A Baby Story

I don’t have control issues At. All.  I stated this clearly with anyone that I shared my birth plan with.  The due date for my baby was October 25, a Thursday.  There would have been nothing wrong with having the baby on Thursday, but I wanted the baby to be born on Monday.  Of course, no mother wants to wait any longer than necessary to meet her new little bundle of joy, but I had very practical reasons as well.  Matt would be off work beginning on Monday for the week and so it really just made more sense for the baby to come early in the week.  And so, my plan has been all along to spend the weekend before doing all the “tricks” to speed things up. 

Last Thursday, October 18, began the weekend for me as the office was closed for fall break on Friday.  I made sure my maternity leave plan was passed on to all of the necessary people, washed all of my coffee mugs, and closed the door to my office without looking back, convinced and hopeful that I wouldn’t be returning on Monday. 

Let the labor inducing tricks begin!

I headed straight to Zumba where I held nothing back.  I squatted  a little lower and shook it just a little more.  I stole the exercise ball from my parents house and bounced on it for twenty five minutes.  When Matt got home, I moved on to more squats, spice, and sex.  The spice came in the form of Buffalo Wild Wings and the sex needs no explaining, except to say that Matt was glad to be part of trying to get the baby into the world. 

Friday morning I woke up with very mild contractions, but they were enough for me to instruct Matt to pack his bag and I packed up my make up and put my bags by the door before taking Keira to school.  After I began going about the activity of the day, the contractions subsided and my sister convinced me that it was the sex that brought it on and I was disappointed to resign myself to the realization that I wasn’t experiencing the early signs of labor.   Nevertheless, Friday evening there was more bouncing, more squatting, and more sex.  (You’re welcome, Matt.) 

Saturday morning the contractions were a little stronger and a little closer.  It was time.  I got in the shower, called my mom, and we headed to the hospital.  This was going to be the perfect birth experience, exactly mirroring Judah’s birth.  Or so we thought.  When we got to the triage room and I was hooked up to have my contractions monitored, the contractions just stopped.  Are you kidding me?  I am not crazy.  It was real.  I was sent home, frustrated and annoyed.  I comforted myself by indulging in Dad’s waffles and going shopping and spending the afternoon camped out on the couch. 

Around 5:30 I decided I should start timing my contractions.  I discovered that they were unpredictable and had no steady rhythm.  The nurse had sent me home with a “signs of labor” sheet so that I wouldn’t come in unnecessarily again.  It indicated that contractions need to be 5-7 minutes apart for at least an hour.  From 5:30 until midnight, my contractions were anywhere from 7-30 minutes apart so I figured I had better not jump the gun and run to the hospital.  I took a bath at midnight and decided that I was done timing those stupid things.  I was just going to go to sleep and if a contraction woke me up I would consider the possibility of actually being in labor.  I got in bed and caught up on my Words with Friends games until deciding to try to sleep at 12:30.  As soon as I laid down, the contractions started kicking in every 3 minutes.  Seriously?  Now I actually want to go to sleep.  I decided to get up and walk around since they say that it isn’t real if they stop when you walk around.  At 12:45 I sat up to get up to walk around just as an excruciating contraction hit and simultaneously my water broke. 

“Baby… we’ve got to go NOW!”  Matt shot up out of bed and I rushed into the bathroom, doubled over in pain and proceeded to hover over the sink to quickly brush my teeth again and Matt helped me get dressed.  Suddenly the contractions were no more than a minute apart.  The phone call went out to my mom at 12:54.  Matt and I got in the car and waited for Uncle Coy to arrive to stay with the kids and pulled out of the driveway as soon as he pulled in at 1 AM. 

The 20 minute trip to the hospital was never ending.  I worried that we were going to get pulled over as I held my legs together and beat the side of the car to keep from screaming as the pain kept coming.  When we arrived, Matt refused to park the car, leaving it at the entrance to the ER, to my dismay.  “I can walk!  Just park the car!”  “No!  We’ve got to get in there now!  Don’t worry about the car!” 

I sat down immediately in a chair in the ER while Matt frantically searched for a wheelchair.  He rushed me up to the OB and when we arrived we were met with a staff of nurses who apparently didn’t see the pain on my face and the terror on Matt’s.  They slowly led me into the triage room and the nurse began getting things ready to hook me up to monitor my contractions.  Um, I’m pretty sure I don’t need that.  The baby is about to pop out. 

Suddenly, nurse Brenda came to the rescue.  She invited me into the exam room and upon examination informed me that she couldn’t find a cervix.  I did not understand initially.  Does she mean that I am still not dilated in the midst of this pain?  Is there something wrong with me?  She must have sensed my confusion.  “I mean, this baby is ready to come.”  “Oh, yeah, I do feel like I need to push.  Can I get an epidural?”  Calmly, nurse Brenda delivered the news, “There’s no time for that.  We need to get you in a birthing room and this baby is coming in a few minutes. “  No drugs?  I was horrified.  I tore my clothes off and as soon as I sat down in the wheelchair, Brenda ran across the nurse’s station and into a birthing room. 

I got in that room at 1:35 and my parents and sister arrived shortly after.  I was unaware of anything that was going on other than that I concentrated on breathing and holding my legs together.  Brenda got her gloves on and stood at the foot of the bed, ready to deliver if necessary.  I was determined to hold my legs together until the doctor arrived.  He came in around 1:47.  “Can I push now?”  I lifted my legs up and pushed, letting out a caveman scream.  Even as the scream escaped my lips, I knew that I should try to get that under control, that it really wasn’t helpful.  In between contractions, the doctor calmly instructed me to take a deep breath and hold it and push as hard as I could and try not to scream.   Four concentrated and painful pushes later, a beautiful baby girl was thrust onto my chest at 1:52 AM.  I was so overwhelmed by the events of the last hour, I could hardly react.  Did that really just happen? 

One of these days I should release control.  I am a mom.  There really is not much I can control.  Maybe I will learn that someday.  Maybe.  Sure, the baby came in in my proposed timeframe, but that was not my birthing plan.  Not. At. All. 

In the end, it’s a gift that I was out of control because it’s another reminder that God is in control and the only thing that matters is that our family has been blessed once again with a precious little baby.  I am so in love with Elayne Debra Shelton I can hardly stand it.  Joy overflows. 

Soap in a Sock

I was curled up in a ball on the floor next to my bed in the middle of the night taking deep breaths as the sweat began to gather on my brow and I prayed fervently that these would not be my last moments in this world.

I consider myself to have a fairly high tolerance for pain, but this pain was excruciating and it was certainly the result of one of the many strange things that occurs in a woman's body when she has a person growing inside of her.  Let's just pause there for a minute while I venture onto a momentary tangent.  Saying that someone is merely pregnant really diminishes the reality of what is going on.  Yes,  pregnancy is a common occurrence, but this doesn't take away from the ridiculous miracle that this entails.  A PERSON.  In my belly.  Weird.  You wouldn't believe the daggers that I shoot at my husband when he dares to utter such phrases as "I'm so tired today" or "My back hurts".  You're tired?  Your back hurts?  I have a person inside of me!  

Now back to the matter at hand.  The pain.  It all started when my baby belly reached that point of vastness indicating that my only option is to sleep on my side.  As I entered into this stage, the leg cramps simultaneously began to define my life and impose on my sleep.  For nearly two months I woke up in the night writhing in pain.  Every. Single. Night.

A little over a month ago I was taking a walk with my mom around the neighborhood and I mentioned my tormenting leg cramps.  "Well, you know," she began, "An old lady in your uncle's church told him a while back that if you put a bar of soap in your bed, your leg cramps will go away."  I laughed out loud.  This was certainly one of the craziest pieces of information that had ever been passed my way and I make it a point to never believe such superstitions.  She proceeded to tell me that both my uncle and my grandma have had a bar of soap in their beds for the past year and they have been cramp-free.  Specifically, they have placed a bar of soap in a sock and positioned it at the bottom of their beds.  She also told me that the soap has to be white, but it cannot be Dove brand.   Oh, so this unbelievable wive's tale has specific rules?  I greatly respect both my uncle and my grandma, but I would not be paying any heed to this remedy.  

The next night I found myself in a hotel room on a retreat with several of the Resident Directors that I work with and I casually mentioned that if my tossing and turning in the night was distracting, it would be because of my nightly cramps.  "Well, you know," one of the ladies began, "My grandma used to have leg cramps..."  She then continued to tell me the same story of the success of the bar of soap in the bed.  I was dumbfounded.  I don't believe in this type of thing and I don't believe in signs, but maybe this was a sign.  Two days in a row I was given the same senseless information.  Maybe it was sign that I needed to give it a try and find some relief.  

When I returned home, I humbly told my mom of my intentions to give it a try.  She provided me with two new bars of white Safeguard from her stash and sent me on my way.  I opened the cabinet in my laundry room, happy to finally have some use for one of the socks whose mate had mysteriously been eaten by the dryer.  The soap was securely placed in the sock and carefully placed at the base of my bed.  

A month later, I crawl into my bed each night and reflexively rub my foot against the sock containing the soap for the assurance that it is still there to protect me from leg cramps.  Yes, it works.  From the very first night this nighttime companion entered my world, it has eliminated my leg cramps.  I won't say that I'm a believer.  This is still too much for me to admit, but there is absolutely no way that I am taking that bar of  soap out of my bed.  I even have an extra soap in a sock that has a home in my travel bag, always ready to join me when I leave town for the night.  

I know that you don't believe it either, and I certainly don't blame you, but I dare you to give it a try.  Whether you have leg cramps or not, Google "soap leg cramps."  You will find a plethora of information and success stories to keep you entertained and wide-eyed for hours.  

The Night Before

Last week Matt asked me a simple question as we stood at the sink washing dishes: "Are you excited about Keira starting Kindergarten?"

"Excited would not be the word I would use to describe how I feel," I responded without hesitation.

"Yes, but do you feel excited about her starting something new and that she is at this time in her life?"

NO!  I can say with absolute certainty that there is not any part of me that remotely feels any of these type of feelings.  My baby girl is really not a baby girl anymore.  She constantly reminds me that she is a big girl.  She often insists on brushing her own hair, doesn't allow Daddy to swing her up into her bunk bed anymore, but instead climbs the ladder on her own, and easily and naturally turns on an attitude that resembles a thirteen year old complete with eye rolls and sighs.

For too long I have been in denial about Keira starting Kindergarten, but my underlying anxiety slapped me in the face hard when I had a nightmare several weeks ago about her first day of school and I woke up nearly unable to pull myself together as the tears flowed.  The dream itself was completely ridiculous and somewhat comical.  The teachers were all dressed like playboy bunnies and I did something to basically ruin the entire school's computer system.  Nonetheless, the dream clearly revealed to me that I needed to face head on my own issues with dealing with this next step in my daughter's life and the significant change it will bring to our family.

Am I excited about my baby going to Kindergarten?  No, of course not.  Plain and simple, it is yet another reminder that I have no choice but to continue to let go.  I have no choice but to let go, but it is my choice how I let go.  Will I go through the motions and send her to Kindergarten while still treating her like a baby and expecting little of her or will I gracefully let go, encouraging the development of her growing independence and expecting her to live into this new stage in her life?

My choice is to let go gracefully and faithfully.  My choice is to let go knowing that I can and must trust God to care for her, not kicking and screaming.  My choice is to let go well, while still giving myself some grace and allowing myself to shed as many tears as I need to shed.

On the night before we walk our precious girl into her new school and leave her there to enter into a new phase in life, my choice is to let go gracefully and to send her off with words of encouragement and excitement while dealing with my own anxiety.

On the night before this new adventure begins, I am grateful.  I am grateful that I don't have to have all the answers at this moment.  I know that Keira will experience this transition in ways that she will never be able to articulate and that her own anxiety will show itself in unexpected ways.  I am grateful knowing that God will walk beside Matt and I as we faithfully maneuver through this time and seek to exercise patience and understanding and offer great love and encouragement to her as she continues to figure out what growing up is all about.

On this night before my girl experiences her first "first day of school",  I am thankful for the simple gifts and provisions that are so evident.  We went to the school tonight for an open house and to meet the teacher.  When we got to the school, the kids' classroom assignments were listed on the outside doors.  Just as I had hoped, Keira's teacher this year will be Mrs. Bates, a wonderful and trusted friend from our church.  When we got into the classroom, Mrs. Bates immediately welcomed Keira by name from across the room and called her to come and stand next to her.  There is something unbelievably comforting about knowing that your child is known.  Keira doesn't know Mrs. Bates yet, but Heather knows her and I know that I can enter the year completely comfortable with bombarding Heather with the silly questions that the first time mother-of-a-kindergartner asks and feel confident that Keira is being taught by a person of love and character.  I am so thankful and I recognize the immeasurable gift of this.

It's the night before and my mind is swimming with thoughts of making sure the "morning of" goes well.  I must make myself get up the second my alarm goes off so that I can enjoy my girl and meet her requests to the best of my ability for her first day of Kindergarten.  She wants her nails painted pink to match her new pink dress, pink bracelet, pink shoes, and pink flower in her hair.   At her request, I'll use the curling iron to add a little extra bounce and curls to her beautiful hair and I'll make heart shaped eggs for breakfast.  Undoubtedly, the last few rushed moments at home will be spent taking a few pictures and piling into the truck.  Matt, Judah, and I will walk her into her classroom and leave her with a smile and kiss to face this new adventure on her own.  I don't know if my tears will start the very moment I am sure she can't see me anymore, as soon as I walk out of the school, or if I will manage to hold them in until I am sitting out of sight in the car, but the tears will come.

It's the night before and I am already crying.  I am crying tears that hold some of the same emotions I felt the moment the doctor placed her my arms the day she came into this world.  These are the same tears I will shed when she graduates from high school and we drop her off at college and all of the other moments of "letting go" between now and then.  These are tears marked by a love so strong and so sweet, a love that cannot be expressed in words, but are the unspoken language of every mama who knows the joy of motherhood and knows the pain of letting go.

It's the night before and I still readily own that I am not excited, but my heart is filled with peace, and that is all that I could ever hope for.

Posing after enjoying ice cream sandwiches in the cafeteria.

A Mama and Keira moment.

Keira waits patiently to talk with Mrs. Bates while Mommy fills out paperwork.

Big Girl photo op in front of the cafeteria wall mural.   

The Gift

I will never forget the night that God laughed at me.

It was early in the second semester of my senior year of college and I was trapped in my tormented thoughts that life was not turning out as I had planned.  I had shamelessly set out to earn my MRS. degree during my four years of college and I realized on this historic night that this was not going to happen unless an unprecedented miracle occurred in the next 3 months.  It had been over a year and a half since my last relationship had ended.  I had thought that he was "the one" and I thought that I would never recover from him.  Even if I really wanted to recover and move on, I hadn't had a date since and I was constantly aware that I had become the perpetual "friend."  I spent a good majority of my time with guys, some whom I was secretly madly in love with, who were oblivious to the reality that my heart was pining after them because I hid it so well and convincingly acted like I agreed when they would say things like, "We could never date.  We are too good of friends."

On the night that I witnessed God's laughter, I may have heard a phrase such as this one too many times.  I entered my apartment late at night, long after my roommates had gone to bed.  As I laid my head on my pillow, the tears began to flow and I buried my face to cover my sobs.  For the first time in my life I was exceedingly grateful for the loud, signature deep sleep moans of my cousin across the room and the steady, gentle breathing of my other two roommates assured me that my tears could remain a secret.

As my heart pounded and I tried to control the trembling that was taking over my body while my eyes burned with tears, I heard God laugh.  I knew it was God and I knew that God was laughing.  I was not amused.  Why was God laughing?  I was crying and God was laughing.  I realized after a moment that God was not really laughing at me.  In these moments, God's laughter represented God's love.

As a parent, I think that I can better understand God's laughter in the midst of my tears.  Sometimes Judah is absolutely wailing about something unbelievably petty that will pass in an instant and all I can do is laugh because he is so precious and because I love him so much.  I think this is what God's laughter was about on that night.

God's laughter got my attention and then I sensed God's voice.  "I have the most amazing Gift for you."

The most amazing gift?  God, what is it?  What is the Gift?

God's voice and laughter in the midst of my pain has been a promise that I have treasured ever since that night.

Laughter fills my government subsidized apartment as my new friends choke down the chicken chili that I have accidentally loaded with paprika instead of chili powder.  My graduate school education will earn me more than a degree; these are memories and friendships that will sustain me for a lifetime.  God, is this the Gift?

I sit in the City Hall of a tiny town in West Virginia with some sweet old men sharing a cup of stale coffee and chatting about life in the midst of a summer that changed my life.  God, is this the Gift?

The doors open and I begin to sing as I walk down the aisle.  I see the man that I love standing at the other end waiting for me, tears streaming down his face.  On this day we pledge our love and commitment to one another and embark on the adventure of life together.  This is it, isn't it God?  This is the Gift.

Over 50 teenagers and adults crowd a meeting space in the basement of a hotel in the mountains of Tennessee, filling the room with worship and reflections of their lives being changed.  I treasure these moments and feel so privileged to walk alongside these students at this time in their lives.  I steal a glance at my husband across the room and I can see that he feels the same, our eyes both cloudy with tears.  This must be the Gift, right God?

The doctor places a tiny baby in my arms.  She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.  Matt presses his cheek against mine as we take in the miracle of this precious life.  I have a daughter.  Is this the Gift, God?

"I would like to offer you a position as a Resident Director."  I will be returning to my alma mater to live among college students.  My husband and our new baby and I will be embarking on an adventure that will shape and change us.  Once I get there I fall completely in love with the women that I have the opportunity to lead.  God, is this the Gift?

My husband looks shocked as he tells me that it's a boy and that boy's tiny body is plopped upon my stomach.  How is it possible that I have been entrusted with yet another beautiful life?  I have a son.  Is this the Gift, God?

I stand before a crowd of nearly one thousand people proclaiming the Word of God with God-blessed power and authority in the sanctuary of a place that shaped me during my formative years in college when I first received the promise of the Gift.  God, is this the gift I've been waiting for?

The sales associate announces that my measurements show that I wear a C-cup.  (If you don't understand the significance of this, read my post from July 4, "Make Time for Shake Time.")  Dear Lord, is this the gift?!

I return once again to the place that has long been home to me, this time as an Assistant Dean in the residence life program.  My heart beats for this ministry and I can't wait for all that this journey entails.  Is this this Gift?

I sit, peacefully aware of the gentle movements of my unborn child while watching my husband and children run across the beach, chasing a football, splashing in the water, and laughing.  Their laughter is the most beautiful sound, I am convinced of it.  This is it, isn't it God?  This is the Gift?

I am coming to understand that it is all the Gift.  The Gift is all of the moments and blessings of my life woven together to form a perfect tapestry.  It is the Gift that gives me hope when life does not seem to be turning out as I have planned or I don't think I can survive if one more thing goes wrong.  It is the Gift that assures me that God always has everything under control even when I am too stubborn or self-absorbed to see it.  The Gift is life.

Dates and Divas

"She looks like Scarlett O'Hara."

Scarlett O'Hara, the heroine from the classic movie, Gone with the Wind, portrayed by Vivien Leigh, and one of my favorites. She is strong and independent and also selfish and incapapable of seeing the good that she has been given. Her ungrateful heart causes her to lose the love of which she is so undeserving. She is mesmerizing and frustrating, desirable and incorrigible. She is beautiful.

Luckily, as my sister spoke these words she was referring to my daughter's beauty and not all of Scarlett's other characteristics, although there are a few that could be fitting. These words were spoken during the moments that we watched my five year old daughter's first date unfold.

When we pulled up to the hotel that my dad had gotten us for the night to break up our trip on the way to Florida, mom, Michele and I were riding in the convertible with Dad while the husbands chauffeured my children in the truck. As soon as we saw our home for the night, the inner diva in all of us came to life.

"The doors are on the outside of the building!"
"What is this place?"
"Don't you think we should drive around and check it out before we actually check in?".

Dad ignored our pleas and jumped out of the car and away from our whines to get our keys. The rooms were not quite as bad as we anticipated and after dinner we discovered that the pool was everything that had been promised, the pool being the reason this place had been selected.

Shortly after we all took the plunge into the refreshing waters, Keira became fearless and began jumping off the high wall at the deep end and unknowingly caught the attention of another young boy vacationing with his family. She was wearing her purple floaties and her red and white bathing suit had ruffles on her booty that shook just slightly as she walked with her head held high and the appropriate amount of swing in her hips.

"What's your name?"
"Matt," my husband replied.
"No, her name!"
Keira looked at her Daddy with uncertainty before quietly replying, "Keira."

The conversation continued as they exchanged ages and other pertinent information. Gunner was four and he eventually asked her if she would like to go play on the playground just outside the walls of the pool. She came and asked me if this would be allowed. After shooting a look at my husband, I said that it was fine, while muttering something to my dad about her going to play with a stranger. When she overheard me saying this, she declared, "Mommy, he's not a stranger. He's a new friend!"

Keira has deep brown eyes that just won't stop and usually when they stare you down, it is fierce, already declaring independence and attitude. On this evening, as she gazed over my shoulder at this friend who was no longer a stranger, there was a spark and a dream and they were somewhat cloudy with wonder.

She jumped out of the pool and began ripping off her floaties, her eyes plastered on Gunner. For a moment it looked as though Gunner had decided not to go to the playground but was ready for another dive in the pool. When Keira saw this, she nonchalantly proclaimed, "I changed my mind, I'm staying here.". Only moments later her mind was changed again when Gunner and his dad began heading toward the pool gate and Keira followed in stride.

"GO WITH HER!" I commanded my husband through clenched teeth.

My dad, sister, brother-in-law and I watched from a distance as my sweet daughter played on the swings, teeter totter and slide with her new friend. We mostly laughed at Matt, who seemed to be enjoying his man date with Gunner's father immensely and did surprisingly well as a co-chaperone.

"You really need to be worried if she starts calling Gunner her buddy," Dad told me after saying, "She will keep getting attention like this if she keeps this up!"

Keira had 3 friends at preschool this past year who she talked about constantly and called her buddies. These "buddies" all happened to be boys and it was rare that she ever talked about playing with girls. In fact, she told me one day with certainty that boys are more fun than girls. When asked the difference between a buddy and friend, she told us knowingly that you love buddies more than you love friends.

Yes, let's make sure that Gunner remains purely a friend and doesn't reach buddy status.

Before we knew it, Keira cut the date short, running back over to the pool and putting her floaties back on, leaving Gunner watching at the top of the slide and Matt stranded on his man date sitting opposite Gunner's dad on the see saw. Before we left the pool, she had a couple more brief conversations with her new friend and she told him goodbye numerous times.

"You are in trouble," Dad told me on the way back up to our room.
"I know... And it's so innocent," I defended. "she doesn't even know what she's doing."
"Yes, but she will figure it out."

Yes, she will figure it out. Even throughout all the happenings of the evening, she carefully took her cues from Gunner, while never allowing herself to appear too anxious. She continually made herself look appealing until she was granted the sufficient amount of attention again. She would then proceed to give him only enough attention to keep him wondering and coming back for more in order to keep the chase alive.

I guess I don't have to teach her the game. It is already in her blood. Yes, I am very afraid.

Watch out, Scarlett. There is a new heroine on the horizon.

People Make It Work

Sometimes I wonder how I make it through this crazy life that I love without completely losing my mind.  The truth is, I am on the verge of losing my mind quite often, but somehow I manage to hold it together.  Not only do I manage, but there are some days that I actually feel like I thrive in this endeavor.  As one who pushes myself far harder than is necessary, it is always my goal and my hope not just to survive, but to really thrive in all of the areas of my life that God has so beautifully woven together for me.  On those days when my emotions are particularly stable, my reactions are full of grace, and the daily tasks of life don't seem quite so trying, I am quickly reminded that thriving is nothing that I am ever able to do on my own.  God's sure and steady presence makes my life work.  People make it work.

I was reminded of this truth today.  It was my first official day at the new job and I really needed for the pieces of my life to fall into place in order to get off to a good start.  All of the people that I encountered all throughout the day made it work.  

After getting through the rush of the morning of trying to take care of myself and then getting the kids ready for the day, we were out the door.  As I walked my precious children through the door of the babysitter's home, I was immediately grateful.  They walked into Christy's home and I felt assured that they feel the same sense of security in her presence as they do with family.  I know that I can trust Christy to love and care for my children, to do the work of teaching them right from wrong, and to ensure that they not only get through the day, but that they have fun and learn and grow and laugh while they are away from me.  Christy makes it work.

As I walked into my new office suite, I was immediately welcomed by the friendly excitement of my co-workers, people who are already becoming friends.  The conversations throughout the day were uplifting and helpful.  As I visited various offices on campus to fill out paperwork and troubleshoot issues getting all my technology needs met, I was greeted with a smile and I was given patient help and treated with familiarity.  My new boss called me while on his vacation simply to exuberantly express his excitement that I am finally in the office and getting started and to see if there were any questions I needed answered.  There was laughter and small talk and good information shared.  Colleagues make it work.

My dad called and asked if I wanted to have to lunch.  This has become a weekly occurrence for us that I treasure.  We usually go to the Mexican restaurant with the best salsa in town.  Sometimes we just relax and enjoy conversation that rests on the surface of life and other times there are hard questions, deep reflections, and tears.  We enjoyed being together as I rambled on about my day and he told me that I was happy.  He is right.  He came to my office and helped me hang up pictures.  The final touches on my beautifully decorated new space.  This was a day that Matt gets home late from work and Mom, the kids, and I go to Zumba.  Thursday has quickly become waffle night.  We roll in from our workout sweaty and tired and Dad is ready and waiting for us with waffles and sausage.  Dad makes it work.

I am one who is thankful for some of the benefits that social media provides.  I received encouraging texts throughout the day through the group messaging app I have set up with my grad school friends.  I was assured of their prayers and support.  I felt joy as I read the responses from my Facebook status and tweet about embarking on my first day.  Some of these came from friends I haven't heard from in years and others from people that I do life with right now.  My sisters texted and called.  I am blessed beyond measure.  Friends and family make it work.

When I got to Zumba after picking up my kids I was thankful that my mom waited for me to arrive before going in so she could help me drag Keira and Judah in along with all of my other Zumba gear.  She took them to the child care room while I changed my clothes, got things set up, and chatted it up with the ladies.  She picked them up afterwards and took them home while I was wrapping things up so that they could enjoy some Nana time.  Mom makes it work.

When Keira and Judah woke up this morning, they both ran to me with big smiles and hugs.  Although breakfast was full of orders such as, "Keep eating!", "Throw your trash away!", and "We have to leave in 5 minutes!", they also laughed and talked and brought me much joy.  Judah requested to listen to "We are Young" on the way to Miss Christy's house and they sang at the top of their lungs while wearing their super cool sunglasses.  When I arrived to pick them up, Judah ran and jumped in my arms and Keira thrust the picture that she had made for me into my hand.  They fought over who could sit closest to me as we read the Bible story before bed, sang songs about Jesus, and they both prayed simple and beautiful prayers.  My sweet children make it work.

When Matt arrived home, we greeted each other with a quick kiss and then we immediately bombarded each other with the happenings of our day.  We shared and processed and reflected.  We took turns making Judah get back in bed and responding to Keira's cries for yet another drink of water.  He watered the plants while I folded the laundry.  He started another load of laundry while I took a shower.  We talked some more while I made cookie dough.  My fantastic husband makes it work.

My life is not perfect.  I do absolutely, completely lose it sometimes, but people make it work.  Relationships make it work.

Did I mention that I am blessed?

Make Time for Shake Time

Tiffany.  Michael Jackson (and his sister Janet, too).   John Cougar Mellencamp.  NKOTB.  MC Hammer.  Hanson.  NKOTB.  

Tonight we kicked off 80's and 90's Flashback at Zumba and it was legendary.  What could possibly be more fun that shaking it to the rhythms and sounds of these radical decades while wearing bright lipstick and sporting big hair?  Nothing, I tell you, absolutely nothing.  

As I left class, I found myself reflecting upon this state and place that I find myself in.  It is a place where I am comfortable in my own skin and I eat fruits and vegetables, make sure I make time for breakfast, and co-teach a Zumba class 3 times a week.  The journey of sweat and sacrifice that got me here is one of my favorite parts of my story.  

Fitness Instructor WannaBe

I definitely did my share of pretending while I was growing up.  I'll never tell, but I may, or may not, actually do my share of it, still to this day.  One of the many roles that I jumped into was that of a fitness instructor.  While dancing around to Richard Simmons' "Sweatin' to the Oldies," I wore a convincing smile, shouted out instructions to my mother and sisters exuberantly, and gave it my all.  After taking a step aerobics class in college, I bought my own step and made up new routines in my basement bedroom, smiling at my wall, still shouting out instructions to... myself, I guess, and perhaps the imaginary hidden cameras.  I made my sisters join me in synchronized swimming routines when the waves were calm in the ocean on our vacations.  Since they have now learned to refuse participation, I have begun subjecting my niece to this great fun and Keira is certainly next.  

I pretended, but never in my wildest dreams thought that such a thing would ever happen.  It seemed almost as far fetched to me as moving to Hollywood and becoming a star.  (Oh, please Lord, make me an actress in my next life.  Please.)  It was so far out my reach because a chest my size could not be contained by even 3 sports bras, let alone fit into a leotard.  I would only ever be a wannabe because I wasn't comfortable in my own skin.  

Leading Up to the Shake

I have lived much of my life as the typical girl entrenched in the expectations of the culture that sets the standard for the perfect body and I always felt that I could never live up to these impossibilities.  Although I probably would have always considered myself just a bit above average on the scale, those blasted fat tests always landed me in the obese category.  I suffered from poor body image, to say the very least.  Beginning in junior high, thoughts of dissatisfaction with myself began to seemingly take over my life.  But, alas, I will not dwell on junior high.  Please tell me if there is a person in this world who feels comfortable in their own skin during these treacherous years.  

Let's just get past that depressing business to the more recent events that have led to my shaking ability.  Shortly after my 30th birthday I decided that I wasn't going to be fat anymore.  Okay, okay, I know that "fat" is a 4-letter word.  Seriously, don't ever use that word to describe yourself or anyone else.  Don't let your children say it.  Avoid the use of it at all costs.  I just had to use it here because that it what I decided.  I made a conscious decision to stop being a fatty.  (There, I did it again.  Please forgive, yes?)

During the year leading up to my 30th birthday, Keira was born.  Did you know that while you are nursing you can eat pretty much whatever the heck you want and not gain any weight?  Did you also know that when you stop nursing you cannot continue eating whatever the heck you want or you WILL gain weight?  Apparently I didn't get that memo.  I am pretty sure I gained 20 pounds the instant that child was off the boob.  (This post may contain the "too-much-information" I was talking about from here on out.  Consider this your warning.)   I am what you might call a "bottomless pit" and I took full advantage of that gift during my pregnancy and the breast feeding bit.  Whenever someone says, "Wow, I'm full," I instantly think to myself, "What in the world does that feel like?"  That is what I mean by bottomless pit.  And what I mean by taking advantage of it is that during the year before I turned 30 we moved within a mile of Dairy Queen and Taco Bell.  Blizzards and Nachos Bell Grande became serious food groups.  

I loved my life.  I had a job I loved, the cutest baby ever, friends and family all around me, and yet I was miserable in my body.  My clothes were tight.  I had to change my clothes 4 times each morning until I found something I could bear to look at myself wearing and I just could not believe the unhealthy hole I had dug for myself and had no idea how to get out of it.  

Starting to Shake It Off

We visited my BFF during Memorial Day weekend shortly following my 30th birthday and they were on a Weight Watchers kick.  I got inspired and decided to kick it myself.  I came home and emptied my pantry and refrigerator of all things fatty and unhealthy and labeled all the food that remained with a permanent marker signifying their Points value.  I bought a food scale and measured my lean meat when it came home from the grocery store, divided it into 4 oz. portions, and placed it in ziploc bags.  I started eating breakfast, something I had never made time for before.    My breakfast consistently contained egg whites, yogurt, and fruit.  I ate lunch and healthy snacks.  Most vegetables have always given me a gagging reflex, but I found the ones that I can stomach without serious reactions and began having huge, leafy, green salads twice a day.  There was no sugar.  Sugar was out for 3 months straight.  This was nothing short of a small miracle.  

I got up in the morning before it got too hot and ran.  The morning also consisted of Bob and Jillian  yelling at me to keep going if I wanted results.  Those Biggest Loser workouts are no joke.  In the evening there were long walks and bike rides.  Exercise was not optional.  I made time for it every day and made no apologies.  

I knew that I could do it and there was no turning back when I returned from our July 4th family reunion, always packed with more delicious food than you can imagine, to discover that I had lost 7 pounds that week.  By the end of the summer I had lost 25 pounds and I felt better than ever.  

Later that fall I became pregnant again, but I kept up my healthy eating habits and continued exercising.  This became more difficult after the summer months, but exercise was not optional and I still made no apologies.  The third trimester brought on the occasional blizzard and pizza and I make no apologies for this either.  

During my second go at nursing, I made better decisions.  Six weeks after Judah came into the world, I started Weight Watchers again.  I could eat a lot more because I was breast feeding, but keeping track of what I ate kept me from gorging myself and it helped to ensure that I was eating the right things.  

Judah was born in March and I discovered Zumba in June.  The rest is history.  

Discovering the Shake

I had heard about this Zumba phenomenon for a while, but wasn't really sure what it was all about.  The first time I made it to a class I was late.  Of course I was late; I had a 3 year old and a newborn at home.  I walked into a large room in the middle of the warm-up and found myself surrounded by 100 other women and was immediately enveloped by the loud music and contagious energy.  As I began to latch onto the jumps and the turns and the shakes, a smile spread impulsively across my face and tears burned my eyes.  Yes, I cried right there in the middle of Zumba.  Maybe I should be embarrassed by that, but I'm just going to say that I'm not.  There is something amazing about being surrounded by a group of women who are just doing the best that they can to take care of themselves in the midst of the chaos and pressures of life.  Every single body type was represented and there was "no right or wrong to shake it."  Everybody shakes it differently and that is a magnificent thing.  It felt like home.  It felt like one of those things that I was absolutely designed to do.  

Discovering Zumba also helped me discover the fun ways that my hips can move. I never knew this.  Dancing was not really something that was allowed while I was growing up, except behind closed doors, I suppose, and so I had to practice  swinging my hips and pulsating at home for weeks before I finally really got the feel of it.   I downloaded the songs from the routines and got my living room shaking on the nights there was no class.  I'll never forget the first time Matt sat down on the couch while I was practicing at home.  His eyes nearly popped out of his head and he quickly found songs that were his favorites.  Apparently he didn't know I could move like that either.  

Right before Thanksgiving I ran 5 miles straight for the first time and by Christmas I had lost another 25 pounds.  I had also lost 50 inches and my jean size dropped 8 sizes.  

After my second go around at nursing was complete, I rewarded myself with a trip to Victoria's Secret.  Before my weight loss, bras from Vicky's were not an option for me.  At my size, I needed some serious support that only specialty online sites could provide.  I went into VS and unashamedly found a sales associate and told her I needed to be measured.  The accurate measurement revealed a C-cup.  Excuse me, what?  My last accurate measurement was a G. G.  Did you even know such a thing existed?  I had gone straight from no bra to a D-cup.  I don't think a training bra ever graced my bosom.  Seriously, a C-cup?  Did this mean that I may be able to wear button up shirts now?  This may have been one of the best days of. my. life.  

That spring I did two things that I never thought could be done.  First, I became a certified Zumba instructor.  I was no longer a wannabe.  Thank You, Jesus.  I also ran the Indy Mini Marathon.  My goal was to run the whole thing without walking. I didn't care about the time; I just wanted to reach the finish line, and I did.  

Keeping the Shake Alive

East Side Zumba kicked off during May of 2011 and I quickly found friendship with two other girls who had also been recently certified as we worked together to choreograph and plan for our new class that we hoped would impact the lives of women.  They have both been dancers since shortly out of the womb and I am so thankful that they are so patient with me as I have only recently converted to shaking.  I have to say, I freakin' love these girls.  

This past year I've just lived comfortably in my skin for the first time... ever.  Exercise is not optional.  Breakfast is not optional.  I try to make healthy food choices and when I don't, it's a conscious decision that I'm in control of, and I know that it's not the end.  I know that I'll just make a better decision next time and I don't beat myself up for it.  

Shaking it Pregnant Style

This third pregnancy has changed my body once again, but I know that's what it's supposed to do and I know that it is beyond worth it.  That being said, I miss my C-cups like crazy.  I cannot even begin to describe the extent of how much I miss them.  The DD's have returned and will remain with me for at least another year.  I'm still shaking it the best I can and plan to continue to shake that baby right out when the time comes.  I'm still trying to eat the best I can, but I know I'll be back to no excuses when I welcome baby #3, so I am admittedly indulging frequently in multiple, giant spoonfuls of cookie dough, caramel sauce, and icing (some of my favorites).  And don't even get me started on Kettle Cooked salt and pepper chips.  

Last week I told my mom that the doctor's scale revealed that I have already gained 20 pounds with this pregnancy.  Although a good response would have been, "You know those scales at the doctor's office are never right!" or "That sounds about right since you are this far along, " or even, "You don't need to worry about it.  I am pretty sure all twenty of those pounds are in your belly and boobs," she instead said, "Well, you know, it's because of all that stuff you've been eating!"  Really, mom?  This may be true, but really, mom?  I really am going to kick my healthy habits into high gear when November comes, but really, mom?  

Make Time for Shake Time

Diet and exercise doesn't run my life;  it has just become a natural part of it.  I have discovered the joy of caring for my body and soul in a way that shows I truly believe that God thinks I'm worth it and God thinks I'm beautiful, truths I have always struggled to believe.  

Make Time for Shake Time.  You won't regret it.  

What's A Story Like This Without Some Before and After Action?

This is me before I started shaking it.  I am in the black and purple.  

I'd been shakin' it a while when this photo was shot.  

Before the Shake...

... After some serious shake time.  (Far Right)