My momma has been here for 10 days - not nearly long enough. She came out to watch the kids for Rowland and me to take a trip to Boston. (Pictures to come later in the week.) We had a wonderful time together. I love just knowing that my momma’s in the house, that there’s always someone around who wants nothing FROM me and everything FOR me. I love knowing that I can lie down with my head in her lap ANYTIME, and she’ll drop everything and rub my head as long as I’ll lie there. There are no more biased eyes than a momma’s. She thinks I’m beautiful, that everything I do is perfect, that my children are the most well-behaved angels on Earth. She ALWAYS takes my side and hurts when I hurt, laughs when I laugh.

Her visit came at a great time. As I’m going through this “where did my babies go?” and “will they still love me as big people?” and all of the other questions and insecurities, I’ve been more sensitive to stopping and holding my own momma’s hand, giving her that extra hug, telling her how much I love her. For the first time, I truly understand from the depths of my heart what her heart needs. I also understand how much she’ll miss me when she gets on that plane this morning, and I’ll miss her just as much. It seems that as I move into this new phase of life with my own children, my momma’s heart and my heart beat together once again.

I LOVE YOU, MOMMA!!!

These last several weeks have been amazingly stressful in our home. I could go through all of the reasons, but suffice it to say that as we enter a new stage of life with our children, it has caused major stress. I remember when my children were babies, and those moms a little further down the road would tell me how much harder parenting would get as my children grew older. Physically, it was to get easier, but emotionally, it was to become much more difficult. Those moms were so right. Even with “good” children who haven’t gotten into any worldly trouble YET, life has become much more difficult, much, much, much more stressful. A good night’s sleep doesn’t fix “it” anymore. A night out without children doesn’t renew me like it used to do. A few days away with friends or my husband doesn’t provide an escape. In fact, not an hour goes by in any day that I don’t find myself worrying, trying to come up with the perfect “fix,” and lifting my teenagers before the Lord in desperate cries. (And now the tears begin to flow as is so often the case these days.)

I remember a pastor friend telling me one time that having children was like cutting out your heart, putting legs on it, and sending it to walk through life. How painfully true. I find myself filled with memories of those days when I was such a “perfect” mommy to my babies - in their eyes. I picture their laughter, their beautiful eyes, their little hands on my face. I adored my babies, but I looked forward to the time when my body would be mine again, with no one tugging on it, no aching arms from holding babies while dragging all of their stuff, nights when I could sleep all night…. Do I want to go back? NO! Do I cherish every one of those memories? Oh, more than I ever imagined!

I also remember a childrens’ director at our church telling me that children were not ours. They’re just on loan from God. I still remember the pain I felt when she told me that. Somehow, that pain has turned into a little relief, a gentle reminder that they’re really God’s children, that He loves them even more than I do, that He is, as Hagar so perfectly said it, “the God who sees.” He is the God who can see inside of their still-growing bodies and minds. He is the God who knows what truly motivates them. He is the God who has promised to never let go of them as they are, after all, His sheep. He is the God who placed the Holy Spirit inside of them when they chose to follow His Son. He is the Parent in charge. I’m the babysitter, entrusted with an enormous responsibility, but still, only the keeper for this period of time.

As I sat outside last night and prayed for each of my children (with special prayers for a couple), I heard God so clearly remind me that He is the God who sees. He sees the pain of a momma’s heart, the fear that overwhelms me at times, the tears that hide behind my smile and sweet voice, the struggle to keep putting one foot in front of the other, the desire to run away mixed with the desire to cling to this life at the same time, the shooting pain in my neck, the tremendous love for each member of my family, the endless second-guessing…. As I cried out to God and asked Him to make me physically stronger, physically more able to get more done and not feel so exhausted, emotionally capable of not being combative, emotionally able to give kindness and goodness and mercy and grace when I feel like hiding under my covers, He spoke to me. As I begged Him for wisdom to see those places in my life where I could find the “down time” that He created me to need so desperately, He spoke to me again. As I asked for forgiveness for the times when I’ve “lost it” with my children or my husband and said words out of anger, He spoke to me yet again.

And what did He say? Kitty, you’re right. You can’t handle all of this. I never meant for you to handle all of this. Remember, Kitty, My yoke is easy, and My burden is light. Why don’t you give all of those things to Me? I’m here, and I’m waiting.

It’s true! This actually happened to me last night/this morning. I took care of all of my nightly routines, put kids to bed after baths, homework, and dinner, gave Jia her shot, straightened the house, finished up the laundry that my precious “daughter” Hollie had helped me with (amazing girl!), washed my face, brushed my teeth, checked on the kids, set the alarm, and hit the bed. Little Kitty awoke in the middle of the night with a tummy ache, and I found our medicine right in the closet where I always leave it, used the same restroom that I use each night, and went back to sleep at 3:00 a.m. Between 3:00 and 6:00 a.m., my house became someone else’s.

When my alarm went off at 6:00 a.m., I actually jumped right out of bed for fear that I would sleep through getting the “big kids” to school. My eyes seldom see the light of day before 7:15 so I was rather impressed with myself. At first, it seemed that I had awakened in my house. I found my toothbrush and paste in the same old drawer and grabbed a sweatshirt from its normal place, then headed downstairs to awaken Carson. Still, all felt the same. As I climbed the stairs back to the main floor, however, I began to feel as though I had entered someone else’s world. Sage, our Lab, and Valentino, our cat, were both looking at me like, “Okay, Mom, do the next thing! We’re ready!! We’re ready!!!” As I watched Sage dance around, I assumed that she needed to go potty so I opened the back door for her to go out. While Sage sat looking at the opened door and danced around some more, Valentino began to meow very loudly over and over again. Obviously, I was missing something. What’s supposed to happen now? I’ve never run through this part of the “routine.” I began realizing that this part of the day, the house is Rowland’s house, and I really have no knowledge of how it works!

Sage walked me through feeding her, and Valentino showed me where his food was kept. (No, I don’t even know where the cat food is kept in our house, nor do I know what the bird eats! I just know that Rowland cooks for the bird, Huey.) I did remember that Sage had to have a thyroid pill twice a day and had to go hunt down her pills that I’d picked up yesterday at the vet. Of course, by then, she had finished eating so I couldn’t drop it in the food bowl as she’s accustomed. I wrapped it in bread, fed her, then took her cue to let her out - finally! Valentino is an inside cat who gets to go play outside in the morning so he also let me know that it was his time to go out as well. Relax. Done. Done?

My original plan was to go back to sleep while Hollie and Carson got ready for school. I figured that I still had a good 30 minute nap coming my way! As I walked by the clock, though, I remembered that Rowland made lunches for all of the kids except William. I definitely knew how to make lunches - for the little ones. As I pulled out the bread, I didn’t know what kinds of sandwiches and snacks went into the big kids’ lunches. After all, they’re gone when I get up. I vaguely remembered Hollie mentioning that Rowland made her PB&J, and I knew that Rowland added bologna to my grocery list for Carson’s lunch. What did he put in with their sandwiches? Surely, everyone likes tortilla chips, a drink, and a napkin. Do they get a dessert? What? Do they have snack time like the little ones?

Having completed the lunches, I looked at the clock and realized that it was 6:52, and I hadn’t made anything for breakfast. When I get up, Rowland ALWAYS has biscuits or sweet rolls on the cookie sheet on top of the stove. Here I was, running out of time and didn’t even have milk for cereal. Oh, well…….no answer for that one!

After calling Carson upstairs, drying his hair, putting in his contacts, and sending him down for juice, his shoes, and his lunch, I found Hollie and asked her what time Rowland usually took them to school. Once again, this was all foreign to me. 7:10 was our target, and we were right on time. I noticed that she put William’s snack in her backpack and decided that Rowland must make snacks for the big kids, too. While walking out the door, I made that mental note for the future and headed to the high school. As soon as we got in the car, Carson asked, “Why’d you give me goldfish?” (I didn’t give him goldfish. That was Kitty’s snack.) Hollie responded that she thought that I was just being sweet and giving them a snack today. Another mental note…..Rowland must not put out the little kids’ snacks until he gets back from taking the big kids to school.

Of course, I had to ask Hollie which direction Rowland drove on school mornings, which lane to get into, where to drop her off, and how to get out of the parking lot. Carson informed me that Rowland always drives over the median when he’s leaving the school parking lot - not for any particular reason but just because he has a Land Rover, and he can! He gave me directions out of the parking lot, and we reached his school just as a bell was ringing. I panicked as I looked at my clock which only said 7:23, and I thought he wasn’t late until 7:30. All was fine, though, as he explained to me that we were early (something that has NEVER happened to me when I’ve dropped Carson off in the morning) and that the bell was only the first one. As he exited the car, I drove home very proud of myself for having successfully transformed into my husband and actually completing the duties in HIS home.

As I walked into the door at 7:35, I recognized that I had arrived back in MY house where there were three little ones waiting. Bring on Round 2!

There’s always the age-old question of what happens to the socks when they go into the washer and never reappear from the dryer. How about……why do smoke alarm batteries only go dead in the middle of the night? Beep……beep……beep……and you search the house, and even if you find it……who took the last 9 volt battery?

I really wanted to say that 2008 was the year that I grew old, but I know that 43 is not really “old.” Only those older than I are going to say that it’s still young, though! Going into 2008, I still had a pretty good foothold on the top of Age Mountain. Life was going along pretty well - until I took my eight year old shopping. My precious daughter pointed out that the reason that I don’t look like those girls on the posters in the same clothes is because they’re thinner and…..younger! Soon after, my six year old told me that I should get some of that stuff that they talk about on TV that “gets the commas off of your face.” (Those “commas” are also known as my well-earned smile lines!)

For all of my childhood and adulthood, I have always loved the lines on my mom’s hands. I suppose that I just love her hands. I love for her to hold my hand, rub my head, rub my back, just love on me with her beautiful hands. In fact, I love her hands so much that I’ve always wanted to have them. I’ve looked longingly at my own hands for signs of those beautiful veins that stick up in her hand. In 2008, I discovered that my hands are not going to be like my momma’s hands; I have major wrinkly hands instead!

One day this Fall, I was driving around Breckenridge and noticed that I was having a difficult time reading signs both in and out of the car. I would have to ask the children what the words were on the medicine bottle. When I’d read my Bible, no matter how much light I could get on the page, there were times that I just COULDN’T read the tiny words! I immediately headed to the eye doctor, certain that I was losing my vision and had developed high blood pressure or diabetes. After a thorough examine, I was given the less-than-exciting news that I’m old. Bifocals were no longer my future; they were my present! Now, I always wondered why “old” people wore such large glasses. Mine, when I didn’t wear contacts, were the cutest little black rectangular glasses, quite fashionable. I’ve joined the club. The secret is that bifocals won’t go in those tiny little glasses! For several weeks, I walked around asking complete strangers if they thought I had “old lady” glasses! Quite annoying, I’m sure!

As if all of these things weren’t enough, I began to have some medical “situations” which led me to my doctor for bloodwork. After all of my testing was completed, it was determined that I was the perfect candidate for hormone replacement therapy! Hormone replacement therapy? You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me!

Determined to prove to the world that I AM NOT OLD, I actually went out on New Year’s Eve to a real party! It was the first time that Rowland and I had been out on New Year’s since 1996!!! We actually stayed at the party until 12:30 and weren’t in bed until 1:30. I guess my experiment back-fired, though. As we crawled out of bed the next morning, we both determined that we were too old for New Year’s Eve parties. In fact, we committed to staying home from now on and watching the ball drop in New York (11:00 our time) while lying in bed, kissing each other, turning out the light, and going to sleep.

So much for my firm foothold on the top of Age Mountain!!!

My Beautiful Family!!!

I have everything in the world that I’ve ever wanted or even dreamed of having. My husband is a true prince among men. He continues to walk me through (carry me at times) my health issues as he loves me so completely, cares about my needs so deeply, and is the most fabulous hands-on daddy that anyone could ever desire. I have four of the most beautiful, precious children whom God ever made. Each of them is perfect in his/her own unique way, and each of them fills my heart and soul with love just as they fill my arms with hugs and my cheeks with kisses. I love the town in which we live, the beautiful mountains all around me, the sky so close you can almost touch it, the rolling hills and pastures, the “hometown” feel. I could not wish for a better church. I have amazing friends who love me, think I’m funny, make me laugh, and share their deepest hurts and highest dreams just as I do with them. My children go to wonderful schools where they are not just receiving a great education but where they have sweet friends and nurturing teachers/staff. I am so grateful for my home and our neighborhood and neighbors. My home is more than I ever thought that I would have; it’s decorated with things that have meaning to us, with pictures of our friends and family enjoying life together; it’s spacious enough for all of us to live here comfortably; and it is truly a place where I feel safe, secure, and “nested.” And last, but certainly not least, I have a true relationship with Jesus, with my Heavenly Father, with a God who is very real to me. I know that He loves me, that He’s near to me, that He’s concerned about my every thought, and that He has blessed me truly beyond measure!

So why is there still such a restlessness inside of me? Where does it come from? Is it the longing for the “not-always-responsible-for-every-little-thing” Kitty to surface on occasion? I feel the need to dance, to sing, to wave my hands in the air and release the inner me that seems to have gotten lost in Life. I want to throw the cares of Life into the wind for just a little while, to feel ALIVE. What does that even mean?

I want to be the sensual woman who must still exist inside the mommy and the wife and the housekeeper and the nurse. I want to be someone’s girlfriend (preferably my husband’s!!!)! I want to be unpredictable at times, to do somersaults and dance on the sidewalk! I want to laugh until tears pour from my eyes, and my stomach is in pain! Every once in a while, I want to shock and awe!

If you’ve been reading Rowland’s blog lately (www.worshipdude.com), you know that I may be a little high maintenance in the fashion department. I just want to look cute for my husband, though! That’s not a bad thing really. He should be glad that I care, right?

Well, he does have a few issues of his own. Before I share, I do want to preface this post by saying that I love my husband to death! (Isn’t that what he always says right before he discusses my “issues?”) One thing that drives Rowland freakin’ nuts is chipped nail polish on fingers or toes. When we were newly married, someone rang our doorbell one night, and he suggested that I go put on some socks because my toenail polish was chipped. Really. Now, in his defense, he is more than willing to paint my toes or pay to have them done. He’s even okay with my going without polish. He just thinks that polish should either be on or off. Choose and go with it.

During our wonderfully relaxing time at the cabin, I decided that I’d had too many WW points for the day and pulled out the jump rope to get a little exercise. I jumped rope on the front porch for a little while (and hated it - which is another story). When I took off my shoes, my nail polish was chipped, and one toe was even bare of all color! Normally, that would not be a problem because I ALWAYS take nail polish with me on trips JUST IN CASE. Not so this time. What to do? I couldn’t spend this lovely, relaxing, romantic time with my husband and have chipped toenails (even if I didn’t have cute shoes to show them off anyway). After all, I don’t want to make him nuts every time he sees my feet. Being the quick thinker that I am, I made an appointment at the spa today to have a pedicure! A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!!!

No, I did NOT call myself a moron; however, I am an oxymoron! Webster says that an oxymoron is “a combination of contradictory words.” Some examples: sinfully good, sadly funny, house-trained dog, balanced insanity (a.k.a. Kitty), and my personal favorite Mr. Wise, the principal I had when I was teaching who was a total moron!

How am I an oxymoron? I don’t like a schedule. I don’t like for anyone to have control over my time. I live for, long for those days when I have nothing on my plate but lying on the bed, reading, watching The View or Grey’s Anatomy. A little laundry isn’t a big deal nor is straightening the house as long as I don’t have to answer the phone, get dressed at any certain time, run errands, or have any appointments. Even now, I’m CRAVING Friday when I’ll have a no-scheduled schedule (an oxymoron?)!

Here’s the contradiction, though. By the end of that day, I feel totally worthless and end up depressed. The solution? Get busy! So I volunteer in the schools more (today it’s two different schools), volunteer to lead a Bible study, sing on the worship team, organize the Newcomers Receptions at church, agree to lunches with friends, even sign up to be Secretary of the PTO. My schedule is full of field trips, helping in the classroom, spending time at church, talking to friends, running here and there and everywhere else. As I type this part, I am filled with anxiety, the stress of so many things to do and trying to keep them all straight in my head. And when will I nap? More stress! (But no depression - just stress headaches!)

Obviously, one might say that a happy medium is where the answer lies. That really doesn’t work for me since I’m not sure what a happy medium is. I like a busy schedule, yet I hate a busy schedule. I like to check off all of the things that I’ve gotten done, but my head usually hurts while I’m checking them off. I like to keep a well-organized calendar, yet all of the things that I have to do keep swirling around in my brain.

Today, I have a great day planned. I’m at the middle school this morning for a couple of hours collating registration packets. This afternoon, I’m in William’s class helping with production of their consumer projects. Somewhere in between, I need to send out an e-mail to the girls starting next week’s Bible study to let them know that I ordered books and the cost of each. Oh, yeah, and I need to run by the church during that in-between time to make copies of a letter to go out to all of the parents in Kitty’s class, the letter that I haven’t yet written! I’ll check William out of school early for his physical for camp. (I got confused - imagine that - and tried to take him to the doctor yesterday - wrong day - oops!) Then, I’ll come home, figure out dinner before sending my husband and Carson off to worship practice, getting the little ones showered and ready for bed, working out, and finally eating dinner at 9:00 when I curl up in my bed to watch the previously recorded Grey’s Anatomy. My heart’s racing, and I’m full of anxiety (or is it anticipation?). Will I enjoy each section of my day? Absolutely! Will I get it all done? Yes. Do I wish that I had nothing to do today? Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. See? I’m an oxymoron!

I just don’t get it! I’ve really tried to understand this whole Facebook phenomenon. I’ve tried to participate by accepting invitations, extending invitations, even writing a thing or two on people’s walls. I’ve taken quizzes that were sent to me. I’ve looked at people’s pictures and at who knows whom. I just don’t get it! Do you have to spend hours just going from one person’s page to the next checking out “what they’re doing right now?” When is the appropriate time to post what you happen to be doing at that exact moment? How often do you share that information? Who really cares? If I want to know what you’re doing, I’ll call and ask you or send you an e-mail. If you want to know what I”m doing, you can call and ask me. (I probably won’t answer the phone because I’m either busy doing something or I don’t feel like sharing what I’m doing! But you’re welcome to try!)

Just today, someone in China wrote on my wall “Kitty…..Really…..” Obviously, he’s responding to something that I wrote on his wall, but I checked back through his wall, and I can’t find anywhere where I wrote anything. Maybe he’s responding to something I wrote on someone else’s wall. Either way, I have no clue what his message means and no way to track it down. What kind of system of communication is that?

And no offense to those who are my age or older, but what in the heck are you doing on Facebook? It has to be like “new math,” something we’re not even supposed to understand! We’re not going to be young and cool no matter how many friends we have or how many people write on our walls. (What is a “wall” anyway?) Give it up!

I guess I’ll keep accepting friend requests since I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. After all, most of the people are already my friends anyway. Beyond that, I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’ve entered a foreign world every time I get on Facebook, a world where one could waste hours and hours just finding out what everyone’s doing right now. In my opinion, they don’t need to post what they’re doing. If they’re on Facebook, they’re wasting the same hours I am!

Desperate Housewives is my FAVORITE television show. And, no, it’s not because I’m a desperate housewife!! I love the characters, and I relate most to Susan. Susan is emotional, reactionary, and a little ditzy, all qualities that can often be seen in my life. Edie is a desperate single woman who would steal anyone’s man and should have the mantra “all’s fair in love and war” tattooed on her forehead. (I have a feeling that I used to be an Edie before Rowland rescued me from myself!) Lynette has a gazillion kids (okay, I can relate to that part), but she is too level-headed, too analytical, and likes to have a career, none of which mirrors me. I wish that I could be Gabi. Yes, it definitely scares my husband when I say that! I love how conniving she is, how self-absorbed to the point of being humorous, how absolutely gorgeous she is, how she does those mean things that go through my mind but that I could NEVER do…. Then there’s Bree, the always put-together, perfectly OCD (obsessive compulsive), Ms. Make-Everything-Look-Okay-on-the-Outside NO MATTER WHAT!

While this show may seem like fluff to many people, there are actually lessons to be learned (besides how to bake a perfect pie, how to steal a man, how to beat up your husband when he’s down, etc., etc.). This week, poor Susan who is pregnant had an emotional moment - actually a couple of emotional moments. Bree, with all of her sympathy garnished into one beautiful basket, told Susan to JUST STOP CRYING. When Susan didn’t know how (often a problem of mine once I get going really well!), Bree explained her most unhealthy way of dealing with her own emotions. She simply pictures an empty box, pours all of the things that she doesn’t want to think about, those things that are upsetting to her, into that empty box. After placing the lid tightly on the box, she imagines placing the box on a shelf in a closet full of empty boxes. She then calmly closes the closet door securely and goes about her day. I’m pretty sure she was describing “stuffing her emotions,” but what a beautiful image!

My goal for each day now is to spend just a few minutes pulling out an empty box, pouring my frustration into it, putting the lid on tightly, and placing the box on a shelf in my imaginary closet. Hopefully, I’ve imagined a big enough closet!!!