Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Cracking Up

I no longer care. I have reached the point of being so fed up, that I no longer give a darn what others think, and with that decision I will be half-mooning everyone at least until the end of my pregnancy... possibly longer.

In every pregnancy there is a time when non-maternity pants are too tight and all the maternity pants are too large and fall down - constantly. I am there and not happy about it. I guess I really can't even blame the pregnancy/maternity thing since I have been guilty of "showing the end of the butt crack," as Brynna says, on more than one occasion when I'm not knocked up, but the problem has escalated and is hampering my life. I now walk over things I would normally bend over to pick up and put away. I hate to do the laundry since my front loading washer and dryer require me to squat to swap loads. Playing with the kids on the floor is a guarantee of crackage and while changing a diaper the other day, Keely dropped a penny down my pants; most likely because of her father constantly calling it a coin slot. These are the main reasons why I have decided that baring my back side has become a necessity. Why I am going to integrate it into everyday life so that my kids believe it is the norm. I have decided who cares, it's a butt, we all have one and instead of standing erect all day and bending at the waist with one leg jutting back to help keep my pants in position I am going to show my assets. No longer will I squeeze into a too tight pair of non-butt-showing, non-maternity pants, that mark my abdomen with with bright red indentations. And I won't settle for unflattering sweat pants everyday that make my rear look as if it is two feet tall just so I can make it through the daily chores. No I'm going to wear the maternity pants and I am going to plumber-ize my life without regret. My derriere is going to see the sun. If those women who sport and show their thongs like an accessory are viewed by some as sexy, how much sexier will it be when there isn't a thong to distract the view, because my cotton panties have slid down as well? I realize that this is a bit of a stretch but I am done with yanking my pants up or pulling my shirt down. Sick of the jean designers making pants that won't stay where they belong. Upset at the movement to dorkify "mom jeans," the pants that guarantee no display of buttocks.

So for at least the next five months my posterior may be slightly viewable. If you take offense look away, if it ends our friendship I'm sorry, but I will no longer allow material to ruin my day, I will not become a slave to the yank and pull. Realize I mean no disrespect, but I am frustrated, tired of worrying, at the end of my rope, ready to live life...ready to crack up.

Note: This picture is NOT me, but I wanted to allow you to see what you will be experiencing if you decide to still be my friend.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

The Evolution of Erica

The other day I said something about the evolution of society and Brynna stopped me and said, "Mom, we don't believe in evolution." I tried to explain to her that although we don't believe in the biological evolution of man, we were not once an ape, evolving is something we should eagerly desire for ourselves. I'm not sure what changed the subject; whether it was a fussy child, a song on the radio she would rather listen to, or her wandering off, but there it ended. I didn't think much more of the talk until today. You see today is my birthday, and I'm sure like many of you, it is a time of reflection of who we were and who we are now. Okay, seriously my reflection normally consists of me thinking, "How did I get so old?” and “When did my legs begin to look like those of an elderly women?", but today it was deeper and the conversation with Brynna resonated with me. I began to see my own evolution; physically, domestically, emotionally and spiritually. The definition of evolution is as follows: a gradual process in which something changes into a different and usually more complex or better form.

The physical evolution is hard for me to grasp, at least in the aspect of evolving into a better form. I miss the once thin tan body adorned with small perky breasts that has now been replaced with a pregnant belly, three months bigger than it should be; varicose veins on my legs so large I can't even shave over them without fearing nicking one and dying from massive blood loss; and miniature breasts that belong on a tribeswoman on the pages of National Geographic. The truth of the matter is, I struggle with the belief that I have evolved into something better than I once was, especially after glancing through a magazine or watching the TV, but I try to focus on the positive. I give it my best shot to look at my deflated breasts with admiration for the five, soon-to-be six, babies they have nourished. I size up the overinflated basket ball belly that houses a baby that is proportionate to a tomato and am grateful for the spacious abode it provides. I try to adjust my gaze from what I wish I looked like to why I look like I do; it makes acceptance much easier and the “better form” because a bit more clear.

When first married, Brian and I had Hamburger Helper four times a week for dinner. Even though I had a dishwasher, the dishes would pile up in my sink until we ran out and I was forced to wash some. My laundry room floor was covered with dirty clothes and I completed a load of laundry possibly once a week. Once washed and dried, the laundry would sit on the guest bed unfolded until we wore it – most likely wrinkled. The only thing ever ironed was Brian’s military uniforms and that was because they had to be. I think the only time I even thought of cleaning our house was if people were coming over. Now, I meal plan two weeks in advance, but I always keep frozen pizza and cereal on hand for when I can’t pull it together. I actually utilize my dishwasher daily. Laundry is kept in hampers and is done several times a week and now the clothes sit folded in baskets in the laundry room until I am motivated to put them away. I now think about keeping a rigorous cleaning schedule, but I still only really clean before people come over. There is still much to learn about keeping house and motivation to do so, but when I look at where I was and how far I have come I am grateful for evolution, but even more so is Brian. (He has banned Hamburger Helper from even crossing our threshold of our home.)

My emotional and spiritual evolution goes hand-in-hand. Immature, would best describe my then. Not that I am claiming maturity now, but I do strive for it, even though I often fail. Looking back to my earlier days, I was faddish in my causes. A bandwagon jumper. Passionate without knowledge. I admit that at times I still fall into that rut. I equate just with right, and then find out that sometimes they are not one in the same. I now try to look for a little more information before diving headlong into a movement. During my evolution thus far, I have heard my father’s wise words, the same words I believed to be the babble in my youth, resonate with truth in my adult life. I have learned that just knowing who Christ is, being raised in a Christian home, and confessing him as Savior does not commensurate real relationship with Him. Rather I have found real relationship; in speaking to Him, in hearing Him speak to me, His discipline, the times he has allowed me to suffer consequences of my own actions, the times He has rescued me when I least deserved it. More importantly I have discovered His love for me. I have learned that any relationship whether holy or less than, requires effort, honesty, and communication. I have learned that a gradual process is not what I desire. I would like to expedite the changes and reach my best form as soon as possible, but I am grateful for changes no matter how small or how long they have taken because they mean I am progressing. Progressing towards being a better wife, a better mom, a better friend, a better daughter, a better disciple, a better Erica.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

I Wanna Be a Cowgirl

Type. Delete. Type. Backspace. Type again. Delete.

Why is it so hard to get back on the proverbial horse? I have been trying to write for days and at this present time for many minutes. No luck, bucked from my pony again. My last post was ages ago when I wrote of my uncle, who has since past away. Even though many things have happened since that entry, I can't seem to elaborate, collect my thoughts, or even really recap life over the last several months, but please know I am trying. Trying to lasso these scattered notions into some semblance of a blog post, making my best attempt to pull myself up on the saddle from the one foot that's caught in the stirrup.