My baptism.

This is so personal that I feel strange writing about it, but I feel like I need to write it down. I want to remember. If I commit this to paper it is likely that it would get colored on, or cut up.

I was baptized on my birthday, March 7th.

It's been a long road spiritually for me. A lot of ups and downs. Typical I suppose. A lot of drifting away due to my own poor choices, a church that practically changed overnight and made me doubt a lot, people who betrayed me, a lot of doubt, a lot of praying and studying the gospel, a lot of wandering from church to church, and then one of the best gifts that God has ever given me. One of the best gifts being our new church and the people in it.

I've always had ideas on baptism that no one else seemed to share. Although it is an outward expression, it is also deeply personal. Just like the birth of my children, although fantastic, it is not something that I felt I wanted to put on display. I wanted to love the person that baptised me. I do know that baptism is about me and Christ, and my commitment to him, but it's such an intimate experience that this was important to me. Trust was an issue, I've been burned before. I let a man marry Richie and I that I no longer have any respect for. I didn't want a person like that involved with my baptism. I didn't want to be standing in front of a church full of people. I wanted it to be a small group, I wanted it quiet, and I didn't want the pomp and circumstance. Pretty much how I should have had my wedding.

Richie and I were going to get baptized together on the same day, but he took off like the bullet from a gun one Sunday morning and left me in the dust. Which is great! I'm glad he did. I wasn't about to do it on a Sunday morning, though.

Although my 26th year isn't significant, I wanted to give a gift to myself this year. Declare a redo, and work towards my biggest goal for this year, to be closer to Christ. I woke up at 5am on my birthday, which is strange. I listened to Mumford and Sons for five hours straight before the kids got up. I had more time to think than I've had in over five years. I called Richie and asked him to call one of our elders, Bob, and ask him if he could meet us at the church at 6:45 that night to baptize me. We organized the family from there, and I got lost in house cleaning because the nerves were getting to me. It's overwhelming, and it's a lot to process all at once. At least it was for me.

Before I knew it, my dad was at my door, and it was time to go. He broke the news to me that Richie was running late and that he would meet us there. We got there an hour before Richie did. We all sat and talked, our two elders, their wives, Mom & Dad, Jec, the kids, Abe and myself. Richie finally arrived and then my brother shortly after him. I was talking about how Richie is the reason that we run late to church most Sunday mornings as he walked in, and my mom told me to get my lying in before I was baptized. I've never been what you would call punctual.

It was time, and by this point I was so calm it was numbing. We decided that Richie should be the one to baptize me. I said that it was fine as long as he didn't drown me and leave me for dead. Bob took my confession, and I went to get changed. Bob took Richie with him. My attire was hilarious. A white wife beater type one piece, a navy blue body suit made out of a material similar to a cape you wear when getting your hair cut, and a white robe. And then the elders' wives pointed out the water shoes. Lime green water shoes. If you know me, then you know that I could never walk out sporting those, and be straight faced about it. I went bare foot.

I got to the stairs of the baptistery, and Richie wasn't there. He only had to put waders on, and I beat him. I promptly turned to the elders' wives behind me and told them, "See, I'm always on time". It was at that point that I heard Vince's voice (our other elder). His voice was louder than the rest and I realized what they were all singing. It was Amazing Grace, one of my favorites. I don't know if he asked for one of my favorites, and my family told him, or he just chose it, but it was perfect. I stood there and appreciated Vince's voice because I had never before noticed how nice it was.

Richie finally made it out and the only thing I remember about walking into the baptistery was having to pull up my robe so that I didn't trip, and looking down at my feet when I stepped into the baptistery. I'll never forget what the cranberry colored nail polish on my toes looked like as I stepped into the water. The rest is a bit of a smudge in my memory. I was so calm and at peace that it was practically a high, and it's blurred the most important part. I do remember Richie's prayer afterwards. His most eloquent prayer yet. At least that I've heard aloud. I also remember going to walk away and Richie grabbing my arm to pull me back to hug me and kiss my neck three times, and they all made a loud squeaking noise on my wet neck.

Getting back into my regular clothes should have been an Olympic sport, because the plastic-ey, blue, body suit was completely stuck to my body and I wasn't about to call someone back to rip it off of me as I stood there in my wet wife beater one piece. Ewww. I finally got it off with minimal pain.

I came out and hugged everyone. Some of the sweetest and most sincere kisses and hugs that I've ever received.

I was expecting fireworks, or white lights, but what I got was much better. It was peace, and serenity, and love. It was exactly how I wanted it. It was as if every event in my life had culminated and brought me to this beautiful moment.

And now the most important job of my life starts. I've picked up my cross and started walking.

The grand finale.

Well that's what I get for making fun of someones muffin top. Karma strikes.

If I give you this background information then everything will make more sense. Victoria HATES jeans, or any sort of pant with a waistband. Proceed.

Since Richie left to go out of town dinners have been a little crazy. We had nothing in the house when he left. I'd rather drive pencils into my eardrums then take them both to the store alone. Tonight was supposed to be me taking the kids to McDonald's. We were going to go to one with a play place. I even got online and found a McDonald's with a play place, and had the directions memorized. I was going to kill two birds with one stone: wear their butts out and feed them food that I wouldn't feed my dog.

Well, then Victoria stepped in dog poop. Outside you say? No. In our spare bedroom. I'll kill the dog later. Then I roll up her pant legs and stand her in the tub to wash her feet. With two slippery feet she windmills, falls on her butt, and soaks her pants. Not just her pants, the last clean pair of stretch pants. *gasp* Now there are only jeans left. *gasp again* Wailing, screaming, and general anarchy ensues. I then break the news to Tristan that although he was so good, McDonald's and the play place is out. It's too late. We have to pick dad up in an hour, it just won't work. Wailing, screaming, and general anarchy ensues. I finally pin Victoria down and put a pair of jeans on her. On the way out of her bedroom Tristan pulls too hard on the door knob, it comes off and falls on a china doll that I've had since I was a kid, and shatters its head. I hold back tears and try to sneak out of her room with what's left of the doll without her seeing. She sees. Wailing, screaming, and general anarchy ensues.

Now we're sitting here eating dinner rolls and dried cherries. We're all starving. Richie will be so happy to see us with tear streaked cheeks and in hypoglycemic shock.

I'll never make fun of someones muffin top again.

In which our heroine drives everyone crazy...

The organizing bug has bitten me.

Organizing isn't like weight loss. You get to see the results and the benefits immediately, and not in a month. Perhaps that's why I'm up to my armpits in linen closet fodder and haven't been to the gym in two weeks. My spring garage sale pile is huge and growing daily. I'm really starting to realize now all of the demons that I need to shake off. I love my parents dearly, but I'm really starting to realize how I was raised to be a pack rat. I think that this was compounded when I moved out of my parents' house. Richie and I were dirt poor. Let me get you into our first year that was 04-05. I remember Richie needing to buy peroxide (can't remember why) and we couldn't afford it. Richie's mom said, "But that's ridiculous, it's not even a dollar a bottle". Exactly, we can't afford it. When you're poor you hang onto everything. You convince yourself that you could somehow re purpose it and make it great. Like you're freaking MacGyver or something. So while I sift through piles I've been asking myself some questions. Here they are:

-Have I used this in the last year? If it's not something that is meant to be used frequently, then can I afford to repurchase it in the rare event that I would need it again?

-Do I love this? Sometimes I get swept up in the fact that it was a gift. I actually donated a stuffed rabbit that my grandmother made for me. I remembered that I didn't exactly like it when she gave it to me. I love her, but I can honor her memory in a different way. Not to mention, I have a handful of other handmade things she gave me that I LOVE. Those things need to be showcased, and not shoved in a box where no one can see them, including me.

-Do I have something similar to this that I like more? I was going through those above the fridge cabinets in my kitchen this last week, "the cabinets of plenty". You know those cupboards. The cupboards where you store all the crap that you don't really use, but can't get rid of. I found four decorative creamers. I mean really, lets count up how many times I've had a guest over and said, "Would you care for a spot of tea lovey? Ok, well which creamer would you prefer?". Ridiculous. I kept one, because it actually went with my tea pot that I do use. You never know, the Queen may swing by one day and demand that the creamer be brought to the table.

-How does this item make me feel? Most of the time my answer to this is, "Well self, like crap quite frankly. It clutters up my closet/counter/life, and then I get stressed out and I treat people like crap, and I over eat. Once and a while I find something where the answer is, "Like a million bucks!". That item, piece of clothing, etc. goes front and center.

I've made a lot of progress in the last week. But, along the way I've annoyed my family. Richie might just level me if I ask him one more time, "How often do you really use this? Does it have a specific home? No? Well then find one". Today I actually caught myself asking the kids, "Don't you want to clean up your rooms and reorganize? It will be so great to be able to find all your stuff when you want it!" Picture me looking exuberant and my kids wondering what happened to their mother.

Everyone else may hate me, but I'm pretty happy.

Mad at Myself

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what I want to change about myself. One of the things that tops the list, just under making the relationships in my life stronger, including my relationship with God, is to be a more organized person.

I've started putting things into action this week. I started meal planning. We're on week one. Since we have the actual planning and shopping behind us, Richie and I sat down together tonight to plug the planned meals into each night of the week. I took a pad (specifically made for meal planning) out of the plastic, and Richie laughed at me. I said, "What? I thought it was a cute idea, I bought them a couple years ago". For real, I bought these almost two years ago. He told me, "No, that's great. It's very organized. I can't believe you're being so organized." That pretty much sums it up. I'm not organized...at all. I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of girl. My kids never had schedules, we ate when we were hungry and slept when we were tired. Up until this last year they never had a bedtime. One of the reasons I loved breastfeeding was because I didn't need a schedule. Just whip it out wherever, whenever. I'm sure that this has had a positive impact in a way. I know that my kids can adjust. They learned to fall asleep anywhere, and our lives were never a slave to nap times or routines.

But there is another really ugly side to my laid back personality. I absolutely suck at time management, managing tasks, or being organized at all. This is strange, because I love to organize. I would sleep in a tent for a week in anticipation of The Container Store opening its doors if they ever open one in my state.

Hoarding runs in my family. I don't just mean people in my family have a tendency to be a pack rat, I mean hoarders. Just like the TV show. I don't talk about it much, if at all, with people who aren't family because it's embarrassing, and I would never mean to insult any of my family members' "weaknesses". I live in absolute fear of becoming that way. It tends to worsen with age, and it's usually with the loss of a parent that I've known family members to go full tilt.

So this brings me to tonight. After the meal planning was done, and the kids were ready for bed, I decided that I would make myself organize at least one small area of my house. Richie and I have the upstairs to ourselves and there is a door at the foot of the staircase. I have a horrible habit of stashing things there. Just throwing clothes there, or pictures, or books, or jewelry. Anything that needs to be taken upstairs. Then I shut the door. And I'm sure you're thinking a small pile, but no, it's more like you better be good at lunges, because you're clearing the landing and the first two stairs. This is so embarrassing to admit, but I want to be accountable. Even if I'm just admitting a very bad habit to a subscription list of five people, I'm doing it just the same.

I'm instituting a basket system, and a "get off your lazy butt, Molly", system asap. But before either of these go into effect, things needed to be cleaned up. Because things just get tossed there, whatever it is gets trampled. So I got it cleaned up and in the process I found a lot of things ruined, or close to it. Two photos that are dear to my heart...crumpled. A small shelf I had been meaning to hang up upstairs...broken, but repairable. A bracelet that belonged to Richie's aunt that passed away in October...broken. Actually, snapped in half. The list is quite long, and I'm going to spare my ego. Anyways, I cried. It wasn't even over the stuff...ok maybe the photos. Mostly, it was over me. I was disgusted. Thankfully, my whole home isn't like this. A few areas here and there, and the basement as a whole, but still. Shame on me.

Have I mentioned that the thought of an emergency worker coming into my home and seeing one of these messes makes me almost as anxious as the thought of having a reason to call 911?

But no more, I'm done. The next time that someone comes to my home and wants a tour, they're going to see every inch. I'm going to be ready.

I'm baaaaccckkk...

It's almost been a year since I wrote anything here. A lot has changed, thankfully. Reading over my old posts I realized how difficult things were for me. I had completely lost my joy.

But things are changing. I'm not there yet, but I have a new attitude and I'm putting what I've learned into action. I would say that's more than half the battle. This isn't to say that I was depressed, or miserable in my life. It was worse, I was stuck.

Richie lost his job, and we thought our world was ending. Come to find out it was a blessing. His department was completely rearranged when he left, and the pay scale was altered, and we felt badly for his work partners left behind. Finances then changed for us with the new job for the better. We now have two cars. They're old, but they're cars and they get us not only where we need to go, but want to go. The kids and I can have a life that extends past our block.

But the biggest change of all was spiritual. We found a church a year and a half ago, and Richie was baptised July 25 of 2010. This isn't just a church. It is THEE CHURCH. The church I was praying for. The church I had myself convinced didn't exist. I was so very jaded, and sick of being a nomad every Sunday, and never liking where we ended up. The people are amazing. I can tell you that I knew they were special that second I met them. The only other time that I had that feeling, and was correct, was when I met Richie. A feeling that makes you realize that something bigger is at work. It was so very right. In a short period of time they became family. It finally felt like there was a possibility for worship outside of our home. It saved us. It saved us from my prior attitude that church wasn't neccessary. In my past opinions, church was political and the people were hypocrits. Well sadly, I've been to a lot of churches that were, and so were the people. But then I read my Bible, and realized that as a self proclaimed Christian, this attitude was all wrong. Because things got tough, and inconvenient, I started making Christ and his gospel what I wanted it to be, not what it was. I did a simple internet search on a whim and found our current church listed. We showed up on a Wednesday night, and we instantly knew that God had led us to the door step. It's so funny to me now that we were driving an hour and a half to our old place of worship when our "new church" was 5 miles down the road.

So anyways, I have a lot of stuff bouncing around in my head. Way too much for one post. I'm going to start doing things differently. Not just the deep spiritual things, but mundane things. I've decided to slowly reinvent myself. I want to be a better Christian, wife, mother, housekeeper, I want my own business...the list goes on. A lot of growth has been going on while I wasn't here blogging. This blog will be changing, too. So hopefully you haven't given up on me and you'll be sticking around.

Trying not to sound like a spoiled brat...

I'm having a hard time adjusting to Richie's new job. We have one car. He got a company car at his last job four days out of the week. I planned my life around those four days. I did my grocery shopping, I took the kids swimming, I got a majority of my workouts in at the gym. The other three days were spent hunkering down, cleaning, hanging out with the kids at home. And most of the time Richie was home on some of those days. Now there is no company car.

I've done this before. So I thought it wouldn't be a big deal. Well, I was wrong. I'm getting bitter. I'm grateful, I really am. The worst thing that happened in all this is that we had to drain our vacation fund. It's not the first time & it won't be the last. No big deal. If he has a decent spring at work we'll still have a shot at making the UP at the end of the summer. But I'm still on the verge of losing my mind. I'm here all day. Then Richie comes home and crashes. The latest I've seen him with his eyes open this last week has been 8. That's an hour before the kids go to bed. That's right when I'm cleaning up dinner, bathing the kids, reading them books, and getting them into bed. I'm not mad at Richie, or trying to imply that he isn't pulling his weight. He works hard. He demolishes and carries, and lifts. He does good old traditional blue collar work 10+ hours a day.

Maybe it doesn't help that both the kids are sick, and I'm not feeling too great either. I'm getting up twice a night to do breathing treatments, give medicine, give comfort. Then I wake up to two miserably irritable children who fight over everything, cry over things they would usually brush off, but feel well enough to bounce off the walls like rubber during the day. Meanwhile I want to cry. There is no where to go. If Richie works overtime, most of the places I need (notice need, not want) to go are closed. The other day I had to force feed Tristan infant Tylenol and then watch him gag because we were out of Meltaways. But I refused to let him crumple up at the end of the hallway and sob because he felt so crappy. Buying a car is not going to happen, affording the insurance would be a stretch. So for now I'll feel like I'm 16 again. I'll call on my mom and my best friend when it's absolutely necessary, so that they don't get sick of me.

So here's hoping I get into a groove, and I get used to it. There I feel better. I ranted.

I used to paint on a daily basis. I used to leave with a camera and do my thing. Up until the middle of this summer I would do some embroidery or knit. But lately, I'm worthless in the creativity department. It's really frustrating.

For a very long time I was working out six days a week. I was beginning to see a post childbirth form that I was comfortable with. I had a ton of energy.

Then something happened...and I'm not sure what.

I need to get back to all of that. I need to put myself back near the top of my priority list. As a mother it is way too easy to bump yourself to the very last thing on the list.