Saying Thanks

Hey everyone - This is an incredible chance to say thanks so please take this opportunity to do so!

To all our readers...

I know it's been about 32348459034890454354 years since any of us have posted. I know for me, the past few weeks have been a whirlwind...from our Girl Gone Real reunion, to work, to parties, to holidays...life is in full motion. But have no fear...we'll be posting more soon. For now, I'll leave you with a few pics from our reunion. Our time in Evansville was so good. Catching up with each other was truly a blast!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DANIELLE!!!

Happy Birthday, to our Darling Danielle! We love you much!!! From your gurrrrrls at Girl Gone Real!!

Happy Halloween!!!!

Here's to lots of candy, except for candy corn!!!

The People in this Crowd Love The Fall. Plus! Girl Gone Real Vlog Style! Yes, I Am Copying Hilary.

We girls here at GGR are a fall-lovin' group of ladies. Over the years most of our reunions have been in the fall. Most of our fall-reunion photo shoots involve red and orange and yellow and brown leaves on the ground. We are usually clad in sweaters. I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say that we all REALLY love sweaters. Tiffany even managed to get married in the fall so that our reunion that year could be both autumnal AND nuptial.

We all have favorite fall memories together from our time in college and after (hint hint, comment time, people). Our senior year we all descended upon Tiffany's family in northern Indiana for a fall retreat, and we set the bar high for the rest of our reunions to come. We had a weekend of laughter, late breakfasts, lots of pictures, and coffee made complete with a haunted hay ride, a backyard bonfire, and Momma Rachel's Famous Chicken Cheese Soup. MMM. I could die from a chicken-cheese-soup-induced death with a smile on my face.

Nat and I have started our own fall traditions, too. Since Miles is an October baby, fall is an extra special time for us, and we look forward to watching the massive tree in our front yard turn bright canary yellow (see photo above). Nat and I have perfected our Special Adult Apple Cider Deliciousness and most weekends in the fall you'll find it simmering slowly on the stovetop, making our whole house smell like cinnamon and cloves.

But I digress. I promised in the title that this would be a Vlog. So here we go. A two-year-old's attempt at leaf-jumping, plus Daddy, plus the baby, plus my really super high-pitched supportive Mommy voice:

The Next Big Thing

I just had a great conversation on the phone with a couple of girlfriends from college tonight. One of the girls had suggested a book to me last week called Cold Tangerines in response to a comment I had made about wanting to know God all over again. Long story short, I grew up in a Christian home, went to a Christian college and have spent my whole life, essentially, in the church. I've just come to a place of feeling like I'm only walking through motions. I don't have an overwhelming passion to know God and who He is as much as I have in the past. It just feels stale at the moment. So anyways, I looked up the author and was able to read an excerpt from the book, which I fully intend to purchase this week, and it was incredible. The author talked about the "next big thing" we always seem to be holding out for. I completely relate to this! It was a definite "a ha" moment for me. How often do you hear this sort of phrase coming out of your mouth, "When I do ____ ____ ____ then I'll feel like I've arrived/made it/found my purpose/etc,"? This is me! In my mind I've thought, "If I can just get a little skinnier, than all will be well" or "If I can just get promoted, then I'll feel like I've really made it," or "When I get married, that's when my life will really begin." The thing is, even when those things happen, I'll probably still want more. But...what about now? What about the moment we're in right this very minute? I've begun to realize that I spend my days with my head down, just barreling through life without even stopping to see the purpose in the little everyday things. I downplay moments where I engage in great conversation with other people, or have an opportunity to help someone in need, or to watch the sunset or laugh hysterically over fond memories. Life has become stale, because I'm too focused on wanting a big "God Moment" where the heavens part and I hear the audible voice of the Lord saying something incredibly profound to me. All the while, I'm missing His still small voice in my daily journey. So this this is what I'm learning: take a moment to really appreciate all that's around you today. Don't let those seemingly small moments slip past you. Over time those small things build to become something really significant.

A Birthday Greeting for Anna

To Anna,


Happy Birthday from your besties at Girl Gone Real. We love you much!!!


So, now, it's your turn. Feel free to leave a special birthday greeting for our darling Anna!!!

Job Interview

What is my greatest strength? Why, thank you for asking. I love that question. No, it's not a stupid question at all. I would love to tell you all about my number one talent.

I am a model procrastinator. You will be hard-pressed to find a procrastinator as talented as me. I come from a long line of quality procrastinator stock--my father and brother are especially skilled. For example, my first year of graduate school I finished finals before my brother finished finals at his university. I drove to Seattle to spend a few days with him and when I arrived, he informed me that he still had one more term paper to finish that day and turn in by 5:00 pm. It was about noon. We had lunch and then we went to the library on his campus so that he could print his paper and run to turn it in. When I say run, I mean, quite literally, that he printed his paper at 4:56 and sprinted across campus to turn in his paper at precisely 5:00.

You would like another example, you say? Well, I have one. My dad got his MBA when I was in college, and we used to call each other on Sundays when we had things due or exams on Mondays:

Me: "What are you doing?"
Father: "Oh, cleaning the garage. And then I think I might plant some grass seed in the back yard. You know, over seed the grass. Make it thicker."
Me: "I thought you never, ever did yard work. That is why you conceived a son."
Father: "Yeah, well. It's either that or study for my final."

Oh, you wanted another example that pertained to me? Well. I think I might just have a pretty fabulous one.

My senior year of college I had a pretty giant term paper due one glorious morning and I had managed to leave it until the night before to finish. Okay, I admit, start and finish. So I was working at the computer lab on campus (bottom of Decker, for all you Ravens), and I decided to go home around midnight to get some food. I went home. I ate. I sat down at my home computer and realized that the disk on which my essay was saved was still in the computer I had been working on in the lab. Now, for those of you who didn't attend my alma mater, you should know that the labs get locked after midnight. I was well aware of this since I had spent M-A-N-Y nights working on papers late in the lab. I jumped in my car, crying at this point, and tore off up the street to campus. Then I got to a red light. And I am not kidding you, the light was mocking me. It stayed red. There were ZERO CARS anywhere to be seen. Not coming, not going, not crossing, not behind me. None. There the light was, hanging from its wire, bouncing with laughter (or the wind, but I prefer to think it was laughing at me, to help explain my next move). I decided that I would peek around, and, upon deciding there were no police cars anywhere, I drove cautiously through the intersection. Oh, guess what happened next?

Cop: "I'm pretty sure you know why I pulled you over. You were at a complete stop and then ran a red light."
Me: "My paper! In Decker! The lab. Locked! Due in the morning! It was so stupid! I know! The light! Laughing! My paper!" [insert crying]
Cop: "Have you been drinking?"
Me: [flustered] "NO! My paper! Due in the morning! Stupid light!"

Lucky for me I got off with a warning. Oh and I'm pretty sure he followed me to campus. I did manage to get my disk, too, an hour later after I called campus security, crying, and begged them to come rescue me. Oh and I finished my paper 15 minutes before I left for campus the following morning.

The best part? I got an A on that paper. That's right! You heard me.

Why, then, should you hire me? After all, procrastination isn't exactly what you're looking for in a potential job candidate. Well, I can see that. I can understand that you might feel a little tense when the Deadline for the Project is Approaching and I am still in Stage One of Completion or whathaveyou. But think! Think of the excitement I will bring to the office as my coworkers rally around me while I sweat it out and turn in all projects just seconds before they are due! Think of the challenges I will overcome on a daily basis to finish goals at the last possible moment!

I can see, now, that you don't quite agree with me on the value in having me as an employee. You think procrastination would be more appropriate to discuss as a weakness, instead of a strength. Well, you say tomato, I say ketchup, I suppose. Thank you for your time, I guess. I hope I'll be hearing from you, soon.

Oh, and one more thing. This interview? The one we've been having? A fabulous display of my procrastinatory abilities. What was I supposed to be doing? Oh, working on my Master's thesis, which I was supposed to have finished about two years ago.

I can see it in your eyes. You are impressed. I can start on Monday.

Angry construction workers and the slow sip of coffee

It is two days before my 28th birthday. I moved to my new city of Chicago when I was 27, and I can’t help but reflect on where this journey has taken me.

Right now I’m sipping coffee. I like to sip coffee in the mornings. Since I don’t live with my parents anymore, coffee now seems to have taken the role of a parental figure, reminding me that yes, I still need guidance even in my late 20s. It calmly wakes me with its warmth, but also reminds me of the reality of the day as the caffeine sets in. Where would I be without coffee in the mornings? There are construction workers arguing outside my window. Who am I kidding….there are ALWAYS construction workers arguing outside my window.

It has been seven months and three days since moving here. In a way, time has flown by. But I have noticed how there are days that creep by slowly, making sure that I take in the heat on my skin, the sound of the emergency vehicle trying to make its way through congested traffic, or the taste of the thai curry on my plate. Those slow days are a gentle reminder of the difficult choice I made to leave the state that I was in love with all in order to simply see what else was beyond. BEYOND. It’s a short word that takes you to places you’ve never been and emotions you’ve never experienced.

Sometimes I play a game when I’m walking down the street. If I hear a large vehicle coming down the street behind me, I will close my eyes and try to guess if it’s a CTA bus or a dumpster. I think I’ve perfected the sound game, but sometimes I will smile and turn my head to see a bus full of strangers, but in reality, see a large dumpster with a depressed driver behind the wheel. It’s a bit disappointing when you see a dumpster trucking down the street, but I’m getting better. The sounds of the city are blaring and beautiful, and I don’t believe I have tired of symphony yet.

I have met people that have opened my eyes to new ways of thought and perspective. My roommate will come home and ask that I pray for her clients who are seeking citizenship. She works with refugees everyday. Her stories could make your head spin. Without divulging personal stories of her clients, I will safely say that their journeys make mine look like a vacation on a yacht. I’m ashamed, but her stories remind me that I rub shoulders on the bus and train with people who have fled wars, famine and poverty all to be a citizen of this country.

I am excited about living here. I feel I haven’t even scratched the surface on all there is to do and see here, but I’m willing to stay here until I have exhausted all opportunities. I will soon change my license over to Illinois residence. I believe I will cry when I actually am taking the screws off of my Tennessee plate to replace it will my Illinois license plate, but time goes on. And, to sum up a wise saying I once heard, “You can always go back home.” For now - I have the heart of an explorer, and I will indulge that until my heart says go home. (IF it ever says that!)

I welcome the age of 28 with open arms. Here to the journey. Here’s to what God will teach me through His mercies, here’s to celebrating with friends both near and far, here’s to going full-speed into my career, here’s to taking care of children I have grown to love, here’s to touring this country through the glorious freedom of road trips, here’s to giving back more than what’s been given to me, and here’s to living life to the absolute fullest extent. Ever seeing, ever learning, ever giving.

Bring it on, 28.…

Quick Entry...

Hello to all our beautiful readers. I wanted to apologize for the lack to blog updates. I know for me, my life has been a little hectic as of late, but in a good way. I will back and posting like a rockstar very shortly. Our dear friend Anna should be posting her first official entry very soon! And, the Girl Gone Real ladies are preparing for a reunion in early November which I'm sure will result in several savory adventuresome updates on the blog, including some new pics. So be on the lookout!

Enjoy the fall weather, say a kind word to a stranger today, and know you are loved!

Liz

Something to Consider at the Polls

A couple of weeks ago Nat and I were at a local coffee shop here on Bainbridge and we fell into a conversation with an older couple there. They were asking us about our reaction to the VP debate, and we started discussing voting and politics in general. They had just returned from a trip to Greece. This was their third or fourth trip there; their first trip had been about three years into President Bush's first term. They were telling us how the first time they were in Greece, many people that they spoke with said things like "We don't like Bush but we know you have another election coming soon;" "We love America and Americans but we hate President Bush" etc. However, this time around, sentiment had changed drastically. "We used to think America was so great," people said, "but then you re-elected George Bush. Why did you do that?" Another man with whom they shared many political discussions said, "You Americans are so arrogant to only send half your population to the polls. Here is a country whose leaders help decide policies for much of the world and who dictate conditions in wars that effect many people who are not Americans, and only half your citizens vote? It is so arrogant. Americans should be ashamed."

I know there is a lot of talk about anti-American sentiment, and that there has been, always, dating much farther back than the last 8 years. However, I think it is very humbling to consider our vote in terms of how we will choose the leadership that negotiates with the citizens of other countries. And maybe you'll think that's just me being a liberal and not being patriotic enough, or whatever, but I think that it is absolutely of utmost importance to consider how our leaders will design policies for third-world, AIDS-ridden Africa, or war-torn Iraq, or even European countries experiencing recession due to the economic decisions we have made in our country. It is incredibly self-centered to believe that America is some kind of isolationist state; we are as much a part of the world stage as anybody else, if not more, and our responsibility at the polls is more than just picking a name we like to say with the word "President."

Girl Gone Real Wordle

Nifty, eh?

No Gas, huh?

So a few of us gals from GGR have the pleasure of living in Nashville, TN, which currently means, we have the pleasure of sitting in mile long lines getting yelled at by guys in monster trucks towing a jet ski as we wait for hours sometimes to get a few drops of gasoline, while the jerk with the giant truck, jet ski, and most likely a couple of gas cans politely hoards all the gas in the city. In case you didn't know, our city has created an artificial gas shortage. And here is a little video to lighten up the mood for all of you cranky Tennesseans who can't find gas. P.S. Pardon the language in the subtitles. But, it's Hitler, and he's pretty mad:

Why I Volunteer

This evening, as I was sitting in sitting in traffic headed the complete opposite direction from home after a very long day at work, I simply wondered "why am I really doing this?"

"This" is going to meet up with a volunteer coordinator at Trevecca Health and Rehab Center, where I will be introduced to a client that I will begin to visit twice a month through the Greater Nashville Public Guardianship Program. I will check on this sweet woman, make sure she looks healthy, hasn't lost too much weight, and I will talk to her. I may even take her to bingo.

The question "why" is one that I have to ask myself, because honestly, I am way too busy. I know it, my friends know it, my husband knows it. I do too much. Full time job (sometimes more than full time), church activities and projects, meetings, social gatherings, weekend trips to see family, and so on. Type A doesn't come close to describing it. But tonight, I realized that despite all of that, I was truly looking forward to this experience. It was a breath of fresh air.

I do it because I need to be reminded, regularly, that I am not the center of the universe. I need this reminder to get through the week- it gives me perspective. I also do it because I can't seem to reconcile reading scripture, praying, going to church, and trying to live a life that is patterned after Christ, without being in the presence of "the least of these" once in a while . I can't not touch them, not talk to them, not hear them, not get into their world. And if my motives sound selfish, I must admit that they are. But I know that no matter what, my actions are in some way tipping the scales of this world toward the good, even if just for a moment. And that is why I volunteer. How could I not?

Ah...politics

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Lessons learned with lots of food and a brush with the law...

...A typical weekend with family :) Well, maybe not the brush with the law part! I ventured up to Indiana for a little extended weekend with family, and I didn't expect to really gain as much as I did from my short time there. While my family is generally pretty close, we don't always get too deep with the issues in our lives, and sometimes it causes a bit of tension during our little reunions. I'll admit, a lot of this is instigated by me, because I tend to be a bit more vocal with my opinions. Anyways, as I neared the exit to my parents' home, I just said a quick little prayer, "Lord, let there be peace!"

The time turned out to be wonderful. I arrived first, followed by my niece, my brother, my sister, and then a couple of aunts, an uncle, and a cousin. So, without making this entry a 12 chapter novel, I'll point out the highlights:

1. Spending time with my aunt Leilani (my mom's younger sister) was precious. I don't see extended family a lot, and I haven't seen my aunt since my uncle's funeral (My uncle passed away this past winter from Lou Gehrig's Disease). She walked with uncle Don for so many grueling months, watching him become less and less stable. She was so strong through all of it, even after his death. I got some quality time with Leilani, and it was so encouraging to see her laughing again and enjoying her time with family. I think through all of this, she has really learned how precious our time on this earth is. I learned a lot, just by her example, about being strong and really picking yourself back up after enduring such a horrendous season of life.

2. Well, my mom's side of the family is Hawaiian and when the Hawaiians come into town, they come with an endless variety of marinated meats, starchy fatty side dishes, treats from Hawaii and a lot of laughs. Spending time in the kitchen with my aunts, my mom, and my sister was so special. I learned why my fried rice never tasted quite like Grandma's. I learned that my relationship with my sister is very similar to my mom and aunt's relationship. I learned the meaning of "Soulfood"--there's something really great about spending time in the kitchen with generations of family, reminiscing about past experience, sharing about life.

3. Well, my dear friend, and fellow contributor to this blog, Anna, came to hang out on her way back up to Chicago. We had a wonderful time catching up. And, we almost got arrested. So, the house next door is vacant and for sale, so over the weekend, we discovered a back door was open, and my aunts, my sister, my mom and I all decided to take a quick little tour of the home. Now, I realize this is pretty much wrong on all levels, but we just wanted to take a look and see what this amazing house looked like on the inside. Well, after telling Anna the story, I thought I'd take her over for a look that morning. As I opened the door, the alarm went off, and a picture of my father's red scary dad face immediately flashed through my mind, as I sheepishly walked back to our house and quickly debate whether or not to say anything. We did tell my parents, and I instantly felt like the little kid who just got into a world of trouble. I really thought my dad was going to pull out his old fraternity paddle and start whacking away at my behind. As the police rolled up, Anna and I laughed nervously, wondering if we'd go to jail, as my father pierced his silent, but deadly glare in my direction. "I'll be right back. Do not go outside."

I don't know what he said exactly, though I would suspect it was something to the affect of , "My dumb kid decided to peek in the house. She's age 7 and mentally challenged," Maybe he didn't say all that, but whatever he did say worked. He came back in, and we all sat down and stuffed our faces with bisquits and gravy. Anna and I didn't go to jail. My dad saved the day, and our records aren't marred after all. I think we'll laugh about this one day.

All in all it was a really great weekend. I'm thankful for family and amazing friends, and for not being a convicted felon.

L.G.

At what point?

I don't know when it happen.

The shift.

I used to take care of these things on my own.

But now, I put a candle over the bug and wait for my husband to come home.

Serious Drama in Mrs. Hilary's Neighborhood

I live in a townhome complex on a hill. It is pictured to the left, and that should give you a pretty good grasp of how our homes are laid out. In rows, facing each other. So, let's just say it is pretty easy to be the nosy neighbor, without even really trying, to those who live across the street (or more like the parking lot) from you. This information will come in handy later on in the story. Our complex is mostly made up of young white professionals, some with babies, most without.

This past week, as I was unloading my car from an all-day golf tournament for my job, I heard my neighbor from across the street ask me if I was interested in a new puppy. Now, these neighbors, without sounding super un-PC, are a little different than the rest of our happy little WASP-y and DINK-y family units in the complex. They are a gay couple. I have actually noticed this (you may ask how I noticed it- but just please trust my judgment on this one- I am no novice), and wanted to chat it up and get to know them. But let's just say things have been a little quiet on that front. I simply thought that they were too busy and didn't feel like trying to be friends with any new neighborhood people.

But yesterday was different. I came over, sat on his porch, and we chatted it up like we'd known each other for years. It was really nice. But then we began discussing why we hadn't talked before now. That is when things got interesting. I must preface this by saying that Matt and I are very close friends with our next door neighbors on our left- we have dinner together at least twice a week, usually spontaneously. We grill out on their grill regularly. We go over in our pajamas on Saturday mornings for pancakes and lattes. We chat on the porch, and have keys to each other's homes. Our husbands hang out on their days off and play Zelda. It's pretty serious community. Not to mention, that my neighbor (the guy) grew up on the beach and basically refuses to wear a shirt the majority of the time. So, here is how our conversation went.

Me: "So why haven't you talked to us before? We a pretty friendly bunch."
Neighbor: "Well, my boyfriend is convinced that you guys are swingers."

MMKAY.
TAKING A MINUTE.

SWINGERS!!! I don't think I have laughed so hard in a very long time. Mainly because, looking at it from their perspective, I honestly could see how it may be interpreted that way. But I am talking about some serious reverse discrimination here people. Anyway, we ended up concluding our conversation with a tour of his lovely home, and promises to hang out again and have dinner. I will definitely keep you updated.

Also in the Spirit of the Olympics

Beginner platform diving. Miles jumps for Team USA.

In the spirit of the olympics

I'm sure Hilary's going to disown me as a friend. But don't worry, we'll blog about that later (ha ha just kidding). I just had to share it. (Forgive me dear Hilary)

Lessons Learned

Hello friends,
This excerpt is from a previous post that I did on my personal blog. It is simply a musing on relationships, and some of the ways that we can make things harder on ourselves than necessary. Also, as an update to my previous post here, I would like to announce that my cynicism has truly improved, and I am beginning to feel much more positive in my passions than negative. I think this will be an ongoing process, but thank you to those who helped me see that it's all about how you channel your passions. I must give some props to the Lord as well, for softening my heart and helping me see more clearly through eyes of love.

So here goes:
If you have a problem with someone, specifically a loved one or friend, talk to them about it. I know, this sounds simple, but when is the last time you actually got your gander up and just said what you were feeling? I had a very good conversation with a very close friend this weekend, and we basically laid it all out on the table. As hard and uncomfortable as it was, we both extended some serious grace to each other, and at the end it felt so much better. To think I had been holding things in and torturing myself for so long, just for the sake of "keeping peace" is ridiculous. That is not a true intimate relationship. And in the end, we both learned important things about our character that we can improve on. I'm also thinking about how often I do that with God, because I think that he isn't concerned with my oh-so-human feelings and petty frustrations. But I'm starting to realize that just as with friends and family, you HAVE to let God know how you're feeling too. He would rather you be screaming at Him than ignoring Him altogether. He can work with screaming.

A Bipolar Musing On Beauty

A couple of weeks ago, Hilary wrote a post entitled "The Sins of the Nation" on her (insightful, well-written, informed) blog, Alt Christian. I recommend reading Hilary's post in its entirety. However, the short version is that Hilary was in a conversation about the various sins of the nation that are screaming for God's judgment. Some people believe that things like the number of people who are pro-choice or pro-gay marriage in our country cause God to inflict us with something like the terrorist attacks on 9/11 or Hurricane Katrina. While I would like to ask why it is that similarly devastating things don't befall other nations with similar views on such sins, I will instead say that Hilary's blog wondered whether we weren't guilty, as a nation, of some other sins that ought to be addressed. One of these was, in Hilary's words, "Our obsession with image, and denial of what is truly important- our character." This is a particular sin that grieves me and that I'd like to explore.

I feel a little bipolar about image. I go back and forth about my opinion on my own image and on any given day I can feel dissonance about how beauty ought to be defined. Now that I'm a mother, I feel pressure to come up with a definition because I want Miles and Søren to have answers when they ask me questions. As their mother, I want to set a healthy, realistic example for them. Nat and I talk about this quite a bit. Before I explain more, I have one caveat. In terms of essential personal care, I do feel that bathing daily, maintaining basic grooming, eating healthfully and exercising regularly are important. I have decided that these mainstays of caring for oneself are foundations upon which one's image or one's beauty can be built. More on this below.

I am watching the 2008 Olympic games when I can, and I am of course amazed and humbled by the athletes--not just their dedication or their strength/talent/focus, etc.--I am amazed and humbled by their physical appearance. I am sure I am not the only woman in America to watch, say, Misty May-Traenor play beach volleyball and feel envious of her long, lean limbs, her bronzed belly, her sinewy, toned everything. It seems like every 5 minutes, the coverage of the games breaks for these many messages from our sponsors, and I am often struck by the garish ads for make-up, especially, but for all of the products that help us define our image. The athletes of the games and the buy-easy beauty of the commercials seem to be at opposite ends of the spectrum.

But what is realistic and what should I present to my boys? I am no Olympic athlete, and neither am I a make-up model. Nor do I aspire to be. Here are my current warring moods:

Mood One:
It is important to look good. It is more desirous to be in shape, even to the point of Olympian, than to be flabby or only kind of thinnish. I should lose the weight I gained while pregnant, and until I do, I'm gross. I will make remarks about myself in the mirror accordingly. Ew, I will say, look at my fat face or my stretch-marked abdomen. No more swimming in public for me. I should find something to wear that makes me look a little less paunchy, and then I should spend a good 15 minutes (this is a lot for me) on styling my hair. Then I should spend another 15 minutes on my make-up, working to conceal my flaws. I should still be dissatisfied, though, because I don't look like the celebrities in any given outlet--music, film, politics, religion. I should work harder.

Mood Two:
Screw that. I should be completely happy with my image. I don't need to focus on losing weight, I don't need to fret about my stretch marks--they are battle wounds from growing two HUMAN BEINGS in my body. I should be proud. I don't need to style my hair, I just need my hair to be healthy, trimmed, brushed and washed. I don't want to wear make-up--who knows what is in it anyway? And when I'm finished with a tube of mascara, container of blush, eyeshadow brush, lipstick, I am just going to throw them away and contribute to more trash on the already overburdened planet. I don't need to participate in such gross consumerism as to purchase the make-up that helps me buy the image I am seeking--anyway Nat reaffirms me daily in his love for me and tells me I'm beautiful without make-up or without hair products. I want to keep my body as free from toxins as possible--shouldn't this include health and beauty products? And Miles and Søren greet me with hugs, smiles, and snuggles every morning whether I am wearing make-up or not.

So What Is The Middle Ground?
I have to admit, I tend to find myself in the 2nd mood more often than the 1st. I work out or go for walks or practice yoga, but not so much for weight loss anymore. I really just want to be a healthy mom and fit enough to play with my kids for as long as I can. I want to be able to go on hikes with them when I'm 75, should I get to live so long. Weight loss is just a happy byproduct. But I do have struggles. Despite Nat's affirmations, I remember reading books like "The Power of a Praying Wife" that told me I have to be pretty to keep his eye from straying. (Does that make you mad? I think it should, and so does Nat). I am tired of advice to young women that they have to make themselves a mirror image of the most highly-revered celebrities, at least in the looks department, so that their husbands won't leave them, and for good reason. Why can't there be accountability on both sides? Should men really be given permission to look around elsewhere, or fantasize about someone else, just because his tired wife (or tired mother of his children) hasn't had time to put on a cute outfit and some lip gloss?

When Miles was born, I was given a book called 365 Things Every New Mom Should Know. The concept of the book is that you read a little page-worth of insights or tips each day after your baby is born to help you get through the often difficult first year. Some of the advice is great: the author recommends things like pumping breast milk so that someone else can give the baby one of the feedings in the middle of the night, or making time to see a friend for coffee so that you have the chance for adult conversation in the midst of your baby care. But she also recommends that new moms take time to put on make-up before their husbands get home from work. This will make them feel better about themselves, she argues. And to some extent, I guess I agree. It's like the advice to dress up before an exam--feeling like you look good makes you perform better. So I tried. I would make sure I had showered, dressed, made up my face, blow dried my hair, all before Nat would get home. And I was so exhausted by the end of it, it didn't matter. Usually it proved to be easier to wait until Nat got home so that he could hold the baby so I could shower. Sort of defeats the purpose there. Or does it?

I'm not saying that there is no merit to looking good. I do think that I feel better about myself if I think I look nice and I do think that looking nice shows a degree of self assurance that is important. But at the same time, when we measure our standard of what is beautiful against images that are not only unrealistic but usually false (as in air-brushed or cosmetic-surgeried), we are giving in to vanity in such a way that we are most unquestionably sinning.

The bottom line, I suppose, is that I still don't know what I want to present to my kids. I don't like that Miles watches me put on make-up and either reacts by wanting me to stop so that I can play with him or reacts by staring a bit too intently. What am I already teaching him about image at this young age? That it is more important for Mommy to wear eye shadow than it is for her to read a book or sing a song? Is this what I hope for him to find in a future mate--someone whose priority is her looks over her children? Drastic, yes, but I wonder whether this is the implicit message I send. Nat and I want our sons to learn to love their girlfriends/wives for who they are, not the outside presentation, because of course that changes from day to day and from year to year. How can we teach them the balance between image and character, and how can we find the balance in our own lives?

RR

Short post to promise a longer post. Plus pictures.

I am working on a post. It's about beauty and image, and it's a response to Hilary's post about the sins of the nation on her other blog, AltChristian. Considering that I usually only have about 10 minutes here and there right now to really type things, it is taking a while. This is my "fluff blog" for the time in between. It's coming! I promise!

So this morning Miles is into strawberries a little more than normal. They are his third favorite food, after blueberries and hummus. So I had sliced him a bunch of fresh strawberries and put them in a bowl in the living room where I was temporarily encamped to nurse Søren. Miles wandered into the next room, ostensibly to get some more cars to drive on the coffee table. However, it got quiet. Any mom or nanny knows that getting quiet means getting into something--the quiet is caused by concentration. Then I heard, from the kitchen, "One wah-nieu." (Wah-nieu = strawberry). "One wah-nieu." Hmm. So Søren and I wander into the kitchen to find Miles standing on the step stool, pulling strawberries out of the carton and eating one bite out of each and then putting the once-bitten strawberries on the counter. Adorable. Photos:

Kicked in the A** by Life

It's no secret I'm not a huge fan of blogging. Really though, it's not the blogging I take issue with, rather it's the part of me that knows if I start to read one or write one even, I'll be addicted. So I've steered clear. Until now. So bear with me as this is my first blog post, ever!

The trouble is that I'm frustrated with my job, and by extension my boss. The trouble is I have virtually no life outside of work. The trouble is I am starting to feel the pangs of loneliness. The trouble is that life, as I know it, has recently decided to open a rather large can of 'whoop ass' on me...and it's winning.

Some may say I seem unhappy. Others might tell me that I need to get my ducks in a row and CHANGE IT, so I won't be unhappy. I say, "Where do I begin?" It's not that I'm entirely unhappy, but I know that it's there and I've become afraid of the person I see myself becoming. A pessimist who has become un-trusting and wallowing in self-pity. That's not me and anyone who has known me for any time prior to these past 3 months, knows that. It's not that I don't want to change it. I do. But how? I've only been at my job for 6 months and it's not even the work that's frustrating. It is one factor and one factor only...the dreaded boss. We got along fine at first, but somewhere along the lines things have changed and it's been a bitter pill to swallow. There are other things I won't go into, but they're there. They might not add up to anything much, but it's always just enough to get me riled up.

The thing is during my fits of rage and feelings of loneliness and frustration, I also know that it could be worse. I have perspective. It might not always seem that way but I do. I know things could turn on a dime in one direction or another. So why do I still get so mired down in the day-to-day things that I know everyone goes through at one time or another? Why can I not grapple with something that seems so trivial and simply make lemonade with the lemons I feel I've been handed? How can I effectively invoke change on my own?

Words of wisdom are appreciated. :)

Reality TV Has Stolen My LIFE...

This summer has been very restful, without an overwhelming amount of commitments eating away at my spare time. The problem is, I've used this hiatus to indulge in my two favorite things: Bravo and A&E. You could turn on any show on these two stations, and I could sit there for hours without moving. I become hypnotized by the real life docu-dramas that basically follow shallow, self-absorbed people around as they talk about themselves. I'm addicted. I can't help it.

So, lately I've been finding myself having a hard time concentrating during the day. I can't stay focused on a project for a very long, and I believe this can be attributed to a serious lack of stimulation. My brain, for lack of a better term, is mush. So, for the next 30 days, I've decided to turn my TV off, and spend time participating in more enriching activities such as reading, learning how to play the guitar and/or violin I recently inherited from some friends, knitting, etc. The point is, I see the value in being a lifetime student. I love being challenged, and yet, for whatever reason, I've resigned myself instead to hitting auto-pilot and zoning out until it's time for bed. This madness needs to stop. TV's great, but in moderation, and I've officially gone over the deep end into the bottomless pit of high-definition hades.

That being said, I'd gladly welcome suggestions for some new books. I'm in the middle of "The Shack" by William P. Young, which, by the way, if you haven't read, I highly suggest you do. But, I'll be done with this soon, and am looking forward to a little brain exertion.

Just wondering...

Today is Thursday morning, which is for some reason, usually my worst day of the work week. It is probably because I can just smell Friday right around the corner... freedom!!! But yet it is so far away, and the cares and stresses of the previous three days are weighing on me heavily. Must get everything wrapped up by the weekend! So forgive me if this seems a little "rantish" ;)

Since this blog is all about getting real, I'm going to do just that. Here goes... I am beginning to wonder if I am just becoming a super negative, cynical, frustrated person. Now, if you read Nicole's previous post, you will probably just want to slap me in the face, because I have never ever had to go through anything so hard in my life. And that is what makes this all so strange. I have a wonderful husband, a truly happy marriage, amazing friends from every corner of the country, a cute little house, a dreamy job where I am basically my own boss and I get to "do ministry" in some capacity, so I know my work has a deeper meaning. So why, you ask, am I wondering this about myself?

Basically, I'm starting to really listen to myself, and I'm not liking what I am hearing. I am hearing someone who unwittingly is spouting negativity, complaining, griping, debating, ranting, raving, and basically just frustrated with the world in general. Now, I have always prided myself on being "real", so it is important that we distinguish that from what I am talking about. I think that there is a difference between being "real" and just using that as an excuse not to be a better person on the inside.

Overall, I feel like I can just see so much hope and promise in the world, and especially for the church and its impact on people. I get a vision for such great things, but then I look at how messed up everything is, (the church, the world, our nation, politics, etc.) and I just want to scream. I honestly feel like some tormented prophet or something, like my issues with the church and everything else are consuming me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing myself to Jeremiah, but sometimes I feel like I can totally feel his pain.

I know that there is hope, but I guess you could say the devil's in the details. I yearn for my life to mean something in the world, and to see change in so many ways, but I know I can't do it on my own, and I often struggle with feeling like I am isolating myself because of my strong opinions. If anyone can offer some encouraging words I am ready to hear it!! I know there must be balance in life, and I guess that it what I am seeking. Love you ladies!

messy

Life really feels messy right now…with glimpses of normalcy.

I am fine. Then sobbing. Then fine. Then someone tries to comfort with some awful statement, then I am in shock. Then I am fine. Then I feel empty. Then I feel ok. It comes in waves. Not a fan of this mourning stuff.

In response I have indeed cleaned and reorganized my entire apartment. Why not grasp control of the few items I can control? Am I alone in this (fellow ladies that have been pegged with the title “type A”)? I love being put in a box.

After a year an a half of trying to get pregnant, months of tests and blood work, books, hours of awful advice, acupuncture, pregnancy, losing my first baby (Baby Bean), surgery, and more blood tests and fantastic procedures…the doctors have declared that we are completely normal and have no reason to not be getting pregnant. It is bizarre to me how we longed to hear those words and yet those words throw me into a whirlwind of questions.

Well, we are choosing to celebrate and against all that is within me that wants to never hurt this bad again, we are going to try, again, to get pregnant. I am popping pills/vitamins/clomid and the doctors are going to monitor every little step. Next week they are going to do yet another ultrasound to tell us how many follicles are ready to release eggs (that means they will tell us if we are looking at high chances of multiples, ha). Then they will give me some shot, pat us on the butt and order us to the “Act of Marriage”. Always a disappointing command, ha. I am just following the MD’s orders?!?

ALSO…it is true that I could hear Soren’s poop over the phone. I could visualize his mustard colored poop bleeding through the back side of his always adorable onesies. Keep up the great work Poop Master! Hope your Mr. is recovering well.

You Look Tired Today...

This is an older post from my myspace page. I thought I'd throw it on here for kicks. Enjoy!!!

It's my least favorite comment. "You look tired today". What exactly are people thinking when they say this to someone? My, you are so stunning when you look like a zombie. Gosh, your puffy eyes and splotchy skin really enhance your natural beauty! Now, I know there needs to be grace, because it's not that people intend to insult you. It's simply that they are honest and say the first thing they think of. So, I'm at work and a co-worker says, "Wow, you look really tired today!" I say,
"Thanks, that's good to know". He immediately inserts his foot into his mouth. However another co-worker chimes in, only to make it worse.

Co-worker 2 "No, he just means that your eyes look really puffy. Maybe it's allergies."

Co-worker 1 "Yeah, or did you not get much sleep lastnight?"

Me "Word of advice: Never, ever tell a woman she looks tired…ever"

Co-worker 1 "What's the big deal, my eyes look swollen all the time"

Me "Well, let's put it this way…if you ever wonder why your wife isn't speaking to you, there's a chance you said 'You look tired' to her at some point in the conversation"

End Scene.

So, clearly, I must have been tired on this day. Ha ha! Anyways, if anyone tells you that you look tired, simply respond, "I haven't gotten my botox yet this week" and brush it off. Try not to take it too personally :)

A Momma Moment

As I hold the current position of The Only Mother Of The Group, I feel it is my duty to talk about poop. Poop is the quintessential essence of parenthood. The item I talk about most, deal with most, and understand in a completely new light after becoming a mother is poop. I revere it yet don't fear it, I understand how to analyze it, in short, I am a poop expert. All mothers are. I once laughed with Nat that I knew motherhood meant diapers, and snotty noses, and puke, and probably trips to the emergency room. But I had NO IDEA how much motherhood is really about poop. I touch poop every day. I clean it out of the bathtub, out of the shower, out of the carpet, out of clothing, out of my fingernails. I leave the house for 5 minutes to run to the grocery store and don't bring the diaper bag because BOTH boys JUST POOPED 10 minutes ago and inevitably their little brains overhear me say that I am not going to bring the diaper bag and therefore they decide they should BOTH blow out their diapers to such an extent that I cannot bring them in the store and will also be cleaning poop out of car seats.

Today was no exception. I had to take Nat to a doctor's appointment. I say "had" because I had to drive him home; he wasn't allowed to drive because the doctor had to drug him up. This was an important appointment: this was the Vasectomy Appointment. It is important for Limiting Future Amounts of Poop. I can look forward to only the (massive volume of) poop that two boys can produce, not more. Anyway, I left Miles, the older son, with my mom. I brought Søren, the baby, with us. Now, Søren hates the car. I mean he HATES the car. After driving to the clinic half an hour away to the tune of "WAH WAH WAH" provided by my youngest darling, and dropping Nat off, I decided I would go to the second-hand baby store and peruse the goods. Søren, still screaming, would love the opportunity to get out of the car seat (or "baby jail" as we call it). By the time I got to the store, he was practically in convulsions. No biggie, I thought. I'll get him out, grab my wallet, and find a toy with a mirror to soothe his soul.

Here's where it gets to the awesome part. My wallet was in the diaper bag which was conveniently at home on my couch. Oops. Not only was I without dough, I was without diapers, extra clothing, wipes. I know, classic. The thing is, I am usually a very thoughtful diaper-bag-packer. I always have extra shirts, extra snacks, extra socks. I glanced at my watch. Still an hour to go. I decided to risk it and take the baby to a quiet park so I could nurse him and hopefully put him to sleep. I say "risk it" because another thing They don't tell you about having babies (damn Them) is that little babies LOOOOOOOOOVE to poop immediately after eating, if not during. Nursing, however, was the only way I was going to get this little guy to calm down. So we drive. He cries. We park. I climb in the back seat. We nurse. He decides he is happy Søren and we play and I call Nicole on the phone to chat. And then. THEN. I open my big mouth and tell Nicole that I am playing it dangerously by not having the diaper bag with me. She laughs. And minutes later, Søren lets loose with a diaper explosion so loud that Nicole could hear it over the cell phone. Poop up the back. All over the shirt.


Of course this is also the moment Nat calls to say he is ready to go home. I put the happy, poopy Søren in his carseat and watch the instant transformation from happy, cooing baby to screaming-crying-gasping-oh-my-god-I'm-DYING baby. I pick up Nat, who is waiting outside the closed clinic. We decide to just drive home and change the baby there, figuring we can just give him a bath. But, of course, Søren falls asleep literally TWO BLOCKS from our house. As I get in the door, and explain the situation to my mom who is feeding Miles, Miles gleefully looks up at me and says, "Baby. Poop-o-rama." And.....scene.

But of course I don't mind. I changed the diaper. I'll change more. Maybe I'll learn from my lesson, but I probably won't. I'm sure it will happen again. And I'll laugh. With a kid this cute, how could I not?

First Entry!!!

Welcome to our blog, Girl Gone Real. It's very scary to have to be the one to write our first official post, but I drew the short straw, so here we go.

I thought I'd start by giving you a little background on the group of girls who will be contributing to this blog. We're all best friends, who met at a small Christian college in northern Indiana almost ten years ago, and now reside in various parts of the country. It's hard to describe the bond we have, only to say it's pretty unique and incredibly rich. No, we don't see or talk to each other everyday, but when we do finally come together, it's as if no time lapsed in between each gathering. Since we see each other so rarely, our reunions consist of an explosion of ridiculousness for the first hour and a half or so. We break the sound barrier as we scream with joy, laugh, cry, scream some more... We all talk over each other and yet manage to hear everything each person is saying. It's a gift. The poor husbands/boyfriends who are "blessed" to share this moment with us usually assume their position in a corner of the room, cupping their ears with their hands in horror, and dealing with the reality that they haven't just entered a relationship with or married one girl, but a girl and her 7 best friends.

Together we've lived through a wide spectrum of experiences, from dating to breaking up, from marriage to divorce, from death of friends and family to the birth of precious little babies. We've fought and made up, sometimes have lied to and many times been painfully honest with each other. We're more than just acquaintances__we're sisters.

So, this blog is all about sharing our stories, however ugly, painful, funny, quirky or honest they may be. We hope you enjoy our stories, and we look forward to hearing yours as well! Thanks for reading. ~ L.G.