Lenten Indecision

Lent is kind of a new concept for me. Growing up, I was Catholic/Lutheran, and not much good at being either. It was in high school, at a non-denominational church, where I first heard and believed the gospel. Being a typical "seeker-friendly" church, they didn't follow the church calendar or any kind of liturgy or tradition. So, in my mind Lent = Bad Catholic Practice Involving Unnecessary Suffering.

And maybe, for Catholics, that's what it is. And perhaps it isn't. I don't really know. But I do know this. I am now married to a good, reformed Presbyterian. We attend a good, reformed Presbyterian church. And we mostly follow the church calendar. (Well, our worship leader and a lot of the associate pastors enjoy the meaning behind the tradition. I'm not so sure our pastor, with his Baptist roots, actually does. But anyway.) I have discovered that Lent is not "Bad". People talk about Lent. And they give up things during Lent. And they make an extra effort to focus on Christ in preparation of Easter. It's not about suffering. It's about drawing nearer to God.

So now I'm pondering - what do I give up for Lent in an effort to draw nearer to Jesus?

First I considered giving up cookies and candy. Not because I'm using Lent as a weight-loss plan, but because I find myself munching on them all day long - eating sweets has become a comforting habit. I still show a modicum of control throughout my day (I'm not eating half a package of cookies and a half a bag of M&Ms in one day), but I could go without. I could find my comfort in time with the Lord.

But I thought a little more. And then I began to wonder. What about giving up envy? Or comparing myself? Or discontentment? Or my greedy materialism (aka: weekly Target runs)? These are mostly internal struggles. I ought to be thankful. I ought to be comparing my life with Christ's, not others. I ought to be content whatever my circumstances. (Incidentally, when I look at my life, I wonder why I am not this way - I have absolutely no excuse not to be.) How do I give up something immaterial for Lent? It would probably be better, and actually help me focus on Christ as I'd like to.

But it's easier to forego the Oreos and M&Ms.

How Low Can You Go?

I am a compulsive list-maker. I don't think I have always been one, but the practice has grown out of my realization that I am extremely absent-minded. Seriously, thoughts fly through my head at such a rate that if I do not write something down immediately, it's gone. It doesn't matter what it is - an item for the grocery list, a task I have been meaning to do, a question for David, a thought for the blog, a decision about what's clean enough to wear that day - it comes and goes in seconds. So I have lists. Everywhere. And it helps.

I'm not one of those types that wants a big, expensive planner either. If I had one, I'd just have to remember to buy the expensive refills, and who wants to do that? Disposable stuff works better for me. If I were to receive in my Christmas stocking a pile of Post-it notes, markers, and gel pens, it would make my day. Right now my "planner" is an 80-cent yellow spiral notebook I bought at Target.

My list making is compulsive, and if I analyze it, it probably feeds my legalistic, type A personality. I write everything down - even sometimes a reminder to brush my teeth (which, come to think of it, I forgot this morning). If I make a list, and then I decide to do one or two things not on the list, I write them down later, just so I can cross them off. Sick, I know. But if I put a positive spin on my compulsion, I could say that writing lists helps me to prioritize my day, look at what is really important and what needs to get done. It helps me focus.Confession: I usually write "devotional time" down at the top of my list each day. (And you know what? When we are criticized at church occasionally for "having a devotional time so we can cross it off our lists" I, for one, do not find that to be such a terrible sin. I feel like I have practiced discipline.)

All that to say - I have had to drastically lower my expectations for today. It's almost one PM and I have accomplished very little. (To those who may raise an eyebrow at the fact that I am blogging, writing was on my to-do list today, so I am not wasting time. So there.) I do not like lowering my expectations. I hate to say it, but it's true. I want to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. But I find myself, over and over again now that Abigail is in our lives, changing my idea of how a day should go, and what I should manage to accomplish.

Case in point: today I have managed to get up, get dressed, feed her, do some dishes, write three emails, and blog. Still to do? Laundry, make the bed, exercise, type up notes for a church meeting, find the location for the H1N1 vaccinations, write notes to two friends, go grocery shopping at Aldi and Target, and start cleaning for the Thanksgiving weekend, and call two long-distance friends. Oh, and brush my teeth.

I am fully aware that (if I'm lucky) this list will take me several days to accomplish. But don't worry, readers. Brushing my teeth has moved to task #1. I'll start now.

Epiphany

There is a difference between tidying and cleaning.

Perhaps you already knew this. Probably I did too, and have just been deluding myself for most of my adult life. I always sort thought - nay - prided myself - that I was someone who liked cleaning, and who kept a clean house.

To my chagrin, I discovered today I do not keep a clean house. I have a tidy house. Tidy is fluffing pillows and picking up David's toys and tossing laundry in the machine. Doing dishes, and when I'm feeling really ambitious, passing a dust cloth over the most obviously dusty pieces of furniture. But see, that's where I was tricked. 30 second dusting jobs are NOT cleaning. Tidying I like. Cleaning I do not.

The grandmother is coming this weekend to see her baby. Today meant extensive dusting, mopping, sweeping, and scrubbing. (Who knew those spots on my kitchen floor could disappear? I thought we just had old linoleum.) The kitchen sink is actually white again. The dust bunnies have been removed from all corners. The rugs are vacuumed. (Again, I just thought they were old...) Heck, I even scooped dead June bugs from my windowsills. All for my mother. Nay, for the Grandmother. For Oma.

I'd like to believe my house was filthy because I have an 11-week old who is sucking up all my attention. (She can grab the butterfly on her play gym and suck her thumb. I am so proud!) But it's not true. I'm just... lazy. I like faking it. Sure, now the house looks great, and I am extremely pleased. Cleaning is delayed gratification. And tidying is all about immediate gratification. Sure, real cleaning = bigger payoff. But tidying is an easy high. And if I keep the lights low, no one knows the difference. Right?

On Jeans

In my opinion, jeans shopping is typically a horrible experience. I rank it right up there with bathing suit shopping. Really, they may be equally terrible - and incomparable - seeing as I usually buy jeans in the fall and bathing suits in the late spring. Different seasons, you know? Each terrible in their own way.

Anyway.

I've been wearing my Old Navy maternity jeans since a week after Abigail was born. (The first week it was all sweat pants, all the time. Whoo.) I really liked my maternity jeans throughout my pregnancy, but now that we're nearing the 10-week mark postpartum, I find myself rather tired of them. The panel has torn, leaving a huge hole in the back. I have to roll the panel down, which creates a funny tummy bulge under all my clothes. And they're really loose through the leg. Plus, I mean, come on. They're my pregnant pants. And I'm not pregnant anymore!

Yesterday I got on the scale and found out I only weigh 10 lbs more than my pre-pregnancy weight. Cheered, I was certain that was not enough to merit new jeans, surely. So I hauled my old jeans up from the basement (I had several pairs) and tried them on. But none of them - NOT ONE - could I get around my waist (or even close to my waist, actually).

Sigh.

So yesterday I decided to take the plunge. I fed Abigail, packed her into her car seat, and went jeans shopping. I only had enough time to hit one store, so I stopped by the Gap, banking on Labor Day sales. I was in luck - everything was 25% off.

Long story short - it was both a wonderful and terrible thing. I passed right by my old sizes, right past all the "Skinny" cuts, and started grabbing sizes off the "Curvy" rack. It didn't take very long. (I will spare you the details of what a shock it was to see how exactly my body has changed since childbirth.) I chose a pair 2 sizes larger than my previous size (who knew ten pounds merited a 2-size increase?), which felt rather terrible. But I do like the way they look, which is rather wonderful. I can almost pretend those 10 lbs don't exist.

Ah, vanity.

Summer!

I hate bugs. I'm a big bug wussy - very bad at killing them, and very grossed out by most all of the insect world. I can't get over my phobia. I always call on Vid to play exterminator.

A few weeks ago, D killed a jibblie bug on our bathroom ceiling. (What's a jibblie bug? It's one of those grayish, hairy, fragile looking millipedes that hang out in damp places in our house. We hate them. When you squash them, all that's left is a gray blob and some million quivering legs.) Since then, every time I've walked into the bathroom, I've scanned the ceiling and the floor for gross things. To my relief, I've never seen anything.

So yesterday, D left for work. I get up, turn on the shower (bleary eyed, no contacts, etc) and climb in. I turn my face towards the water, look up at the shower head, and crawling around on top is a JIBBLIE BUG. I watch it crawl frantically back and forth near the spray. It's clear I've startled it as much as it's startled me. I don't want to stick my head under the water, because if Jibblie Boy decides to head towards the spray, he'll be knocked off the shower head, onto my head, and get tangled in my wet hair. And that might be the worst thing EVER. So I shut off the shower and jump out to put my contacts in. My thinking is I'll be able to see him better, and then I can reach up and throw a rag over him or something and squash him. Only, by the time I have my contacts in, Jibblie Boy has crawled OFF the top of the shower head, down in between the faucet and the cap. (You know, where the water comes out.) I know he's in there, because he's his antennae and the tip of his head are peeking through the gap. There are two long feelers wiggling around, threatening me.

What do I do? There is no Vid to save me. I'm half wet and need a shower. Can he fit through the holes? Will he climb back out? I decide to get back in the shower. I figure since I have my contacts in, at least I'll see him make an escape, and I can hop out. To my relief, he stayed put. But I took my shower eyeing those antennae with a scowl, tilted as far away from him as my baby belly equilibrium would allow. It was a fast shower. Now he's gone. I don't know where.

It made me realize that summer is here. Why? Because summer in Illinois is about humidity and bugs. Not only are the jibblies making an appearance, but we have earwigs EVERYWHERE. And the crickets are out in force at night. This morning it was 80 at 8 AM, and it's supposed to reach 93. Despite the bugs, I actually love the heat. If I were not so fat and pregnant, I'd go out and enjoy it.

Of course, if I weren't so fat and pregnant, I'd be at the office, working. So, never mind.

Those Neighbors

Who knew that "Thou shall not covet" could take such trivial forms? I swear, in the past two years of my life, between meeting the man I love, getting married, and buying a home, I have learned more about my imperfect, sinful self than I ever cared to know. Today, I am coveting a pretty lawn. And I am not a gardener.

I'd like to think maybe some day I could be, but things aren't looking good. In part, I think it's Chicago's fault. Remember those impatiens and geraniums? I'm so frustrated with them. (It's not their fault, I know.) They looked so pretty and hopeful when they were first planted. Teeny little purple and white flowers, rooted in pretty black soil, turned up toward the sun. I had great hopes.

That was a month ago.

Spring has been rainy, cool and cloudy. Overall, sort of depressing. And when it rains, it lasts at least 24 hours, if not more. It's never a pretty, summery shower. It's always a drenching. And afterwards, my poor little impatiens look pathetic. They've lost leaves and petals, and are usually buried in evergreen needles, fallen twigs, and leaves. And

What does grow is the clover. And the dandelions. Being this far along in pregnancy, I just can't get down on hands and knees to do anything to fix the mess. I mean, I could, but I'd never get up again. And besides all that, D and I just don't have the money to go out and buy mulch, or more plants, or whatever, to landscape. Money is going towards baby, and she's not even here yet!

And I guess, to be honest, what's adding to my discontentment is our neighbors. (Not our neighbors themselves, they are lovely people.) We live on a street whose hobby is home repair. Every day you can see someone doing something to their house. Planting, painting, renovating... you name it. Our next door neighbors have an adorable little house. Today they were both home - working on the backyard. They have plans to lay down a patio, some new landscaping, and to put up a 6-foot fence. (They somehow know how to do all this stuff.)

When I saw them out back, images of the clover in the front yard flickered through my mind. I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming urge to lay down and take a nap.

So I did.

Rainforest

Last night it poured buckets. Buckets. And although it was thundering and lightning out, which made me think the rain would be pounding in through the windows, it seemed to be coming straight down.

(Can I take a moment here and say that I hate it when I read the word "lightening" when people mean the other? If you are talking about a storm, I am pretty darn sure that you want to say "lightning". If you spell it "lightening", aren't you talking about what happens in the morning? I.e. "The sky is lightening?" My English major friends, please, please correct me if I am wrong.)

Anyway.

We awoke to gray, overcast skies, 70 degrees, and humidity. As I stood in the kitchen looking out at our overgrown backyard, I watched steam rise off the grass and trees. The whole world was green. And foggy and wet. And suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to go visit the Zoo. I really felt like I had wandered into the Rainforest exhibit at Brookfield, and I wanted to play hooky.

Oh, to be six again.

"Idol"izing

I'm an Idol watcher. I have to confess, I love it. I know it's silly, commercialized, and probably rigged, but I look forward to it every season. They're cutting the first two people from the top 13 tonight. Jorge and Anoop are waiting with baited breath in the sidelines to see which one of them is getting booted tonight. They have to wait through a billion commercials, and a Kelly Clarkson song. It's gotta stink to be them. I'm a little sad they are the bottom two - I have a funny fondness for both of them. It's true they didn't do too well last night, but still...

Here's my Idol question for tonight, though. What's the deal with the single moms this season? Seriously. Maybe I'm super sensitized to it because of my job, but there are two women in the top 13 with kids around the age of four. One is 21 and single, and the other 22 and divorced. I hope America doesn't choose one of them as our next pop icon.