Streams of Mercy

I couldn't put Kjel to bed tonight. After I'd rocked her and nursed her and kissed her little face, I had to give her to Steven because she was so very sleepy but I just couldn't get myself to lower her into the crib.

Every night after we nurse, I hold her upright and she lays her head against my chest. Her arms curl up around my shoulders. Sometimes she'll lean back and look up at me. She waits for me to smile and when I do she laughs and the paci falls out of her mouth and she scrambles to find it and clumsily shove it back in place.

I feel divine when I hold her. I guess that's the only way to explain it. I feel like so much more than a frail human with bills to pay and ants in my kitchen. I feel like my slate is wiped clean - every mistake of the day, every negative thought and unkind word is erase and I'm redeemed.

Maybe it's the perfection of that little being Kjel. Maybe her goodness is just so overwhelming that it spills into me in those moments when there is nothing to distract me from her. Maybe it's that motherhood in its purest, rawest form is sanctifying.

I think part of it is that I can't hold her at night without feeling gratitude so overpowering that it's almost tangible. She is my baby. She is my daughter. How have I been so blessed to have two children that I not only love and adore, but admire? Two children that I will spend the rest of my life trying to emulate because they are - indescribably, innately good.

I am a weeper, we all know this. But there is rarely a night when I don't get at least misty-eyed when I hold her and sway her slowly and evenly around the room, singing a song in my heart and sometimes whispering the lyrics to her, hoping that the poetry of songs about love and worship will, in some way, explain to her the depths of my feelings.

I am a mother. I am a mother.



___________

P.S., Thanks so much for the sweet responses to yesterday's overly emotional post. Each comment made me smile (and let's face it, cry a little ;). Thank you for your support - I love to write and this is the place that I find myself going to again and again to record my thoughts and feelings. When those thoughts are so well-received, it makes my day. Thank you! 

The Perfect Problem

I discovered the world of blogging a couple of years ago. One quick skim over a post and I felt intrigued, unattractive, pathetically un-hip, poor, and hungry (ha!) It was a popular Mormon mommy blog that features a young family living in a big city.

I thought to myself, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent, Brooke! This girl is just recording her life. You clicked on the link, you read the post, and now you are choosing to feel like a loser! It's not her fault!" (Because truthfully I felt some dislike toward her. I felt like her 'perfect' life made mine somehow less wonderful.)

And then I thought, "But really... how in the world does this woman stay so thin and cute and spend time frolicking  in valleys full of flowers with her kids while also traveling all over the world and baking like millions of cupcakes a week?!"

And then I remembered a line from a hymn in our church that goes like this:

In the quiet heart is hidden sorrows that the eye can't see.

I guess a couple of things came from this whole train of thought. The first is this: more likely than not, her life is not as perfect as it appears over the internet. For some reason, we think that what we read about someone online is their whole life. I don't know about you, but I share a teensy fraction of my life over the internet. I have to believe that this blogger and others like her are doing the same. We don't know the sorrows and insecurities and stresses they feel. We just don't. 

The second thing that came from it all was that I decided that I wanted to start blogging truth. By truth, I don't mean bearing every detail of me and my family's private life. I will never do that. But I wanted to show a true representation of my life. I know it's trite and overstated, but one of the purposes of this blog is to record the big and small details of my life for posterity. The other purpose is so that on days when I need it, I can sit down and type and find an outlet and friendship through this very weird world of blogging. 

Anyway, my whole point in this is to say that somewhere along the way, what I thought was honest writing has been interpreted as showcasing of a perfect life. 

I've had this conversation too much over the past couple months:

Brooke, is your life really as perfect as you claim it is on your blog?

I don't claim my life is perfect. I share a lot of the good things and not so much of the bad because I want people who read my blog to feel uplifted. 

(Then come the specifics.)

Do you really bake that much? Or is it only for blog posts. 

Is your house really always clean? Or only when you're taking pictures for the blog. 

Are your kids always good? Or do you just make it sound that way.

Is your marriage really as good as you write? 

Do you really go out that often?

and on. and on. and on. Look, I know it's well-meaning. I know it's not malicious. I know it's light-hearted, but it's also my life.

And I guess it hurts because yes, okay? I do bake a lot. It's why I have to exercise every day.

My house? Thank you! I do try to keep it clean. I don't clean up for pictures. Perfectionism is something that I really, really struggle with. I get very stressed out if my house isn't totally clean. It's a trial of mine. Thanks for making me feel worse about it. And P.S., at the moment, my house is a disaster. It looks like it was ransacked by a diaper thief.

My kids are not always good and I don't ever claim that! In fact, if you really read my posts, you'll see that one of my biggest worries is that I'm not mothering well enough. 

My marriage? Back off. (no offense)

And finally, this one gets asked a lot. Do we really go on outings all the time? Yes. Yes, we do. Every day we go somewhere. How do I have time? Let me tell you: I haven't been to a salon in over three years to get my hair done. I grocery shop with the kids in the mornings and I practically run through the aisles to get it over with. We don't own a TV, so when my kids get bored with books and toys, we have to go out or all hell breaks loose. My husband works late most nights, so we have to break up the day by going out. 

How do I have time, you ask with a condescending chuckle. I just do.

So you want perfect honesty?

This is me, right now. Raccoon eyes from mascara (that I put on yesterday) that ran when I cried a little this morning after reading something that reminded me of a sad memory. The same shirt I've worn for three mornings, that I work out in every day, that smells just unholy. Goofy, unwashed hair. Can you see my house in this picture? Not really, but let me tell you, it is a disgusting mess and I feel physically sick when I look at it and realize I let it get this bad (since yesterday). 

Both of my kids are sleeping right now. I made Kjel fall asleep without nursing because she bit me so hard (don't worry, she was full on people food, but still nurses for comfort before bed). I barely held her before I put her in the crib and closed the door. She sobbed pitifully and I didn't go back in. What a perfect mother I am. Not.

Gage is fast asleep because he's exhausted because he doesn't really sleep at night any more. He is so grouchy that at the post office this morning he punched me in the nose and screamed, "I hate you! You are the worst Mommy! I want you to die!"

That's honesty for ya. 

Is every day like this? Heck no. But there are enough days like this, that I really, really love the happy days. The happy days are the ones I like to blog about because those are the days I want to revisit.

Family, friends, commenters, quiet stalkers that never come out in the light ;),  please know that while I'm committed to honesty and truth, I'm just as committed to being positive. 

My life isn't perfect, not at all. But I am completely in love with it.

P.S. I wanted to share with you what I believe about families. My belief that families are eternal has helped our family and marriage thrive. Even when tough times come, we hold on to the fact that our relationships won't end with death, and that helps us all try a little harder. Read more about it here. 

Brazilian Lemonade

A groundhog the size of a small child was spotted in our backyard a few nights ago, and guys, I am super freaked out. My dad (resident expert on all things wilderness) told me that groundhogs are vegetarians, but still. What if one saw KJ and thought, "What a delicious chestnut!"and went in for her bald, shiny head? See what I mean?

Also, I had the urge to chop off all my hair for like two days and I was getting to the point where I was thinking, "it's time, Brooke. It's time." Despite the hundreds of verbal contracts I've made with myself to leave my hair alone for five+ years.... so just as I was pulling out the scissors and had pinned a million pictures of Marion Cotillard with her gloriously short bob, I decided to try to satiate my need for change in other ways first. 

Namely, I parted my hair on the right instead of the left, and then I rearranged my living room per the instructions of a friend from church who gave a workshop on interior design. 

It worked. My hair is still long. I guess I was just craving change and what do you know. A little parting of the hair and pushing furniture around satisfied.

Anyway, let's get to this recipe. If you like creamy, tangy beverages, you'll like this a lot.

Is it really Brazilian? I don't know. All I know is that it tastes a lot like the Brazilian lemonade you can get at Tucano's (a Brazilian steak-house that I love so very much). And it only requires a few ingredients. Olé! 

In a blender, blend:
- one can frozen lemonade
- however much water it calls for
- one can sweetened condensed milk
- a shake of cinnamon
- A handful of ice cubes

If your blender can't fit it all, just do half and then put the rest in a pitcher, then half again. I realize that the photos are a little misleading - no, you do not add pico de gallo, raw onions and black beans to this drink ;) We had a little Cinco de Mayo celebration in our back yard earlier this month, and I attempted some Cafe Rio style fare. I'm still a little messed up over the fact that the closest Cafe Rio is in Maryland but I make do.

If you live near a Cafe Rio will you do me a favor and order a chicken salad with the tomatillo dressing? If we think hard enough, you might be able to send me a little taste telepathically which would be the best thing ever.