My beloved seminary professor, Henry Simmons, taught me that saying No to one thing means saying Yes to something else. Saying No to a committee that meets at nights means saying Yes to quality family time at home. And that when we feel that should we say No to someones request that the world will cease to exist or a program fail to be run, we need to step back, recognize our arrogance, and embrace that while God loves us, He's not silly enough to leave His plans all up to us. There is much freedom in these wise words.
So in an effort to lower the incline on my ever moving treadmill, I've decided to lower the bar. To lower the expectations I have set for myself. To say No to all the silly rules I've made up about what it means to be good. To shift the definitions of good wife, mother, friend, sister, to fit the fact that Sloan has been out of town for thirteen days this month (so far--end of fiscal year and all), my sister has had a baby that I desperately want to get to see more of, and oh yeah, it's VBS.
This morning, I realized I set the bar so low I may be stubbing my toe on it.
For the past two nights, while at VBS, Henry's and my dinners have been what I like to call "Baggy meat plus" meals. As in deli meat in a baggy + some type of fruit + dairy product + some time of carb snack. As in pepperonis + fruit cup + cheese cubes + pretzels. Or turkey slices + strawberries + cheez-its (which in my mind perfectly combines carbs and dairy into one snack.)
And since we're not getting back from the church until around 9pm, Henry has been sleeping in his clothes from the night before. For the past few mornings, we've been sleeping in. And by we've been sleeping in, I mean to say that I've been ignoring the fact that I can plainly hear that Henry is awake at 7am and not going in to get him until 8 or so. He has books in his bed to read and Dog Dog and Hop Hop (the animal formally known as Mr. Bunny or Dog) to keep him company. This morning, "8 or so" meant 9:15. Henry was out of his bed, playing with blocks, completely naked with his wet diaper and madras shorts resting on top of his diaper pail. Ouch, I think my toe is bleeding and wait, what is that? Did I just step in a pee puddle in the middle of Henry's room?
Quite possibly, my real moment of toe stubbing glory came after swim lessons. Henry was eating lunch (feeling guilty about the whole naked play time, I fixed him a quasi-healthy lunch of apples and a cheese and black bean quesadilla), and I, too lazy to go upstairs to change, changed out of my wet bathing suit into clothes straight from the dryer. I've never been one to turn my nose up at getting dressed from the folded clothes in the hamper. But today's fishing for whatever turned up in the dryer is a first. Today's catch--pink and white polka dotted pajama shorts and a red T-shirt. Nice.
And I'm wanting to add a baby to the mix. Goodness, gracious, I need either my husband or Jesus to return. And pretty darn quick.