Lessons from a Pool Toy

I sat on the edge of the zero-depth kiddie pool and watched my girls splash near my feet. Reese filled a miniature watering can and poured it into Allie's open palm. Ah, those precious giggles. Matt sat nearby on the floor of the pool fiddling with a rubber squirt toy. Last fall we talked about spending his spring break in Mexico sans children, but instead opted for the far cheaper - and much less relaxing - family fun day in Peoria, Illinois (just 30 minutes from home). Toddler Splash at the Riverplex and Burger Barge 2 for lunch. Upper class all the way.

We really did have a great time at the pool. Reese finally overcame her fear of getting her face and head wet, and she had a blast going down the miniature water slide and perfecting her crab walk. Allie had not been in a pool since last summer, and her elated expression was well worth missing out on the palm trees and Margaritas. 

Sometimes when I see my kids having so much fun in such a simple moment I wonder where I derailed. I can (reluctantly) admit that I am a bit of a no-nonsense person, and the days of carefree child-like fun seem so far lost. My desire to prevent messes and injuries often overrides my ability to let loose and have fun. Routine. Order. Control. Boring. That's me. And if it doesn't seem that way to others (thank God), that's often how I feel. 

Watching the girls continue to play, I caught a glimpse of Matt raising a now full squirt toy out of the water. Before I could react, he sprayed a line of water down my abdomen. I shot him a "don't you dare" look as he submerged the toy again. This time he shot me in the face. In the face! He roared with laughter as I stared back at him. "Hun, c'mon," I always say in that long, drawn out way that shows my level of irritation with just two words.

Only I didn't say that. I didn't say anything. Instead, Reese jumped up and said, "Daddy, Mommy doesn't want you to do that!" This wasn't the first wake-up call to the reality that I am creating a miniature no-nonsense version of myself. Her personality is mine in every way. She is bossy and controlling. She prefers order to chaos. And she is often intolerant of even the most innocent teasing. 

And, boy, did I marry a teaser. He's the type who likes to give me jumper cables while I'm cracking eggs. (That's when you take your index fingers and poke them into both sides of another person's waist). One year when Reese had the flu on New Year's Eve, Matt wanted to bet on which one of us would come down with it first. I was not amused. That night, I got up from the couch and went to the bathroom. As I hung my head over the toilet, he peeked around the corner and said, "You win." And suddenly there I was throwing up and laughing at the same time. He's witty and sarcastic and his humor has thwarted way more arguments than it's caused. In fact, it tops the list of things I love about him. He's hilarious.

Yet here I am today giving him dirty looks because I don't want to go to a dumpy burger joint with frizzy hair. Really?? 

I realized then that I never derailed. I just don't choose to laugh as often anymore, and for some reason it seems that the older I get, the less laughter wins. I blame stress – and not the I-can’t-pay-my-bills stress or someone-I-love-is-dying stress, but the kind of senseless self-induced, anxiety-driven stress that I can’t seem to pin on any single life event (or even series of events). And isn’t life just too damn short for imaginary stress to override moments of laughter, joy, and soaking-wet fun? 

I think so.

As suddenly as it appeared, my angry expression transformed into a sly smile as I reached for a squirt toy of my own. I pointed it at Matt and squeezed the head of a rubber tiger. A pitiful arc of water dribbled from its mouth. Matt laughed even harder and sprayed my face again. I tried to reload, but I couldn't squeeze the tiger hard enough to reach him. After a few more tries, I dropped my weapon in surrender. Water dripped from my face and hair and our laughter echoed off the walls. 

Reese ran over and sat on the edge of the pool next to me. "Spray me, Daddy! Spray me!" 

Matt squirted her belly. She squealed. "Do it again!"

Then Allie walked over to him and doused him with the watering can, getting revenge for Reese and me. Someday in the future, when I hear a song that prompts a spontaneous mental montage of special moments, this scene at the pool will surely make the cut.

Laughter doesn't always come up against another choice; it just flows naturally from a good happy mood. Other times, it fights tooth and nail just to get you to crack a smile. It’s like the way your response to a messy spill can land anywhere between indifferent shrug and total meltdown depending on anything from hormones to stress levels (real or imagined) to where this spill falls in today’s lineup of mishaps. If I’m in a good mood and Matt gives me jumper cables while I’m cracking eggs, I laugh and turn my head to kiss his cheek. If I’m in a bad mood, or (more often) in a self-induced stress frenzy, I resort to an irritated “grow up” comment and matching eye roll.

What I’ve learned, though, is that – in more circumstances than we may know (or care to admit) – our response is a matter of choice. In the split second that I felt the water from Matt’s squirt toy begin to pelt my face, something inside me wanted to react with anger or annoyance or – at the very least – a pleading, “Hun, please don’t” with forced politeness. At the same time, another part of me urged a different response…

“Laugh. Really, it’s ok. So what if your makeup runs and your hair gets frizzy? So what if you didn’t pack a brush or a hair tie? The annoyance you feel isn’t about Matt or the squirt toy. It’s about other (totally unfounded) fears and worries that have nothing to do with family fun day. What a great chance to let all that go for a while. Now grab that tiger and squirt him back!” 

An hour later, I sat at the Burger Barge 2 with my Moo-Shroom (aka Swiss and mushroom) burger and fries and, seriously, the frizziest hair ever. I took Allie to the bathroom for a diaper change and glanced in the mirror. Cringing at the sight of my, I turned on the sink hoping some moisture would temporarily tame my frizz. From her position on my hip, Allie reached forward and splashed in the water. I gave her a moment of fun (ah, those precious giggles) and then turned the faucet off without touching my hair. I dried my hands and looked in the mirror again, smiling at my wild hairdo and the memory of the moment that created it.

On Being Loved

Meet the fifth member of our family:

This is Reese's security toy. I got him from my graduate assistant at ISU while I was still pregnant (which means I have a floppy-eared representation of my former career dragging lifelessly at my daughter's side everywhere we go. It's great). His name is Mono (like the illness) because there was a time when she thought every small furry animal was a cat. She would point to him and say “meow” but it sounded more like a high pitched “mono” and the word stuck. We always get a good laugh when she turns to random strangers and says, "I have Mono."

Reese - 9 months

When we take Mono out in public people often smile and say, “That is one loved bunny.” And loved he is. She doesn’t go to sleep without him. There have been many just-before-bedtime searches for Mono when Reese forgets where he's been “taking his nap.” She doesn’t leave the house without him either. There have also been a few three-point turnarounds on the road to town when she discovers that we’ve left him at home. Mono often joins us at the dinner table; he appears in family pictures; and Reese always adds a “thank you for Mono” to her nightly prayers. Yes, he is one loved bunny.

Sometimes people ask me if I've ever considered attempting to replace him with a new one. Of course not. I know Reese would never accept a different bunny - even a seemingly nicer, newer version of the one she has. She doesn't care that he's had everything imaginable scrubbed out of his fur. She doesn't care that he's now more gray than white or that the material on his nose is rubbed off. She doesn't care that his fur isn't soft anymore or that he smells kinda funny even after a trip through the washer. To Reese, Mono has always been the perfect companion. The flaws just don't matter. She loves him and she can't see what other people see.

When I look at Reese's attachment to Mono, I realize how silly our struggles with self-image really are. We judge ourselves by our appearance, but the men who married us and watched us carry their children don’t focus on our stretch marks or cellulite. They don’t see the flaws that we see. Instead, they see a perfect companion.

We judge ourselves by our mistakes, but the people who know and love us to our deepest core don’t focus on our misspoken words or neurotic tendencies. They don’t see the flaws that we see. Instead, they see a dear friend.

We judge ourselves by our shortcomings, but the God who loves and forgives unconditionally doesn’t focus on our lapses in judgment or deepest regrets. He doesn’t see the flaws that we see. Instead, He sees a loved and worthy creation.

If you are fortunate enough to have people in your life who know, love, and accept you at your best and worst, then you, too, are "one loved bunny" and nothing else matters. None of those people would prefer another you – even one that appears more perfect on the surface.

That pure unconditional love reminds me of this passage from the 1922 children's classic The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. She writes:

"When a child loves you for a long, long time - not just to play with but really loves you, then you become Real... It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time... Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all because once you are Real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Reese - 3 years

A Perfect Kind of Love

I’m double-dipping again today and linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs and the Hearts at Home Third Thursday Blog Hop. In honor of the release of Hearts at Home CEO Jill Savage’s new book, No More Perfect Moms, the Hearts bloggers are teaming up to bring you a candid look at some of our own imperfections. Last month we all shared about our imperfect homes, and this month’s topic is “no more perfect marriages.” Enjoy!
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Matt and I started dating almost eight years ago during a time when our lives were all about us, and we had all the time in the world for each other. Two kids, multiple life-changing decisions, and many miscommunications later, I’m finding that I need to adjust my image of what I always thought a good marriage was supposed to be. 

I realize that makes me sound like my marriage has failed to meet my expectations or that I've somehow been trapped into something I didn't sign up for. Let me clarify. Our disagreements are many but our arguments are few. Laughter is fairly constant and anger is rather rare. Quality time is a priority (well, at least as much of a priority as it can possible be with a toddler and an infant in the house), and "just because" cards are a common gesture. We are similar and different in all the right ways and our daily prayers reflect our gratitude to God for leading us to each other.

When I lay it out like that it sounds pretty perfect, right? Well, as much as I love him, I still roll my eyes when I see his side of the closet in its perpetual state of disarray. I get annoyed when he chews too loud, and I don't understand how he never gets tired of watching ESPN. And even though I can count our big fights on just one hand, we still bicker regularly about things like who should give Allie a bath, who left the garage door open all night, and who should get up with Reese at 6:00am.

As normal as all that may seem, I do find that the little annoyances and repeat areas of disagreement combined with our constant lack of energy have begun to transform our once-perfect love story into a run-of-the-mill tale of two boring old married people. So I've decided that I need to deconstruct my perfect image of the perfect marriage before I mistake contentment for apathy and forget the bigger picture of what true love really is.

I won’t lie. I have questioned my marriage. It’s not a notion I entertain willingly, but more of a fleeting invasive thought that creeps up after I’ve stormed out of the room and muttered something like “you just don't get it;” or when I realize that we haven’t kissed in two days and I start to fear that I might someday understand what people mean when they say, “I love him, but I’m not in love with him.” 

Maybe it’s because I grew up reading Danielle Steel novels and watching movies like Titanic and The Notebook – stories that either completely omit the less glamorous parts of love or glorify them in a way that make you believe that perfect harmony really does exist. After all, in a world where the timing is always perfect and no one ever has morning breath, who wouldn’t find everlasting love at first sight? 

Or maybe it’s because I live in a society that portrays real love as easy and automatic, causing the belief that the need for intentionality and effort signals the permanent loss of “the spark” or that the inevitable switch from passionate excitement to quiet contentment means that you must have “fallen out of love.”

When those thoughts creep up, I always remind myself that it’s only the perfect image of easy love talking -  an image based solely on the fantasy world of Hollywood and brief encounters with other couples whose miscommunications and marital flaws are so hard to picture that they surely must not exist. And then I remind myself that no perfect image – whether it exists on a movie screen or in the pages of a novel or even in our own minds – could ever capture the depths and dimensions of real love in real life. 

Because real love burns beneath the surface of the sparks that fly in the early years when falling in love is easy, and it doesn’t waver even when it discovers that staying in love is hard. Real love comes from cleaning up each other’s vomit and knowing that you really did mean “in sickness and health;” and from holding each other’s hands in your darkest hours and knowing that you really did mean “for better or worse.” Real love doesn’t bat a concerned eye at occasional arguments, breaks in affection, or lulls in excitement. It stands by you even when you’re wrong, forgives you even when it hurts, and says “I love you” even through silence and distance and death. 

More than anything, real love knows that the moment when you’re wondering if you’re falling out of a perfect love is really just the moment when you begin falling into the only kind that really is.

This is a Bigger Picture moment. 

Join us at Hyacynth's place today!
 

A Sign of God's Plan

In October 2002, during my sophomore year at ISU, an acquaintance invited my roommate and me to go out with some of his friends. We gathered in his dorm room at Watterson Towers where he made introductions and one guy in particular immediately caught my attention. He reached out to shake my hand and flashed me a smile in a moment that is permanently ingrained in my memory. He was a life-of-the-party kind of guy and so easy to talk to. Early in the evening, he mentioned that he was in a long distance relationship, and I told him about my Army boyfriend who was beginning a four year tour in Germany. We spent the evening laughing and dancing, and our whole group had so much fun that we started going out together almost every weekend.

We spent the next two years dancing at frat parties and blasting country music through the halls of his apartment building. We remained respectful of each other’s significant others, and I never mentioned the butterflies that stirred with every smile, every wink, every not-so-inadvertent touch.

Eventually, I ended my long distance relationship and embarked on a series of mediocre dates and short-lived flings. He still had the same girlfriend, so I never did get a chance to share my true feelings. Over time, our little group started growing apart, and soon I stopped scanning the room for him at parties. I stopped trying to run into him on campus, and even when I did see him I only waved from afar. After I graduated, I wondered if it had been a mistake not telling him how I felt. In my mind, he would always be “the one that got away.”

That fall, I went back to ISU to start my graduate degree. All my friends had graduated and the party scene lost its luster. I had just ended another relationship with someone who didn’t quite measure up to the guy I still couldn’t fully forget. I laid on the bed in my one bedroom apartment wondering where the next phase of life would take me.

Then the phone rang and an all-too-familiar voice asked me on my last first date.

In October 2012, I gave birth to our second child and that child entered the world in a hospital room with a picture window. In the middle of the view from that window stood Watterson Towers, the place where Matt first shook my hand exactly ten years before.

The view from that window will remain forever in my heart as a reminder that God is behind every unanswered prayer, every time of uncertainty, every phase of waiting and wondering. He orchestrates each stage of our lives from beginning to end, and every so often if we are paying attention, He provides us with wondrous moments that bridge the gap between the past and present and fill us with assurance that He really does have a plan.

This is a Bigger Picture moment. Share with us today at Brook's place.

Keep the Fire Burning

I poured my Saturday morning coffee and settled into the recliner. Reese was still asleep and Matt had already left to work on the farm. I stared out the window, watching the sun rise over the treetops. In the corner of our yard, two empty lawn chairs faced the stone fire ring. Tiny strands of smoke rose intermittently from the center of the circle, the final remnants of the previous night.

Just ten hours earlier, Matt went outside to light a fire while I put Reese to bed. I waited for the sound of rustling bed sheets to fade away before joining my husband beneath the stars for a much-needed night of reconnection. Pulling our chairs in close, we took turns tossing in empty pizza boxes and pieces of shredded mail. The warmth enveloped us, creating a shield against the chill of the night. The heat pressed into our cheeks, forcing us to inch our chairs backward as we fed the flames. 

Alone in the dark, we reunited with the couple we were seven years ago, before full-time jobs, children, and mortgage payments began chipping away at our time, energy, and patience for each other. With no clock to remind us of the hour, we rekindled past memories, laughing as if we didn't already know the end of each story. We talked late into the night, ignoring our bodies’ pleas for sleep as we fed the flames of our marriage with laughter and simple presence.

Knowing the morning would come all too soon, we finally made our way back to the house. Behind us, the fire began its slow death. We didn’t even bother to fully extinguish the remaining flames. The lack of attention would be enough to seal its fate. Crawling into bed, we snuggled a little closer, held each other a little tighter, kissed a little longer…

Sitting in the recliner just a few hours later, I wondered how I would possibly muster the energy for a full day of toddler mayhem. Regret began crowding my thoughts as I silently scolded myself, you should have gone to bed earlier…

My inner voice suddenly quieted as I watched the fire take its final breaths, completing its descent from a beautiful burning blaze into a lifeless pile of ashes.

Just Another Monday Morning

I snuggled in bed with my pregnant belly draped over my body pillow. Tiny ribbons of sunlight peeked through the curtains. Next to my bed, a rooster crowed. Matt’s alarm. I felt his weight lift off the spot next to me. Drifting in and out of sleep, I listened to the running water of the shower.

Savoring the silence, I welcomed the gratitude that overwhelms me every morning when I wake up with nowhere else to be but here. I wondered what it’s like for Matt to go to work every day while I stay home and build Lego towers in my pajamas. I wondered if he envies my freedom to take walks in the park and meet friends for lunch. I thought about how hard he works to give us this life and how stressful it must be to serve as the sole financial provider for a household. Sometimes I even feel a little guilty.

Is this fair? Are we even?

Thinking I was still asleep, he snuck quietly out the door. Just as the garage door began to close, my alarm sounded on the night stand - a tiny voice over the monitor.

“Mommy? Mommy, I peed in my bed and I’m all wet.”

Nevermind. We’re totally even.

Lessons from a Rotten Apple

It was supposed to be a fun evening.

Matt put Reese to bed while I turned our kitchen into a makeshift applesauce factory complete with peeling, cooking, cooling, and bagging stations. Rinsing the first batch, I imagined how we would turn up the music and sing and dance while we peeled and chopped. We would make “someday” plans for our unfinished basement, retirement vacations, and imaginary lottery winnings. We’d throw skins at each other and make a sticky mess and when the last bag was in the freezer, he would chase me back to the bedroom and we’d deal with the pots and pans and floors tomorrow...

His voice brought me back from my fantasy life-before-children evening.

“Do you toss the bad ones?” He asked as he took up his post at the peeling station. He held up an apple that had definitely seen better days.

“Just take out the bad parts. The rest is still good."

Just two batches in, our fun was interrupted by a faint cry down the hall. The hoarseness in Reese’s voice told me to brace myself for a long night as I washed my hands and headed for her room.

Making my way through the dark, I clipped my toe on her miniature rocking chair. I crumpled into a ball at the foot of her bed and tried to take deep breaths between stabs of pain. I forced myself to turn my attention back to my child. Snot ran down her face; her skin was warm to the touch. I scooped her up and carried her out to the living room.

“She’s sick,” I said. Matt stopped the peeler mid-apple.

“You’re bleeding,” he answered, looking at my foot.

I plopped down on the couch, unsure of which problem to solve first. Sick toddler. Bloody foot. Sticky kitchen. This was so far from the kind of evening I had anticipated.

Well, this night is ruined, I thought as the joy of the last hour began to give way to disappointment. But the thought died before it reached my lips and I resisted the urge to grumble about all that had suddenly gone wrong. Those things determined the course of my evening, not the quality.

Just take out the bad parts.

I turned my focus toward making things as right as possible. I wrapped Reese in a blanket, gave her some Tylenol, and handed her over to Matt. Then I hobbled to the bathroom to find a bandaid.

Limping back to the kitchen, I started peeling again where he left off. On the other side of the counter, he rocked in the recliner and she drifted off to sleep against his chest. I peeled. He rocked. She slept. Our eyes locked and we smiled at each other, our hearts speaking through the silence. 

The rest is still good.

Suddenly, the joy returned to the moment. Not the fun, giggly, lighthearted kind of joy I had anticipated, but joy just the same - a quiet, content, peaceful kind of joy.

Just take out the bad parts. The rest is still good.

This is a Bigger Picture moment.
Join us today at Sarah's place.

My Only Sunshine

My day with Reese always ends with bedtime snuggles. I crawl into her big girl bed and lie beside her, rubbing her back and running my fingers through her hair. We read a book or two and she says her prayers and then I lay my head down on her pillow. She turns her face toward mine and we sing, our voices barely above a whisper:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. 

You make me happy when skies are gray.
You'll never know, Dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away."

I usually leave with a smile. 

She is my only sunshine…

But lately I leave with a tear.

…for just eight more weeks.

Sometimes the tears come before I even to the last line.

Please don't take my sunshine away.

People often ask me how I think Reese will adjust to the baby - if she will struggle or get jealous. No one has ever asked about my adjustment, my struggle, my... jealousy? Is that what this is?

These are thoughts I haven’t voiced, emotions I haven’t shared.

Because I wonder, Am I crazy? Is this normal?

But the truth? The truth is a part of me is already mourning the impending loss of my only sunshine. For two years she has consumed my days, my life, my heart. I don’t want to divide my attention, split my focus, share my time. Our precious little moments suddenly seem so limited. I keep thinking about how much I’m going to miss her. It’s as if I forget that she isn’t going anywhere.

Still, I can’t help wondering how our relationship will change. Will we ever be the same again? Will we still have those just-you-and-me moments that I enjoy so much? Will I be able to divide my affection, time, and attention equally? Is there even room in my heart for another love like this? Can I possibly have two sunshines?

Then I look at my husband – my original sunshine. I remember how I experienced these same emotions about him before Reese was born. With just a few weeks to go, I cried on his shoulder as I thought about how much I would miss the alone time we had so recently learned to cherish. I couldn’t help wondering how our relationship would change. Would we ever be the same again?

The minute she was born I knew the answer. No, we would never be the same again, but we would never wish to be the same. Filling a void in our hearts we didn’t know we had, she made our family more complete and deepened our love on every level.

 When I lie next to Reese at night and the sadness starts to take hold, I have to remind myself that I won’t ever have to make room for another sunshine. I will always have just one. My family is my sunshine, my only sunshine. And rather than taking my sunshine away, each new addition will brighten its rays, further completing the circle of my life, and I will never wish to be the same again.

This is a Bigger Picture Moment. Join us today at Melissa's place.

Simple Ways to Stay Connected

This week, I'm joining the Hearts at Home blog hop again. On the third Thursday of every month, all of the Hearts bloggers share their thoughts on the same topic. With the start of the new school year upon us, the topic this month is: staying connected during the busy seasons of life.

I may not have kids in school yet, but as the wife of a high school administrator I am all too familiar with the back-to-school routine - shopping for new clothes, stocking up on lunch snacks, filling the calendar with the dates of every football game, tailgate, and parent-teacher night. After enjoying two amazing months of freedom, Matt is back at work and our quality time together has already taken a nose dive.

In this phase of our lives, finding time to connect with our toddler doesn't seem to be a problem. She is pretty good at making herself seen and heard. We spend our evenings sorting plastic shapes, playing with Little People animals, and reading about hungry caterpillars. Add in my daily routine of household chores and Matt's full workday, and we are both zapped of patience and energy by bedtime (hers, not ours). At my house, the back-to-school challenge isn't as much about nurturing our family bonds as much as it is about nurturing our marital ones. These are just a few of the practices we've adopted to help us stay connected through the busy times...

1. Take technology breaks. Now that we both have smart phones, I'm amazed at how easy it is to ignore each other when we're both checking sports stats and reading blog updates (guess who does which). We keep our attention on each other by turning the TV off and leaving phones out of reach during certain activities - eating our meals, drinking our morning coffee, and playing with Reese.

2. Go to bed together. We almost always go to bed at the same time. When one of us is ready for bed, the other follows suit. And if the other person isn't quite tired yet, well, let's just say this tip is also on my list for finding time for intimacy.

3. Share about your day. Every day when Matt gets home, I stop what I'm doing and we grab some cold drinks and sit on the patio or in the living room and share the details of our separate days. It makes us feel like we're still together even when we're apart.

4. Notice Mini-moments. Our quality time doesn't just come in the form of an occasional kidless date night or after bedtime hours. It comes instead in simple subtle moments - stopping everything to dance when our wedding song comes on the radio, stealing kisses while we take turns pushing Reese in her swing, holding hands in the car.

5. Take Sunday back. We rarely do anything on Sunday that isn't fun or relaxing. Weeds don't get pulled. Yards don't get mowed. Blogs don't get written. We also don't talk about issues that can wait until Monday. For one day every week, we are reunited with the blissful quiet of summer and the peace of a restful day.

Read more tips for staying connected by the other Hearts bloggers.

50 Shades of Judgment

Recently, I’ve been reading some blog posts, mostly by other Christian women about 50 Shades of Grey and the reasons for which people should not be reading it (nor exposing themselves to other sexually explicit material through books, movies, etc). The main reason is tied to the belief that it goes against God’s plan for marriage by glorifying pre-marital sex and raising the risk for marital dissatisfaction and infidelity.

After reading one such post, I had quite the string of comments brewing in my mind. I then made the mistake of reading the comments by readers, most of whom touted their opinions in an obviously disrespectful tone, placing the word Christian in quotation marks (an act I find remarkably offensive), and stating that anyone who read the books had basically committed adultery and was likely not involved in a healthy marriage.

Who do these women think they are? I was angry and offended, but I held my tongue and resisted the overwhelming urge to retaliate. Instead, I backed away from my computer and chose to reflect on my own feelings rather than unleash my disapproving views of theirs. I found that my choice brought me greater peace and satisfaction than anything I could have said to them.

I asked myself, Why do those views strike a nerve with me? Well, because as someone who has enjoyed books and movies with sexual content, I felt personally attacked and offended, as if the writers of these comments had reached through the screen, pointed their fingers in my face and shouted, “your marriage is doomed, you filth-watching non-Christian!”

Personally attacked. That’s the answer. I felt personally attacked. Why? Another’s belief that marriages like mine are doomed does not doom my marriage. Another’s belief that women like me are not real Christians does not make me any less of a Christian. Their realities are separate from mine. I’m the one who combined them.

These women didn’t offend me. I allowed myself to feel offended. My anger arose from a place of ego-induced pride, a desire to defend myself and my beliefs, to shout back at them, “My view is right and yours is wrong. You should believe what I believe!” Yikes. Isn’t that exactly what I hear them saying to me? Did I just judge them for judging me? How does that make me any different?

Actually, I am not different at all. I carry strong views and judgments of my own on this and other issues involving issues like lifestyle, parenting, marriage, politics. Other people would likely react to some of my opinions with the very same anger I feel rising in myself right now. Does that make me less entitled to my opinion? Does it make others less entitled to theirs? Isn’t it possible for us to have our own separate convictions? Isn’t it possible that we are all right in own realities?

I issue myself a silent warning.

Be careful when you say “don’t judge,” for you are judging as you say it. Nobody is entirely nonjudgmental. The less judgmental you are, the more harshly you judge the judgmental. Rare is a situation where a true moral high ground exists. Two people might disagree, but neither's view need be labeled "bad."

I close my computer screen. No response is necessary. I am at peace.

Divorce is Always an Option

I've been hearing about a lot of divorces lately, and not just among all of those superficial Hollywood relationships, but people I know; people I actually thought would make it. I'm bothered every time I hear about another divorce – not because I judge those couples. I don't know what happened to their relationships or whether our marriage could have survived if it happened to us. Rather, divorce bothers me because it reminds me of the vulnerability of my own marriage. Just like the tragic death of a young person reminds me of my own mortality and causes me to drive more carefully or take safety more seriously, when a seemingly happy couple throws in the towel, I remember that no marriage is completely divorce-proof.

I hear a lot of couples say very righteously, “Well, for us, divorce just isn’t an option.” As sweet as that sounds, I’m not really convinced that such a belief can provide a permanent safeguard for your marriage. For one thing, it can stifle your sense of freedom, leaving you feeling trapped as if you're not in your marriage by choice. Isn't it empowering to know that either one of you could leave at any time, but you stay because you choose each other every day? Believing that divorce isn't possible also provides a false sense of security that can blind you to the daily sacrifices and compromises that come with sharing every aspect of your life and yourself with another person. Rather, let us all remember that divorce is always an option because that’s the reality. I know people who have had a harder time breaking an apartment lease than filing for a divorce. 

I bet if you could rewind the clock to their wedding day, many divorced couples would never have predicted that their marriages would end the way they did. Some of them might claim that they had doubts from the beginning, but most people would not choose to marry someone if they knew for certain that divorce would be the result. Some of them might even be the same people who once said, “divorce is not an option,” but in the face of extreme negative emotions, it’s impossible not to be aware of that possibility.

As much as I would like to say that there's no possibility of Matt and I ever getting divorced, I know that's not necessarily the most realistic line of thinking. We're still in the early stages of our marriage, and there are plenty of rough times ahead. Our commitment to each other, support for each other, and faith in each other will no doubt meet their challenges over the years. There may even come a day when we find ourselves on the brink of calling it quits. As much as those thoughts can be scary, that possibility is what fuels us to find other ways to safeguard our relationship. It reminds us to nurture our marriage, take time for each other, and resist taking each other for granted. Most importantly, it encourages us to hold each other when we're tired, love each other when we're angry, and listen to each other even when we disagree because, despite what we often allow ourselves to believe, divorce is always an option. 

What Really Matters

When we first decided that I would stay home with Reese, we knew we were going to take a major financial hit. To combat that, we made a plan to scale back our lifestyle. The plan included an agreement that we would discuss any major expenses (which had actually always been our practice but the dollar amount we used to define "major" suddenly became much smaller). During the first six months of my unemployment very few things came up, mostly because we both knew we were pretty limited in the "extras" we could afford. Then in the spring I got invited to go to Atlanta and we had our first "major purchase" conversation.

If you've been following along, you know that I did end up going because I blogged about it back in June, but I never did talk about the conversation that led to my decision to go. When I first decided to talk to Matt, I spent a lot of time thinking about how I would convince him that this was a good idea and a worthwhile expense. I thought about the questions he might ask and prepared answers for everything. I wanted him to know that I wasn't just doing this on a whim. My whole argument was based on the way I would react to an equally expensive request from him. But when it came time for the conversation, he had only one question for me: "How important is it to you?"

That's it. That's all he wanted to know. He didn't ask how much it would cost. He didn't care if it fit with his definition of "necessary expenses." He only cared about how much it mattered to me. At first, I didn't know what to say. This was the one question I wasn't prepared to answer. Almost immediately, I felt guilty. If the situation was reversed, I don't think I would have thought to ask him that and if I did, it certainly wouldn't have been my only concern.

Matt always tells me that my happiness is important to him, and it's such a wonderful feeling to see his actions prove his words true. I walked away from that conversation knowing that anything that's important to me is also important to him. I felt loved, supported, and validated, and I never want to forget to reciprocate that back to him. It's been several months and a similar purchase hasn't come up for him yet, but when it does I'll be ready with the only question that really matters.

Lessons from a Post-It Note

Last week, I went into Matt’s dresser to put some clothes away. Normally, I don't venture into this part of our bedroom - mostly because I can’t handle the disorganization of undershirts mixed in with t-shirts and corners of fabric sticking out at odd angles. (I'll spare you the visual on this one. Just take my word for it). I gave up putting his laundry away long ago because I always ended up re-folding everything. But he was working late and I wanted to be nice. So I opened the cabinet and stuck inside the door was a post-it note with my handwriting on it. It said, “You are an amazing husband. Thank you for all you do for me.”

I wrote that note months ago and stuck it on the bathroom mirror after Matt went to bed. I wanted him to leave for work the next morning with a nice reminder of how much he is loved and appreciated. I was touched that he kept it, especially since he’s the kind of guy who throws away greeting cards 30 seconds after he reads them. But the note also made me sad because I couldn’t remember a time since then where either of us did anything like that for each other.

Matt and I have been married for 3 years, together for 6 years, and friends for 9 years. During those years of friendship, I would have given anything to go out with him. If you told me then that I would eventually be married to him and that there would be days where I would take him for granted, I wouldn’t believe you. If you told me that I would get annoyed at how he organizes his dresser or how he always wants to watch Sportscenter or how anyone could possibly put that much ranch dressing on everything, I would have said you were crazy. Back then, I would have gladly agreed to deal with any of his annoying habits if it meant that I could be with him.

I’m amazed at how easy it is (especially after children) to start taking each other’s presence for granted; to stop noticing the wonderful things and start noticing the annoying things. When we first got married, we always did little things to make each other feel special. One time, I came home to find post-it notes everywhere throughout the house (we really like post-it notes). They were in every room; on the TV, the mirrors, the walls, each one bearing different words with the same underlying message – you are loved and appreciated. Even though I know he loves me, hearing it (or reading it) never gets old. In fact, it almost means more as the years go by - as if we’re saying, “Even though I know all kinds of crazy things about you that I didn’t know 6 years ago, I still wouldn’t have it any other way.”

My favorite thing about those little reminders is their simplicity. It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money or take a lot of time to do something to remind us that we are still in love. The day I saw my post-it note in the dresser, I called Matt’s new office. I knew he wasn’t there, but I left a message and said, “I just wanted you to know that I love you, and I’m proud to be your wife.” The next day I got a text message from him. It said, “I just want to thank you for all you do for me.” So yesterday I was picking up cards for some other occasions, and I grabbed one for Matt too. I’m hoping this will get us back into the regular habit of expressing our love and gratitude more intentionally. I’m so glad he kept my note. It was supposed to be a reminder to him, but it ended up being a good one for me too! I’m also glad I went into his dresser. It was totally worth having to re-fold his shirts.

Life is a Trade-Off

Today marks the last day of our summer break. Matt has been home with me since the first week of June, but he’s back to a full-time schedule tomorrow. This means that I’m back to the routine of actually taking Reese with me to run errands and buy groceries. This day was bittersweet for me last year too because I knew I would miss spending extra time with Matt, but I love my stay-at-home-mom role so much that I look forward to that too. This year, however, it’s a different feeling altogether because Matt isn’t returning to his usual job as a classroom teacher.

This year Matt is joining the administrative staff as the assistant principal at the high school, and although I couldn’t be happier about the advances he’s making in his career, I also know that this is a big trade-off for us. On the upside, our prayers have been answered because we are looking at a drastic increase in our income. We might actually be able to move into a different house in the next year or two. We will be able to start saving again, and we can start doing more date nights and family outings. Most importantly, I have peace of mind knowing that I can continue to stay home full-time. 

 

The downside to Matt’s new position is that he’ll have to put in a lot more hours than he did as a teacher. He’ll be expected to attend meetings and school events in the evenings and on the weekends. He’ll be spending about half of his Fridays supervising athletic events, and it will be harder for us to travel on the weekends because he might get called in to supervise a Saturday School. He’ll leave earlier in the morning and come home later in the evening every day. I’ll be alone a lot more during the week, and I won’t have him home early enough in the evenings to help with Reese while I make dinner. It’ll definitely be a big adjustment for me, especially after having so much help for the past two months.

When I feel sad about the downsides of this change, I immediately start feeling guilty. I feel like I’m complaining about such a positive step forward. This is the outcome Matt wanted for his career and the outcome I wanted so I wouldn’t have to go back to work. The same thing happens when Reese drives me nuts or when I get down about the money we gave up or the career I sacrificed to stay home. I think, “I chose this lifestyle, therefore I don’t have the right to complain about it.”

Realistically, it’s not fair for me to expect that of myself. Even though I have some fleeting thoughts of dread about the challenge to come, I’m still really excited about the life we’re building together and the direction we’re heading. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging the downsides of a life you love. And there’s nothing wrong with wishing for a moment that life could always be win-win. Unfortunately for most of us, it doesn’t work that way. But that doesn’t mean life can’t at least be win-more-than-lose. That’s how I feel about staying home and that’s also how I feel about Matt’s new job. Life is a series of trade-offs, and even though we had to give something up with each choice, we can go forward feeling like we've made some pretty good deals.  

Lessons from a Load of Laundry

As long as I'm on a roll with putting my personality flaws on the table, here's another one... I have a tendency to overreact to things that aren't really a big deal in the grand scheme of life. I don't do well when things don't go as planned or when things are beyond my control (as you all probably know by now). It causes me to have really dumb arguments with Matt, and after our last unnecessary battle, I finally decided to pray long and hard for the strength and guidance to help me face the unexpected with a little more grace.

Well, I often forget that God has a wonderfully challenging sense of humor and less than 24 hours later I opened the dryer (which was brand just a few years ago) to find that a pen had exploded and left blue ink stains on the inside of it and all over an entire load of clothes! It looked like the grisly murder scene of a family of Smurfs. Now, normally I would freak out about something like this. And then I would probably yell at Matt and say: "Did you not empty your pockets yesterday? Because a pen exploded and the dryer's covered in ink. Our new dryer. That's never gonna come out, ya know. And a whole load of clothes went in the garbage. We can't afford to replace that stuff." And then I would probably just storm off, leaving him feeling bad about something that was a total accident and leaving me feeling like a complete jerk.

Fortunately, that's not what happened at all. I won't lie though. I might have freaked out a little bit, but after just a few seconds I remembered my little chat with God and I just closed the dryer and took a deep breath. I reminded myself that being mad about this won't undo it and that reacting inappropriately will only make it worse. So I put the clothes in a basket and set them aside. Then I Googled "how to remove ink from your dryer." (In case this ever happens to anyone else, you just soak an old towel in bleach diluted with water and run it through a cycle by itself. It works pretty well). Then I went through the basket of clothes and kept anything that was salvageable. As it turns out, only about half of the load was actually ruined.

When I talked to Matt later, our conversation when something like this: I said (calmly), "Guess what? A pen exploded in the dryer today." He said, "I bet it was mine. I'm sorry." Then I said, "No, that's ok. I forgot to check the pockets so I'm sorry too. I got it cleaned up pretty well, though. You can hardly see the spots. But some clothes did get ruined. My t-shirt that you hate was in there." He said, "well, at least something good came out of it."

Now every time I do laundry, I'll see the stains in the dryer and the sign taped to the wall that says "Check Pockets" and I'll always remember that (1) a simple change in the way I react to a situation creates an entirely different outcome; (2) attitude, self-control, and tact make all the difference in the world; and (3) being upset about a mistake doesn't change the fact that it happened, but learning from it can keep it from happening again. Matt was right. Something good did come out of it... in more ways than he knows. I just hope he's not disappointed when he finds out that I kept the t-shirt.

Yes, Please!

Earlier this week, Matt went outside in the morning to do some work around the yard and he didn't come in until it was almost time for dinner. He did a bunch of projects around the farm that really needed to be done. When he finally came in, he was sweaty and tired. I'm sure it wasn't his idea of a relaxing summer day. Still, I was frustrated that he was outside going about his own business all day long. I was irritated at his ability to go outside and work as long as necessary without interruptions. When I have something to do, it only gets done if I can do it during a nap, or with one hand, or with a child hanging on my leg. I knew that voicing my frustration would only cause a fight because he wouldn’t understand how I could possibly be jealous of his yard work.

Decorating a cake... one-handed.

Well, I really did try to hold my tongue, but he sensed that something was wrong so I tried to explain my frustration. I was right - he didn’t understand why I was mad. But he did understand that I needed to get out for awhile, so when I asked if I could take the whole next day to go somewhere with my laptop and get some of my stuff done, he simply said, “Sure. No problem.” I couldn’t believe it was that simple. (And looking back, I was only half-serious about leaving for an entire day. I think maybe I expected some sort of rebuttal).

So the next day I sat at Panera in front of my laptop for over 6 hours. The whole time I wondered why I don't do this more often. Reese is almost 14 months old and I still hardly ever leave the house without her. You would think that my husband is some kind of tyrant who never lets me go anywhere. You would think that my mother-in-law (who lives right next door) doesn't make frequent babysitting offers. Maybe you would even think that I'm just such a devoted mother that I can’t be away even for a minute. Well, none of these things is true. The reason I don't ever do anything without Reese is quite simply that I never ask for help. 

When I say I never ask for help, I mean I never ask for help. I do things on my own even when it's much harder and takes much longer. I move heavy furniture by myself when I know Matt will be home soon. I take Reese with me to really inconvenient places when I know his mom or sister would love to watch her. I even struggle to carry in all the groceries when I know Matt is in the other room. Sometimes, he'll even call to me, offering to come and help. "No, I got it," I usually shout back, even though I don't have it. 

Daddy taking care of bath time.

I often forget how easy it is to get a little relief when I just ask for some help. It makes me wonder why I can't be more honest about what I need. It might be because I see it as a sign of weakness. I feel like I'm saying, "I'm not capable of doing this by myself," which makes me feel inadequate as a wife and mother. I see other moms who seem to be juggling so much more than I am, and I wonder what's wrong with me. But deep down I know it's not just me. It doesn't matter if you work or stay home; if you have one kid or seven kids. Every mom has a difficult job and every mom can use a break now and then. That's why asking for help is a necessary and healthy part of being a good mom. Instead of saying, "I can't do this on my own," I should say, "I shouldn't do this on my own." Instead of saying, "I don't need help," I should say, "I deserve to have some help." And when someone offers to help me, I need to stop saying, "No, I got it," and start saying, "Yes, please."

Starting Over

When we got married, Matt's parents gave us a blue spruce tree as a gift. It stood less than 4 feet high when Matt and his dad planted it on the side of our little farmhouse, and after just 3 years it was already taller than Matt. It was a really pretty little tree, but that's not why I liked it. I liked it because of the way it represented our marriage.

During a heavy storm I would look out the window and see the wind tossing it back and forth, the roots digging deeper into the ground with every pull. I think about some of the tough times we've had and those that are to come, and I'm reminded that with strong roots and determination, we can come out on the other side of any stormy season of life. In the spring I would look out the window and see its noticeable difference in size; a mark of the growth that resulted from the rainy and sunny days of the past year. I think about the good days and bad days of our last year, and I'm reminded that it's all a part of what makes our love grow bigger and stronger and prepares us for more growth in the coming years. I loved that our tree endured hardships, gathered strength, and grew right along with us as we did the same. 

Last week (coincidentally, on our third wedding anniversary), we were having our septic system replaced when a chain broke on a piece of machinery and our tree got destroyed. Now when I look out the window I see flat ground where our tree once stood. Its absence, although sad, has taught me the greatest lesson yet - that even a seemingly healthy marriage can be destroyed by a single crushing blow. It taught me that we should never believe our relationship is invincible; that we should never take each other for granted; and that we should never assume that tomorrow is a given. It taught me that if we get too comfortable, if we forget to nurture our love and protect our marriage, then someday when those crushing blows come, we might not have the strength to recover.

 
Matt and I have already decided to plant a new tree in the same spot and now every time we look out the window, we'll see the new tree in place of the old tree. It will remind us that even a strong marriage can be hit by the unexpected, but those who have prepared themselves for it and protected their love from it will be left with enough patience and determination to pick up the pieces and start over.

Happy Father's Day

Matt will openly admit that he would be completely lost without me. Although there's a what-would-I-do-without-the-love-of-my-life element to that statement, there's also a much simpler piece. When it comes to running our house, I pretty much do it all. I do the cooking, cleaning, and shopping. I take care of Reese's diapers, baths, and meals. I am the social coordinator, schedule keeper, and budget manager. I also take care of all the fine details. I know that the light blue ring goes on the Gerber bottle and the dark blue ring goes on the Nuk bottle (that's why it's leaking, honey). And I know that the orange sponge is for cleaning the bathroom (so don't use it on the coffee maker, sweetheart). So of course he would be lost without me. And since I seem to be able to do it all so easily, would I say the same of my life without him?

I sometimes wonder if Matt knows how much I do need him and how much he does for our family. He takes his role as our provider very seriously, and he really struggled when I quit my job and money was tight. Like most men, he saw our lifestyle as a direct reflection of his ability to provide for his family. What he didn't understand was that he had developed a very narrow view of the provider role to include only what he could provide financially. Yes, a big part of his role in our family is financial and I'm thankful for the money he brings home. But his contributions go far beyond the money that appears in our checking account twice a month. Here are just a few ways that Matt's actions remind me that the provider role is so much deeper than a paycheck:

He provides protection. On rare occasions when I spend the night alone, I am always reminded of how much safer I feel when Matt's home. Just like he never has to worry about having clean underwear because he knows I'll take care of it, I never have to worry about who's at the door because I know he'll take care of it (and all dirty underwear jokes aside, his responsibility is a lot scarier). I feel an incredible sense of security when he's around, and I never worry for my safety or the safety of our children as long as he is there.

He provides support. Matt might be the most supportive person I know. He supports absolutely everything I do. He supported me for wanting to stay home, and he would have supported me if I wanted to work. He will do anything to help me around the house, and he never makes me feel like his work is more important than my work. Whenever I ask for his opinion on something I want to do, like when I wanted to fly to Georgia or when I was considering teaching CCD, he always says, "if it's important to you, then you should do it, and we'll just figure it out." That's a supportive husband.

He provides love. One of my father-in-law's favorite sayings is, "the best gift you can give your children is to love their mother." If there's any truth to that statement, then our children will be blessed beyond measure. Every day I wake up feeling loved and because I feel loved, I am a happier person and a better mother. Knowing how much he loves me makes it so much easier to forgive his mistakes and to make more of an effort to show him that I love him just as much.


The intangible things Matt provides for our family far outweigh the provisions of even the highest income. Because of the love, support, and protection I get from him as my husband, I have always known that he would also be a wonderful father. And all of those things have proven true in the past 13 months. All that he provides for me as a husband, he now provides for Reese as a father. He loves us both tremendously. He supports everything we do. He is our biggest fan. He is our protector, leader, and provider. He makes us laugh; he leads us in prayer; and he grills a mean steak.

Father's Day is a great reminder for us to thank the providers in our lives. Unfortunately, I don't thank Matt enough for what he does and going forward, I hope I remember to thank him more often than once a year. I hope I'm always able to see how blessed I am to have such a wonderful husband. And I hope he always knows how much I appreciate him, how much I love him, and how lost I would be without him.

Thank you, Dads, for all that you provide for your families. Happy Father's Day!

Financial Freedom

Most people might be surprised to hear that Matt and I believe that we have financial freedom. A year ago, I left a job that provided half of our annual income, and even though we've spent the last 12 months on a take-home salary that barely breaks $30,000, I do not feel bound by our income in any way.  We thought it would be a struggle, but we are so happy with our life and we live in complete abundance. People keep asking me how we're doing it. Well, I'll tell you....

Livin' it up in 800 square feet.

In May 2009, we saw a house for sale in our town. It was beautiful and very tempting. We took a flier, decided we could easily afford it, and called the realtor. But then we talked about how buying this house might fulfill our dream of owning a beautiful home but it would destroy our dream of the lifestyle we wanted to have inside it. So we canceled our appointment, tore up the flier, and decided that we would pass on one dream to fulfill another. So we stayed in our little farmhouse, and when we had a baby a year later, I was able to stay home like I always wanted. And that was the beginning of our realization that we actually have a lot more financial freedom than we think.

If you start asking people what it means to have financial freedom, you will probably hear a lot of responses about being able to do and buy whatever you want. Therefore, if you aren't in a position to do and buy whatever you want, then you must not be financially free. I disagree. Very few people in this world have the financial freedom to do whatever they want. But we all have the freedom to choose not to do things that don't realistically fit into our budgets. For us, financial freedom is just as much about choosing not to buy something as it is about choosing to buy everything. Every time we are faced with the opportunity (or temptation) to purchase something, we exercise our financial freedom as we decide whether or not to buy it.

I've been waiting to use this picture!

Sometimes we look at a potential purchase and think, "we can't afford that." But that's not true at all. We have credit cards. We have a savings account. We technically do have the ability to buy whatever we want, we just choose not to do that because being debt-free is more important to us. When we make our financial choices from that perspective, we feel empowered by the money we have rather than hindered by the money we don't have. Instead of constantly trying to get more, we've decided to focus on being happy with less. And because we are happy with less, anything extra - like an occasional dinner date or a new outfit - seems like an exciting treat instead of something we do all the time. Since we are motivated by saving instead of spending, we actually want to make less expensive choices.

So that's it. That's the secret. It's all about attitude. It's our attitude - not our income - that allows me to stay home. It's our attitude - not our income - that allows us to live without debt. And it's our attitude - not our income - that gives us our financial freedom.

Giving Up Control

Matt piles stuff on top of his side of our dresser. It has always bothered me. Right now, there is a pair of shorts, a polo shirt from work, a package of new underwear, and a large envelope containing some old farming magazines. (Yes, I inventoried the "pile" for purposes of this post). I've tried everything to get him to move the pile but most of the time I would just try to ignore it because I've pretty much learned that no matter what I do, stuff still seems to find its way back up there. Allow me to present a visual (and I should add that when I put the flower pots up there, I secretly thought they might serve as a deterrent to the pile. They did not).

Well, not long ago I was moving stuff up off the floor to vacuum. As I moved around the room, I came to my side of the dresser where I scooped up a pile of "stuff" and set it on the bed. And now that I think about it, there are always at least a couple of things in that spot. How interesting that Matt's pile bothers me but I never even noticed my own. I started asking myself why that is - because to an outsider (or an angry husband) it looks like I think I'm the only one allowed to make a mess. As I thought about it, I found the real reason. My pile doesn't bother me because I have control over what I put there, when I put it there, and how I long I wait before I clean it up. His pile bothers me because I don't have control over it. Suddenly I realize that this isn't really about him and his mess problem. This is about me and my control problem.

Ok, I admit it - I tend to want to be in control of things. I like to hold the instruction manual, the map, and the remote. I'm a here-just-let-me-do-it kind of person and I have a very hard time with we'll-just-figure-it-out-later people. I do my best to keep it within the confines of my own life, which is great for other people but not always so great for the person who has to live with me. Although Matt finds my need for control to be bothersome at times, we almost never argue about it. I attribute that to two things. One, Matt is incredibly accepting of it. Two, I am incredibly aware of it. And because of those two things we are able to compromise our way through it and get a lot of laughs in the process.

Matt has always been so great about allowing me to be myself and in return, I owe it to him to allow him to be himself. He lets me make schedules and lists and yes, he even lets me hold the remote most of the time. (I know, what a saint). So I do my best not to take control of his life the way I take control of my own. Unfortunately for me, that also means leaving his pile of stuff alone. As long as he doesn't make a mess with the expectation that I clean it up, then it's his house too and he should be able to put things where he wants them (which is a lot easier for me to type than to believe. But at least I'm working on it).

One of the biggest lessons I've learned as a person who likes to be in control is that I only have the right to control myself. Each time I discover that something is part of my control problem, I have to redefine it in a way that puts the control back on me. It's not my job to control his mess. It is my job control how I react to his mess. So the reaction I chose was to just let it go (which is very different from trying to ignore it. When I ignored it, I just didn't say anything about it but it still bothered me to look at it. I had to let it go, which meant that I would free myself from being bothered by it). Once I did that, it bothered me less every day and now I really don't even notice it anymore. And now, before we go to bed Matt will throw his shirt up on top of the dresser, and then look at me and say, "so what's the schedule for tomorrow?" And we're both happy.