Before and Afters

Ok everyone.  Here is what you’ve all been waiting for.  A classic blog entry that will make you feel bad about yourself.  A “look what I did while you took a nap!” blog.  But a gal can’t be a one-note blogger.  I need to keep you on your toes.  So, look what I did:

Yup.  This is a staged photo folks.  Still not perfect, however, as you can see the half unfinished trim-scraping project in the background.

I amass any shreds of fabric or old clothes just in case I'll need the material for something someday.  I feel so satisfied because this project used up a lot of little pesky odd shaped pieces.

Now, for a touch of reality, here’s the rest of the story.  First of all, I’ve had these trees in mind to make for three Holiday seasons now.  We’ve not had the money to buy the stupid cones.  Cones, people.  Its pathetic.  But we managed $5 a cone purchase on Black Friday this year, so that solved that problem.  Also, I’ve not had the space/energy/time to take on a project during the holiday seasons in the last few years.  Well that problem was solved with, what else? A little Baby Einstien programming and Mommy’s determination not to feel guilty for three solid days of putting all else aside in order to spend my moments doing this project.  

This is what the house looked like so that I could work.  The children are transfixed on the television.  Wonderful.

And guess what!?  There’s more!

I also put on my Interior Designer cap (it was underneath my ‘we’re dirt poor’ cap) and did a little make-over of my baby son’s room.  Here are some before and afters:

Here is what it looked like when we bought the house.  Atley's room is actually called the Koala Room due to this  rad mirror glued to the wall with marine-grade adhesive.   Not that it would be a deal-breaker, but I swear this entire wood paneled mess of a wall was covered up when we walked through the house before we decided to buy.

My dad working on ripping the wood off which was quite crappily glued to the wall as well.

I decided to embrace the colors and texture of the partially demoed wall.  Half because we can't afford to do anything to it, and half because a few friends who saw it thought I did this on purpose.  So, it stays.  I painted the trim, made some roman blinds, covered the mirror spot with a sample of cool wallpaper and yes, staged this photo as well.  We should put up some new base trim, however, as Atley keeps sneaking over and eating the tissue paper I've stuffed in the cracks of the plaster as insulation...

And there’s even MORE!!

At the risk of being crazy braggedocious, I want to show you my before and afters from CrossFit training.  Now, I’m only doing this to elaborate on the bigger picture here, which is: I found something that really challenges me outside of parenting and I love it!!  CrossFit three days a week at 6 am is my one thing beyond the walls of my house that I do just for me, by myself, for myself.  It is wonderful, and the mental exercise of getting through physically challenging work-outs is so good for me.  I’ve learned about myself and become tougher all around.  So with that, here goes:

Sheesh. This is hard to 'publicize.'  Anyway, this is  5 months after my (10lb) son was  born and just before I started CrossFit.

This is 6 months after starting CrossFit.  I feel firmer all over, but the only thing that really shows up in the photo is my tummy being flatter.  Yeay!  Also note, the bedroom got painted and I hung decorative paper mobiles!  Yeay! 

Wow.  These braggy blogs take a lot of time.  Both of my kids are now literally hanging on my chair fussing, so its time to load everyone in the car and go to Costco where they can both be safely contained in a shopping cart.

Kitchen Timer Saves the Day!

This blog post brought to you by my new coping strategy.

I haven’t posted much at all lately--not that I ever expected to have a lot of time to blog, but it really has been sporadic in the last few months.  Know why?  I have two little people who could eat up every second of my day, and every inch of my personal space if I let them.  All the time.  Every day.  It gets both tiring and monotonous.  

These two are breaking up the monotony by catching some snuggles in the back of Wren's chair train.  

I have always struggled with how to spend my stay-at-home-mom-time.  How much of the time do I pursue my interests slash all the household work slash personal hygiene, versus the constant needs and desires of my stay-at-home-children?  The question only became more questionable after having #2.  

So I end up half playing with them, half cruising around on the internet and not really benefiting either party.  I often feel guilty that I don’t play enough--especially with my toddler.  I often feel angry that I can’t just do one thing for myself.  I often feel bored.  I often feel pushed and pulled between the kids and anything else. 

Of course I have tried to explain “its Mommy’s time to do yadda yadda right now and you can play on your own.”  But for me, this is becomes too wishy washy.  I end up finding more and more to do around the house and not truly coming back to the kids and saying ‘ok, I’m here to play now!‘  And Wren never knows when she can ask for me to play with her and when I’m in the middle of something. 

The very best, is getting them to play together and hope for no head cracking. 

Also, quite frankly, playing with a toddler is boring much of the time.  She could have me pretend to pick out pretend shades of pretend fingernail polish for a pretend manicure forEVER.  This is interrupted only occasionally by eating a pretend snack.  It gets a little old and does not engender a great deal of my enthusiasm. 

So today, feeling sick of it all, I decided to do something perhaps a little silly to attempt a resolution.  I put on a timer.  30 minutes to do what they want, 30 minutes to do what mommy wants.  We take turns just like we always preach to our children. 

With the timer on, I know I have a certain amount of pretend picnics and beaches to look forward to before its my turn!  And you can’t contest the timer.  I simply goes off and tells everyone its mommy’s turn!  When in trouble, defer to the timer.  

“Mommyyyyyy go to the grocery store with meeeeeeaaaaa” (this is super fun game, as I love the real grocery store so much)

“Sorry sweetie, this is mommy’s turn.  We can go to the grocery store together on your turn!”

Guilt free.

This is all virtually perfect except for the 10 month old who is a free agent and wild card.  He regards no timer and knows no bounds.  But when I’m done with the diaper or the fireplace extraction, I know who’s turn we’re going back to. 

An Average Morning

motherhood: view from above.

5:50 Atley wakes, nurses, I try to stay asleep.

6:05 Atley is slapping and scratching and grabbing my face because he's ready to play, I try to sleep

6:10 I give up, change his diaper.

Wren wakes up, cranky, and I know its a "show" morning.  Change her, get her dressed.

put on a show for the kids to watch while I make squash waffles, coffee, and eat three oatmeal cookies secretly.

Wren goes pee in the potty, gets an M&M reward.

Wren's breakfast plated, she goes poop, gets two M&Ms.

Wren is eating, I get my waffle all ready, coffee poured.

Atley begins to freak out--always timed perfectly for when I'm ready to eat.

Atley has pooped and is tired.  Change his diaper again--a long and exasperating process with only 1.5 hands (due to wrist breakage weeks prior).

Atley goes down for a nap, now that he's gotten everyone up by 6, he's bushed by 7:20.

Back to my waffle and coffee which is now verging on room temperature.

I realize this is my only chance to take a shower, so I wolf down breakfast and place my coffee in the bathroom, so that we can at least be together.

Leave bathroom door open so Wren can use the potty if need be.  (Close the blinds in the living room so all of south 15th can't see me in my birthday suit.)

Get lathered.

Wren goes poop again, and its a big one

Try to finish up a half-started shower while continuously requesting the poopy toddler stays in the bathroom with me, does not touch her bottom, waits for her M&M reward, does not sit down. Does not move my towel, waits for her M&M, and does not climb on the toilet and waits for her M&M.

Still, wet, I discover there are no more wipes left in the bathroom stash and try to wipe toddler's bottom with the 2 squares of TP left.

Dry off more, run through house in towel to get M&M reward.

Begin to put on lotion, Wren 'helps' and we discuss private parts of our bodies and where they are located specifically.

Dump the dump in the little potty as it is stinking up my post-shower experience.

Begin to get dressed, smell poop still.  Nearly hyperventilate trying to sniff out from whence it comes.

It is on Wren's foot/ankle and a little on the tush still, somehow.

Back into the bathroom for more wiping with no wipes, as they are in Atley's room where he is sleeping.

Hope there is no poop in our carpet or bed where she has been hanging out watching me dress and discussing boobies and the various means of dealing with them and what they are for.

Hear Atley already waking up from super early nap.

Quick snuggle with Wren who is incessantly requesting I sit with her--I'm half dressed, but better do it now before I need to nurse the baby soon.

Finish getting dressed, get the baby.

Wren starts crying because she didn't quite make it to the potty and had a little more poop (evidently she's making up for yesterday's poop hiatus).

Calm her down, explain accidents, encourage her attempts to use the potty.

Atley scoots into the bathroom--a no no, as the floor here is the most unsavory of all places in the house.

My hands have poop on them, but I have to drag him out of the bathroom and put him as far away as I can while pleading Wren to stay where she is.

Grab more wipes.  I need more wipes.

Wipe the bottom

Wipe the potty

Drag Atley out of the bathroom again

wipe my hands

wipe her hands

drag Atley away from the fireplace

wipe bathroom floor

rinse out bathmat with poop on it

rinse out undies with poop in them

rinse out sweatshirt with poop on it

re-check toddler for poop in nether regions

drag Atley out of bathroom

Make a mental note to do laundry later

nurse the baby while reading books to the toddler and thinking about my cold and lonely cup of coffee next to the bathroom sink.

And now its 9:00, and I think; "Some people are just pulling into work right now."  Isn't that nice.

Retrieving Atley from odd places could be someones full time job.

Not in a Cast

Don’t I feel sheepish.  Not to negate all the troubles I wrote about before in my ‘In a cast’ post, but that chapter is already long gone.  From the beginning I was able to recognize that breaking my right wrist was going to be a relatively short chapter in my life.  A hard but short chapter.  I was told 6-8 weeks when they put the cast on, however, they cut it off after 3 weeks because the fractures had healed.  The burden of 6-8 weeks felt like a very long ‘short’ chapter.  3 weeks was totally manageable in hindsight.  I found myself thinking ‘that wasn’t so bad,’ and I wished I hadn’t spent so much energy feeling burdened.  Translated with greater candor (as this blog promises): I feel embarrassed about complaining so much while I had the cast on...

Giant boxes buy me some time to think a complete th--OH WAIT, no they don't.   I think the toddler is smooching the infant. 

Due to the extreme difficulty of the cast period, I knew, deep down, that I would learn something through this.  I didn’t know what, and I wasn’t exactly excited about it.

Here’s what I think I learned.  I tend to get bogged down in the moment--well, in the bad moments to be precise.  I tend to feel as if all the negative changes occurring will actually last forever, and I respond with being overwhelmed.  This even takes place in extremely short lived negative moments--such as stubbing my toe.  I over react, as if I’ll be in this pain forever.  Admitting this is humiliating.  Of course I know that I won’t actually be stubbing my toe forever, or in a cast forever, or being interrupted by incessant female toddler jabber while writing this blog forever, or raising two small children forever....but darn it if I don’t let my emotions run rampant like a wild horse in response to these blips in life’s narrative.  Mommy needs more self-control.

So, lesson learned?  When life gives you lemons, its okay to acknowledge the sourness but remember also that there are other sweeter fruits hurdling toward you, and the sourness will pass.

Here’s another thing that I learned: If I’m not bogged down in the negative moments, then I am fighting against having moments at all.  The cast greatly exaggerated the tediousness of motherhood moments like changing diapers, wiping up yogurt faces and dirty dishes.  Before the cast, I wasn’t appreciative of the fact that these things are basically the thrust of my life.  During the cast, all of these things took 3 times longer and it helped me realize that I am not only lacking appreciation, but I am in constant battle against this servant lifestyle.  This is very counterproductive mindset.  I am not quite there yet, but now I know that I need to appreciate and respect that life at this time is service to my children and household, and being a servant is actually a very good thing.  Jesus said he came to serve, not to be served.  He served unto death.  I only serve unto Daddy puts the kids to bed.  

Service to others is worship to the One who Created us all and serves us all ceaselessly. I desire to worship my Creator, so therefore I ought to desire to serve my children.  And at this point I feel like I am being neglectful to the kids in order to write this, so I’ll quit typing now and get back to serving... 

Wren put 'Monkey George' in a time out.  We found him there about 15 hours later.  Mommy could use a 15 hour time out.

Epiphany

This picture is completely unrelated to the following epiphany...other than the fact that these are the cute little people who make mommy need epiphanies. 

So I heard something at church yesterday--a tiny side-note to the sermon that totally rocked my bad attitude about stay-at-home-mom-hood.  

Now, if you are not a believer you can keep reading, I promise.  Even if you don't consider yourself a participant in the Gospel, you probably recognize that Jesus had an impressive career during his relatively short time on earth.  Facts and conjectures aside, he made a massive impact in history, and in the lives of thousands of people (during his time, and billions more over the centuries following).  

Ok, so what?  So before he did all that, he worked as a carpenter for 30 years.  This is another fact that everyone can recite.  It is often a glossed over element to the grand story of God through space and time.  

But just sit on that for a minute.  God, the creator of the universe who propels all living things through life and death for all time, became man, and then built shelves for 30 years.  He got up everyday, had a cup of coffee or something, put on his dirty work clothes and swung a hammer for 8 hours.  He lived in total anonymity for three decades--he didn't do any of the ministry that he is known for.  If he had an impact on anyone's life during that time it isn't documented as far as I know.  Maybe he gave a waiter a nice tip, or babysat twins, but nothing anyone decided was Godly.  

This is all massively mysterious to me, and there are so many ideas that could be discussed about this period of Jesus' life, but for me the simple idea that God willingly set aside his illustrious career of Alpha-and-Omega-ness to just live through so many years of trudgery is astounding.  And this life of trudgery was intentional, approved, even sanctified by God.  For some reason it was a critical part of God's master plan.  He loved his Son and found all that he did perfect--even this meaningless carpentry gig.  

SO.  Compared to this, I have absolutely no right to complain about putting aside my insignificant and unimpactful career in design in order to raise children for about 6 years until they are in school.  AND I have no right to say that raising children is mundane trudgery compared to being a single dude who makes benches (or whatever).  How much more important is raising children than working with wood!?  Even on a bad day I get that my kids are more meaningful than lumber.  

And then let's just think about the eventual impacts of this child-rearing hiatus in which I am living.  Everything about my mothering lifestyle now shapes my kids little souls.  When they are out on the playground without me someday, their actions will reflect what happened during this period of time we spent 24/7 together.  I doubt that Jesus' carpentry hiatus ever yielded much after his Alpha and Omega career was resumed.  I mean, what do shelves and benches have to say about their creator?  I suppose they could still be sturdy after a couple decades, but who cares in light of human-kind's redemption by grace through the death and resurrection of Christ!?  (Ok, I said non-believing friends could still read this post, not that it wouldn't be biased…)

Oh, and by the way, for the three of you that might 'follow' my blog, my broken wrist situation is much better (already) and I think I will do a humbling blog post about that soon….in case you were wondering….

In a cast.

Tupperware filled with split peas.  Highly recommended tool for keeping a toddler busy so you can blog.

Before I was in a cast I felt like my life was in a cast.  Now I am in fact, in a cast.  And how do I feel?  I feel like this cast is a high-powered magnifying glass for all the pesky spots of motherhood.  Maybe this wasn’t clear before, but motherhood just hasn’t settled lighly upon me.  I truly and deeply love my children, and would never undo what is done, but taking on this new identity of mom has been uncomfortable.  And now, everything that I complained about before as being frustrating or irritating is flat out difficult, painful and often impossible. 

Even the reason for being in a cast is an ironic attack on one area of freedom I was just beginning to experience—I was on my way to the garage gym I’ve joined to do CrossFit training.  Doing intense regular exercise and seeing physical and emotional improvement has been so helpful toward leading a more balanced life style.  So I was on my way there, riding my bicycle, when I almost got hit by a car and got thrown over the handlebars onto the road—breaking my right wrist in the fall. 

Wear your helmet.  Happy to be alive.

There goes the intense regular exercise for the next 8-12 weeks.  The scale tips back toward imbalanced.

Now lets go through the laundry list of miscellanea that I complained about before:

The menial work of the stay-at-home-mom: diaper changes, meal times, spill clean-ups, outfit changes, etc.  Now that all takes 2-3 times longer with lots of imaginary cursing bubbles coming out of mommy’s head—my 7-month old is incessantly scooting, wiggling, and rolling all over the place while I attempt to reign him in with two feet, my uncoordinated left hand and blunt, useless right cast, hoping he will move in just the right way so that I can wipe his poopy bottom as he rolls over.  Outfit changes occur over 20 minutes while he migrates through rooms of the house.

Getting the toddler cleaned up after a meal?  Well, ‘cooperation’ is the most frequently used word in the house these days…

You get the idea.

Extracting my 23 pound baby from under things all day long is much more difficult with one arm.  My left arm will be ripped by the end of this. 

I complained about not getting out of the house easily with the kids—for errands or playgrounds or whatever.  Now, there is no option to get out.  I cannot get my baby out of the carseat or stroller with one arm.  We are all stuck at home together.

I complained about meal planning, grocery shopping and meal making (I actually like to cook, but not with the cacophony of 5:00 toddler and baby blues).  Now?  I have to write the grocery list with my left hand.  I have to procure a helper to get groceries, and I can’t do any cooking at all.    

I complained about keeping the house tidy—now I can’t do dishes, wipe crumbs off the table, or sweep.  (I can do laundry though!)

I complained about not getting to spend time sewing and generally being creative and expressive—now I cannot sew at all, and even typing out my thoughts for this post? Agonizingly slow…

Oh, and the minor point regarding a mom’s desire to still feel like a beautiful woman despite her physically demanding occupation?  Well I have to learn to do my make-up left handed, and my bald (by choice) husband has to ‘do’ my hair.  Certain areas of my body are not getting their regular visit from the razor, and I have a scar on my chin from the pavement on the intersection of Fife and Melrose.

In sum, all of the little restrictions to my personal (selfish) liberty have become looming boulders and blockades at every turn.    

I don’t believe I am accepting this with much grace.  I’m mad.  I’m bored.  I feel trapped.  But I have 6-8 weeks to adjust my attitude about it all.  Is that good news or bad news?  Hmm.  If I say it’s good news, then I think that is the first step toward an attitude adjustment…

I’m not ready to commit to that yet.

Thanks for stopping by.  I’ll keep you posted.

Where is Me?

Why is it so hard for moms to take care of themselves?  Really.  I want to hear your ideas, readers (all 5 of you)!

Even now, I am having a difficult time writing this because both of the kids are asleep, miraculously, and there are a plethora of other things to be done around the house.  I should be picking up after a chaotic morning.  I should be getting things ready to cook for dinner.  I should be putting in a load of laundry.  I should wipe up that smudge of something I can’t remember because its been there so long.  I should call my insurance company…yadda yadda yadda.  I am forcing myself to write this.

If ever a mom chooses to do something for herself, something else must always be sacrificed.  Here, my children are hypnotized by the swing and television so that I can finish a project for mommy's benefit: the Roman Blind for our bedroom.

I was just visiting with another mom-friend of mine and we were talking about how irritating it is that our husbands seem to be able to completely ignore such chores and take care of themselves so naturally.  Ignore isn’t even the right word.  I believe that somehow beyond my understanding, men simply don’t SEE the tasks laid out before them that are so obvious to us. 

My husband sleeping once he lulled the baby to sleep.  This looks good to me.  Why don't I do this more often? (P.S., I couldn't join him this time because I was taking care of the other one who was awake still...)

Now, this is not a harping session on the husbands.  (Though it is often irritating) I believe we could learn a lot from them and how they manage parenthood.  But why is it that when faced with the same circumstance of children and household and responsibilities, a man can just say ‘I am going to kick back and do x y z’ and hit the dishes later. 

This is a frozen lump of leftover chocolate sauce that mommy sneaks bites of throughout the day in a very misguided effort to 'take care of herself.'  This is not care.  This epitomizes a woman who is too frenzied to stop and think, or stop and feel what it is that she truly needs.

My mind is a constant buzz of scheming and strategizing all day.  I work hard at using every opportunity to do all that HAS to be done first, and then if there is time left over after all that, I will take a shower, or have a cup of tea (the luxury!).  It feels completely unnatural to shun the tasks at hand and do even the smallest thing for myself. 

Why!? 

My husband often tells me he doesn’t care if the house is a disaster and the laundry isn’t done if it means that I was able to spend that time on myself somehow.  Why do I feel like this is not an option?  Everything is an option.  Anything is an option!  If I am closed off to taking care of myself, what else am I closing off?  If I am in a constant state of busyness, what am I missing? 

It feels like everyday has a certain routine that is inevitable and monotonous.  What if I woke up in the morning (to the sounds of child who needs me) and simply said ‘what’s next?’ instead of ‘here we go again.’   

Messiness

A classic mess.  Once a ramekin used for creme brulee, this dish shattered and distributed sticky quinoa all over the floor for mommy to clean up before she could even take her first sip of morning coffee.

Messiness includes, but is not limited to the following:

Toys: their mere existence.

Not wearing make-up regularly.

Sticky mystery spots on the floor.

Having to change even your underwear after and extreme spit-up session.

Constant interruption of a simple task like doing laundry. (or writing a blog entry)

Being late.

A cherished item becoming scratched.

Finding a plastic pickle in your bed when you finally pull back the covers to climb in.

A Tantrum.

The play broom sweeping away Mommy's real broom's dust pile.

Not remembering when you showered last.

The ever-popluar snot nose child.  Cute though, eh?

I am a tidy person.  A person who aspires to minimalism and order.  I believe every thing has a place of belonging, and life is better when things are clean and organized.  William Morris, a father of the Arts and Crafts movement, once stated "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."  This idea is virtually the only guiding principle for my 'sense of design.'  

And then there are children.

Children poke holes in your paper lamp shades and your philosophies.  The holes shed a pointed light on what you really believe.  And what I really believe is that I deserve to be in control of my environment and have everything just the way I like it all the time and how dare you interfere with perfection you little snot nose person.

Have you seen the coffee mug/bumper sticker/fridge magnet that says something like 'Immaculate women lead boring lives'?  Its true, I think.  And to take it one step further, immaculate women lead frustrated husbands…This, however, is not as sunny an expression, so I won't bother sending it in to Hallmark...I digress.

Sustaining household perfection can easily go beyond boring and soar straight up to egotistical and tyrannical. 

This was once my prized possession.  A designer chair worth a lot of money, just to be honest.  I refuse to live in such a way as to relegate some belongings to ceremonial usage only.  So this chair is part of everyday family life and as such has suffered greatly.  Not sure if this image truly shows it's deplorable condition.

My life at home with children leads me to wonder; where is the line between overbearing attention to order, and a healthy respect for all things being intact?  I don't know the answer to this, and my adherence to one or the other tenets depends largely on how much sleep I've had.

I know I don't want my house to be messy.  Nearly everyday since my first child was born I have had to struggle with the answer to the following question: Does this mess make me feel like I am not in control of my life?

Turns out I am not in control of my life.  Who knew!?  Turns out it is exhausting to keep tidying up stuff in a vain and misappropriated effort to tidy up my personhood--or my children's.  Turns out the sun sets and rises regardless of the state of my living room.  

Turns out 'mess' was one of my daughter's first words….

A fine mess.  A fine husband cleaning up a fine mess!  The origins of this mess was something great--a late dinner (after the kids went to bed) with some good friends.  We cooked up some spectacular non-kid-friendly food and ate at length and in peace, for once.  But even goodness creates mess.  

I got nothin'

I have been wanting to work on this blog for days now.  Make it pretty.  Design a banner for the title.  I have another idea to blog about--messiness.  I haven't done anything, however.  My son is not sleeping well anywhere, anytime, and there have been a bunch of other things to do.  Sigh.  Today he decided to sleep for a long time, but didn't bother to give me any advanced notice that he would do so, so I never built up the momentum to get a project done while I had the chance.  So, instead, here is a little post that captures this very moment before it ends when my 2-year-old wakes up.

This is Atley sleeping right now.  This is what it looks like when my world stops while both kids sleep and I decide not to spend my precious time tidying.

Atley is a smiley boy for all the trouble he causes!  I finally got one on 'film'!

Well, I am still in shock that somebody hasn't woken up by now.  I could be sleeping!!!  Surely, as soon as my head hits a pillow, one of them will rise and shine, so I guess I'll sweep the floor...

Identity Crisis.

I have a 4-year degree in Interior Design from a University with an accredited and top ranked Interior Design Program.  This is the extent of my daughter's 2-year birthday party decorations:

A plastic chip and dip tray taped to the wall.  Really?

Who am I again?

I used to think I was a very artistic, creative, industrious person.  

Ok. Let me rephrase that.  I used to place all my identity in the fact that I am those things.  

I should be more honest.  

By 'identity', I mean worth.  I have realized that I think that all of my worth is tied to my ability to succeed in various creative and academic endeavors.  

Now I suppose I am still all of those things, but it feels like its all slipping away from me like the bags of dirty cloth diapers I set on the porch every week for the diaper service guy to pick up (which, by the way, is actually a wonderful moment for me every Friday).  

Being a stay-at-home-mom, I do not get the privilege of exercising this identity that I speak of.  It freaks me out.  All experienced moms say 'don't worry, it will all get better someday.'  But I still ask what about NOW?  How am I supposed to be okay with the fact that I can rarely ever flex my creative muscles--and when/if I do, it is a severely curtailed escapade.  

"How can God let this happen!?!"  I find myself asking all the time, angrily.

I have given God much thanks for giving me the skills and desire to be creative.  Art has brought me through some really heavy stuff in my life since I was a little kid and drawn me closer to the heart of God.  I am so grateful to have a mind for beauty despite, or perhaps because of, pain.  

However, now I have pain, and no ability to work it out the way I always used to--behind a paint brush or sewing machine. 

God:

Maybe I have limited your ability to be creative during this time so that you will stop being prideful and attempting to be your own God.  I am your God.  You are my child.  Your identity is that I love you to death.  End of story.  Everything else is a gift. If that's humbling, good.  I only want you, not all the stuff you've made or the impressive and by-gone G.P.A.  

Time to find out who you really are underneath all those layers of capabilities. 

Hmmm.

Ok.

But I'm still not super happy.  Thank you God for teaching me.  Thank you that I don't have to feel happy before I can know that you are good.  Please help me find satisfaction and happiness during this time.  I'm not sure where to look for it...

I am satisfied with this little girl, especially when she is obedient.    I am also satisfied with the abstracted birch trees I was able to paint on the wall of the living room too--you can sort of see those behind the static head.

Also, this made me laugh and cry:

"I feel as useless as a mom's college degree." Kenneth, the Page. (30 Rock, 'The Problem Solvers' episode)