The Mom I'd Like To Be

There are some pretty famous 'moms' out there and I'm not necessarily talking about celebrity-famous.  We've all seen them.  The mom in her perfectly trim 'errand running' outfit dropping the pristine kiddos off at Preschool, or the mom that always has her hair perfectly styled and nails immaculately manicured, or the mom that has never stepped out of the house with her shirt on inside out, or backwards, or spit up on, or <gasp> the same one she wore yesterday.

I see these moms and always IMMEDIATELY think, 'wow...I wish I was like that.' as I mentally go over every thing about myself I would change.  After the self-loathing, I realize...I am me.  I am not them.  Sure, maybe they 'look' fantastically put together, but maybe they are in a loveless marriage.  Sure, maybe their children walk happily and quietly beside them, but maybe that's because their children aren't allowed to get dirty.  Sure, maybe their perky little bodies fit into a negative sizing chart, but maybe they sacrifice cuddle time and sharing family dinners for one more workout.

And maybe...JUST maybe...they look amazing, have well mannered children, are married to the most amazing man possible for them, have oodles of adoring friends that would drop everything to be at their side, have a close relationship with God, enjoy a healthy bank account, and...and that's okay.

It's okay because I cannot compare my life to someone else's life.  My life consists of growing my relationship with God, sharing yummy food with my family, getting dirty in the mud, balancing family and work, adoring my husband, training the littles to be big someday,  and being a better person.  Sometimes I miss a training run because the kids have activities - they'll only be kids for awhile and their memories make it all worthwhile.

I most definitely do not have it all together.  This Valentine's Day we barely managed to address the store-bought cards late last night...but it got done.  Over the last few weeks, as Zoe birthday approaches, the sweetest thing happened. The kids get to choose their birthday dinner.  After each din-sup at our house, Zoe announced she wanted 'this' to be her birthday dinner. There were multiple changes to Wednesday's dinner menu. I think she has finally settled on these really yummy Chicken Parmesan Wraps. I love that the kids love my cooking. I love that the kids choose to eat something I make instead of wanting to go to a restaurant. I love that they get excited and each have lists of favorite things I make for them. This is exactly the mom I am proud to be.

We are given the children that we are meant to parent. I wholeheartedly believe that statement.  My successes and failures are what they need. I absolutely am not perfect, but I'm perfectly suited for these littles...as they are perfectly suited for me.

I'm happy and content with my life...and who knows, maybe some mom out there sees a snippet of my life and thinks, 'wow...I wish I was like that.'

#6. Run 15 miles

January 28th, 2012. I ran, not only 15 miles, but 15.66 miles in 3 hours and 7 minutes. I ran the inaugural 'Go Short, Go Long, Go Very Long' run in Tulsa, OK put on by Fleet Feet Sports Tulsa.  I ran the 25K and got an awesomely cute medal.

The weather was gorgeous, I felt great, I planned on running with my friends (who I adore!), and Eric was running the race, too! All good things for me.

My friends and I started out pretty slow, which if you've ever run a race, you know that is really hard to do! We had plans to run the first 5 miles and then run intervals (5 minutes running, 1 minute walking) the rest of the race.  We sort of broke into a couple groups and when I realized that, I figured I should try to just run it. Let's just see how it goes, right?

Turns out - with half the training of when I ran OKC and the hills that don't exist in OKC, I still managed the same time as OKC. Sa-weet!

The one thing I didn't count on was the hill on Turkey Mountain.  That was probably close to midway through the race and it was awful.  Every time I thought I was done with a hill, I'd turn the corner and there was another one.  Man, did that do a number on me.  But I kept going.  I was determined to see what my 13.1 time was - so I could compare it to the OKC half I ran last year.

There was this one little section where you had to turn left and run about .25 mile and then turn around.  One could easily (maybe not 'easily') have turned right and skipped that part, but no one did. As I was going down that stretch, telling my mind to shut up about running all this way down here just to turn around and run back, I saw Eric. :) That definitely put a hop in my step. He was already on his way back and was looking pretty good for having a good time on the race.

I kept going, trying to stay on pace to either beat or match the OKC time.  When there was about 5 miles left, I saw Eric.  He started run/walking to wait for me so we could run together. I got the run the last bit of that race with him.  Because of our family size - we rarely get to run together.  We even more rarely will ever get to race together. But it worked out this time for us to cross the finish line together.

Overall, it was a great run.  My back started getting really sore around mile 13 or 14, but that's to be expected. I crossed the finish line with a smile and felt euphoric. I took an ice back when we got home and had very minimal soreness, although my legs felt quite heavy for a few days afterward.

My MARATHON is in a month.  This weekend, I will be running 20 miles with my training girls (with whom I will also be running the marathon) and I can't wait.  Every new PR distance makes me feel that much more able.  When people ask me why I run, there are all kinds of things I can say: it's time alone with my thoughts, it's something I'm doing for myself, it helps me stay healthy, it's my escape, it's my 'girl's night out', etc.  While all of those answers are true, the truest answer is simply:

I run because it makes me feel strong.

Believe it...speak it.

I hardly know how to start this blog post.  I sit here among the cobwebs on my blog and ideas in my head and wonder, 'just how is this going to turn out?'  And truthfully, 'what are people going to think about it?'  But the yearning to speak it overwhelms the concern about the outcome.  Last Wednesday night, we had the pleasure of hearing Casey Treat speak at COTM.  First of all, brilliant speaker and quite the testimonial, to boot.  As I try to recount the exact topic and the exact statements that he said, I cannot.  I emphatically remember his stage presence, his confidence in what he was saying, his BELIEF in all things...but I only remember, for sure, one statement - believe it and speak it.

There are only a few people (less than I can count on one hand) that know this story.  In part, because it's very special to me but also because the story is a kind of controversial one.  It has to do with faith healing.  Now, before you stop reading (please don't stop reading), let me explain something.  I was raised in church.  I went all the time.  But the topic of faith healing was never a positive one to me.  In all honesty, I thought it was hokey-poppycock (that means whatever you want it to mean).

While I was pregnant with Ben, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  This was not a surprise to me, as I had the same diagnoses with both Ethan and Quinn.  I knew it would mean insulin shots -  a minimum of 4 times a day.  During this time, Pastor George did a series on 'Christ the Healer'.  It was a series, culminating in....oh yes...a healing service.  My initial thought was, 'dangit...I like this church!'  But I decided, instead of throwing in the towel on a church I absolutely love, I'd listen with an open heart about what was said and, oh I don't know, maybe learn something.

So I went.  Every Saturday. I listened. I understood.  And I slowly came to a place where I started believing healings were possible.  To clarify, I always believed God healed people miraculously.  The part I had a problem with was a pastor standing on a stage, putting his hand on someone's forehead, knocking them over, and proclaiming them 'healed'.  But as I listened, I realized it's not all about being pushed over on a stage.  To me, it was about asking God to heal me.  It was about asking God to take something away that He could take away.  It was about getting over my hangup about asking God for...well, anything.  I always though I should just be grateful for what I have...not ask for MORE.  My feelings on that subject could be another post, indubitably (I really like saying that word...indubitably).

The time came.  It was the last message in the series and my concern over Pastor bringing people on stage and knocking them over was put to ease.  It was a very quite, peaceful prayer time.  The music was being played, the lights were low, I held Eric's hand as I often do in church as we sang soft worship songs to our Father. I felt God so strongly that night, inside me, around me, He was everywhere. I never opened my eyes. Tears streamed out as I prayed quietly. I whispered in my mind to my Dad. My prayers are quite disjointed, they would never 'do' for an 'out loud' prayer for people to hear.  This is the best I could do to recreate it, in type...

"God...Father...please..." <swaying to softly playing music> "Please take this...keep Ben safe...my God...Jesus..." <barely aware of anyone in the room...and it was a full house...1200?> "Deliver me...my Papa...make me healthy...I trust You...I need You..." <feeling Ben kick and move inside me> "With boldness I ask...take this away."

Now, I never said the actual words...take the gestational diabetes away from me, please...but I believe He knew what I was talking about.  How could He not??  I had to constantly remind myself that this was a done deal. I could not allow myself to question whether I would be healed.  I could not allow myself to question God.  The audacity!

I didn't tell anyone.  This was between my Papa and me.  I continued to test my blood sugar - I never planned on just hiding my head in the sand and possibly causing harm to Benny-boy.  But I can tell you this...I didn't have to take another insulin shot after that prayer.  I didn't need to.  My sugars were always between 90-100. Lil Ben was born early and weighed 6lbs 13 oz...no problems, at all.

I didn't have to take another insulin shot after that prayer.

I.didn't.have.to.take.another.insulin.shot.after.that.prayer.

For the rest of my life...whenever I begin to question my God (I'm human, it will happen), I only have to remember Benjamin.  I only have to remember that God took away a physical problem.  I only have to remember that He did that...instantly.  I only have to remember that I believed He would do it...I trusted Him and He took care of me, as any parent would try to do.  Except He is the best parent...He will not waiver, He will not fail, He will not disappoint.