Morning person

I love early mornings. There's just something about getting up long before anyone else, making a delicious mug of espresso, and enjoying some alone time before the hustle and bustle of the day gets started. I particularly love early mornings in the summer when I get to watch the sun come up at just after 5:00, but I also love winter mornings, especially when the clouds are low and there is a mysteriousness in the air. All is mostly silent, save the clickety-click of the keys as I type, the tick-tock of the clock in the kitchen and the traffic as people head off to their morning commutes... This is a great way to start the day.

I just made a huge quad latte (with the schnazzy espresso maker we purchased last year for an early Christmas present after we discovered that daily trips to Starbucks resulted in about a $300 (or more) per month habit), and I'm ready to put some thoughts to keyboard in a very random fashion.

The story of my life. All things are very random. But it keeps things interesting.

Do you ever get the urge to pray for someone at the most random time? Do you respond? God wakes me up the oddest hours and tells me to pray for specific people. I didn't use to respond... Well, I did, but it was usually, "God, go back to sleep. It's early (or late). We'll talk in the morning," which is pretty much the response I'd give my 2 year old when he wakes up in the middle of the night wanting to cuddle. Lately, though, I've said, "Ok, God. What should I pray about?" much in the same way I now tell my son, "Ok, let's cuddle for a while..." Moments are precious. So is time. I can't say that I know the outcome of my prayers - usually I don't even mention it to people. But once in a while I do, and I'll ask, "So, what was happening at such-and-such time?" The answers are pretty cool... Never once have I heard, "Nothing. I was sleeping." It's usually something much bigger (and unfortunately much worse) than that. I'm honored to pray for them. And I'm honored that God would ask me to pray.

I love my life. Really, I do. Sure, our house is tiny, in the ghetto, right next to some of the worst neighbors in America, in a city we can't stand, BUT all that aside (because, really, in the grand scheme of things, all that makes hardly a difference anyway) I am incredibly blessed. First, I commune on a regular basis with the Creator of the universe! That's pretty wild. I can't even begin to wrap my mind around the meaning of this.

Second, God has provided me with the best possible match in my life's partner. Scott is exactly what I need and complements me (and I him). I am so, so, so grateful for the marriage that we have; the strength that it has, the passion that we have for one another and the fact that we both put Jesus first (at least that's our desire) so that we, in turn, can love one another mo'betta. When I look at many of the marriages I see (most of them, actually), I am all the more grateful. It isn't that we don't have our disagreements and struggles, it's just that we are absolutely unequivocally committed to desiring the best for the other person. Marriage just doesn't work if you're selfish and always seeking after your own needs. We always, almost without fail, put our own needs aside so that we can better meet the needs of one another. I find it incredibly ironic that in putting my needs aside, I actually get my needs met. Crazy concept. But that's how committed we are. And on top of it all, we have a great time together. We laugh all the time. I don't mean some laughs here and there and a few giggles. We regularly belly laugh - so hard that we cry. You may not know this, but we're very funny people. We're at our best when we're together. I love that we can tease each other about our shortcomings or about anything, really, without fear that it will offend or hurt the other. It took some time to get to this point, though. We know that our names are safe on the other's tongue (meaning that we know there will never, ever, EVER be a time when we badmouth one another to others), and that the safest place to fall is in each other's arms. We're always there to catch the other when we stumble. So all the name calling and game-play is endearing to us. It feels really good to know that even if we tease each other about our weight (like calling each other fatty or saying, "Your fat-ass pants are in the dryer...") we know we're beautiful to the other. We're each other's best friend. It's very fulfilling.

Side note: It takes WORK to get to this point. Scott and I have toiled over the years the make this marriage as good as it is. We've spent a lot of time on our knees begging for mercy and grace... and forgiveness... and perseverance... and... and... and... It isn't easy at first, especially if you feel like the other isn't responding in kind. We realize that we have no control over how the other responds, but our purpose, our calling, our JOB is to constantly look after the best interest of the other. If the other doesn't respond in kind, that's not our responsibility. That means that we can't then say, "Well, forget it then..." after a short while. So much to say about that, but... if you're curious about it, feel free to come chat with me/us. We're more than happy to come along side you as you work to make your marriage all that God intended it to be.

Speaking of my love, he just walked in all sleepy and grumbly. So not a morning person. But I love him this way. My heart just skips a beat when he's around me. After 6 years of marriage (and pretty close to 8 years together... and another 3 years of friendship before that), I still have butterflies.

Third, God has gifted and entrusted me with two beautiful children. First, a son. I am so pleased to have been given a son. I always wanted a boy to raise. I can't exactly say why without writing a book on the subject. I just love him so very much. I can't wait to see the man that he grows to be, and see all that God has for him unfold in his life. He is so tender and strong, hilarious and gentle, sweet and yet powerful... Second, a daughter. I was scared to death when I found out I was having a girl. I didn't feel worthy or capable to raise a girl. This all goes back to the relationship I have with my mother. It is my worst fear (aside from losing one of my children) to have either of my kids (or both, but especially my daughter) grow up and look at me the way that I look at my mother. But I don't want to over-compensate either. There is a fine balance between "fixing" what went wrong when my mother raised me and going to the other extreme. I mean, don't we all want to be a better parent than our parents were? My only remedy to that is falling on my knees daily... several times a day... asking (pleading, really) that God teach me, instruct me, show me (and keep me willing) to be the mom that each needs individually. I do not want to be the mom that I think they need. I want to be the mom that God knows they need.

Forth, I am blessed that I get to show my children what a strong marriage looks like. How many of us come from broken, dysfunctional, tragedy-ridden homes? Oh, the baggage we carry! Luckily for us, there is a God who understands our brokenness and desires to make us whole if we let Him. We don't have to carry the burden of the past. Thank you, Jesus.

Those are just the top 4. There are many other blessings, but I'll stop there for now.

Now here's a random story. We are in the process of potty-training the Picklebean. He's now 2 1/2, and a very strong-willed boy. He does not do anything he doesn't want to do, and only then if he either thinks it's a good idea, or it's an idea that originated with him. Therefore, the conventional methods of potty training have not worked in the slightest. This is a delicate process that only works if he wants it to. That being said, lately, he's doing a great job. He likes to use the potty. He doesn't really get that he needs to tell us before he needs to go, so often he'll tell us after he already went. (Thus the reason he is still in training diapers.) Last night, before dinner, I took him to the potty. As is the usual custom, he climbed up his little step stool and straddled the big potty. (He really isn't interested in using the little one anymore.) He smiles really big and pushes... He peed... I asked if he could poop, and he obediently (which is success in itself) obliges and tries to poop. He sat there for a little while pushing and pushing, when we finally heard a few little toots, which, of course, made him laugh. (What isn't funny about potty humor?) Then a few moments later a tiny little poop splashed, followed by another. Seriously, tiny. Hilarious. But he was all done, so I got him in a diaper and situated him in highchair for dinner.

Fast forward. Dinner now devoured and just in time for bed, Jeffrey said he needed to go poop. I was cleaning the kitchen, so Scott took him off to the bathroom. Seconds later I heard, "You already went!" pause "Kyra!!! I need help in here!" So, I wonder in to find Scott coming out with a very full, poopy diaper, and Jeffrey trying to climb up to the potty with poop smeared ALL over his butt, a huge pile of which has fallen onto the floor (**splat**). I grab him under his arms, saying, "No, no, no, no! Let's get you in the shower." Not realizing the poop had smooshed out of the diaper up his back and all over his shirt, I now have poop all over my arms. I opened the shower curtain, cleared out all the toys, etc., picked Jeffrey up and placed him in the shower, only to realize that now, somehow, he has poop all over his socks, too. Off his shirt goes, off his socks go, thrown both in to the sink, leaving poop all over the counter and sink... I grab the shower head (thank God for hand showers) and ask Jeffrey to bend over and touch his toes (so I can spray all the poop off his back, butt and legs). But the poop was so sticky, it wouldn't come off. So, I change the flow to massage so that the water is jetting out of the showerhead... That should do the trick, only now Jeffrey doesn't like it cuz it probably hurts a little on his tender skin, so he stands up and tries to move away. So I basically start chasing him all over the tub with the hand shower trying to get the poop off of him. After several minutes, the Picklebean is squeaky clean and the tub is clean and free of poop remnants.

Scott takes Jeffrey to the bedroom to get him in his jammies, leaving me to clean up the rest of the bathroom. (Scott was kind enough to wipe the poop off the floor.) I got all the poopy clothes in the washer, and wiped off the counters and sink with Clorox. I head into the dining room to wheel the highchair back to the kitchen, ya know, to finish up my original chore, only to find a HUGE pile of poop that had smooshed out the side of Jeffrey's diaper onto the seat of the highchair. Oh, the HUMANITY!

It's winter. It's cold. It's rainy. I'm not about to wheel this thing outside to spray it off with the hose. So... into the shower the highchair goes.

I'll just say this: Do you have any idea what a mess a hand shower makes when it's on "massage" and you spray it onto a highchair? Good times.

Poop everywhere.

It took me 30 minutes to clean the chair and my bathroom.

Seriously disgusting.

I can't wait until Jeffrey is potty trained once and for all. This messy poop business has got to go.

And that's my story for the day. The End.