Reclaiming Saturday

It used to be my favorite day of the week.  I’d sleep late, linger over breakfast and a second cup of tea or coffee, maybe catch up on cleaning and laundry, run some errands…no rushing, no agenda, no demands.

Those were the days before Saturday Anxiety.

Like a lot of other fears which the reality (and hormones) of becoming a mother brought to the surface in my life, Saturday Anxiety took what had been an enjoyable part of my week and turned it into something that brought me stress and turmoil.  Where once I found Saturday to be relaxing and refreshing, now I found myself always out of sorts, unsettled, discontent.   It seemed that no matter how hard I tried to keep it at bay, the overwhelm and angst would push into my day uninvited, more often than not causing me to fight with my husband, almost weekly leaving me in tears.

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Hope, Trust, and Baby Clothes

This week I cried over a diaper box full of baby clothes, size 18 months – 2 T.

In the middle of putting away yet another load of Abby’s laundry, I decided to perform a quick purge of the things she’s outgrown.  First, to make it easier when we go to get her dressed, and second, because a little friend of ours is exactly the right size to wear them.

It took me next to no-time to sort out the items to pass along. I kept back a couple things that have a little more sentimental value. Most of these clothes have been clogging up Abby’s room, and overflowing into a teetering stack in the guest room closet, for at least a year now.  Everything in the box no longer fits her.  The vast majority of the items were hand-me-downs or gifts.

And yet, for some reason, as I finished up and moved on to cleaning the kitchen, instead of feeling relieved and accomplished, I found myself feeling gloomy and weepy.

I washed dishes while I tried to sort out what was going on with me.  The water and soap swirling around my sink mirrored the thoughts in my head.

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A Call to Follow

They didn’t understand.  They had known the prophecies.  They had waited all their lives.  When He showed up and called them from their normal lives into His nomadic world of miracles and profound teachings, they were ready.

Surely, He was the Messiah. No man could do the things He did.  It was only a matter of time before He took over.  He talked of His kingdom constantly, while they waited in ever growing expectation.  Any day now, He would give them the signal and they would rise up, overthrow the evil Roman empire and rule by His side.

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Preventing an Expectation Hangover

I was chatting with my vastly-more-experienced-traveler friend Denelle, ahead of our trip to Copenhagen this past summer, filling her in on our planning dilemma: whether or not to get a hotel room during our 8-hour layover in London.

“Well, if you decide to get one, make sure you book it early,” she said. “You’d hate to get there thinking you had a room, and then have to sleep in the airport. Avoid the expectation hangover.”


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Keep Moving

I carry a vivid memory of a seemingly small moment in 2007.

I’m alone in my little red Toyota Rav 4, loaded down with the assorted belongings my parents didn’t have room for in their vehicle a few days before, when they came to move me out of my tiny, dark, miserable apartment. In the passenger seat sits a rather plain envelope, containing my diploma. I’ve stayed the weekend in the home of friends so I could attend my last Sunday church service.  This morning, Monday, I woke up alone in their house, and accidentally set off their alarm as I attempted to exit through the garage. That bit of excitement behind me, I’ve now collected the diploma package from an office on my college campus, (an amazingly anticlimactic errand,) and I am driving out of Little Rock, Arkansas headed back to my parents’ house in Oklahoma.  It will be only a temporary stop.  Soon I will be preparing for another road trip, this one longer and scarier: to my new job on Long Island, NY.  I am crying.

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The Biggest Lies I Fight as the Introverted Mom of an Extroverted Child

I knew I was in for it when she was only 5-months-old.

I was only trying to get us out of the house for a bit, maybe find some adult interaction.  So I decided that even though she was probably too little, we’d check out Story Time at the library.

It was utter chaos: kids running everywhere, parents chatting, and the poor library staffer trying to rein them all in and quiet them all down so she could read.  I was overstimulated within five minutes, and said to myself, “We are NEVER coming back here!”

Right at that moment I looked down at Abby.

She was straining off my lap, arms wide, with a huge smile on her face.  She (non-verbally) radiated the sentiment that this was the greatest. day. of. her. life.

I smiled a tremulous, oh-no-what-have-you-done-God smile as it dawned on me: I have an extrovert on my hands.

A blurry shot of our first Story Time.

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My Intentionality Successes (and a few Works-in-Progress)

I chose the name The Indecisive Mama because making decisions is one of my least favorite things to do.  I overthink most things, even things you wouldn’t think would be too difficult, like what to wear or which chores to tackle in which order.

So making “intentional” my 2018 Word of the Year was both exciting and daunting.  Because being intentional while avoiding decision making is not possible.  Continue reading “My Intentionality Successes (and a few Works-in-Progress)”