On Rocking and Babies

I rock. Back and forth, all the time. Not in a crazy frantic sort of way - it's a swaying type motion, a constant light movement. 

I can't tell you how many people have come up to me and said something along the lines of "You need a baby to rock!".

We've wanted another baby pretty much since Brooklynne was born. I treasured every second of her being a baby, I loved the smells, the sounds, every little milestone. I've always been a baby person. As the oldest of 7 kids, I think its par for the course. But I'm REALLY a baby person. The kind that has 40 questions for an expectant mom. The kind that can't stop staring when a little one catches my eye. The kind that is so desperate for a child, I'm afraid its starting to show. I never imagined I would have a hard time getting pregnant. 

Brooklynne was an absolute surprise, and I had the dream pregnancy with her; so, I just planned on getting right back to the business of baby as soon as we wanted. I remember while I was pregnant with B, I would read peoples' stories of infertility, or the quest for a baby, and the sad, lonely road it had taken them down. I would rub my belly and think absently "how awful, thats so sad", then I'd go order some more hair bows on Etsy for my little baking babe. I was detached because it wasn't MY reality. I totally understand now, and I really wish I didn't. 

I couldn't comprehend their sadness - the way their hearts and minds could think of nothing else. Admittedly, I remember thinking; "I bet if they just let it go for a bit, it would happen." Month after month now, I've been in their shoes. I'm now the one that holds the sink in the bathroom sobbing when another test turns up negative. I've been the one to look at Facebook with bitterness when yet another girl I know announces she's pregnant in a cute way. I am the one that reads infertility boards and stories of success and cries out to the Lord in every way shape and form.

At first, I sort of knew we weren't getting pregnant because we simply couldn't take one more life turn. Parts of our journey had Cooper and I on totally different paths - simply going through the motions of our marriage; carrying unbelievable amounts of stress and hurt, shooting daggers at the other while trying to hide our gaping wounds. 

I wanted a baby, sure, but I also wanted a distraction. When things get hard, I tend to throw myself into something, anything, other than what needs to be done. Especially when it comes to changing mind and heart sets. I avoid confrontation and don't love making waves, so I go the way of the ostrich. I duck my head in the sand and wait for the worst of it to be over. 

My dad called me this summer, and thanked me for being a pioneer for our family.  I could easily be touted as the most reluctant trail blazer of all time, but it was indeed true- I walked a path few had before me. He said he was sorry he and my mom didn't see how much I was hurting, then and now. I'm great at taking the blame, and I was really good at putting one foot in front of the other, okay or not. He said he was excited for me to start floating. He told me he saw me as the figurehead of the boat- the mermaid at the front of the ship leading the way on every wave. 

I was sinking, gasping for breath, and could barely see before the next wave came crashing over me. But I'm an ostrich, so I never thought to stop the ship, to say; "Hey! I'm not okay! Things need to change. I need help. There has to be another way." I just stayed tethered to the front of that ship and rode it out. He let me know it was my time to float, or better, to captain my own ship. To live daringly, almost selfishly, to do what I wanted to do. 

You all know what came next- tears. Lots of them. I vowed to live more intentionally and to really start to live my life on purpose. Cooper and I still needed some serious healing, and our finances were tight to say it politely. Yet, I thought that was the invitation and acceptance my body needed to welcome a child. No such luck. Then, later in the Fall, Cooper and I had a life altering change in our marriage. He finally realized the hurt he was harboring and how it had let our lives spin out of control. I vowed to be lighter and more carefree; he promised to stay emotionally aware and life has been 10,000% more enjoyable. The very next thought after "thank you, thank you, thank you, Lord" was "please please please, Jesus."

I will be the first to admit I'm a control freak. Even on things I clearly have no control over, such as this baby deal. I have read every book and article on the topics of fertility and baby making. I've done all of the weird diets and worked with the herbs and oils. I've been checked several times for issues, and they all come back the same. I'm healthy as a horse, it's simply gotta happen on its own. At times, I wish the doctors could find something wrong with me, so we could fix it and move on. It's a lot harder to accept infertility when its simply "not your time." I know I should be thankful Jesus didn't answer my cries for a baby when we didn't have two pennies to rub together, and our marriage was simply two broken people with the same last name. I was not in a good place, and that baby would have entered this world in absolute turmoil. Garth Brooks knows what he's talking about when he sings; "Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers."

However, it can be so hard to hope when you can't control the situation. I know that sounds petty and obvious, but this is my first journey down the road of real acceptance in conjunction with faith. I've always either gotten what I wanted, or the Lord showed me a better way. This baby deal requires higher level involvement, though. This requires devotion to faith, and casting down fear and focusing on what is right and true, and changing what I can when it's wrong. 

It can seem like a full time job, staying hopeful and content. Contentment is one of my constant struggles anyways, but when it comes to very clearly not having what I want, sometimes it takes everything I have just to stay present. I list my praises and thanks, sometimes with tears streaming down my face. I look down at my sweet, beautiful girl and look at her with such amazement. I don't want to ever seem ungrateful. Lord knows, I've seen my fair share of miraculous changes and healing, but this longing I simply can't shake. 

I know in my mind, if God only had Bird for us, it would be okay. It would be more than okay- she brings such joy to our lives and my heart, and certainly keeps me busy. I know God would make it right. But in my heart, that thought scares and upsets me. I know in my head He has the very best for me, but when it doesn't line up with what I want on my own timeline, I have to work hard to not be discouraged. 

In the most basic of terms, I want what I think is best for me, simply because that's what I can see. That which I pretend I can control. If I can have what I can imagine I want, then God and I will stay on good terms. When I don't get what I want, like most anyone else, I have to work at our relationship. I have to remind myself it's never God that moves when I'm feeling distant or far from Him. I am always the one pulling away or holding out. 

I called my mom one day and said, "Maybe I do want just Brooklynne. It makes sense. It would be financially responsible. Maybe I'll just do that." She treaded lightly, she's always good about doing that, and said; "Well, if that's what the Lord has for you, then fine. But, I don't think that's what He has for you. I think that is your control talking. You would be sad when your sisters had 3 or 4 kids. You'd be upset when Brooklynne went off to school and you were on your own. You need to let it happen. You need to do the work spiritually. You have to let go." I told her I couldn't do it anymore, I just wanted to give up. She asked me the dreaded question: "And then what? You give up, you throw in the towel, and then what? You still don't have what you want, and you're still not happy. You are in the same exact predicament you're in today, except now, you are doing it without God's help. So what are you going to do? What does giving up get you?" 

She is well versed on this subject. I've watched her and my Dad weather storms that completely broke my heart for them. Moves that shook her to the core, job changes that felt like a slap in the face. She's had to ask herself that question a time or two, I know. I never take her words lightly, but especially not when it comes to wavering faith.

So now, I'm still waiting. I'm still longing, and begging, and sometimes looking at the calendar trying not to plot ovulation days and due dates. But I'm working towards hope. I'm leaning into my faith. I'm doing the hard work. And I'm still rocking.

Earning My Stripes

Brooklynne and I were having one of those days. It's February in Chicago, so that means we've essentially been inside for 5 months straight. We were bored of our toys and our games and our shows, so I thought we could waste away the afternoon in the bathtub. We were sitting in the tub and having a fun time. We played and talked and snuggled a bit, it was really a sweet time. Then Bird looked at me with a puzzled face and rubbed my stomach. With big questioning eyes she asked " Mommy, what happen to djur bawwdy?!" She was of course referring to my stretch marks.  I was mortified and flustered and just started rambling through an answer that didn't make any coherent sense. She lost interest and went back to playing with her bath toys, but I was numb. My body has always been a sensitive subject for me. I've been chubby, overweight, normal, and fit throughout my life, but mostly on the larger side of the scale. I've always loved eating and can't remember a time I didn't count down the minutes until dinner. I was my heaviest in high school. It had to do with terrible self esteem, and poor eating habits, but also, oddly, looks preservation. I stopped working out because I didn't like to sweat ( it made my hair frizz). I woke up at 5:00 to do a full face of makeup and straighten my crazy curly hair within an inch of its life EVERY SINGLE MORNING FOR 3 YEARS. I ate what my girlfriends ate, but more. I exerted no energy, and fell into a deep depression. I tried to keep myself mentally busy by chasing boys and lying for attention, but I was starting to unravel a bit. I was making bad decisions, I was terribly unhappy, and I really didn't know how I was going to turn it all around. I was embarrassed to look at myself in the mirror, but couldn't stop being so superficial. It was an odd Catch 22. Moving to Baltimore seemed like the worst thing in the world at the time, but I thank the Lord I was given that get out of jail free card. Going to an all girls school let me finally stop caring about what I looked like, and start working on it. I went to the gym religiously, wore my hair in messy curls, and started eating healthy. I will forever keep St. Tim's on a pedestal for all it gave to me, but also for who it let me become. I lost the rest of my baby fat and unwanted lbs the beginning of my freshman year at Baylor, and loved how I felt. Soon after, I started dating Cooper and the rest is history. But my body image really never changed. I always saw myself as the chubby awkward girl, and that has honestly been the stumbling block in my head for years. Its wrapped up in self loathing and feeling less than and a terribly skewed self worth. When I got pregnant, I was thrilled to not worry about my eating so much, a little too much in the beginning, but it worked itself out. I maintained a decent pregnancy weight and lost the weight quickly afterwards. The stretch marks were indeed there, but not too bad. Then, Chicago happened. Chicago is like a holding pattern for our family; a sort of layover type place. It's where Singletary kids go until they get their next assignment. This was my second stint in layover land, but this turned out to be VERY different. We were here this time, unbeknownst to us, to work on our marriage. The cracks had started to show, and the Lord used this time, this place, and this house to bring out all of the ugly and lay it out on the table. Things were so hard for Cooper and I. He flung himself whole heartedly into fixing the house and ended up biting off way more than he could chew.  In his defense, I now know he was just trying to make this into our dream house, but we lived in sheer chaos for about a year straight. I was home here with Brooklynne without a car, and Cooper had a 3 hour round trip commute to a steady, but low paying job. We were making enough to just barely eek by, and there was no wiggle room at all. Both sets of parents stepped in and helped tremendously, but the day in and day out was brutal. So the only real indulgence I had was what I ate. Or how much, I should say. I ate pretty much all day, because I could, and I absolutely fed my sadness with Oreo's and strawberry ice cream.  I felt so deprived of a life I wanted so desperately I let myself indulge in the one thing I had control over. The same high school pattern emerged. It went on this way for about a year, and I hated it. Looking back, I'm so sad at how I spent that time. Brooklynne was my constant companion and while she laughed and played and was none the wiser to my pain, I know I wasn't as alive as I could have been. I let the pain dwell and fester, and those same old demons took over -" don't let anyone see, don't let anyone know how messy your mind has become. Don't ask for help, don't let them know you can't hack it. You're weak and fat, and that's simply the way it is." That mantra played in my head all day everyday for months and months on end. I look back at our trip to Hawaii this past summer and can see the thinly veiled pain in my eyes and swollen face. Cooper ended up not coming for a few different reasons, and that was the beginning of the end for us and our cold war way of life. We got home and fought like crazy until we got through it all. We sought to find answers and get to the bottom of our nagging issues.This autumn was a time of healing for me, and of reconciliation for us. By Christmas, I was back to my old self, my happy self, mentally. I finally bit the bullet and went gluten free, and have started to put myself on the agenda again. While I won't look like my college self or don an adorable bikini anytime soon, I am working on me again. My body may not be what it was, but it can certainly be better than it is. I look at my stretch marks not with admiration- I'm not that evolved yet- but I do appreciate what they mean. I became a mom, a good one, and have these left to show alongside my beautiful baby girl. Not that I'd show anyone other than my husband and sisters, but you get what I mean. It means I came through the other side better and wiser. No less wear and tear, but in some ways I'm lighter and brighter than I was before Brooklynne and Chicago: Round 2. So I believe I've earned these stripes, and until I'm done having babies and can get them lasered off (which I'm TOTALLY doing,) I'll wear them with pride underneath my one piece. Lest you think I'm all svelte and sane, I'll have you know I nearly passed out not too long ago because I wasn't willing to take off my drenched t shirt in my Bikhram yoga class. The room is set to a balmy 105 degrees, so most people are as naked as is publicly allowed. Not me. I'm in full yoga pants, a sports bra and a t shirt. I didn't want to see my muffin top in in the mirror, so I let myself sweat profusely to the point of nausea. I know my self image will always be my stumbling block, but I also know the Lord is changing my heart and mind day by day.When I am in tune spiritually I can begin to fine tune my physical self. I can challenge myself when I feel secure. Understanding I'm made in His image helps me to accept grace, and to think more highly of myself. As a daughter of the King, He calls us to no less. I'm gaining in knowledge and losing the pounds and I'm learning to appreciate this skin I'm in. 

On TV and Motherhood

Brooklynne and I went on a tv detox today. Well, Brooklynne did. I'm still going to watch tv, but only after she's in bed. I still like to numb my mind and let my shoulders sink back to their natural resting place after the day is done while watching Friends or Real Housewives of Wherever. I decided I needed to pull the plug so to speak on Birdie and her tv watching for several reasons. One, the shows are annoying. That's just a stand alone fact. If Dora stood their blinking at me for 82 seconds or if I had to hear Caillou's whine one more time, I was going to lose it. What are kids supposed to be learning from Caillou anyway? How to be the most obnoxious child in preschool, or maybe all of the world? The whining, the crying, the neediness, the gnashing of teeth- it's amazing to me they can still drum up characters to hang with this kid. I think they're really driving home the difficulties of being a 4 year old, but all it really does is make me hate an imaginary child. I saw a funny Pinterest post the other day, and it said "even on the worst of days, I think to myself, at least I'm not Caillou's mom." SO true. 

Also, it was completely sucking up our day, in the absolute worst of ways. We'd watch a few shows with breakfast, then maybe run a few errands, then home for lunch and a show or two before nap, then when she woke up, I'd use it extensively to get through the long afternoon and dinner prep, also known as the witching hours, right before Daddy got home. What is it about meal prep time that makes the metaphorical wheels fall off the day? Brooklynne in general is not a whiner, but for some reason around 4:30 until the second before Cooper gets home, her words are long and drawn out and are several decibels higher than need be. We'd eat dinner, then round out the day with a show before bed. When I really took a hard look at the amount of time she spent zoned out and zombied in front of the tv, I was blown away. It made me embarrassed and ashamed of how I was using this time God gave me to be with her, and teach her, and show her His love in big and little ways. I told myself, "well, if I had a car, it wouldn't be like this," or "if we had the money to spend, I'd certainly entertain her elsewhere." I'd completely let myself off the hook on this whole intentional Mom deal.

 I've read so many articles and blog posts and Facebook statuses about how difficult Motherhood is, and essentially, if you make it through the day and your kids are still breathing, then props to you, and drink up, because you deserve it! But, I don't want to live like that anymore. I don't want to just merely survive the day with her, patting myself on the back because she eats organically and takes a bath every night. I want more than that, for her and for me. Even though the days can feel like they are right around 93 hours long sometimes, I want to use the time we have wisely. I need to do a much better job of doing the hard things when it comes to intentional mothering. I don't need any more outs. I know those posts are written in the sprint of togetherness and "life in the trenches", but I don't need another "who can blame you," or "forgive yourself, the job is tough" schpeel. I need accountability, something to make me try harder and dig deeper. Not a way to back out because the task is hard. Motherhood IS hard, but you only get one shot to do it right.

 So, no more tv for Birdie. And already, it's kind of changing everything. I'll admit, I totally panicked when we'd done everything on the day's agenda and it was only 10:30. I couldn't believe how much we accomplished in so little time without the distraction of the television in the background. We played outside, did sidewalk chalk and followed ants on their busy paths. We replaced the noise of tv with praise and worship music. Brooklynne clapped along and did her weird, foot stomping, arm wiggling dance. With all this free time, I might dedicate an hour or two to teaching Brooklynne how to dance, or at least how to follow Hitch's guide to white people dancing. Lord forbid she go to her 6th grade school dance and end up looking like Elaine from Seinfeld. I embarrassed myself, in many many ways, in middle school, but none of them from lack of style and flair while dancing.  The good dancing probably distracted from my bright pink eyeshadow and frizzy bangs for a little bit, so I'm putting dancing in the plus category of life.

We built castles with Legos, and played with her babies. And we talked, really actually talked. Even though she's only two, Brooklynne is quite the conversationalist. She's been speaking in full sentences for months, and always surprises me with her vocabulary. She says words like "fantastic" and "lovely" on the regular, and always has really dramatic hand motions ( I don't know WHERE she would have picked that up.) I love her little heart and how lately she's had such a mind towards Jesus. I dropped something on the ground, and before I reached to grab it, she said "not worry, Mommy, Jesus will get it for you. He always helps and keeps you safe!" We might need to do a little revising on her concept, but the main points are good and true. 

We played until well past her bed time and she was so excited to tell Cooper every moment of her day. I told him about the tv deal, and he was pleased. To get any sort of reaction out of Cooper can be like pulling teeth, so a blatant show of approval is big. I told him I thought this was going to be a good thing for us, and I truly believe that. I'm sure in the future I'll be tempted to drown out the meal prep blues, or turn on the tv when I just want to sneak away and read People magazine in peace for 20 minutes. But overall, I needed this physical change to facilitate the heart change I needed to make. So hurrah to hard things, and intentional mothering. And to no more Caillou. 

Verite sans Peur

This past weekend was my birthday. It was also Brooklynne's birthday party, which made for a whirlwind week of frantic cleaning, and preparation, and really quality family time. My mom and my two youngest siblings rolled into town on Monday, and got right to work on my humble abode. I've been living in some state of construction for the past year. It's been a learning experience, to say the least, as well as absolutely crazy making. Jackie and Brooke live here, so they were the gophers for the countless DIY projects and Target runs. Jill arrived on Wednesday, and that's when the place got it's facelift. She has a way of just making everything that much more beautiful. My mother in law literally took off of work to hang curtains she made for my guest room, in preparation for two of my dearest friends to arrive on Friday.

Catherine, Sarah and I met when my family moved to Baltimore. We all attended a small boarding school called St. Timothy's. We were day students, so in our minds, the numerous rules and regulations just didn't really all the way apply to us. Well, to Catherine and I. Sarah's nickname is Nana, because she always was a rule follower to the letter, and would sort of "tisk-tisk" at our devil-may-care attitudes. We had this group of friends that sort of became this untouchable entity. We called ourselves The 3-6 (in the English school system, 3's are freshman and 6's are seniors,) and our group spanned the whole of those years. It was such a weird place, and such an odd time in our lives, but for some reason it all worked. Our personalities couldn't be more different, and really, I'm certain if it weren't for St. Tim's we wouldn't have even given each other a chance. Something about it being all girls just really took the pressure off and let us really see into each other. We let ourselves learn each others' idiosyncrasies, and fears, and dreams, and just really grew up and into each other. It was such a formative time for all of us, and I came to Baltimore so jaded and broken without even really knowing it. I thought I was just upset about leaving Chicago, the only home I'd ever known, but I was teetering on the edge of such overwhelming sadness, I didn't really know how I was going to get out. I didn't realize it happening then, but every time I did something out of my comfort zone, or shared something that hurt me, or laughed really really hard and meant it, I was being put back together. Those girls, and that time changed me and healed me in ways I can't even describe. A teeny piece of my heart will always be in Baltimore, more specifically, at St. Tim's.

As excited as I was to have them, I was worried about what they would think. Even though these girls know my deep, dark stuff, I was nervous about swinging open my doors and my unfinished bathrooms and saying "this is it, I hope it's enough." My mom said, in the very nicest way, "Kristen, no one cares! They're not going to judge you. Quit freaking out!" It hurt my feelings, but it also let me step back from the ledge of manic for a little bit. I whined and complained about what wouldn't be done in time, or what didn't look just right, and then I let those words seep into my soul in a truly life changing, heartbreaking way. I realized a life on hold, or a life removed, is not the life I want to be living anymore.

When the girls arrived, we were all squeals and giggles, and caught up over drinks. We went to aunt's house for what turned into my birthday party on Friday, and had a wonderful time. I was so happy to be with them, and I could feel my shoulders leaving my ears, and the worry starting to fade. Oddly enough, they hadn't met Cooper yet, and he and I happened to be in one of those cold war stand-offs, but by Saturday, they were joking and laughing, so even that didn't really matter. There was a point in the morning on Saturday right before the party, when Sarah was mopping my floor and Catherine was scrubbing my range. It really took my breath away. It said to me that these were my girls, these were my people. And it also said that I'm the only one that suffers when I withdraw and pull away because I'm not thrilled with what life looks like. After the party, which was a wonderful success just as my mom said it would be, the girls and I drank and cried and laughed hysterically, and Cooper joined in (strictly as a spectator.) We circled around deep wounds and the need for each other, and vowed over and over that we needed to do this MUCH more often. I think Cooper conked out around the group hug portion of the evening, and we followed soon after.

We gathered to celebrate Father's Day at Jackie's the next morning, and then we were off to the airport. We were sad to say good bye, but more energized by being together and having that time to be high school girls again. Driving away from the airport with a few tears, I told Cooper that I thought I was finally getting it. I'm finding people don't super love squeaky clean; they don't like getting to the heart of a person, and finding there's really nothing going on in there. Every every EVERYONE has things they'd like to keep concealed. But that's not doing life together. That's even more stressful than being alone- pretending Facebook life is your everyday normal is exhausting. Those girls loved on Brooklynne like I knew they would, and Catherine cut her leg on my unfinished bathroom knobs, and lived to tell the tale. It was perfect.

As a birthday gift to myself, I've decided this will be my year to let it go. I don't want to stress over what's not right, I don't want to stay away just because everything isn't just so, and I want to reach out to my friends and family and be okay with help. I've fought help every step of the way, which really means I've fought love and kept it at arms length for far too long. At St. Tim's, the school motto is "Verite sans Peur," which translates from the French to mean "Truth without Fear." I want that. I want to be vulnerable and at peace and content with the truth of my life, and to leave the fear and worry and self doubt behind. I'm leaving that in the rearview and looking forward to a new way of thinking and being.

I'm so grateful for this weekend- the laughs and the tears, the lessons learned and moments shared, and the family and friends I really can't be without.

Happy Birthday to me. I'm sure 27 will be my very best year yet.

Here goes nothing

There are about 82,435 reasons I didn't want to create a blog. The list is extensive, but I'll rattle off a few just for fun. Number one- I'm not cool. In a family of 9 awesome people, and 7 dynamic children, I've always kind of felt like the mother hen lame one. Matt and Jackie are big into music, exchanging songs and YouTube videos. They're creative, lively, and hilarious. Jill is wonderful with fashion. A true artist in every sense of the phrase. She knows good colors, shapes, and looks for most everyone. Lots of selfies and high glam shots. Becky and John are both smart, lithe athletes, and Brooke is the glue for everyone. Smart, funny, a great listener, and wise beyond her years. My parents are people every one looks up to and respects, rightfully so. I don't really have a discernible talent or skill, or "this is what I can bring to the table" trick. I listen to old school Whitney and Mariah and Lite FM, and not in an ironic way. I don't like The Beatles, U2, animals, or politics. So there's that.

Number two- I'm not tech savvy at all. Like AT ALL. I use both my laptop and iPad to look at Pinterest, check Facebook, and read magazines. I use my phone to text and let Brooklynne watch pbskids.org. Fun fact- I've never even created a PowerPoint presentation, isn't that crazy?! I always managed to delegate that role to someone else in a group project, and when I needed to make one in college, Cooper was so annoyed with how long it took me to mess around with the settings, he just did them for me. Lest you think I was a slacker or worked my then boyfriend to the bone, I proofread and edited all of his papers- he totally got the better end of the deal. When I asked if words could whirl in, or letters could drop from the top of the slide or sound effects could be added, and he simply said "Not a chance," without looking away from the screen, I think that was our line in the sand moment; if it had to do with computers, it was Cooper's job. I also don't take very many pictures. I mean, I have 1,417 of Brooklynne on my phone currently (that's the real number, and I'm guessing it's also the reason my phone dies twice a day) but as far as the real DSLR, twist the lens camera, notsomuch. I've since found out you can use said phone pictures in blog posts, so we're good.

Lastly, I kind of didn't want to invite people into my life, without it being invitation worthy. I kept thinking, "as soon as our house is finished, I'll start the blog." Or "as soon as I have something more to report than Brooklynne and Mommy at the park, Brooklynne and Mommy doing sidewalk chalk, Brooklynne and Mommy watching Fresh Beat Band, then I'll totally blog. Not one thing going on today is noteworthy." I don't want people to know what I'm feeling, or thinking deep down. I would rather just keep Facebook life up. Cute, quippy posts and a picture of my sweet Birdie girl, and no one is the wiser as to what's really happening with me. Full honest self is scary. I've been different people at different times, as all of us have. I wanted to keep my favorite self- my funny, witty, charming self at the forefront. Not "hard Mom days" self, or "searching for something unknown" self; those aren't fun or cute. So I kind of hid. And I'm just now realizing that's not fair- to myself or to those that love me. I want to write down and remember my feelings and thoughts as they are right now, as a gift to myself. Just because it's not perfect, doesn't mean it's not important.

I felt God tugging at me to do this, to step out and be vulnerable, but as usual, I gave him reasons why now just wasn't the perfect time. I rationalized and talked myself out of it for years. And because I'm the type of person that needs huge sweeping gestures and really obvious signs when I'm to do something out of my comfort zone, I had no less than 5 separate people tell me to start blogging.

So I'm blogging.

I don't know what this will be, or how often I'll post, but I'm excited to be doing it!

Then I got to worrying about a name. I know, mountains out of teeny tiny ant hills, right? And then it dawned on me- Hangin' with Mr. Cooper. One, because that's what I'm doing most of the time. And two, because I really loved that show as a kid. I thought Holly Robinson Peete was so beautiful and I wanted to have a little teeny waist when I grew up so I could wear super high waisted acid wash jeans, just like her. And Mark Cooper's suits were fly. I yelled out to Cooper "I'm naming my blog Hangin' with Mr. Cooperrrrrrrr," in the same way Kevin yelled out to Buzz that he was in his room and going through his stuff- he wasn't home, and I knew he wouldn't like it. Cooper is selfless and quiet. The ultimate introvert. He prefers watching and listening to being front and center any day. But I did it because he's my man, and I'm going to celebrate him. By the way, the Buzz and Kevin reference is from Home Alone. If you didn't know that, or appreciate it, you might be in the wrong place : )

To all that I say, here goes nothing.