Love a Stranger

Over the weekend, our neighbors had some friends of theirs move into their basement. A young couple with an almost 2 year old, were unpacking their very modest collection of things, and were moving into a 300 sqft basement. I am not even sure if this basement is more than cold cement. Bryant and I were sitting out on our patio and overheard bits and pieces of their story and it broke us. Their financial struggle was at a place that I found unimaginable, and watching their toddler play in the grass brought it all to another level.

Bryant and I decided we’d pick up a giftcard for them, not really knowing exactly how they were brought to this place, but not really feeling like the details were important. I did that on Monday, and had it sitting on the counter for a few days. I had tried making small conversation with the wife whenever she was outside, and was trying to just know her better before I gave it to her. On Wednesday, I just decided to walk over there and give it to her. I had been struggling with how she would respond, or if she would consider it offensive. I didn’t want it to be an intrusion of privacy or come off like we were looking down on them; but, on Wednesday, I had a moment where I accepted that my intentions may not be understood, but I needed to just do it anyway.

I walked out my front door and across the street and said “I really hope this isn’t awkward, or makes you feel uncomfortable, but my husband and I overheard a bit of what your family is going through, and we just wanted to say we are happy to have you here, and do something nice for you.” I handed it to her, and she said thank you, and shared a bit about how they ended up without a house, and I just listened and formally introduced myself and then came back home.

About 10 minutes later, there was a knock on my front door. I opened it and she was standing there sobbing. I hugged her, and she told me that it was her 25th birthday. She said she was out of diapers and food, and had been crying about it being her birthday and feeling overwhelmed by what they were going to do. Lots of tears were exchanged on my front porch.

I’m telling this story not to get praise or high fives. I’m telling it because I’m not sure how you can be a witness to this and not see God’s incredible timing. I didn’t know it was her birthday. I didn’t know very much about them at all, but I just suddenly got up enough courage to go over there. It was a fleeting moment of courage too. I think I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water or something, saw it sitting there, and just decided to do it already.

My faith was encouraged by the vulnerability that was exposed on my front porch yesterday. She told me that I was rare, and I felt my spirit send up a prayer. That moments like these wouldn’t be so rare; not just in my own life, but as humans. That we, as a collective community of people wouldn’t rarely help others, but that we would make it a habit.

Do something nice for someone today. Pull your neighbors weeds, or buy the stranger behind you a cup of coffee. It makes a difference.

Its a Mom Life.

A typical day for me begins before 7am. Kinsey has settled into a 7pm-7am schedule, and while I miss the days when she would sleep in until 9am, I like to roll out of bed, grab her from her crib, and spend a few minutes cuddling in the “big bed.” We run our errands, and are often home before 9:30am, which means that I never deal with lines or crowded aisles. We spend almost 2 hours a day in total, reading books. Kinsey really loves “Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?” I power through board book after board book, but this one, she stops creating whatever mess that she is working on, and listens to the story. We usually watch at least 2 episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba, or the first half, or the last half, of the Lorax. Kinsey loves music, and dancing, and I have probably seen the Lorax, in parts, about a hundred times over. (Suggestions for other movies with catchy musical numbers, appreciated). We do puzzles. Or, I do the puzzle, and she pulls off the pieces and holds them out shouting “du! ah! uh!” And I respond with, “Yes, that is a cow. Cow. Cow. The cow says Moo. Cow. Where is the duck?” And, she gets it right about 1/3 of the time. We listen to music. A lot. Kinsey spends close to 3 hours in total playing by herself. Some may respond with “What? by herself?” and get all judgey, but I believe that independent play is important. I will often hear Kinsey working on saying new things, one word in particular that begins with a “D.” I’m pretty sure she is trying to say “Dog” but only time will tell. Our day finishes up with cuddles, and a couple of stories, and Kinsey curls up with her Hippo and the day ends.

This is my life. On repeat. I love every moment.

Except today, I cried a lot. I can’t really explain what the problem was, except that, I talked to one of my closest friends on the phone for the first time in a very long time, and when she asked how I was doing, tears started streaming down my face.

I do a lot for my daughter. I try to keep her alive, happy, and am now starting the part where I am responsible for how she interacts with others. It is a very massive responsibility.

And, lately, my husband’s job has consumed much of his time (not by his choice), and so the shopping, cooking, and cleaning, has fallen on me as well. And somewhere, in the trying to do everything for my family, I forgot to submit a very important paper to one of my graduate classes.

I got an email today that said “I am grading your final projects” and suddenly my heart started racing, and I quickly replied back with “I thought they were due on Monday? Did I really do this? Please advise. I may have a heart attack over my massive oversight.” Thankfully, my professor is an angel, and replied with “I thought it was weird when I didn’t see your paper. Submit it by Monday, and I will not take off any points. Just breathe.” Grace given to me when I was completely undeserving of it. This is graduate school, and what in the actual fuck was I thinking?

I was thinking that time with my family, all of us, together, is a rarity. I was thinking, it was April 1st, not April 9th. I was so consumed with my job as a parent and a wife that I forgot that I exist too.

I used to do things for me. I used to run for me. I used to have coffee dates with my girlfriends without a baby attached to my person. I used to laugh more genuinely because I took time for myself.

I am severely starved for alone time. And, this has been a complete and total failure of my own doing, because I never stopped and communicated what I needed. I thought that I was not important. I thought that I could handle all of it. I thought, that I could give and give, and always feel good about it. That is not true to who I am, as a person. While, I would love to be completely devoted to others, my mental health can not be well if I don’t stop.

This post is hard to write. And, because I am being vulnerable, you should know that I write it through tears, because expressing this monumental moment in my life, is difficult, in a way that I did not expect. I can easily admit that I am not the perfect parent, or that I am not the perfect wife, or friend, or sister, or daughter, but to admit that right now, at this moment in my life, I feel like I am failing at all of it…well, it scrapes at my heart, and I feel ruined.

Lately, I have neglected this space, where I write, because in all honesty, I have been deliberately neglecting myself. I don’t know how I will put everything back into its rightful place, but I hope, that in admitting that I need to change some things, that I will actually hold myself accountable to doing that.

I suppose this part is also mommyhood. And, marriage. And, life. Hard parts. Questions. And, some difficult truth.

I am not quiet.

I’ve always struggled with the fact that I am not a quiet woman.

I am loud.

I am opinionated.

I sometimes see the wives who are shy, and doe-eyed and envy their self-control.

Overtime, I have realized that I do not have to fit a mold. The typical Christian woman, is actually not so typical. And, the way that I support my husband and love him is not standardized.

I love the idea of the Proverbs 31 woman.

An excellent wife is more precious than rubies. Her husband trusts her. He praises her. She is a woman of service. A woman of strength.

She is unselfish.

I used to read about her rising before it was morning, and imagined her doing it in an ankle skirt. She’d have her hair tied back in a bun, and she’d be cooking a feast for breakfast, and her husband would wake and give her a kiss on the cheek and say “Good Morning Darling.” And, she would smile, and probably not say “I’ve been up since 4am making you breakfast! Cooking like a boss!!!” No. She would probably instead ask if she could do her husband’s laundry, or ask him if she could shine his shoes. Her hair probably wouldn’t be dirty and mangled with baby food from last night’s dinner. She wouldn’t be screaming profanities while trying to bake some cinnamon rolls, because she’s probably an excellent baker, and knows not to take short cuts in the kitchen.  She probably wouldn’t be rocking out to Kelly Clarkson either.

Or, maybe she would be.

Because the Proverbs 31 woman is not a stereotype. Because every woman is not the same. We do what we do in our own way. We do it with our own strengths.

I sometimes struggle with the idea of the Proverbs 31 woman. I struggle with the thought that maybe I am “too much.” But, if I am honest with myself, in the light of who God has created me to be, I see the truth. That I can be me, while being the Proverbs 31 woman. I do not have to compromise who God made me to be in order to have purpose in my home. God gave me my personality not so that I would have to sacrifice it.

I am not a quiet woman.

And, I know, on most days, that is who I am supposed to be.

 

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