To Forgive and Be Forgiven

I was never raised in a church-going family. Well. . .we did go. About once a year. Always, on Easter.

We'd dress up in something new (because Easter always demanded something new--even if it was a nice new bow for my hair or a mini-me suit jacket for my gangly little brother). And we'd pile in the AMC Hornet after the Easter baskets had been ravaged and go to some kind of middle-of-the-road Methodist church. We'd sit in unfamiliar pews among unfamiliar people and follow along as best we could. It always seemed pretentious to me, even as a little kid. That we were just pretending for that day to be some other family. A family who always wore their Sunday best and dutifully got up for church every week. But that wasn't really us at all.

Anyway. . .so not much of a church goer growing up.

I did start going to church pretty regularly after my mother died. I was in England for the summer and started going to the ancient, small church where my grandmother had been married and where my aunt was a regular. I loved everything about it: the smell of the incense, the bells, the Vicar who told stories about his time living in India and how those stories always seemed relevant to something I was going through in my own, ordinary life, the mass sung rather than spoken, the soothing ritual of the same words sung week after week. I loved the time to sit on old, old wood or kneel on ancient stone pavers and share my troubles with God. Unburden myself.

I felt like God really listened to me there.

More recently, I started going to church again. It's not as old as my lovely English church, but it still feels familiar to me. Comfortable. Going there feels like a little oasis of peacefulness in the middle of an often crazy week.

Lately, even though I truly believe I have so many good things going on in my life, I've begun to feel resentful. Resentful that my house is a mess and I seem to be the only one who cares. Resentful that I rarely have a moment to myself between, home, family and work. Resentful that the path of others often seems so much easier. Resentful that so many of the struggles in my life I seem to have had to face alone.

And the truth is, I'm tired of being resentful. I'm annoyed with myself that I can get so riled up by undisturbed dust and dirt. I'm tired of keeping a mental tally of my grievances and slights. Like my extra weight, I feel like I just take everything on, the unkind words, the annoyances, the general disorder of my life and carry it with me wherever I go. Holding tight to it like some kind of badge. Some proof of something I'm not even sure of.

And in the past few months, I feel every ounce of it strapped across my back and dragging around behind me. I just want to find a way to snip the cords that keep me attached to all of it. I want so much to stop being so crabby--especially with the people I love the most--and just live more fully and peacefully in the moment.

And so, this Sunday morning I made a trip to my little oasis of calm.

I laid it all out. I asked for help. I asked to be unburdened. I asked to forgive and to be forgiven. I asked to not get so irritated by the dust and disorder (though having the dust magically disappear would be great, too, but it's clear, God has more pressing issues to focus on).

I asked for God to take the list from me and take over record keeping--or not, as he sees fit.

I left feeling a bit lighter. The conversation has been broached. But there is still a whole lot more talking to do. I hope he's listening. . .

New Year's Blessing

My mind is a little mushy.

I feel like I need to write something down but not really sure what it is I desire to say. So many words just floating around in my head. . .

grateful

tired

searching

grateful

More than anything--beyond the tiredness or the lack of answers to the still fuzzy questions, I feel grateful. Grateful for my lately, overly busy and imperfect life. Grateful for small things and big things: my healthy, happy wonder of a boy; my annoying and handsome husband who I never want to live without; furry creatures who have become part of my family; food on the table; my small but cozy home. Grateful that I have a job and don't have to spend every day worrying about paying the mortgage (like I did often in the previous years). Grateful that, since I have more, I can help others in ways that just make my heart feel good.

Like many of you, when the jackpot hit over $350 million, I bought the Mega Millions tickets, too. But honestly, I feel a little bit every day like I already won the lottery in so many seemingly mundane yet wonderful ways.

I am happy in my small life. Truly, I am. So many moments of pure wonder that I wish I could just capture in my hand and hold onto forever.

I wish the same for each of you.

Working Mama Maggie?

I actually have a job interview on Tuesday. Not just any interview. . .a breakfast meeting. . .FANCY!

We'll see what happens. I'm in two minds about the whole thing. On one hand, I'm excited about the prospect of making good money again (pay off the credit cards and not have to worry every month about how to pay the mortgage!) and having interesting work to do. On the other hand, I'm not relishing going back to the daily downtown commute and being away from my baby during the day.

Clearly these are issues that most working moms have and find ways to overcome, but it just seems SO hard. Couple that with the fact that at five months, I have never left baby Henry with anyone but my husband and you have a mom with serious separation anxiety. I feel sad about being away from my little babe.

What to do?

I'm hoping I can work part-time three or four days a week (and if four days, maybe one day working from home). That would make the whole thing more do-able for me. More palatable.

I miss my baby already (and he's only in the next room taking a nap!).

Aside from that, this work-from-home-for-the-past-four-years-often-in-my-PJs woman needs to tart herself up for Tuesday. This afternoon sees a haircut. I already colored my grey, grey roots a couple of days ago. Next, I need to figure out what the hell I'm going to wear!!!!

A Secret Told on the Breeze?

Some days, like today, I feel sort of lost. I look for purpose in feeding the baby, cleaning the kitchen sink, loading up the dishwasher. General tidying. Trying to do what needs to be done and putting things in order. There's a momentary sense of rightness in seeing things cleaned and put away. In knowing that my baby is content and happy and that even when he cries endlessly in his cranky teething mode, I am good and patient and calming with him.

But I still feel out of place. Neither here nor there. A stay-at-home mom but not, since I really need to find a job to make ends meet. A career woman who knows she would rather be at home cleaning the sink and singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider even for the 78th time. Stuck in the middle.

My husband tells me to get out of the house, but there are few places to go that don't require spending money. I guess now that the weather is better that I just need to get into a walking habit with the baby. Fresh air and blue skies might blow away the cobwebs and help me get over the post-pregnancy frumpiness I feel. Maybe the breeze will tell me something I need to know. Let me in on the secret that holds the key to real contentment. Help me feel confident again. As a career woman AND a mom. As the woman I long to be.

April Already? Time Flies When You're Not Sleeping

Oh, how long it's been, dear blog. That's what happens. One day your little babe is just a little over a week old and suddenly fast-forward and he's four months and five days old already. And you wonder where the time went. . .well, it wasn't spent sleeping. That's for sure. Especially when you're still getting up for those middle-of-the-night feedings. . .

I guess time indeed does fly when your a new, first-time, now 44-year-old mom.

My little one continues to thrive. His formerly broken arm is pretty much as good as new. In fact, my almost three-week-early "little" babe is something of a giant now. 27 inches long and 17 pounds at the four-month mark. He's pretty much outgrowing his 6-month size clothes already. And he's an early teether--been teething already for weeks. Those bottom front teeth are about to pop any day and, oh boy, are they making him, my usually sweet and flirty little boy, a crank monster.

And me? Well, it's a mixed bag. Still no work, so money is a constant worry. And I'm torn. I love looking after my child and my home, but my husband doesn't make enough for me to stay at home full-time. Hopefully, I can find something part-time, but any job is hard to come by at the moment. I've been in touch with long-time colleagues in my profession to see if they have any openings or know of any and I've been surprisingly totally blown off for the most part. I find it hurtful and quite staggering. People that I know very little, acquaintances really, have been the most helpful in my job search. I guess it just goes to show that you can never really know some people. People are often not, in reality, who they lead you to believe they are. Well, never mind.

If I wasn't so broke, I might actually say that this was one of the happiest times of my life. Heck. I'll say it any way. This is one of the happiest times of my life.

I have a little miracle child and every day I find more reasons to be grateful. Grateful for my wonderful, hard-working, funny husband who clearly loves being the father of his child. Grateful that the sun is shining on my back and spring is finally coming to still-cold Chicago. Grateful that I can be honestly content with what I have. Grateful that even in these hard times, we will find a way to get by. This I know.

In the end, everything will be really fine. Better than fine. Possibly great.