Snip Snip?!

So if you've been following my blog you may remember a post from last month where I wrote that I'm embracing my 30's by trying to become more fit. It's been going pretty well. I've started training with my sister twice a week and I've been more proactive about staying active and eating better. But I'm still not awesome at it and I wouldn't say I've formed any great habits, though it IS getting easier (somedays). AND I bought some more cute work out clothes!

Last Saturday Daniel & I read an article in Scientific American "Researchers Explain Why Exercise Works Magic." The gist of the article is that exercise is proven to reduce risk for cancer, lengthen your lifespan, and just make you more awesome in general. I totally believe all of this. It just makes sense that the human body would need exercise. It just. makes. sense.

But I have long hair. And I have a lot of hair. When I work out I get sweaty. When I get sweaty my hair gets frizzy and my body feels gross. So I shower after I work out. But now I'm trying to work out every day which means I'm showering every day, or at least every other day. And then I'm either blow drying my hair (can be very damaging) or putting it up wet (leads to more frizz and just an overall feeling of unkempt-ness.)

So Daniel says "Is it more important that you be healthy or that you have long hair?"

I'm sorry, what?

What did he just say? My brain could not compute the string of verbs and nouns that he just pieced together while ending said string with the upward inflection of a question.

Did he just suggests I cut my hair for my HEALTH? This cannot be.

I'm telling you, I had to check myself as soon as the suggestion left his mouth. I was about to either get defensive or start to cry. Cut my hair so I can work out more? Are you NUTS?! I've always, ALWAYS had long hair. The one time in my life I had short hair was the summer my mom told our hair dresser to lop off my glorious, hip-length pony tail without my knowledge. I was the recipient of a bowl cut that summer and it was not cute. (I will never let my mom live down this story. It was too traumatizing and is now too hilarious to stop telling.)

Never EVER going this short again!

At this point you may be asking yourself "Why am I still reading this? Love ya Kate but I don't care. Though that picture of you IS pretty sad."

I need some help in the form of pictures. I also need the names and numbers of some seriously AMAZING stylists.

IF I were to cut my hair (and that is a huge TEXAS-sized 'if' right there.) I don't even know what I would do. I keep my hair this long because it's what I know. I've always felt like my hair is my best feature. It doesn't gain weight, it doesn't need new clothes, it gets the most compliments. Plus long hair is my glory and my covering! (Or am I taking 1 Corinthians 11:15 out of context? I am definitely not Jewish...) Either way, the mere idea of cutting my hair makes me sad. The idea of cutting my hair for the purpose of exercise makes me... more sad? confused? not quite sure how to quantify this emotion...

My sister suggested this long bob...

The Land of What If

We lost. We didn't even place. We just plain lost.

You know when you watch "American Idol" and you'll hear a contestant say "I don't understand why they didn't pick me. Everyone at home thinks I'm a great singer!" And you're sitting on your couch at home thinking, "That's because no one at home has the guts to be honest with you!" I'm kind of there right now. But I'm also in the "Land of What If" and let me tell you, it's rotten in here.

• What if we had picked another song?
• What if there had been a singer on the judges panel (instead of the Dancer/Superintendent/Organist/Contestant on "Survivor")?
• What if we had picked another song?
• What if the mic had worked the first time?
• What if they weren't trying to hurry us along because of the threat of rain?
• What if we had picked another song?
• What if the audience had laughed more?
• What if we had done the full 4 and a half minute version of the song instead of cutting it down to 3 minutes like they asked?
• WHAT IF WE HAD PICKED ANOTHER SONG?!!?

Even if I had answers to these questions the facts are still the same. We did not win. 

And yet...

If you're willing to look for it there's always a lesson to be learned, a nugget to add to the treasure pile- especially for those of us who try to walk closely with the Lord. Here's my nugget (thanks mom for helping me uncover this one.)

I am not a performer. I've said this for a long time. I don't love being on stage. I don't "come to life" when I'm on stage. I don't love the feeling of butterflies in my stomach or any of that. I'm just not that person. I am, however, a worshipper. I come alive when I'm singing for my Jesus. I feel the presence of the Lord, even the anointing of the Lord when I am singing for an audience of One. And here's how I know the difference.

For this talent show, I was concerned about every aspect of our performance. "What should I wear? What should Daniel wear? Am I expressive enough? Is Daniel expressive enough? Am I enunciating clearly? Am I singing with good technique? Am I engaging? Are we entertaining?" On and on the list goes. And every audience member, judge, and fellow contestant could have given me a hundred different answers. All of these questions were geared toward the audience or judges perception of me. 

When I sing in worship I'm asking different questions. More like "Is my heart in the right place today? Do I believe what I'm singing? Am I going through the motions or am I really worshiping?" And the only One who can these questions is the only opinion I really need. The opinion that says my worth doesn't come from winning a talent show or even the talent show prize money. The opinion that says "I love to hear you sing because I'm the one who sent that gift your way." The opinion that says "You are my creation & my pride and joy." I bask in the approval, in the anointing of the One True God. The God who gave me a love for music. The God who sent me a husband who shares my love of music and with whom I can make music with! The God who gave me a voice to lift in song, pleasant or not, the gift is from Him. And the questions I find myself asking are not geared toward what the congregation is thinking of me. No, the questions are for Jesus to purify my motives and to cleanse me of the junk I let seep into my heart and mind. The questions are to help me move closer to holiness (Thank you 1 Peter 1:16)!

You better believe I'm gonna keep on singing but I think my talent show/karaoke/competition days are over. I'll just sing for my Jesus and relish the pleasure of knowing my heart gets the most delight from worshiping the one true God.

That's waaaaay better than a $1000 prize any day. And I can say that in all honesty.

Of Talent Shows & Inside Jokes

Daniel & I have had several conversation over the course of this year which have basically ended with the same decision. We need to be more adventurous. We need more spontaneity. We need more inside jokes. The funny thing about inside jokes is that you can't force them. They must happen organically, without any set up. Inside jokes must appear on their own accord. BUT you can put yourself in the position for inside jokes. Meaning you must break routine. You must do something out of the ordinary in order to create maximum inside joke opportunity.

Here comes an opportunity.

I signed us up for a talent show. The Greater Anderson Days "Anderson's Got Talent" talent show. For those who know us, this may not seem that strange or out of the ordinary. Daniel & I are both well trained musicians. We're certainly not new to performing. Yet this is not something we do regularly. or ever. If my memory serves correctly I have never performed in a talent show. I karaoke'd once. I sang "Da doo ron ron" at the Dairy Queen. It was horrible.

The thing is, I'm really not one performing. I don't love it. I love to sing. I love music. I love teaching others how to perform. I love to watch other people perform, especially really good performances. But I don't love performing myself. It's the nerves really. And the feeling self conscious. I do not like either. And now I have to decide to what to wear. Which means I'll try on everything in my closet, wish I had started exercising the day after Isaiah was born so that my tummy wasn't still so post-partum squishy, tell myself that new clothes would fix it, tell myself there's no money for new clothes, and start back over with trying everything on.

But I wanted to do something different. I wanted to show Daniel we're still young and fun and do silly things like enter local talent shows. We're creating memories. We're building stories to tell Isaiah and his future siblings. We're gonna laugh about this on Monday when it's all over and it'll build intimacy and pleasure into our relationship. Right?

It would also be nice if we won the $1000 grand prize. Just sayin'.

Here's the youtube link for our audition video. We make a good team, I gotta admit.

Chapstick Addiction

Have you ever heard of a chapstick addiction? I read once that chapstick makers put alcohol in their chapstick so that the product actually dries a person's lips, therefore causing them to need their chapstick, thus creating an addiction. But you see, I use Burt's Bees chapstick (I checked the ingredient list for alcohol- not a drop.) I have used Burt's Bees for a very long time, probably 10+ years. I love love LOVE this stuff. It's minty, it goes on easy AND it freshens my breath, the tube is yellow which is my favorite color, AND it's made out of beeswax which MUST be a good thing. But I think I'm addicted because I very recently finished my last tube and I cannot stop thinking about when I can next make a Target run for some Burt's Bees. I solidified my addict status when I went tearing through my closet, checking every pocket of every pair of jeans, dress pants, hoodies, & jackets. My lips seem to cry out for the refreshing swipe of that beeswax-y goodness. Oh dear.

Then my brain had a GENIUS idea. My brain said to me "Katie, if you love this stuff so much, buy a case of it." Hello light bulb! Of course! Buy a case and never go without chapstick again.

Um, that's a no... a case of this stuff goes for about $395.45 on Amazon. So I guess I have a reason to make yet another Target run. Speaking of addictions... mmm, Target...

Homebody + Social Butterfly Follow Up

Well, gosh. All I really have to say is thanks! Since my homebody/social butterfly blog post, so many of you have commented, sent messages & emails, or gave hugs (in person) but all of the encouragement has been so great. Quite a few people even told me that my wings would grow back one day, which certainly made me smile.

Before I posted the blog, I asked Daniel (our resident social butterfly) to read it. This topic certainly isn't new for us but I didn't want to catch him off guard or make him feel disrespected when he read it. So, after he read it and gave his approval, it opened the door for us to have a nice long talk that didn't result with me in tears. (For some reason, I cannot have a serious conflict discussion with Daniel without me crying. It's been that way since the beginning of our marriage, I can't explain it.) Anyway, we talked about balance. We added a Family Night to our weekly calendar so that it's a non-negotiable event. It was very very good for me. Yay. Problem solved, right? Well, no. Several friends suggested that this issue may run deeper than just a balance issue for us. It may be a case of misplaced contentment for me. Hhhmm, I hadn't considered that. Am I expecting my husband and son to carry the burden of making me happy, or am I finding my daily joy in Christ ? Am I finding ALL of my personal validation in my role as wife & mother or am I clinging to the cross to find my identity? I need to spend some time digging into this... More to come I suppose!

The Balance between the Homebody and the Social Butterfly: A Parent's Dilemma

This is the tale of the Homebody and the Social Butterfly.

Once upon a time, 2 social butterflies met in college. After many years of friendship + 1 summer of working & traveling together, the butterflies fell in love and got married. The butterflies loved being married to each other and had many adventures! Spur-of-the-moment adventures, late night adventures, and even some planned adventures. They rarely thought about being out too late or missing a meal and they really just enjoyed living their lives to the fullest. In fact, the butterflies loved adventure and each other so very much that (with God's help of course) they ended up making a caterpillar! How wonderful, a baby butterfly would soon be joining their adventures!

While the caterpillar slowly grew in his mommy's tummy cocoon(?) the mommy butterfly began to wonder to herself,
"Hmm, when this caterpillar is born, our lives sure are going to change. We're going to have to do a better job of staying home, planning meals, and not missing bedtime. or nap time. Oh well. I'm sure it will all work itself out! I don't want to worry, I'll just keep flitting from adventure to adventure. "
And it was true, she didn't give it another moment of worry!

But, with that thought came something else, for the mommy social butterfly slowly began a transition of her own.

She didn't realize what was happening at first. She even subconsciously tried to fight it. For her particular newborn butterfly was VERY easygoing. He would sleep anywhere, he would nurse anywhere, he would let anyone hold him. He made it very easy for his social butterfly parents to continue enjoying their social ways. But, like all things in life, this newborn butterfly stopped being so newborn. His social butterfly mommy slowly began to realize that he slept better and longer if he slept in his crib at home. He ate better if he wasn't covered by the oh-so-interesting and VERY distracting nursing cover. He was an easier kid to play with and be around if he had some downtime at home, instead of being jerked in and out of his carseat 6 times a day. So little by little, day by day, her wings began to lose their luster. They became loose from little hands tugging, droopy from little hands playing too hard. But you know, she didn't seem to miss her wings that much. Not really. For she loved her little butterfly! Oh how he was worth that trade. She thought "I'd choose to trade my butterfly wings for this baby butterfly every single day if I had to. If becoming a homebody means I get to see my little butterfly grow into his own wings, then I CHOOSE to become a homebody!" And she felt victorious and complete.

But also a little sad.

For the daddy butterfly was not becoming a homebody. No, if anything his wings were becoming more brilliant and beautiful than they ever were before! Oh how he loved to show the world his perfect baby butterfly. He so delighted in the joy and wonder and the miracle of his little family of 2 becoming a family of 3. And he was an excellent dada- playful and attentive, fun and engaging. In fact, the daddy butterfly loved his family so much, he chose to be a stay-at-home dad for 1 day a week (which is special because most daddies don't get to be a stay-at-home dad for any days of the week!) Still, a butterfly is a butterfly and when a most enticing adventure pops us, it sure can be hard for that butterfly to stay put. No, he must do as his nature pulls him and so he allows his wings to take him to the next adventure. But the homebody mommy is left at home, feeling altogether torn between missing the memory of her now-lost wings, how life was before the baby butterfly, and yet not wanting a single thing to be different.

So she thinks "What if I forced myself to stop caring and throw myself into raising the baby butterfly?! At least that way I won't care so much when the daddy flies away." But no, for the mommy butterfly knew that was not any way to have a healthy marriage or even a pleasant life.

"What if the daddy butterfly could become a homebody like me?! That would fix it!"
But no, for the daddy butterfly would probably just grow discontent and being to resent the mommy butterfly.

You see, this is where the social butterfly and the homebody are the most different. The social butterfly just wants to go, to be on the move, to have stories and create inside jokes and find adventures. The homebody wants some of those things too but for those things to happen at home. To stay home and gather her butterflies in all around her, to enjoy the pleasure and privilege of family, to snuggle on the couch or play a game, or even just know that everyone is home where they should be.

And so this is where our story must come to pause for the rest has yet to be written. I wonder though, if you were in the position of the mommy butterfly, what truth might you share with her? What encouragement might you give her? How did you find the balance between the homebody and the social butterfly?

Shrapnel Smoothie

Tuesday of last week I hit up the Farmer's Market near Lunken Airport. If you've never been over there and you live on the Eastside of Cincinnati, it is worth your trip. I'm not really into all the organic stuff, Lord knows I have a serious love for junk food, but I DO love supporting the 'little guy.' I would much rather buy produce from a local farmer than from the grocery store, just because I like supporting small businesses.

So on this particular Farmer's Market trip, I was looking to buy peaches for Isaiah (the boy has a major sweet tooth and will only eat veggies if I add fruit...) I ended up buying peaches, green beans, 1 bunch of kale, 1 bunch of mustard greens, and 1 dozen eggs- all for under $12!

Now fast forward to yesterday. The peaches are nearly gone, the eggs are half gone. The kale, the green beans, and the mustard greens all sit, waiting to be consumed.  D'oh. So, I cooked up the green beans and put them in our dinner (which was a turkey casserole recipe creation that ended up being a total flop and really kind of gross.) I then washed and cut up the kale so I could make a smoothie! What better way to consume this 'superfood' (apparently kale is really really really good for you) than to chop it up and hide it with berries in a smoothie?! PERFECT.

So I load up the blender: 1 bag of frozen mixed berries. 1 bunch of pulverized kale (thank you food processor.) 1 frozen banana (why not?) 1 cup of orange juice. BLEND. But the blender wasn't blending. The berries at the bottom got blended but nothing else was moving. Hhmm. I shook the blender. Nothing. I took it off the base and turned the blender upside down. Still nothing. I grabbed my favorite wooden spoon, stuck it down through the little slit in the lid and *voila* things started moving! Alright! Everything was starting to look good, the berries had pulverized into a nice red-ish purple color, the kale was mixing well (aka it actually looked edible. Er... drinkable?)

And then my favorite spoon got too close to the blender blades. The sound was awful. Like the sound a tree branch makes when it is being fed through a wood chipper, all the wood splintering and cracking, very sad stuff. Cringing, I turn off the blender right as Daniel lovingly says "I was just about to tell you that a wooden spatula probably wasn't the best idea." Thanks babe.

Zoom in to the see wood chunk.

So now I have a ruined spoon AND a ruined smoothie. Ah but wait, Daniel pipes up from the kitchen table "Maybe it's not ruined. Maybe the wood broke off in one big chunk!" So I grab my ever faithful Pampered Chef mixing bowl and pour out the contents of the blender hoping to find the one wood chunk and salvage my smoothie. Pause. My brain says to me "I don't think this is worth it. The odds of that spoon breaking off in one chunk are pretty small. Let's taste the smoothie and see if it's worth the trouble." Good thinking brain, you do your job well. Friends, that smoothie was FOUL. Really sour tasting and very bitter. I maybe could have finished off an 8 oz glass but only because it was healthy. I would have chugged it to get all of the nutrients and none of the pleasure. And then I would have had brain freeze. So instead, I pitched it. And as I'm watching my concoction pour down the drain, I started saving the wood chunks. Oh my word, there were some serious wood chunks in this drink.  It killed me to dump it out, after all who wants to waste that much food?! But I would totally choose to waste $5 worth of food rather than spend the night in the ER after these wooden stakes ripped up my insides!

I could have swallowed that!

So, after all the wasted ingredients and the ruination of my favorite spoon, plus the time and effort associated with assembling the ingredients and washing the dishes, here's what I have learned. If I'm ever taken hostage by a group of vampires, I will make them my secret recipe Shrapnel Smoothie and then they will die from ingesting my tiny wooden stakes.

It could work.

Magic Clothes

Some of you may know that my sister is a personal trainer. And she's good. She's tough but she's very good. However it seems my sister (and my brother too) got all of the athletic genes and left none for me. I'm hopelessly non-athletic. I love to play games but I'm not coordinated for sports. I have a hard time grasping all the rules and exceptions to organized sports, much less the hand-eye coordination required to excel. I'm also not competitive so I experience no internal drive to "win at all costs." I also experience no internal drive to "risk personal safety" and "bodily harm" for whatever ball/frisbee/base/object that I am supposed to stop/catch/trap/stop on/etc. And so, I never really learned how to be physically active. Don't get me wrong, my parents did try. They let me play both t-ball and basketball. Sadly. my assumption is that a parent can only handle so much whining from their kid before they give up and let them quit whatever it is they won't stop whining about. (Of course it also didn't help that in my championship basketball game I made a basket for the other team, resulting in intense personal scarring and a strong loathing for basketball that exists even today. But that's a story for another time.) Now flash forward to today. Natural inclinations aside, I need to be more active, plain and simple. I want to have energy to chase Isaiah and his future siblings around the house. I want to model positive self esteem for my future daughters. I want to live a long and healthy life so I can keep Daniel on his toes. I need to make some changes.

"So, that's great Katie. What are ya gonna do about it?" I imagine you might be saying to yourself if we were having this conversation in person. Well, let me tell you. I'm wearing workout clothes today.

Remember earlier when I told you my sister is a personal trainer? Because of her profession she's almost always running around in workout clothes and she's got some CUTE stuff! I think her workout clothes are just as cute as her dress up clothes. My workout clothes consist of baggy t-shirts and spandex shorts. Not cute. But I found a Gap Body top at the thrift store the other day and I really like it! I threw it on this morning knowing I'd be going to Zumba later today. And just by wearing workout clothes I'm making better choices! It's like I've got it in my head that I'm going to be working out later so I don't want to consume more calories than necessary. It's amazing! I feel so... athletic, running around in my cute new top. It's quite uncanny actually. Feeling athletic is so far from normal for me, I feel like I'm becoming this brand new person.

You know how the new health craze lately is to say "I don't want to be thin, I just want to be healthy." Well, that's kind of a load of crap. I want to be healthy. I also want to be thin. But really I want to put on clothes and not have negative thoughts running through my brain. In workout clothes I feel like maybe that might just be possible. So, watch out world, who knows where this could lead? (Hopefully it leads to a whole closet full of thrift store finds in smaller sizes!)