waking up to a dream that's real.

“Persons make fake things. God makes the real things.”

(E, age 4)

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I can’t remember when I first dreamed of being a writer. In elementary school I wanted to be a teacher. In high school, a marine biologist. I even declared marine science as my college major, only to switch to English a semester later after barely escaping freshman biology.

I always loved to read, but I was painfully slow at it. I always liked to write, but I was afraid of the act of writing.

My high school English teachers, two in particular, were careful to compliment my writing. They encouraged me to do more. I was a good student, a master of the art of memorizing facts long enough to ace a test, but I never really felt smart.

I may have been okay at writing, but I surely did not feel like a writer.

No one told me that writing was just about telling the truth. No one told me you had to be bad at it before you could be good.

Then again, I never asked.

I went to my first blogging conference last weekend not understanding why I was there. Yes, I have a blog. Yes, I enjoy writing. But I am surely not a writer. And my blog? It isn’t shiny and successful. It isn’t full of useful information or engaging how-to’s, hair tutorials or parenting tips.

My blog doesn’t have much to offer. It just has me.

And do you know what I realized this weekend? That is enough.

Acknowledging this is as intimidating as it is freeing. On the one hand, my excuses are gone. And on the other, my excuses are gone.

I also learned that this world I’ve been envisioning -- a world where writing and being a writer are things that are happening and can happen -- that world is real. It exists, and not just in my head. Not just in some far off, unreachable land.

That is what Blissdom and the friends I met there did for me. They made my dream of becoming a writer real. They made my dream into something I can see, touch, even taste. They inspired me, but they also equipped me. They provided hope, but they also provided direction.

Best of all, instead of giving me a long list of all I need to get started, they reminded me that I have what I need. I already have started.

This dream world is no longer just a dream. It is real, and I am in it.* 

The landscape of this blog may change. There may soon appear more open spaces for this dream to roam, some new pasture to sink its teeth into. I may even take it on a field trip once in a while, who knows?

The point is, I’m digging in my heels. And I’m telling you this so that when I start to let up, you can call me on it.

[Please be gentle. Pretend you're wearing one of those awesome camp counselor t-shirts: “STAFF: Polite but firm.”]

Even though most of me is scared to the core, I’m sticking around.

Part of my dream is that you'll stick around, too.

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What about you? Is your dream closer than you think?

*Psst. You can be in it, too, you know. Never before could a generation put their writing in front of billions of potential readers with the click of a button. It’s 2012, y’all. Work it.

the art of receptivity [my Blissdom hopes]

{from Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg}

Today I venture into a foreign land, uncharted territory. Today I shall attend my first blogging conference. It's called Blissdom, and it's happening here in my hometown of Nashville, Tennessee. A handful of miles from my house, as a matter of fact.

Had you told me a few years ago or even 6 months ago that I would attend a conference wherein I label myself a blogger and, better still, a writer, I would have thought you were being silly. Not because a conference like this is some exclusive, highbrow affair. On the contrary, it is, from what I gather, quite welcoming of all types of blogs and bloggers. I have just never thought of myself as one of them.

Writing is something I do for my sanity. If someone else can relate? Bonus.

But then I wrote and kept writing. And then a Gatsby-like benefactor presented me with a ticket. And then my generous husband offered to take time off work to watch the kids. And friends said I should go, that I would love it, that I would learn much and feel at home. When all of the above happens and you're left with nothing but a 15-minute drive between you and 750 of your would-be closest friends, I'm thinking you have to go. 

So, I'm going.

I have no clue what to expect. No idea who I'll meet or what I'll learn. No concept of how I may or may not fit into this world that I've been observing from a safe distance. And I have to say, I'm pretty excited about it.

Here's what I want out of the next two days: To borrow Natalie Goldberg's words, I want to "take in the way things are without judgment." I want to be open and listening. Because why not? I may not know exactly what I'm doing here, but all the more reason to soak it in. Right? Right. 

Did I mention I get to do this with three of my favorite girls ever? 

This will be more social interaction crammed into two days than I've had in two years. Yes, I think we should all be worried. 

Those are excerpts from a section in Tina Fey's book Bossypants entitled "Me Time." I'm not ashamed to admit that I've done all of these things with one exception. (I'm willing to share the post office.) Needless to say, I am BESIDE MYSELF at the possibility of eating a meal that is not also thrown at my head, going to the bathroom without someone observing, and having an adult beverage with other adults. The thoughts are almost more than I can bear. In a good way.

I am, however, giving up some quality cuddle time for all this. And though I'll be the first to admit I'm socially starved and in need of a break - a real one, not five minutes in the corner of the kitchen with my eyes closed - it's still a steep trade. 

Wish me luck!

state of the union [a list]

Do you know the curse of being a person who loves/needs/breathes/obsesses over words? It's the buildup. Words and phrases and sentences constantly flash in your brain, like light from a shorted-out bulb or catchphrases from the movie trailer of some suspense thriller. You know, the ones where they flash words like "REVENGE" or "HIS LAST CHANCE" on the screen between action shots of men in leather jackets jumping from the rooftop of one building to another, or a woman sprinting through a city street in heels while somehow never breaking an ankle or messing up her hair.

The movie trailer that plays in my head isn't quite as exciting - the phrases are things like "POTTY TRAINING" and "I NEED THERAPY" - but the reel is constantly moving. And if those words don't get out, I have issues. As in, more than my normal amount of issues. The buildup feels frustrating, confining even, and if it goes on long enough it can be downright stifling. Eventually my brain gives up on trying to make sense of it all and shuts down completely, letting it all just sit there a jumbled mess of everything and nothing.

I try to fish for something to start with, some complete thought to salvage, but all I come up with is a broken stick or a waterlogged shoe. (Or maybe a lunchbox.) Hmph.

So tonight, here's what I've got:

1. I am super tired.

2. We've been mildly ill in this house for a week and a half now. We've passed the bug around, person to person, as is our tradition, overlapping slightly so the sickliest one doesn't feel alone in his or her misery. I've spent my days taking four temperatures at a time, dispensing the purple stuff as needed and begging my children to watch TV so I can sit down for twenty minutes.

3. My first-ever blogging conference begins one day from now. ONE DAY. I have no idea what to wear  or do or take or expect or wear. I am fairly certain I have lost the ability to introduce myself to another adult in a non-awkward manner, and I sincerely doubt the trustworthiness of my social instincts in general. In other words, I don't get out much. This will be interesting.

4. I can't stop thinking about Lent today. Every year this day, Ash Wednesday, seems to appear as if from nowhere, and every year I am at a loss for how to observe this season called Lent. I've tried giving up this or that in the past, but it always feels so disingenuous. Not necessarily when other people do it, just me. I can't seem to execute the sacrificial aspect of Lent in a way that doesn't feel trite and selfish. I suppose that is part of the point, but still. When I think of something to "sacrifice" I can't help but feel icky. Why is that?

5. Related: Today I started a book of readings for Lent called Bread and Wine. This is from the introduction. 

Spiritual masters often refer to a kind of "dread," the nagging sense that we have missed something important and have been somehow untrue -- to ourselves, to others, to God. Lent is a good time to confront the source of that feeling. It is a time to let go of excuses for failings and shortcomings; a time to stop hanging on to whatever shreds of goodness we perceive in ourselves; a time to ask God to show us what we really look like. 

The paragraph goes on to say, "[Christ's] resurrection frees us from ourselves." And I went on to say, YES. 

6. Five seconds ago I discovered that Anne Lamott is on Twitter. You guys... ANNE LAMOTT IS ON TWITTER. If you know me at all, you know that I am doing an internal sorority-girl-quality squeal right now. Why? Because Anne Lamott wrote my favorite book on writing, and I will love her forever for it. She is my favorite non-fiction author and now it's like we get to hang out together. EVERY DAY. This is what makes the internet both creepy and fabulous.

7. The boys have taken to moving furniture on an hourly basis. It started with small things, like the chairs to their kid-sized table. But lately it's the ottoman, the end tables, THE RECLINER. No joke, they will move that sucker all the way across the living room. (Thank you, hardwood floors.) 

It keeps things interesting, to say the least. This is a picture from today.

Sometimes these kids leave me speechless. And that's saying something.

Twinsday Wednesday: teamwork

I suppose it's better than the alternative.

Maybe one day they'll fight crime.

owl you need is love.

It's Valentine's Day and I’ve been thinking, How much do I love my kids?

First, to state the obvious: A lot. I really do love them so much that it pains me on a daily hourly minutely (is that a word?) basis. But what I've really been wondering is, how do I love them?

How do I show it?

There are the standard mom-of-small-children answers. I make meals and fetch snacks. I change diapers and wipe bottoms. I wash dirty clothes and dress them in (mostly) clean ones. I teach them things they need to know and try my best to keep them from major injury. I read books and kiss boo-boos and pick up endless numbers of hot wheels and doll clothes off the floor.

I tell them. I tell them they are special and important and loved.

I spend roughly 98.2% of my waking hours doing these things. That's enough, right? That's love, isn't it? I'm not sure.

Lately I've noticed how absent I am in our daily routine. I’m still here, technically, but I'm irritable and distant and tired. I may be keeping the bus moving, but there's not much heart behind the wheel.

Why is that?

I'm pretty sure there are at least a thousand reasons, but here's the one I'm admitting today:

My heart isn't all here because I’m choosing to spend it elsewhere.

I've gone looking for life in a myriad of other places while my life is happening, right here and right now. I've not left in any large or literal way, but in a handful of smaller ways that have consequences all the same. I've been handing out parts of myself like a kid hands out those little candy hearts on Valentine's Day -- haphazardly and with little or no lasting return.

Meanwhile, my children are growing and changing, and I wonder why I feel like I'm missing it when I’m right here.

I find myself wondering if they'll remember the times we laughed and played and enjoyed being together, or will they remember the times I was distracted and exasperated and begging for just one more minute PLEASE.

I wonder if they know how I adore being their mother, how I am thankful beyond measure for our days together here. Or, do they feel like they are in my way, less important than the chores on my list or the phone in my hand? Sometimes I wonder, and I'm afraid the answer is not the one I wanted for us.

I'm afraid I give the best parts of me away, with little or no intention, and they are stuck with the weary me that’s left.

I think it is time to change that.

To my dear E & L & J --

Here is what I'm giving you for Valentine's Day

(other than the generic play-doh and dollar-bin socks and plush stormtroopers):

I'm giving you my heart.

You already had it, I know.

You've always had it, it’s true.

But I'm giving it to you in a new way today.

I'm giving it to you in playtime instead of toys.

I'm giving it to you in laughter instead of just smiles.

I'm giving it to you in time without a list and words without agenda.

I’m giving me to you.

Even though my people-pleaser heart will always fight the urge to be everyone’s something,

None of it compares to being your mama.

Risking all the other, I choose you.

(When really it is no risk at all.)

I choose you.

(I hope one day you can forgive me for the times that I didn't.)

I am far from perfect but I am yours.

And I love you.

With all of my heart, I do.

Love,

Mama

Now. Lest you, o people of the Internets, be led to believe falsities about our normal day based on the above photos, allow me to elaborate.

There were buckled booster seats involved, hence the staying-in-one-place by the two-year-olds.

There were pacifiers and a few tears.

These markers? They were all thrown to the floor. More than once. More than twice.

There was a fair amount of camera-induced annoyance.

There was an above-average amount of hand and face writing. And a little wall writing.

I am, however, pleased and shocked to report that 4-5 Valentine cards were successfully made during the taking of these photos. And I may have even managed to have a glass of tea and enjoy a solo bathroom visit. (For those of you who've yet to experience the bliss of raising toddlers, doing your business alone is akin to a unicorn sighting.)

And also, at least this one had fun.

Man, I love that girl.

Happy Valentine's Day, friends. Thanks for putting up with my neuroses and for your sweet words of encouragement. I loves yous guys.

11 things about me [or, 11 things about you?]

Today my friend HopefulLeigh tagged me in a meme.

So, first I looked up the word meme (think email/facebook survey). Then, I closed my computer and had a snack. After that, I opened my computer and I did the meme... or participated in the meme... or picked up the meme torch and ran. Whatever you call it, I did it. Just as my middle-school self could not resist MASH, my adult self apparently cannot resist the blog meme.

And here you go. (Commence moving to edge of seat.)

Rules:

1. Post these rules.

2. Post 11 random things about yourself.

3. Answer the questions set for you in their post.

4. Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer.

5. Tag 11 people and let them know that you’ve tagged them.

: : : 11 Random Facts about Me : : :
1. I took my daughter to see her first 3D movie today. We saw Beauty & the Beast. She's four. I am a hero.
2. After the movie, we snuck into the 3D showing of Star Wars Episode One for about 2.5 minutes. Hero status maintained.
3. I can't remember the first movie I saw in the theater.
4. I have a really bad long-term memory. Like, really bad.
5. I do, however, vividly remember my elementary school BFF Emily's seventh birthday party. We ran around in her basement and did gymnastics to Chicago's "You're the Inspiration." I think it is telling that this is the type of memory that sticks with me. Meaning, I love to dance (read: I love to "dance") and I really love 80's pop.
6. My daughter said "dammit" this morning. To her father. And cited me as the source.
7. When Random Fact #6 happened, I cried. Then I felt guilty. Then later, when we got home from the movie and the Hub asked me with a straight face if I was able to keep my language under control, I laughed.
8. One of the qualities I'm most thankful for in the man I married is his ability to make me laugh when I feel like crying. Or screaming. Or hiding in the bathroom.
9. The books I loved most growing up were all written by Beverly Cleary or Judy Blume.
10. I am newly and relentlessly addicted to Nutella. I've had Nutella in my pantry for ages. It was a slow build.
11. I did this list instead of laundry. Procrastination is my love language.

: : : Questions for Me from Leigh : : :
1. Favorite book:  Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott. I cannot explain all the reasons why, but if I were heading to a deserted island, this book would be in my bag. It's also the book I try to force on my friends  the most.
2. Would you make a good celebrity? Why or why not? I'm pretty sure I would eventually punch a member of the paparazzi in the face. So, yes.
3. One thing on your To Do list: On my To-Do list (capitalized): Write a book. On my to-do list (lowercase): Laundry.
4. The last time you treated yourself to something special: Thursday at 3:20pm. A Reese's cup Sonic Blast. Amen.
5. What is your perfect meal? One that I don't cook.
6. One thing you should do more often: Cook
7. Most underrated band: She isn't a band and she certainly isn't underrated in this town, but I really don't understand how the whole world isn't one giant Patty Griffin fan club by now. It baffles me.
8. Your plans for Valentine's Day: Make plans for Valentine's Day. (see Random Fact #11)
9. If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Time and money are not a factor. Italy. Tomorrow. Please and thank you.
10. A good prank you pulled or that someone did to you. Scaring my college roommate with another college roommate by wearing child-sized, Scream-mask Halloween costumes and hiding around the house. It was obviously us, what with our entire legs and our shoes showing beneath the kid-sized robes and all, but she's the easiest person to scare ever and it worked over and over and over. She hated us, but just momentarily. It was awesome. (Miss you, girls!)
11. Rain or snow? Snow. It's pretty and it doesn't last long (not around here, anyway).

: : : Questions for the (Lucky) People I Tag : : :
1. Did you have a nickname as a child? What was it?
2. What movie can you quote best?
3. What was your favorite pastime in middle school?
4. What did the high-school you want to be when you grew up?
5. Are you afraid of heights?
6. What was the highlight of your week?
7. What is your favorite city?
8. What's the best concert you've ever been to?
9. If I gave you the day "off" -- from your job or kids or whatever your usual responsibilities -- what would you do?
10. In your opinion, what is the best song to rollerskate to?
11. What are you doing after this?

: : : My Taggees, real-life friends with blogs. (Hey, guys! You can thank me later!)* ** : : :
L is for Linda
The Space Between
orderly conduct
Master of What
girl friday
The Supermanns
hootenannie
A Mood Life
Livin' on the Edge
annie blogs
VivaGood

*If you weren't tagged, but you are bored or avoiding laundry and you want to be, consider thyself tagged. Comment back with a link to your post so I can see the good procrastinating work we've done.
**If you were tagged and you don't want to be, it's cool. I almost didn't do it either. But then I remembered the laundry and decided it would be more fun to do the list instead. And it was. 

five minute friday: trust.

It's Friiiiiidaaaaaaay. Friday Friday Friday. Fuh-ri-DAY.

I'm relieved.

It's been a long week 'round these parts. I'm tired and, if I'm honest, a wee bit blue.

I know. There's no room for the blues on Friday. And I agree. Which is why I'm sorry to say my Five Minute Friday effort is also a wee bit blue. But! There is a hopeful lining. Isn't there always? I think so. It's whether or not I see it that's the question.

Also, it just started snowing outside. As in, while I was typing that last paragraph. Neat.

So, happy Friday, friends. Happy Friday indeed.

[Five Minute Friday, sponsored by Lisa-Jo, is a time to write for five minutes straight - no editing, no overanalyzing. Just writing. It's lovely. And honestly, it's impossible -- I almost always go 7 minutes. Or 10. But I do refrain from editing. It hurts, but I do it. Because I love you. And also, I'm tired. Did I mention I'm tired? The end.]

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Today's prompt: Trust.

GO

Trust.

I get theirs every day without asking. They hand it over with wide eyes and big hearts, and they wait. “What are we doing today, Mama?” I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.

Or sometimes, I do know. Some days are schedule days. Be here at 9. Be there at 2. But we don’t have many of those around here, not yet at least. For now, they are little, and the schedule doesn’t rule. For now, Mama rules and our day is mine to figure out, mine to plan or not.

There are days when the night comes and I feel I’ve been worthy, worthy of the gift they give me each minute of each hour. There are days we laugh often and play games worth playing. There are days when the TV is off more than it’s on and we have things to show for the hours we’ve spent - things like messes and broken toys and pictures drawn in crayon. And there are days when we don’t. There are days, many of them, when my regrets stack up high and I wish I’d laughed more and frowned less, given more grace and accepted more love. But I didn’t, and now the sun’s gone down and I’m tired.

I weigh these days and I worry that the scale is tipping the wrong direction. I worry I’m wasting the most precious months and years this house may ever know. I worry my efforts aren’t enough and that my love, my understanding, my arms aren’t enough to hold all I’ve been given. And so I do the only thing that’s left to do.

I trust.

I trust that they know how much I love them. I trust that He loves them more than I do. I trust that those are two parts of the same equation and that it will somehow -- magically, wonderfully, by loving design of the One who made us -- that it will somehow add up to three children with hearts that are full and minds that remember the best of our days more brightly than our worst.

STOP

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See? That wasn't so bad. You should try it.

Five minutes, no fuss, just write. Or ten minutes. We won't judge. 

Let me know if you do!

And FYI, posts after the kids go to bed (or tomorrow or Monday) are totally legal. DO IT.