Waiting

I am increasingly plagued with senioritis as each day passes.  This is the last week of my current class  on International Accounting; I have found this class interesting on one or two brief occasions.  Apart from those collective five minutes, it's been one big snoozefest.  I have one last class on Internal Controls and I will be D.O.N.E. with my program mid-December.  SWEET!!!

So, in typical fashion, my mind is looking ahead.  As I've previously discussed, I have tinkered with the idea of getting back in the classroom.  While looking on Rockwall ISD's employment opportunities (looking for open High School business teaching positions), I saw they had a staff accountant position available.  I was stoked!!  In my best judgement, this would be ideal for me and my family.  I would still be serving teachers, administrators, and ultimately the students, AND I would get to use my newfound set of skills.  It would provide many of the additional days off that teachers enjoy and would allow me to leave the office before 5:00pm daily.  It paid well, and I seemed to meet the minimum qualifications.  You better bet that I knocked out that application, resume, and letter of intent as fast as my little fingers could fill them out.

And then all that was left to do was wait...

So, I waited...

And I stopped by to introduce myself but was too late to speak with anyone for the day.

I waited...

And waited...

And stopped by again and found out I couldn't "drop in" on the office making the decisions.  Boo.  So I called and left a voicemail.

And waited...

And then I got an email back.  But it was one of those emails that tells you from the very first line that it isn't the news that you wanted to hear.  "Dear Ms. Sprang... thank you... BUT..."

It would be a lie for me to say I am not disappointed.  Or that the tapes in my head aren't cued and ready to start playing the "you weren't qualified"...  "you were too late" ... "someone out there is better than you"... mantras that have played like broken records in not-so-long-ago times.

I had a conversation with a dear friend of mine.  And while we were talking - before I found anything out regarding the status of my application - she told me that if this isn't the job for me (as perfect as it seemed), then something out there, even better-suited for me and my family, would come along.

Waiting is hard.  It requires trust.  And patience.  

So, God, help me today.  Help me in this time of waiting.  My humanly desires want to go on the job-hunt...want to search for all the answers...want to make something happen.  And my wounded ego wants to each a bowl full of creamy pasta and chase it with a big ole slice of chocolate cake with ice cream to ease the sting of disappointment.  But I know that I'll only end up being more disappointed in myself.

Help me as I wait.
Let me find You in the waiting.
And help my heart grasp what my head knows: You got this.

It won't last forever

I have had moments of sheer and utter weariness while being a mom to both of my boys.

When Jacob - our oldest - was only months old, he was waking every two hours, round the clock.  I was baffled...and exhausted.  Frustrated that we couldn't seem to figure out why he wasn't sleeping, we tried a sound machine.  We tried a bassinet.  We tried putting him down in his crib.  We swaddled.  We unswaddled.  Put him on his back.  Put him on his side.  We thought it may be acid reflux.  We tried so many different things to get that boy to sleep.  It was miserable and felt like it would last F...O...R...E...V...E...R.

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Jacob has always been an extremely busy boy.  Curious and bubbly, he is often rambunctious and easily excited.  While it is fun to watch him discover, explore, and enjoy the fun of whatever he is experiencing, it was especially tiring when he was in the throws of toddler-hood.  He was a barrel of difficult-to-contain (and restrain) energy.

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Eventually, and somewhat accidentally, we figured out that Jacob wasn't sleeping because he was hungry.  Initially I felt so guilty and inadequate.  I somehow felt that it was my fault that I couldn't provide for him.  However, once we got that tummy full, that boy turned into a sleeping machine.  I mean like 7:00 p.m. -7:00 a.m. plus two 90-minute naps every day.

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Today I took Jacob in for his 4-year checkup.  Jacob wanted me to read him a book while we waited in the patient waiting room.  He sat so sweetly and calmly as I read him a riveting installment of Spiderman versus Electro.  As we finished up the words of the last page, in movie-perfect timing, they called his name. They weighed him (50 pounds!), measured his height (44 inches!), and we waited in the exam room for the pediatrician.  He quietly asked if he could play the "Bible Game" on my phone.  And then asked if he could sit in my lap.

And it occurred to me just how fast my first baby was growing up.  How proud of this sweet boy I was.  I am.  How much we've been through.  How much I've not only learned about him but about myself in the process. 

It would be dishonest of me to say that I've never had moments where I wished the difficulty would pass.  If we could just fast-forward.

But I think about what I would have lost in the process.

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In Zeke's first few months, acid reflux and food intolerances brought even more sleeplessness.  I prayed many a night in desperation for God to soothe my baby since my attempts were just not working.  And while it took some time for the medicine and dietary changes to kick in, Zeke's tummy began to heal and relief spread throughout our house.  

But one thing was different this time:  I knew it wouldn't last forever.  

So, now as Zeke is entering full-blown toddler-hood and proving to be just as active (and feisty and dare-devilish) as Jacob, I again have a comfort that I didn't have the first time: this difficult stage will not last forever.  

I will blink and my Squeaker Zekers will be a 4-year-old, speaking in full sentences, sitting in my lap for an entire story, and able to dress himself from head to toe.  

It's such a poignant mix of emotions, really.  Taking heart that the challenging stages will pass.  And savoring those sweet, priceless, precious moments.

Because they will not last forever.

A Series of Milestones

*Spoiler Alert*
I am getting ready to talk about an ending moment from the movie, "Boyhood." Consider yourself warned.

Recently Jonathan and I snuck away for a day date.  It was fabulous.  We ventured to a fun taco joint in Mockingbird Station, had some Pinkberry fro-yo, and caught the movie "Boyhood." I was so taken with the premise of the film: they literally filmed a fictional story over the course of twelve years.  So we, the audience, got to watch a 5-year-old little boy over the course of those years literally grow up.  What most grabbed my attention, though, was the mother in the film.  Near the end of the movie, she is sitting in the kitchen while her son finishes up packing for college.  He walks in to find her upset as she relives the big milestones of her life: growing up, falling in love, having children, going back to college, getting a great job, both of her children have graduated high school and are venturing off on their own.  She is upset because the only big milestone left is death.

This morning, I finished listening to "Despair & Hope," one of JR. Forasteros' podcast episodes from his "What's the Big Idea" class.  Awesome class, by the way.  He chronicles the movie "About Schmidt" and the central character's end-life crisis as he realizes that the American Dream he has spent his whole life seeking, was for naught.  Landing a great job.  Working hard for countless years to earn a good living.  Retiring comfortably.  But what difference has this life - his life - made?

These two scenarios are grabbing me at the gut-level right now because I feel a change is on the horizon.  I will graduate with masters in just a few more weeks (hooray!).  While I am feeling especially primed and ready to re-enter the "workforce," I am feeling the tension of what to do.  Should I take an office job to get some experience in my new field?  Is that experience ultimately necessary, though, if my goal is to return to the classroom?

Even deeper, though, is that I am being reminded of the best way to live.

I am a task-oriented individual, and I often view life as a series of checklists. Being a stay-at-home mom has helped with this; it is fruitless to check off "changing a dirty diaper" or "picking up toys" when these things will need done before I can find my misplaced list.  While I watched "Boyhood,"  and listened to the mother revisiting her list of checked-off milestones, I saw myself in that mother.

I could easily be sitting in that chair in 15 more years.

And it rocked me.

I want my life to mean something more.  And I want to be intentional about enjoying all of life's precious and beautiful moments.  Not only the fleeting feeling of accomplishment - or the weight of the self-induced stress - that accompany those checked-off boxes.

It's Been a Long Time, Old Friend

This is one of my favorite phrases to use when talking about food. If I haven't had a Pappadeaux shrimp po-boy or piece of Oreo delight in some time, it is not uncommon for me to take a bite and follow it up with a deep sigh and, "it's been a long time, old friend."  The problem, though, is my friendship with food.  While I take great pleasure in food, it was never intended to be my friend.

It should not be where I turn for comfort.

It should not be where I look to find the answer to my boredom.

It should not - because it cannot - ease the sting of disappointment or be the cure for my worry.

It never satisfies any of those needs.  And, in fact, leaves me feeling worse than before.

I have a long history, though, with emotional eating.  And I'm tired of it.  I'm tired of the cycle of overindulgence...which leads to shame...which leads to overindulgence...which leads to more shame...
 
I jokingly said to a friend the other day that my muffin top has gotten really out of control and has graduated to cupcake top.  I have gained and lost the same, stupid five pounds at least 4 or 5 times in the last six months.

And so I am making a New Years' resolution a bit early this year.  Whenever I feel the need to soothe my soul with ice cream or chips or whatever the vittley-vice of the evening may be, I will sit down first.  I will write about those feelings, perhaps publicly or maybe just privately.  Maybe I will still have a bite of chocolate after reflecting.   My hope, though, is that I will be more introspective.  More deliberate.  And that patterns of unhealthy behavior I have developed over the span of three decades will begin to change.

I love to write but saw the date of my last blog (2012); I was amazed that I have not written for pleasure in over 2 years.  I'm excited about exploring this side of myself again.  It's time to create.

It's been a long time, old friend.