Consider it Joy

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4

Not just joy, but pure joy. Why? Because trials make you stronger. 

It's hard to look at it that way when you are in the midst of what seems like a life-changing trial. We don't find the joy, we worry, stress, rehash, dwell, complain, etc, etc...

At least, I do, or used to. I'm trying to be better. 

What good does all that worry and stress do? It doesn't, it just robs us of our joy. It robs us of our happiness and then there we are wasting a minute, an hour, a day, a week of our time. Time that we aren't guaranteed, anyway. Tomorrow isn't promised, so do you want your possible last day to be filled with worry and doubt?

Worrying isn't going to change anything, it won't fix anything. I'm guessing more often than not, it makes things worse and in the end, doesn't matter anyway.

So, here's me, vowing to worry less, and live more. How about you?

to the moon and back,

Perspective

I'm not a hugger. I'm not touchy-feely. Physical contact takes work for me, it doesn't come naturally. I even feel like I have a limit to how much physical touch I can take.

Well, last night at dinner, Moose was making it his personal goal to see if he could help me reach that limit. He could not stop touching, hugging, kissing me. He would rub my arm, climb in my lap, put an arm on my shoulder, place his head on my lap, and hold my hand. I love that he is so affectionate. I wish I was that way, but last night for some reason, I was about at my limit. I wasn't mad or upset, but I was feeling a little stifled. We were laughing and making a joke about it and he thought it was hilarious.

Then today it hit me, I need to cherish those moments because I am blessed enough to have them.

I would have been due with baby #2 this month if I hadn't miscarried back in March. That's a baby that I'll never touch, hug or kiss. I will never be able to rub his or her arm, hold them on my lap or hold their little hand. I will never be able to "reach my limit" on physical touch with that baby. You don't comprehend how attached you can get to someone that you never met. It's the loss of what could have been.

It's hard to think about that but it hits me every now and then and realize how luck I am to have a happy, healthy, beautiful boy. Not everyone gets that opportunity. My heart breaks for friends of ours who haven't been able to have kids and who are struggling through the ridiculous Florida DCF trying to adpot.

I realize that even if we don't have another child (yes, we are going to try again, but it's ultimately up to God), we are beyond blessed with what we have. I will relish every squeeze, every eskimo kiss, every butterfly kiss, and every smack to my (in his words) "beautiful spankable bottom" (thank his dad for that).

October 15th is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day. In October 1988, President Ronald Reagan Proclaimed October as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. “When a child loses his parent, they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, there isn’t a word to describe them.”

Here are events to get involved with and here are ways to show your support.

I can't even...

I love a good movie. My dad did his best to instill that in me. We spent countless weekends indulging in Chinese food at the local buffet followed by an afternoon matinee. We watched animated movies, horror movies, dramas, comedies, you name it.

I've seen my fair share of bad movies, some so bad they are good, some just bad, bad. Now, you may say my taste in movies is questionable because I do enjoy a good rom-com aka chick-flick. However, I am willing to admit most of those are terrible and lead to unrealistic relationship standards as they never show what happens after the guy finally wins the heart of the girl when he drives her crazy with his clothes on the floor or trash placed not in, but next to the trash can.

Having said all of that, I am going to talk about an upcoming piece of cinematic ridiculousness that will probably cause my husband to shake his head at me. He loves a good "shoot 'em up - bang" movie as he calls them (think "Expendables" & "Transporter". No plot, no story, just guns, fights and explosions. I think he will agree with me, though, that this movie just looks terrible and I can't even imagine watching it.

Don't get me wrong, I know that it is made to be "bad" and over the top, but I think it's gone beyond that. I'm just shaking my head as I watch the commercials for it tonight while Jon watches the fight. It's gratuitous, for gratuitous's sake. I can only imagine the language and nudity in it. In fact, I was looking for just the movie poster to post as a pic for this blog and I couldn't even find a "clean" one. Seriously, the movie has a girl with a gun bra...

I guess I just don't get it, but maybe I'm a hypocrite because I love The Walking Dead which has it's own gratuitous amount of bloodshed. It doesn't, however, have the needless nudity or cussing just to cuss.

to the moon and back,

Irrationally Emotionally Attached

This is how I feel every time I look in my closet or dresser. I hate everything in both of them... except that super cute new dress and pants from BFree Clothing.

Everything is mediocre and nothing makes me feel very put together. One quarter of it is ill-fitting and makes me looks homeless, one quarter makes me feel old, another quarter is yoga pants and t-shirts that I wear for work and the last quarter may not even be from this decade... (This doesn't include my shoes, some of those are pretty fabulous.)

Here's the bad part... I can not seem to part ways with any of it. Stupid clothes and my stupid irrational emotional attachment to them.

This is what happens, I try on numerous items, hate all of them, curse at my closet, vow to purge all of it's contents, pull an item off the hanger, aim for the trash bag and all of a sudden I am riddled with guilt. Then I start thinking, "Oh, it's not that bad, I'll wear it again one day." or "but I can't toss this, I remember buying it to wear to my husband's co-workers wedding." or "but I bought this when we were on a cruise in the Key's when I was 20lbs lighter and It might fit again one day."

Oh, then there are my jeans... the ill-fitting ones. The ones that after about 30 minutes of wear give me that ever attractive droopy butt and those other ones with the hole in the knee (not for fashion, but from actual wear) and all 3 pairs (yes, I only have 3 pairs, I'm terrible at buying jeans that fit right) look like I am carrying my cell phone in my back pocket at all times (even when I'm not).

I'm also attached to a too small t-shirt that says "8675309", but I have to keep that, right? Because my name is Jen, get it? Ah, forget it. My wardrobe is helpless.

The worst part, is I don't even know how to shop or where to shop anymore. I feel like I'm too old to shop at some places but definitely too young for others.

I just want Melinda Gordon's closet...

First world problems, I know. I should just feel blessed to have clothes on my back...

to the moon and back,

Relationships are hard... and stuff

I debated whether or not to write this post because it's a touchy subject and I tend to censor myself because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. However, I feel like this subject has come up quite a bit lately and I think because Jon and I are so open about the issues we have had, people feel they can talk to me. The taboo topic??? Marriage problems....

I will preface this by saying that I am not judging those who are divorced. If you feel as though I'm calling you out, then you may have a guilty conscience. I am only referring to my own personal experience.

Around 2007, Jon and I were going through a very rough patch. Although, I'd have to say it was more me than him. I'm a bottler, I bottle up all of my feelings inside and shove them down into a black hole and try to go on as if they weren't there. I had gotten to a point where that black hole was full. Full of anger, disappointment, frustration, hurt feelings, and so on, and so on... We had become roommates, who just co-existed. To the world, though, we looked like the perfect couple. The acting was exhausting.

I was done, I couldn't do it anymore. I told him I wanted a divorce.

• "You want kids and I'm not sure I do and I can't take that from you."
• "You deserve someone who will love you as much as you love them."
• "I don't want to hurt you anymore."
• "I don't want to keep you in a relationship that I'm not sure will work."

Those were mostly true, but not the real reasons, but for me, it was easier to ask for a divorce than to actually tell him what I didn't like about him anymore. Looking back, I realize how selfish I was being. I was taking the choice away from him. Maybe he wants me more than he wants kids, maybe he want's to know what I wasn't happy with because he'd be willing to change. Maybe he was done, too. Regardless, I wasn't giving him a chance.

It was just easier to walk away.

He asked me to try, really try to make it work. He begged for me to talk to him. We cried, we talked, we listened, we were brutally honest. We talked more in the following 2 weeks than we had the previous 7 years. How sad, but we learned an important lesson, communication and prayer is key.

Another lesson that I have learned since then is that we need to learn to lean on God more to fulfill our need for love. He is the only one who loves us with a sacrificial love. When we expect that kind of love from our spouse alone and expect them to fill our every need, we are doomed to always feel alone because they will never fill all of them, nor are they supposed to. 

However, having said that, it's way easier said than done. Jon and I didn't talk (really talk) for a very long time and it almost lead to divorce. The problem is that communication and truth can hurt, so we tend to avoid it. I'm not saying we are perfect now, far from it, but we are so much better than where we were. 

Relationships are hard, they take work. They are not these fairy tales we see on TV and in movies. I'd even go out on a limb and say every relationship takes work, and if you say it doesn't (ie "Our relationship is perfect and we never have any problems. We are soul mates who love each other unconditionally!"), I might even go as far as to call you a fibber, either that or you are still in the "honeymoon" phase. :)

Anyway, I share this here so that maybe someone gets a little comfort in knowing they aren't the only one. Everyone goes through rough patches (to varying degrees) at some point.  Hang in there, fight for it, pray for it, communicate for it. Keep in mind you loved your spouse enough to marry them in the first place.

to the moon and back,

Easy Peasy Chicken Pot Pie

A few of my friends get together once a month or so and trade freezer meals. This is really nice, because if 5 people do it, then you end up with 6 (counting the one you make) homemade freezer meals to use on those hectic nights.

The last two that we have done, I have made chicken pot pies. For one, they freeze really well, and for two, they are super easy to make.

I have had a few people ask me for my recipe, so here goes, try not to get lost in the uber complicated directions... ;)

Chicken Pot Pie

2 Chicken Breasts (Boneless)
1 Bag Frozen Mixed Veggies
Self Rising Flour
Chicken Broth
Refrigerated Pie Crust
Salt & Pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 350. In a large pot, fill halfway with chicken broth and salt & pepper to taste. Then place the chicken breasts in the pot. Bring to a boil and reduce heat to medium and boil until the chicken is cooked thoroughly. remove the chicken and add the mixed veggies. Cook on a low boil until veggies get tender. While they are cooking, take a fork and shred the chicken into small pieces. Add the chicken back into the pot with the veggies.

Now, in a small cup, add 2 tbsp of flour and add water and mix to make a slurry (looks like milk) and then add to the pot. Let it boil for a bit to thicken. Repeat the process until the sauce is as thick as you’d like it. Take a nine inch pie pan and place one of the pie crusts on the bottom and trim the excess off the edges. After the chicken mixture has cooled a little, begin spooning it into the crust. Don’t overfill it. Then add the other pie crust to the top and seal the edges and trim excess. Place in the oven and bake until crust browns. Enjoy! (you may have enough mixture to make 2 pies, just freeze the extra one)

See? Easy peasy lemon squeezey (as moose would say)!

to the moon and back,

I wore a bikini to the beach...

Ok, so two questions probably came to your mind when you read the title:

1. Why?
2. Why are you telling me about it?

I'll answer both of those for you (you probably have many more than that, but I'm not a mind reader).

I didn't wear a bikini to the beach because I look like a super model. I didn't wear a bikini to the beach because I have a perfect body. I didn't wear a bikini to the beach because I have super high self esteem and I didn't wear a bikini to the beach because I love every inch of my body. (I have never met a woman who does love every inch of her body, we all have a hang up or two.)

I wore a bikini to the beach because I wanted to prove to myself that I could (plus this pasty white tummy was just screaming for a little color). I'm insecure. I'm a girl, I think we are all born with at least a little insecurity bred into us, the media helps take care of the rest of our insecurities. I have stretch marks and cellulite. I have freckles and uneven skin tone. I have a belly, sagging skin and my thighs touch. I'm not photoshoped or air brushed... (I know, shocker!) Even the medical field adds to it, according to their BMI calculators, I'm currently over weight and have been obese most of my life.

But here's what the bikini doesn't show (or my BMI for that matter)... I can do 90 minutes of hot yoga without stopping. I can bike 14 miles at a 12 mile pace. I can jog a 5k. I can spend the day doing manual labor. I can keep up with my 3 year old (most days). I am fit, even if my body doesn't show it. 

Want to know what I learned from this experience? No one ran from me in sheer terror. No one pointed and giggled. No one stared and whispered. No one even gave me a double take. I'm not sure what I thought would happen, but it was ridiculously uneventful. Well, aside from the fact that I opted for no sunscreen because we had a canopy up and I got fried, on that pasty white tummy that I am sure has not see much of the light of day.

Now, on to why I am telling you about it. Well, because if I can do it you can do it... conquer your fear that is. Your fear may not be a bikini (and by the way, it was very tasteful suit, no tiny bikini's), but it can be conquered. I'm not saying that it has to be a huge fear that you conquer, start with the small ones. Then the big ones don't seem so unattainable.

I know I sound extremely superficial and/or narcissistic, but if you ask my hubby, you'll see what a real fear this was for me. No matter how confident I come across in person, I am a big ball of self doubt at home. I am working on just loving me.

I even remember the first time I felt heavy. It was Easter and I was about 7. My great-grandma gave me a cute, stuffed, yellow Easter bunny with fluffy white cheeks. She said that she got it for me because it reminded her of me, chubby. No, she meant that in the most loving way, but that's what sticks with a 7 year old girl. I'll have to find the picture of me from that year to share.

Let me know what fears you want to conquer... :)

to the moon and back,