Oct 26, 2015 | Dating & Marriage
There was a time, not so long ago, I had to decide which of ten different blazers I would wear for the day. I had concerns like, “Which of these complements my brown stilettos?” and “Will this matching suit set make me look too much like a lawyer?” But these days getting dressed is much simpler. I only put on three things: a bra that doesn’t smell like milk, enough clothes to prevent the mailman from calling the police, and lipstick bright enough to qualify me for the red light district.
Oct 20, 2015 | Christian Life & Theology
We don’t need to apologize for our “perfect lives” because there is no such thing. We should feel safe to celebrate our successes: our clean floors, our happy marriages, our birth stories, our weight loss, our non-scale victories. These are just as authentic as the rawness of struggle and difficulty. Both are genuine. All are real.
Sep 23, 2015 | Motherhood
It started simply as curiosity, but as time went on, I found more and more information touting the benefits of an unmedicated birth: quicker recovery, greater comfort, more presence of mind, awake baby, and many more. This is all great, I thought. But I still have to do it MYSELF.
Apr 7, 2015 | Christian Life & Theology
“You are going to be white if it kills me.”
I plopped the bucket on my kitchen floor and got down on my knees, scrub brush in hand. The grout in my kitchen tile is the bane of my existence. I’ve tried bleach, I’ve tried baking soda and vinegar, my good ole’ Murphy’s Oil Soap – nothing would make the grout white. So on my day off I decided to attack the tile with full force: baking soda and hydrogen peroxide.
What began as a small, ‘quick’ project turned into a five-hour affair of misery.
First, I ran out of baking soda (some planning would have been nice). So, I thought, isn’t washing soda pretty much the same thing?
Friends, washing soda is not the same thing as baking soda.
The washing soda and peroxide paste morphed into cement. It took an extra half hour of scrubbing, splattering all over my stove, cupboards, and refrigerator, two bruised knees and a lot of paper towel to remedy my little experiment.
I will never again tell my floor to “kill me” in order for it to be clean. Because it will.
Mar 14, 2015 | Christian Life & Theology, Motherhood
I took the pregnancy test in a hotel bathroom. I left it on the counter and went into the sitting area to do homework while Mr. M watched TV. It was our one year anniversary.
“Well?” He asked. “I don’t know anything yet,” I replied. “It’s really probably nothing. I’m going to do homework.”
Ten minutes later Mr. M came out of the bathroom holding a plastic stick with two pink lines.
“We’re having a baby!”
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My husband was thrilled when we first found out. Just the week prior he had been asking when I thought we’d really try for a Baby M, since we weren’t really trying at all. It all happened so much faster than I had anticipated, and while I wasn’t disappointed by any means, I felt extremely unprepared.
I’m the woman who maps out the entire itinerary for a trip, day by day, list by list, prior to leaving. I’m the one who plans my grocery list around a map of the store for most efficient shopping experience. And I’m the one who plans my schedule two weeks out, so if you need an appointment, tomorrow is not available.
