beyond repair and smelled up the house. Tragic, really. Except for the part where I got a beautiful new rug. That kind of made up for it.

I thought she was just being stuck up and rude and devious.

It’s possible I give my dog credit for being more complex than she is.

One day, Dave decided to open a new bag of dog food and give her a bowl of it. She scarfed it. And every other bowl she’s been offered since.

So. I spent a good week starving the pooch, thinking she was being all passive-aggressive with me. The fact that her food was inedible had not even occurred to me. Either my dog is crazy, or I am. I’m not quite sure which…

That dog is hard to figure out.

(via)

In all the “work” I’ve been doing recently (I recently told a friend I feel like I’ve been scratching and clawing my way out of a hole), I’ve done a lot of reading and thinking and praying. I’ve found that I pray best while I’m working out. I went for a swim the other day, and it was hard for the first part. But then I started kind of praying in my head, going over my concerns, and God joined me, and we swam for an hour. It was so awesome. It felt like a conversation, with new thoughts coming into my head and clarity on things I was worried about. He does that on a long runs too. I guess I just need to unplug and get my brain out of the way. Maybe that was my problem last year, not working out enough? (don’t you hate it when exercise is the answer?) Except that during my last long run, God was running with me, and I told God how thankful I was for my body that could run and feel so good, and how I promise I’ll never stop if He keeps giving me the ability because I know how important it is to my well-being now, and the VERY next day I got shin splints. What the heck? I guess he wanted me to take up swimming for a while instead. (also, it’d be nice if all this working out would help drop a few lbs. None yet, but I’ll keep hoping. And eating crap… maybe that has something to do with it? Nah… I’ll work on the diet sometime, but not yet. One thing at a time.)

(via)

Anyway… I meant to come here to share some blogs. If you love reading blogs, here are a couple that I really found to be uplifting and affirming and just plain helpful to someone trying to get in touch with their spirit.

A Blog about Love. Mara, the author, has been through a rough time the past decade or so, with a husband who repeatedly told her he didn’t love her anymore and eventually left, as well as the struggle with infertility. She says she learned in the depths of all that the true source of love and worth, and that she learned to be happy no matter what. I love her message. She’s now married to a man she adores and shares the lessons she learned on her blog.

Some of my favorite posts: Feeling Truth,  Vulnerability (this was where I first found that speech I linked previously), and Best Beauty Secret.

Also, I found (and became obsessed with) Glennon Melton’s blog, Momastery. Holy Moly. Such good stuff here.  I read the entire thing over the course of a weekend.

She recently became quite famous because of her Don’t Carpe Diem essay that went viral. Love it. So true. But I also love her. Start with her Meet Glennon page. Don’t you want to just give her a hug and cheer her on? I love her overarching message of Love One Another. Isn’t that really what it all comes down to? As I read through her blog, I noted some entries that really gave me goosebumps or touched me in some way (even though, I’d say MOST did that), here’s a list of favorites: Eat, Drink, and be Mary; And/Both; Airing our Dirty Laundry; Happy Birthday Precious Monkees; You Can Swim; From One Rowdy Prisoner to Another; Everything; Cracked Vase; The Jack in the Box; My Testimony; A Mountain I’m Willing to Die On;  Lowering the Bar; Birthdays; My Girl and God. Then, go ahead and read the rest like I did, because you feel like you’re BFFs and you want to hear what else she has to say.

While I’m sharing links, here’s another that I found early on that kind of cracked me open and let all this other good stuff flow in: His Grace is Sufficient. It helped me realize that I didn’t need to be “more” than I am. That I am enough right now. That doesn’t mean I don’t need to always try to improve, but the fact that I have room to improve doesn’t make me any less valuable as a person. It felt like understanding this concept took the weight off my shoulders.

(via)

One more note, a thing that was very helpful as I began this journey… I heard a therapist, Wendy Ulrich, give a talk about happiness. She was talking about all the ways that we can make ourselves happier, and it was a really great, clever talk. But she prefaced it by saying that sometimes we need therapy and/or medication to get us to zero. It can only get us to zero, and then we need to take steps to reach the “happy” part, but that medication/therapy can be a necessary tool to get to zero. I loved hearing that… I really do think that God uses medication to help us, even with mental issues. There’s no shame in getting help and medication if you’re stuck in the darkness. If you can’t get out, ask for help. Get some medication. Get on solid ground, and THEN take it from there. Suffering from depression and anxiety and other problems is NOT a deficiency in personality or righteousness. Shame just makes it worse. Thinking our way through it won’t always work. Take the help available. Because sometimes, sadness and dark feelings and overwhelmed-ness just can’t be cured by a gratitude journal. The gratitude journal, or exercise, or reading good books will help nourish good feelings and help them grow, but you need to be capable of even feeling good feelings to begin with. Getting the gumption to do even basic self-care can be too much sometimes… If  it’s too dark for any of that, it is probably good to explore the possibility that you need professional help getting to zero. I feel like this topic could probably use more discussion, but I’ll leave it at that for now.

I grew up in a home where we went to church every Sunday. We did our best to be good people. I had good parents and good friends and I really loved church. It kept me safe. I can honestly say that as a teen, I never got into much trouble. It was all very black and white to me. If it’s wrong, don’t do it. If it’s right, do your best to do it. Easy.

I’d seen the other side… The pain it causes when people make choices that fall in the “black” category. I remember seeing the pain it caused my parents and the rest of us when a couple of my brothers made some pretty poor choices. I remember my dad talking about pulling into a parking lot at work one day and sobbing for quite a while before he could go to work. I saw my parents cry. I was old enough to know some of what was going on, and could feel the tension and sadness in our home, but young enough that I was kept out of the loop on the specifics for the most part. It was a hard, confusing time for our family. So, when I got old enough to make my own choices, I decided that playing it as safe as possible was the best plan. It worked out pretty well for quite a while.

As an adult, things started to get gray. Lots of choices are good, better, best. Not right and wrong. Or some are: I know that’s right, but I just can’t muster it. I should do more, but I’m too tired and I just don’t care enough. Some are: I honestly am not feeling it that much, but for the sake of being a good example to my kids, I’m going to do it. And even: my friends are all doing it, I’m going to pretend that I am too, so they don’t think I’m bad. And then: I just don’t know for sure. Maybe. Maybe not.

And as years passed, I began to think: I’m just not that spiritual. You can’t go walking around on a spiritual high all the time. Some people can, probably, but I guess I’m just not one of them. In fact, sometimes I find spirituality weird and off-putting. Some stuff makes me kind of cringe, it just seems so sappy and showy. I don’t like braggy spirituality. Gag.

And to make matters worse, I began to resent all of those things that I felt like I was “supposed to do” in order to be a good member of my church. It felt like there was a big long list of ways I should be more righteous, and I was never adding up. Church was making me feel bad. I’d come home feeling worse instead of better sometimes. Or just that I’d wasted several hours of my life. (In retrospect, I was taking all of the tools my church was giving me that were meant to help me make a beautiful life, and I was beating myself with those tools, instead of using them.) Thoughts of quitting popped up occasionally, mostly to ease the pain of the beatings I was giving myself with the spiritual tools. But I knew the pain of quitting (the effect it would have on my social and family life) would be even greater than my beatings, so I stayed.

I contented myself with being a bench-warmer on Jesus’ team. I’d show up to the game, but wouldn’t put in any effort. It’s not that I didn’t believe he was probably there, somewhere, but I wasn’t sure, really, how involved He was in everything and how much I wanted to be involved either. We were acquaintances, I’d say. We knew people who knew each other. Friends of friends, you know. Here and there, I’d have a really good experience and feel strongly about a spiritual topic, but for the most part, I was coasting. “I’ve got this,” I’d say to God in my mind… “I hate to be a bother, so I’ll figure it out myself. Also, I don’t want people to think I’m with those weirdos that make me cringe.”

“And besides. I’m kind of afraid of You, to be honest. I was thinking about Mary. You two are supposed to be on pretty good terms, I’d say. And she had to have Your baby in a stable. I bet that was unpleasant. Jesus’ life didn’t seem very easy either, although I know that was kind of the point for Him. But it looks like every good person, maybe every person ever in existence, has some horrible thing they go through. A devastating experience of one kind or another. Trials and Tribulations. No thanks. I’d rather not. I don’t want to be tested, thank you very much, and I’d rather not “grow.” I love my family so much. Please don’t do anything to hurt us. I’ll fly under the radar, and maybe you won’t notice me here with my four beautiful children and my nice little life. I’m sure I’ve got it coming, because I certainly don’t deserve all these blessings. I’ll try not to offend you, I’ll keep the commandments as well as I can and all that… please don’t hurt me.”

It turns out, he’s not the one doing the hurting. He just loves. That’s it. That’s what he IS. And he can make our pain feel like love, even. Sometimes we have to hurt to find him, but it’s kind of the point of this life, and it’s all temporary. I knew that intellectually, I’d been taught that my whole life, but I preferred to keep it on an intellectual level because I really hate pain. I wanted to avoid pain, even if that was the pathway to strength and love.

So trying to go it alone as much as possible, using Jesus as a spare tire instead of a steering wheel in my life, I made my way along. But I’d caused so many bumps and fender-benders and had so few tune-ups that my little car had broken down. I’ve been pushing that car (my life) around for a while, and I was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. I had come to that place of “I can’t.” And even pushed through that for a while, but eventually it lead me to the recent and necessary breakdown spiritual awakening. I felt I had reached the end of my rope.

With step 2 of the 12 steps (believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity… the rest of the steps are quite related to this point as well), I broke down and accepted that. It’s true. I can’t do it myself. Obviously. I need something to hold on to. Some kind of inner strength that I just don’t possess. Sanity would be nice. So nice. Even if that something means I might have to walk through some scary places, and risk that God might want to prove to me what I’m capable of through hardship, I won’t have to do it alone. Because, actually, it turns out that even when things are relatively easy and good in my life, I can’t handle it on my own for very long. I’m just not strong enough. Eventually, I’ll break down. So I need reinforcements. He promises peace and comfort, even in the midst of trials. (on another note… money is what most people think will bring peace and comfort, but Americans, even with all their money, have become intensely depressed and uncomfortable as a whole, even rich ones… interesting)

What if I have some doubts? I mean, what if there really IS no God, and all this religious stuff is something people say to make themselves feel better? I really DO hate how people use religion as a tool to beat each other up (or beat themselves up? hmm?). Wouldn’t I be embarrassed that I’d spent my life believing there was more, if there’s not? (though… if there’s not, I guess I wouldn’t be around to make that realization, so that line of thinking doesn’t make much sense…)

I’ve come to the conclusion that uncertainty is part of the definition of faith. It’s kind of the point. We need to search with our hearts, not our minds. It’s the “certainty” and intolerance and religions trying to prove each other wrong, or people trying to “best” each other, that is causing the problems, and God has no part in that. Light and Love. That’s it.

No matter what religion (description of God) you believe, no matter who you are, religious or not, if you tap into the Light and Love of the universe (and within yourself), you’ve found it. It’s everywhere. And in everyone. Churches do a great job of helping us love and support each other and give us networks and ways to learn service and guide each other. But they’re filled with people. People are imperfect. There is no “perfect” institution. All have faults and problems. That doesn’t make them wrong or bad or not worth being a part of. God loves us to help each other, and these imperfect institutions are the best we have. Some even better than others, possibly, but the fact is, spirituality is still a deeply personal thing that can’t be just “given” by an institution. It’s something that can’t be borrowed or gained through the right social circles, with the right parenting, or by proving another religion wrong. It’s a personal connection to the Divine, plugging into the great light and strength and connection that resides in all of us and wants to be expressed. The responsibility still falls on the person to believe and bring it into their soul.

Regardless of the culture or religion’s specific description of God and tenants of faith, people who wear faith on the inside instead of the outside are strong and loving and wonderful. True religion, true faith, doesn’t create hate (even self-hate). Just peace and love. It’s a personal thing.

My conclusion is that even if religion is all a scam, even if this peace and comfort we gain from it is  a naive way that humans have developed to make their way through a painful world, and that we’re alone in the universe… what have I got to lose by putting my trust in something beyond me? Some possible answers to hard questions? Some peace in the face of trial? Some strength to lean onto when I’ve run out of my own?  Some guidance when I don’t know what to do? Some hope that these amazing people I’ve known and loved will be with me in some sort of afterlife? I’d rather be wrong and enjoy those benefits my entire life. I’d rather be scoffed at by intellectuals and non-believers than to join in that misery any longer. I don’t care.

The fact is,  I need the peace. I’m going to spend the rest of my life working on that. I’ve tried the other way, and it didn’t work. The evidence I’ve seen in my life proves that there is strength and peace and guidance to be gained by spiritual practice. Nothing else in my life has changed, but I feel lighter now. Happier. Joyful. More at peace. ENOUGH. I feel like I’m enough, right now. Not after I get a certain amount done, not when I’ve lost a certain amount of weight, not when I’ve conquered a particular challenge… NOW. I’m enough as I am. If it’s God that did that for me, I’m on His team from now on. If it wasn’t? I guess we’ll never know.

I’ve been on quite a journey the last few years, like I’ve been climbing a mountain and I’ve finally reached some sort of vista point, where I can see with a little more perspective. Lots of discoveries.

The first discovery was this: I Can’t.

Actually, maybe that was the beginning of the end, and then eventually the beginning of the beginning, if that makes any sense.

At some point, quite a while ago, I sat down and said, “I just can’t. I’ve tried, I really have. But I can’t.”

It applied to nearly every thing I could see in my life. I can’t prepare lunches for my kids every morning. I can’t seem to balance my budget. I can’t even figure out what a budget is or what to do with it if I find one. I can’t stand the word “budget”, I’d like to kick it in the budget. I can’t feed my kids homemade organic foods all the time. Ever? I can’t read to my kids. I can’t help with their homework. I can’t stay calm at bedtime. Still, even though they’re bigger. I can’t get to the bottom of my emails. I can’t place an order correctly to save my life. I can’t help disappointing clients with said messed-up orders. I can’t appear to be a has-it-together businesswoman. I can’t do accounting. I can’t do marketing. I can’t grow my business, I can’t even maintain what I have. I can’t quit. I can’t keep going. I can’t change my clothes to go for a run. I can’t remember if I put conditioner on my hair in the shower. I can’t keep my house clean. I can’t read my scriptures. I can’t relate to all that spiritual stuff people are always talking about at church. I can’t tell anyone I feel that way. I can’t let anyone see how broken I really am. I can’t keep up. I can’t do all that “stuff” on that imaginary checklist of good things everybody ought to be doing. Everyone else has it so together, and I just can’t even find ONE THING I can keep together.

I began to think of things I could quit. Believe me, pretty much anything in my life was considered. Even the dog was up for grabs. But that I Can’t stayed inside and festered. Because I couldn’t even get the gumption to say “I quit” and face judgement, disappointment, whatever I thought I’d find on the other side of quitting. So I’d pretend to be saying “I can” when inside, I knew I couldn’t. I went through the motions, as well as I could, but every failure of every day added another rock to the weight in my chest.

It got to a point where I literally couldn’t breathe. I’d be in the grocery store, trying to decide if I should buy the organic mac ‘n’ cheese or Kraft, and then the budget would complain, and either way I’d lose. Both decisions were bad. And I fail once again. And now I can’t breathe. Over mac ‘n’ cheese. Which is also a failure, because mac ‘n’ cheese from a box, organic or not, is not a good meal for my precious family. Three failures in one decision. Seriously. That much weight… my failures had added up to the point where I was suffocating over groceries.

Failure was all I could see. It kind of became a way of life for me. A thin outer shell of trying, because I didn’t know how to quit, but a black hole of I Can’t inside.

Last fall, at parent teacher conferences, I got another huge dose of can’t. A teacher pointed out the fact that my kid can’t seem to focus. Can’t hear what’s going on outside his own head. Can’t get his homework turned in finished or on time. And I was like, yeah… so? We’re just like that. Quirky. It’s kind of cute. Sometimes. Other times, it’s really annoying. I know. But I’m like that, and so are half my family members. It’s just us. But then I realized she wasn’t having this conversation with all the other parents. That my kid really was struggling in lots of ways. And that she’d discussed it with his past teachers. And they don’t consult past teachers for kids they’re not actually worried about. That her concern was for real.

Oh man. I can’t. I can’t teach him to do something I’ve never been able to do. I can’t teach him to be organized and on top of things. I can’t do it for him. There must be some cheats. Some strategies to organization. Long story short, in looking for ways to organize, we actually learned that we’re dealing with ADD. To be specific and use it’s formal name, ADHD-PI. Hyperactivity is not an issue with us. SO not an issue. Which is why with all the buzz about ADHD, it never occurred to me to be at all related to what we’re dealing with. Oh, we can focus. We’re all OCD when we want to be. Focus is not a problem. Unless you’re talking about a budget, or anything else I’m really not interested in. Then, yeah. I can’t stand to pay attention. But that’s not my fault that you’re boring. Oh, it is my fault? Oh. And that not finishing what you start? Huh. And not hearing anything outside my head? Not just a quirk? Hmmm….

It was a mixed bag. On the one hand, it was such a relief. That explains a LOT. So many things suddenly made a lot more sense. This could be why EVERYTHING feels like such a struggle. I read a couple books that felt like I had written them. There are other people like me? But then there are other issues to deal with. Whether or not to medicate. A realization that this doesn’t go away, technically, though medication can help. The fact is, I’m limited. Wanting to be the type of person that can stay present in a discussion about the budget doesn’t make it so. I will never be the person that loves a good spreadsheet, because figuring out excel would be too much of a hassle. (oddly, I love organization. Can’t live without a fairly organized house. But my head? My to do list? Time management? Always a mess.) Putting in orders correctly will always be a challenge for me, as are projects that don’t have a deadline to motivate me. Motivation is something lacking, we can generally only be motivated by deadlines or intense interest. Which kind explains how I was using guilt and shame to try to motivate myself… if I put it on thick enough, it would feel like a deadline. I can see now how much that it was damaging myself to work that way.

Anyway. I made it through Christmas and all the chaos. Weathered the up and down of Dave finding his dream job. Got kids back in school. Finally had the time to have my breakdown. (Can you see my list? Christmas presents-check. New Year’s Festivities-check. Breakdown-check.) Dust settled, and I looked around and said to myself, I CAN’T. For real this time. That outer shell broke, I couldn’t even pretend like I could anymore. This time I said it out loud. I can’t. I won’t. I’m not living like this anymore. I won’t go another day feeling this way. Tears all over the place. I literally felt that outer shell crack and everything inside me started pouring out like lava.

I said it out loud. I said it to God. I can’t. I don’t know what to do now.

And he said. My dear child. That’s ok. You don’t have to. Where did you get that silly idea any way? Nobody can do it all. That’s why you’re here, to learn.

And I said. But what do I do? I’ve tried. I can’t. I don’t even know where to start.

OK. He said. Check out that one book you read the other day. The 12 steps… that’s a great place to start.

Seriously? I did read that in one of the ADD books, the author said it’s helpful to some people as they come to terms and learn to deal with ADD. I know what the 12 steps are. They’re for people that have addictions. People that have hurt and used other people and done bad things and made a serious mess of things. It’s for repentance, but I didn’t do any of this on purpose. I don’t need to, you know, repent, really.

And I took another look and I realized that the 12 steps is an inspired program that has helped millions of people make huge enormous changes in their lives. I’m pretty sure God wrote that himself and passed it around to everyone, so not one religion or person can claim it because it’s bigger than that. It’s really just a plan of action, a method to forgive yourself and move on, to repent if you need to, and get up and dust yourself off. Wow. This is powerful stuff here, actually. I think it would apply to anyone in need, for whatever reason they’re in need. A change-your-life plan when you’ve come to a dead end and don’t know where to go. One that has been proven to work time and time again. It was worth considering.

Step 1. Admit you’re powerless, that your life has become unmanageable. CHECK.

Step 2. Believe that God can restore me to sanity.

OK… this opens pandora’s box.

(to be continued…)

TWO teenagers in the house. This is crazy. Matthew turn 13 today!

Here is a picture of him that I took yesterday.

Right? That was yesterday, right? I mean, I’m pretty sure it was. Freak. I can’t believe how much he’s changed.

He is one cool kid. As much as I loved that little character with the spiky hair and attitude who came with snuggles and strong opinions and a tiny voice and an inablilty to clean up without laying on his back for large amounts of time, the person he’s become in the time between then and now is pretty incredible. Quite a ride, this parenthood thing.

Handsome dude, right? This pic was taken nearly a year ago. This is the most recent “good” picture of him. You know, that whole cobbler’s children thing. (note: take some new pics)

Life with him has always been kind of an adventure. The very first thing he did in his life was surprise us (we’d been told we were having a girl… that was a fun surprise!). Of all my kids, while he gives us few actual problems, he does hold the family record for the most ER and doctor visits. Way to go! Little brother is trying to catch up, but Matt’s stories are always the best. Especially that one where he was riding his bike, hit his head on the street (he was wearing a helmet, but it pushed back), and lost his eyesight for a while. That was quite an adventure! Or the Steven’s Johnson scare a year ago. That was pretty, um, gross and scary actually. Not very cool, that one. But he was a champ and actually managed to heal quite quickly without hospital time. Remember my 30th birthday when Dave and I got to go to the City but were called by the school before lunch because he’d broken out in hives? Fancy. Or the major cut on his head that bloodied his shirt and looked like he was dying? Awesome. You can look at his head and count the scars to remember all his fun times. Kind of like people do with lots of tattoos, his head scars kind of tell his story.

As a little guy, he had this goofy personality that he was kind of shy to show. You’d catch it if you watched carefully, but he would never perform on demand. My favorite was when he decided he was an amazing opera singer. You would hear him singing opera from the other room, and once or twice, he’d sing for me if I asked. But none of my other family members ever heard it. He was confident of his abilities, but others weren’t worthy to listen.

Same story with dancing “The Robot.” But one of the best things about him getting older was watching him come out of his shell. That goofiness has become something he’s very proud of. He loves to crack us up with all of his antics.

I would say these shots give you a better idea of his personality:

Fun guy. Or should I say fungi? (he’d appreciate that little pun)

He’s become quite the architect. He can build anything with legos. His creations are usually hilarious and brilliant at the same time.

And a reader. I’m so happy that he’s learned to really enjoy reading. This a pile of books he read in less than a year. Since then, he’s only added to the collection.

And adventurous. In this shot, he’s triumphant after a rollercoaster ride that goes upside-down. He’s done some pretty insane rollercoasters, he and I are the only ones that will go. And I think he may have outpaced me… Our last rollercoaster really freaked me out. I think he needs to find a new rollercoaster buddy.

Camping adventures too. He really loves scouts and all the fun stuff they do there. This kid is up for anything now. It’s so cool to see my shy, reserved little kid become an adventurous, happy, up-for-anything person.

Smart. This kid is so smart. I stopped being able to help him with homework ages ago. (Although, that probably says more about me than him.) He skipped a grade and a half in math, a fact that he’s very proud of. Me too. He’s always had this amazing mind that just gets math and science. I remember his second-grade teacher telling me about how he’ll come up with answers to problems in totally new ways than she’d taught, that were correct, but it was just amazing to see him be able to conceptualize it like that. Pretty awesome.

Creative. He’s a little graphic designer. For fun, he’ll create art on his computer with the little paint program that comes with it. No idea how he does it, he figured it out on his own. (note: let this kid play with illustrator and photoshop on my computer… he’d probably do some really cool things!) His favorite computer games are ones where he creates little worlds… homes, castles, building things, whatever. I think it was in 1st grade that he created his first powerpoint presentation. I thought it was hilarious. Something about Star Wars. Who makes powerpoint presentations for fun? This kid. That’s who.

Please, Lord, let the next 13 years be as fun as the first! I’ve heard warnings about how difficult the teen years are. People love to scare others with that, to act like it’s the worst thing in the world. But I’ve also heard other people talk about how wonderful they are, how the teen years were the best of the whole parenting experience. [Can I just say, I loved hearing that? If that's the case with me, I'll be sure to tell all young parents the good stuff, not the scary stuff. It's not celebrated enough, in my opinion.] If he can just STAY this cool, we’re in for a really great time with these teen years. I can’t wait to see what else he does.

I’m so happy to be a front-row witness to the amazing process of seeing him become his full self. Every step, every new skill, every new adventure just makes him more and more incredible. One cool kid, this one. I’m on this rollercoaster of life with him. I’ll hold on, wherever it goes. Let’s see what he does. Who he becomes. I know it’ll be a good ride.

I captured these images nearly a year ago. In the meantime, Matthew has grown a bunch and gotten braces. Franklin has lost his two front teeth and grew in the beaver teeth that are so popular with kids his age.

This session almost didn’t happen. In a burst of inspiration, I planned/bought the outfits. Then, it rained. Then, I lost motivation. I stayed in that place for a few weeks. Then, one day, the sun was out, the kids were home, I had a rare burst of energy, and I decided we should just do it. Now. I yelled at them to get dressed, did some things to Sophia’s hair, and we left as the sun was getting low.

I had visions of how this would go… I’m good at this. People connect with me, and we have fun during sessions. It’s just a great playtime that ends up looking really pretty and everyone looks so happy. I’ve learned by watching stressed-out moms, that stressing does nothing for the session but drag it down. No disciplining during sessions, that’s my rule. Yeah.

I found myself being that mom. THIS HAS TO WORK. You’re going to smile if it kills you. Stop complaining. Just stand over there and SMILE!! Stop whining. Stop bickering. Oh man… this was hard to be the relaxed, fun mom when it’s MY pictures I want to turn out well! And my kids who are acting like punks! The fun-photographer-me was watching the stressed-mom-me and just shaking her head and telling herself to chill out and do what I do for my clients. I don’t yell at their kids. I make up fun games! But the stressed-mom-me kept taking over. I bet it was hilarious to watch me, like one of those movies with people multiple personalities fighting to get out. Yell at the kids to do something, then act like everything is so fun.

But the cool thing about professional photography… you throw out the crappy shots, and just keep the good ones. I shouldn’t have stressed. I’ve done this long enough to trust the process (for other people), that it ALWAYS TURNS OUT. Somehow. I always get treasures from every session, even the disastrous ones. I don’t even pretend to think it’s because of me.

I was just talking about this last weekend with a client… God cares about good pictures.

I swear, He does. There have just been too many times when the clouds parted and the perfect ray of light would shine on that screaming toddler as they took a breath, and they actually looked happy and beautiful. Or the time when I crossed the country to shoot a wedding, and it poured. POURED. Poured really isn’t a good enough word… the entire day. The entire state was a mud bog. I was feeling so bad that she wouldn’t get pretty pictures after all the effort to get me there. Then God heard the I Do’s, called a cease-fire on the rain, and gave us 30 minutes to get the shots we wanted before starting back up. And it’s not just me… I’ve heard other photographers recount the same things, time and time again.

God-the universe-nature-Allah-energy-the force CARES about pictures.

It’s probably because He knows how much they’ll mean to us. Of course we want beautiful images of the people we love. But it goes deeper than that. Seeing them in this ideal state (quiet, happy, perfect) moves us. Allows us to appreciate them more fully. Reminds us of what is important. Captures the moment, and lets us revisit it again and again. And captures those people who change so constantly and lets us hold on to them a little tighter, to keep them a little longer.

Watching my kids grow creates a tiny bit of an ache in my heart. As much as I love who they are and who they’re becoming, as much joy I feel in the present, I loved the former versions (who I only can visit in pictures) just as much. Photography is a gift, really. A gift from God. He parted the clouds of my laziness and then stress and grumpiness and allowed these to happen. Treasures.

I love these people. I love the energy they bring to my life. I’m not talking energy- do things, I’m talking energy- vibe. They are the most amazing group of people I know, and I feel badly sometimes that I’m not more for them. But I am what I am, and they are gracious and accepting of that. I feel the same way about them. They’re not perfect either, but that doesn’t change how I feel about them one bit. I’m just enjoying (as much as and as often as I can) the ride we’re on together.

But it turns out, it’s pretty hard. There’s a reason people choose to numb, however they choose to numb. Ben and Jerry, thank you.

Don’t worry, I’m doing ok. I just find paying attention all the time and not zoning out or hiding from things I don’t want to think about or deal with to be quite exhausting.

I felt it necessary to point out amid my rah rah rah about becoming someone awesomer than I was last year, it’s not as easy as it seemed when I was reading about it!

I’m still going to try. But I get by with a little help from my friends. (Ben and Jerry)

xo