... iron sharpens iron

I have a friend who gets me.  She understands me spiritually, emotionally, and socially. She is also a

stay-at-home mom by choice.  She has been such an example for mothering and "housewife 'ing" to me.  When I first became a mother, I continued teaching for 2 school years.  It was a challenge to find the home work balance many speak of; I was excellent at my job but felt inadequate as a mother.  I had read somewhere that children have no long term memories prior to age 3. I kept telling myself, if you can figure out this mothering thing by the time Will is three, you won't screw him up.

When Will was 2 & a half years-old, we relocated during the summer.  This left the perfect opportunity to try my hand at stay-at-home mom'ing with no teaching job in sight with an out of state license.

I remember evenings my husband would return home and ask, "What DID you do today?"  I remember one day distinctly.  My husband arrived home to me sobbing on the kitchen floor.  "What is wrong?" he asked.  "I'm just not cut from the housewife cloth," I wailed. "I'm not good at cleaning, and I can only make hamburger helper from a box."  You see friends,  I had unrealistic expectations of myself.  In a era of Matha's and Betty's, I felt I could never measure up.

I dove into baking with my toddler sidekick He and I did crafts together (this was before pintererst and my husband called it "crapt'ing").  But, I always had this sinking feeling, that I was faking it. I didn't really know what I was doing.  The amazing thing is that my sweet big heart'd boy didn't know any different.  I was the only mom he had ever had.  He did miss his friends from daycare, but I feel we became buddies, both experiencing a career change and being thrust into homemaking together.   He been a former daycare kid, who took great joy in being the class social director.  I was a pretty fantastic teacher, even being "promoted" to lead teacher, spending time filling in the office when the principal was in district meetings.

We both found our identity somewhere other than my home.  I met the friend I mentioned in the introduction once my youngest son was in full time kindergarten.  Yes friends, that was a lot of years of trying to fake it until I could figure out how to make it.  She had relocated from Kansas City, the exact city I had relocated from 6 years prior.

This particular friend had found her identity in her role in her family.  She finds great joy is baking treats for her husband and kids to enjoy when they return home from their busy days of school, teaching and pastor'ing.  She plans delicious menus and joyfully gathers the ingredients (most of us groan and call this grocery shopping)  She crafts the most gorgeous creations: scrapbooks, wall canvas', hallway art, homemade journals, veggie and flower gardens; she is filled with joy in the results of her creative genius.  This sister in homemaking has modeled the art of being gifted at this "cooking & cleaning thing," for me.

So fast forward 12 years to when I was first plunged into life as a stay-at-home mom.  This past year, my life goal has been to be filled with joy.  I seek joy in my flowerbeds planted over a decade of spring's and fall's.  I delight in the little green tendrils beginning to break through the earth and sprout, bringing motley joy.  I enjoy planning recipes and gathering the ingredients needed (especially ones crafted by the great Ree Drummond and the exuberant Rachel Hollis, my spirit women.)  I see the value in time spent sharing a cup of tea with a colleague in this profession of at home mom 'ing.

Do I wish I worked?  Heck ya.  I miss the classroom.  I miss spending time with other creative spunky educators.

Am I proclaiming all moms should stay-at-home?
Absolutely not.  I am just sharing the tale of how I was thrust into the life of homemaking, a life that I honestly did not desire, and how my higher power provided a mentor to guide me as I fumbled my way through.

I think the shifting point for me was admitting I was not a Martha or Betty. Asking people who were better at certain things for advice, help and guidance.  Finding what worked for me and my tribe of fellers, and doing what brings me joy.

I have been having a hunch that this season of staying at home is winding down.  That the perfect opportunity will present itself for me to re-enter the classroom.  We shall see what opportunities unflold.  For today, I'm going to pencil in some time with my sweet friend, who's mentoring has sharpened me.  When I complement her, she always responds, "Iron sharpens iron."

... tale of our seismic shift

... tale of our seismic shift

4 years-ago yesterday, our family experienced a seismic shift. The way we had planned our life changed. The way we viewed & interacted with our funny, intelligent Henry changed. I had to see Henry as our higher power created him. He is neuro diverse, wired differently than me, but he is beautifully & wonderful crafted by his creator. Last night we took a sunset hike to the top of Tabletop Mountain (Mesa according to Will&Henry) in Golden, CO. As I watched my happy energetic boys bounce & climb, I kept thinking, "Thank you for this gift."
I wish I could travel in a time machine and tell my younger self, worry less, love more & don't give a "flying flip" about what others think.

-Love Henry the best you can.
-Be an encourager to Will, now the "other sibling" to a special needs kiddo.

-Help Brock Peterson embrace your mantra,
"Normal is boring. Weird is eccentrically lovely."

-March 20, 2012 Henry was asked to leave the private school he & Will attended, 9 weeks before the end of 1st grade. They did not wish for him to return following Spring Break.

-March 21, 20012 Henry saw the head of IU psychology & the Child Development Center team of specialist @ Riley Children's Hospital. They diagnosed Henry with (just) low registration ADHD, a high IQ, sensory processing disorder, slow processing & fine motor deficiency.

-The kids are going to be just fine.

-Our whole family is going to be fine.

http://iuhealth.org/riley/child-development/child-development-services/

... these boots are made for...

... these boots are made for... Recovery

Friends, I have felt out of sorts for a while.  Much of my life I have felt like a square peg in a round
hole.  I talk too loud. I talk too much. I feel deeply. I over commit and become greatly invested in the lives of those I love and care about.  I am a person of excess.  If I love boots, I want all the pairs of boots. Every color, every type: spike heeled, low heeled, leather riding boot, fun-fancy cowboy boots, warm cozy Uggs, wacky colorful rain boots, and now the ankle booties.  My mind becomes fixed with all the things, and how I can scrimp on the grocery budget here, and the household budget here, to scrape together the funds for the perfect pair of boots.  They will be on sale, of course. That is one excuse I always use to reassure myself.

But friends, it's not just about the boots.  My brain suffers from a disease of compulsion.  It doesn't have to be footwear.  It could be healthy compulsions, such as apples. In autumn when the most delicious apples to ever hit your mouth are coming straight from the orchards in Michigan to my fruit bowl in Indiana, I CAN NOT GET ENOUGH.  My brain thinks about the apples all the live long day.  The crispness, the different flavors, sweetness, bitterness, yellow, red, green, and shades of the fuiji sunset.  Apples are healthy right?  So no harm.

Friends, this is where I had to get real with my warped way of thinking.  Too much of anything is not good for me.  I'm going to repeat that for myself, because I can be a slow learner at times.

Too much of anything is not healthy for you (Becca).

In the spring of 2014, I had to become very  honest with myself.  I was feeling very out of sorts.  Life was not going according to my expectations.  I needed to "slow my roll," and adjust my thinking.  I can't explain it, but the Lord impressed upon me, "Go where you can feel accepted."

I felt compelled to google a ministry I had read about on a family member's FaceBook page,
Celebrate Recovery.  The Celebrate Recovery website had a location locator (that phrase seems like the opposite of an oxymoron).  Low and behold, there was a church 5 minutes from my home that hosted a Celebrate Recovery on Thursday evenings.

My husband relented to be in charge of the fellers, and I walked through the doors of Grace Fellowship Church.  I felt so nervous.  Like a middle school girl on the first day, anxiously anticipating what the program would be like, but nervous as can be.

The evening proved to be amazing. Soul cleansing.  After a time of praise and worship, and a short lesson, they played a reflection song over the sound system with corresponding lyrics on the big screens.  The song was Undo by Rush of Fools.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0K_cwy81tg

Friends, I sat in a room full of complete strangers and sobbed.  The Lord had nudged me, I obeyed and took a leap of faith to walk through the doors of a new place, and He began the journey of bringing me home.

Do I still have racing compulsive thoughts? Absolutely.  I now use my accountability tribe, a group of trusted friends, soul mates, sisters in Jesus, to inform me they are seeing signs.  I take time each day to think through my my actions and thoughts and reflect on  whether or not they were the healthiest.  And the beauty of my reflection time, is that I generally do it at night before I hit the hay.  Then I thank the Lord for the gift that day has been.  One of my accountability tribe members gave me the sign to the right after we had both logged a bit of time at CR.

"May every sunset hold more promise. May every sunset hold more peace."

That is one of the mantras I use to "self-talk" when doing daily reflection.  It is one of the gifts of taking the scary first step and walking through the doors of Celebrate Recovery.  I still love boots.  I often wear them on Thursday nights.  When I take a break and wear sneakers, there is an old-timer who always asks, "Hey cowgirl, Where are your boots tonight?"

... desperate no more.

... desperate no more

It has been a bit since I've sat at my laptop to scribble down my thoughts. My oh my, there has been so much rattling around in my head, but I had lost my moxie friends.  I didn't have the courage to write.  You see, for several years I have been going through a "rough patch."  I became the opposite of my tag line, I became quite desperate.

Anxiety and depression are evil. They invade your heart, mind and soul.  They make everything seem gray; riddle your bones with fatigue; and for me, they paralyzed my creativity.

I once drafted a blog about why I was the not-so-desperate-housewife.  It told a tale of a woman who loved the Lord with all her heart, who sought to serve others, who's greatest desire was to bring abounding joy where ever she went.  I never published that draft, and about 4 years ago the ugly effects of anxiety and depression took hold of me.

There was a series of events which led to the unraveling of this housewife. I can be a long winded gal, ask anyone who has chatted me up and gotten cornered.  I won't bore you with the day-by-day details, rather I'll give a brief sequence of events since the spring of 2012.

-Our family experienced a great big hurt, in regards to our youngest son, whom is eccentrically, beautifully, and wonderfully made by the father of the heavenly lights. (James 1:17)

-Our oldest son, a big heart'd caring sweet boy, had to change his place of employment(school) too.

-Our hearts were ripped to ribbons as we lost our friends, our social network, and what we had believed to be our tribe of Christ-like witnesses.

-I first reacted rather loudly, being out spoken, wearing my feelings on my

sleeve, and not backing down.  Offending many in a community where you should be seen, not heard. It was believed things should be swept under the rug.

-I began to feel the effects of it all in an extremely emotional way, and I began to isolate.

-I stopped advocating for my sons in their education, not wanting to be the squeaky wheel any longer.

-I allowed the hurt of our families' abandonment to trigger my hang-up of anxiety and depression.

-I stopped writing, not wanting to share the thoughts of my soul with others.

-We traveled to amazing places around America and Canada, that I didn't digitally journal about (blog) for my sons to read when they are grown.

-We updated our "family goals" (refer to past blog .... dream), http://tales-of-a-not-so-desperate-housewife.blogspot.com/2011/04/dreams.html

-We bought a boat, taught the boys to wake surf, snow ski; enjoying the great outdoors in a new way.  We bought a FedEx type delivery van. The hubs gutted and fabricated it to be our mobile command center, as we took sojourns camping, rock climbing, glacier hiking, exploring God's green earth ... but these were all external things, fun joy inducing activities. They were not they things that cultivate the soul.

But friends, here is how I became desperate.  I was mad at God.  I yelled and screamed at him at times when I was driving in my car alone.  We drifted away from an amazing church home, that is actively reaching the disconnected to show them the love of Jesus.  http://www.faithchurchonline.org/
I stopped reading the word.  We, both the hubs & I, stopped taking care of our health and our bodies showed the evidence. I let my heart become sardonic, bitter, and resentful.

What have I done to have a change of heart?  Well, it was really all about the people God placed on my path.  The faithful who showed up, who drug

me along kicking and screaming, who were obedient to God and followed His command... "Just be

her friend."

A small tribe of women, wouldn't stop showing up.  Even as I tried to be ugly, to get them to ditch me, they persevered.  They showed up at my house unannounced.
(gasp, was the house clean? Probably not.)
They made pots of coffee, brought baked goods, folded baskets of unattended laundry.  They drug me out to lunch, took me on joint grocery fetching field-trips (I would rarely leave the house alone, agoraphobic?... very close).  They were Jesus wrapped in skin.  They loved me when I was unlovable.  They were true and constant friends for my husband and children in our direst of times.  Gradually, God used them to mend our broken hearts.

There are many tales to tell about healthy life changes I had to make along this path of healing, but those may be told on a different day.  Today, I need to tell you I am back in the word; I am fellowship-ing with a tribe of believers; I am worshiping the one true God in a place  I feel loved, a place I feel safe being my broken self, a place where the Holy Spirit breaths into me, and I am learning from a pastor who obediently allows the Holy Spirit to speak through him.
http://www.demottefirstnaz.com/sermon-podcasts/

Is life perfect?  Am I miraculously healed from my emotional aliments? The answer is, nope.  I am a work in progress, finding contentment in being perfectly imperfect.  I have days when anxiety creeps in, but I notice it now.  My tribe of accountability people notice it too.  I spend time identifying my anxieties trigger.  I use healthy tools to restore my soul to peace.

My cloud of witnesses, my tribe.

"A tale of lifelong learning with the hubster..."

I've been doing some "research" & drafting for a new blog for my Agape2Learn website.
We should all continue to learn: even in the summer; even after high school; even after college. Here is my first attempt of penning a learning adventure the hubs and I had a while back.
Stay tuned for further adventures with the fellers (child centered learning), and the whole clan (family focused learning).
So get off the couch, turn off the laptop, and get out there an live life loving learning.

Click on link below to read about our tour of the Kentucky bourbon trail.
http://agape2learn.blogspot.com/?m=1

"Birds of a Feather"...

They exited the school; two adolescent 7 year-olds, armed with a sheet of Big Chief notepaper.

I was picking my youngest up from elementary school on an autumn Friday afters.  Fridays are a favorite at our house; an ice cream treat from DQ, viewing borrowed movies from the library, a later bedtime as we are rebels against our weekly routine.

The 2nd grade offspring was chatting up a fellow classmate.  The beginnings of a friendship.
I recognized the boy from a field trip I chaperoned a few weeks prior.  He had sat in the bus seat in front of us.  I asked my son how his day was and what was in his hand.

The youngest replied, "This is Mason, and I asked him to swap phone numbers so we can call his mom for a play date."

Scrawled on the Big Chief were this boys seven digit number, and he clutched the same with ours.  The

classmate was being picked up by his grandma; a weekend sleepover.  The grandma leaned into me and whispered, "He's a little different." I smiled; my son had found a friend.  I inquired what had prompted the number swap?

"He just looked like he could us a friend Mom," was his reply.

Again the grandma whispered, "I guess he could use a friend."  I secured the mothers cell phone number and we headed out to enjoy our separate weekends.  I later texted the classmates mother, explaining the Big Chief pages and asking if they would like to come
for a play date, and the friendship was born.

My youngest is a little awkward, like a 30-something man in an adolescent body; possessing a high IQ. In the past fifteen months, he has been diagnosed with ADHD and SPD, Sensory Processing Disorder.  He has had to begin the process of gaining the coping skills he wasn't wired with in order to fit in to our societies definition of "normal."

What makes me a proud mama, is that my son independently befriended a boy in need.  Just like he has been in need so many times.  He was compassionate and Christ-like and saw a boy (now his best buddy) through the eyes of Jesus.

...she's back, & still not-so-desperate...

Yesterday I spent the afternoon with two dear friends; spiritual mentors really. We have been reading the book A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans, & have a sudo Bible Study/Book Club discussion.  As mothers, we are always multi-tasking.  Out of our 3 book discussions, 2 have been in the minivan intransit to a Cost Co run.

Discussing our spiritual journeys, & who the Lord is shaping us to be has made me realize how much I miss writing to you all.  I miss talking about what the Lord's been up to & how He is weaving His word into the path I'm pitter-patter-ing on.

My fellers and I have been on an interesting journey the past 10+ months.  It has been a journey of heart break and healing... of seeking strength and shoulders to cry on... of persevering and being in tune with what the Lord is up to... through the "good, bad & ugly."  I experienced a sort of writer's block as the Lord bandaged us up; and that is why you have not been privy to any 'tales.'

So dear readers, f you are interested in what's rambling around in my head.... and wish for me to plunk it out on the keyboard... leave a comment including your email address.

I have been invited to blog on Story Lane & may take a gander at it... I'm still praying and waiting for the Lord's nudging or reining in...