10-10-10 tip

Trader joes pumpkin rooibus tea...though soothing, does not taste like a pumpkin spice latte nor does it fully eliminate the tummy grumbling of a newbie dieter.  And though I adore most all things TJ's, this tastes cinnamon -y but not so pumpkin-y.  However, kudos to instagram for making afternoon tea look even better than it was (and it was lovely!).

10 pounds in 10 weeks for 10 dollars

The other day, Ryan showed me a video of an old friend of ours - basically, he is a former student in Ryan's youth group who has grown up, and now knows some wealthy and influential people.  To see the video, click here...

His challenge is to lose 80 pounds in 8 months, and if he does so, he will receive 20,000 dollars from one of the band members from Foster the People.  

I watched the video and (semi-self absorbed person that I am) immediately thought "hey, why not me too?"  So, I individualized the plan to be more what I need - 10 pounds should do it...10 weeks should do it (in fact,  check here to see an article on exactly that! ) And for monetary motivation...10 bucks is all I could get out of my dear hubby so 10 bucks is what I've got.  

To further my motivation, I roped a family member into doing this with me - I won't incriminate her and name names - it is a female family member in my direct familial "upline" however who is my biggest cheerleader in life and is a trooper to do this with me!  After exactly one meal into this endeavor I have already called her to commiserate...)  I then had Ryan put an app on my phone that allows me to keep track of exercise and diet and count calories (this is not new to most of the world, just to me).  Then I spent an hour online last night looking up "diet breakfast recipes."  None of them included scones dripping with butter, dripping with jam...bummer.  

So, now it is out there.  Hopefully no one I know will read this post because then they will know (ackh!) that I am on a diet.  And I never diet.  I just work out.  A lot.  Sadly though, that just doesn't seem to cut it these days and my budget does not allow for me to buy a new wardrobe.  So the 10-10-10 challenge it is.  

I already feel challenged.  I don't know how to diet without obsessing about food.  I get impatient and want to be fit after a day, not after several months.  I am really bad at drinking water (ok I am not bad AT drinking water...usually...just bad about drinking it).  And I have already changed my mind about posting this because I don't really want accountability especially in case I quit.  

Okay I will post.  But I will NOT take my husband's suggestion and put a photo of me on here in nothing but bike shorts and a running bra.  NO.WAY.  I told him I would put a photo of him in bike shorts and a running bra though.

But if you read my previous post, I am still getting the details of posting photos down.  So Ryan is off the hook.  For now.  

Bad Blogger

I just want to put it out there that I am not good at blogging.  I am not Oprah worthy or pinterest worthy or "guest blogger for Cosmo" - worthy.   I do not have a niche except for the oh-so-broad pastor's wife/mother of boys/regular person.  If I ever developed a readership, most likely it would just be people who like me, like my friends, or my mother.

There are some distinct differences between me, and your average "Good Blogger."  Let me name a few...

Good Bloggers (GBs) use really awesome photos of things to pull you in, and often use instagram to transform sort of regular looking things into extraordinary, artsy, magazine-pages worthy, way cool things.  When I search the web, if a blog doesn't have a photo, then my attention span just doesn't get me past the opening line.  I mean, what good is a blog if you cannot "pin it" ?

Bad Bloggers (BBs) like myself, do not have an actual working camera at the moment, use their phone to take photos but lack the ability to zoom in on things, and are digitally challenged and are still in the process of figuring out how to upload photos onto the blog site.

GB's know their niche, and often have a really cool blog site with lots going on visually, and they have put some thought into how the page is designed.

Bad Bloggers use all the free templates for their site, and change it sometimes daily on a whim and just push buttons until something looks okay.  They also do not have a niche, and therefore draw someone in with a really funny story about a 5 year old one day, and then confuse them by writing about some profound spiritual epiphany the next.  And then even possibly talk about a good recipe but do not include photos of that recipe.

GBs are often detail oriented.  If they are going to talk about a craft project they did with their children, they will show step by step instructions (with photos) and if they make a puppet theater, they might actually sew curtains, print up "Ben's Puppet Theater" in a great font and individually cut out the letters and string them across the top.

A Bad Blogger might take an old box, cut out a hole, cut a scarf in half and drape it across a piece of string, with all the torn edged seams hanging, quickly scallop the top with a pair of dull kiddie scissors and then patch up any tears or holes with packing tape.  This is just an example of course.

If being a "crafty mom" were my niche, I would be a bad blogger.  I cut corners, don't yet know how to sew, I don't yet know how to make my own jam or grow my own vegetables, I am impatient with things, and don't know how to use "printables" off my computer.

If I were a "fashion-y 30-something," well, I would be a bad blogger.  I wear the same three outfits pretty much all the time (mostly because that's all I can fit into at the moment) and only brush my hair once every two days before I put it into a short-haired ponytail that sticks out straight from my head, and there my hair stays.  If I stood still, frowning, in front of an old barn or a VW bug, wearing boots and a scarf...well, let's just say even Instagram would not make me look cool.

I don't even have the pastor's wife niche down... a friend sent me a link to another pastor's wife site, and she sort of cusses and is EXTRA mouthy.  She talks about the denim dress wearing, ice tea drinking Pastor's wives.  I am not extra bad and I am not extra good - so is there a niche for someone in the middle?

If consistency is a mark of a GB, well, my one year absence from the blog-o-world should be enough to tell you what kind of blogger I am.

So here's the thing...I am a Bad Blogger.  But I really have fun doing it, since my mediocre skills have set a middle of the road precedent and there is no real pressure to keep Oprah happy (and the masses, of course).  Well I'm off (weak conclusion) and may write tomorrow, or next week, or next year (inconsistency), possibly about homeschooling, or wifing, or San Diego (no niche).  Signing off, yours, BB

Guilt and Approval

I wish I could say that I have it all together as a pastor's wife. But I am definitely a work in progress, a study in contrasts, as we all are. One example would be how I have such a self-deprecating sense of humor, and honestly feel like my self-esteem is okay, and yet, I care deeply what other people think of me.

Another example is this: I like to advocate for balance in marriage, church, family and "Sara-time," and yet I still feel guilty when I live it out.

 I have a heart for food and hospitality (sometimes), and for discipleship. In ministry, my favorite age group is the young adult crowd. I am not a social butterfly and I do not like schmoozing out on the church lawn after church. I love hearing how people are doing for real, and I love building deep relationships with people, yet that takes time. In women's ministry, I use the motto "I reserve the right to be a participant(and not a pastor's wife!)." In other words, as a pastor's wife, it is easy to get over-worked in lots of really great things. But some of those things may not fall in line with our gifting or passions. If I participated in every good thing, I would have a mental melt-down and possibly end up bitter towards the church or in a "somethings gotta give" situation where my marriage or my kids might be suffering. Therefore, my motto. I participate in bible study and attend the retreats but I try hard to not be on planning committees or go to all the social get togethers, teas and talks. I don't always have to be on the leadership side of things, and I allow myself (in theory) the option of saying no.

I prefer to use my energy and time to invest in those areas that I feel particularly called to and passionate about. The problem with this lies in the faces of the women who I turn down when asked to be a part of said planning committee. The problem with this lies in quiet whispers in the pews when the pastor's wife didn't show up to a much-hyped church event. The problem really, truly, lies in my own heart's desire to be liked by everyone, and that just will never be. That desire fills me with guilt and fear every time I say no to something even though I know I can't do it all. That desire is decidedly not what the bible refers to in Galatians 1:10 when Paul asks himself.."am I now trying to win the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man?"

Though this blog post may not be the most cohesive ever, I hope to raise two challenges by it. The first to those of you in the church who may have been an eye-raiser at one point or another, when someone doesn't serve where you think they should serve or participate when you think they should participate. I fall into this category without question. We cannot judge this and we need to allow people in the church to say no without guilt. Leave it up to the Holy Spirit to get them there if it is God they are running from. But if it is simply a boundary, a choice to focus on one area over another, or just not their thing...it is not up to us to judge. And for the pastor's wives (or anyone actually!)out there, and to this category I also fall, the challenge is to ever strive for a life that pleases God and not man. That is a hard, hard thing and a principal I have yet to master.

Tonight as I write this, sitting next to my sleeping 5-year old, many women from my church are at an event together. I could be there, and it could be a really good thing. But I am not there, and hopefully I am right where I need to be.

The Mum Factor

Today marks 15 years of marriage to my husband Ryan (the pastor to whom this blog title refers...). I awoke to a sweet note from him sitting next to the best of all gifts, a potted mum. Now this, truly was a grand gesture.

 Here is the back story on the mum plant: 16 years ago or so, Ryan came to my house to pick me up for one of our first dates. We were but babes at the time. Remembering (like a good boyfriend should) that I mentioned a love for fresh flowers, he brought me a lovely potted mum which I thought was wonderful.... Not. (yes, the NOT reference is a nod to the lingo of the time...remember the 90s?).

 He immediately saw the look on my face (I am not subtle) and knew that I was not happy. I then went on to tell him that a potted plant is not romantic but rather something that you give to your grandma when you go for cookies at her house. Honestly, how was this relationship going to work if it could be summed up in a potted MUM??

 The irony, though, is that our marriage can be summed up by that Mum plant. You see, Ryan did not give up on his courtship of me because I rejected his gift and overanalyzed it. He tried again, and again. He learned from that moment and tried something different the next time around. He learned that for me, it is best to just have me write down the make and serial number of what I want. For him to pay attention to that was in itself romantic.

 For him to put up with me when I did not receive his naive (and sweet) gesture with any amount of grace...also romantic. I overanalyze and can be frank (too frank). I have made mistakes and hurt Ryan and he has done the same. 15 years of marriage means many opportunities to screw up. It means many ups and downs and many reminders of our failings in life. But it is not in the Mums of life that we are defined. It is not in the mess-ups, the trip ups, the big fights, the little resentments that build or the days you are just annoyed. It is in how you handle those things that end up defining your relationships. Everyone will fall down, but in picking up again, you grow and you learn.

 Marriage takes some risk. It takes a lot of humility and the ability to forgive and try again. It takes the ability to receive forgiveness and love from someone else. If you can do those things, even those dark moments in your marriage can provide a backdrop to something beautiful - to a story of redemption and restoration.

 15 years and counting. I love that I found that potted mum this morning. No longer representing the mistakes we have made, but rather the strides we have taken all these years to love regardless of those mistakes. Happy Anniversary, Ryan!

My weekend in "France"

Last weekend I had the incredible opportunity to house sit for some friends who didn't really need a house sitter. The stipulations for house sitting were that I come without children, that I eat their food and that I don't do any housework. I was asked to NOT make the bed. I showed up on Friday night and found a huge welcome basket waiting for me filled with yummy food and wine. I stayed up late on the first night and watched movies. Because I am a busy mom of three boys and a pastor's wife and I actually need sleep (which some mom's don't seem to need) I don't watch many movies. So pretty much any movie out there I have not seen. I watched three movies and then slept in until 7 the next morning.

Unless you are in the middle of raising kids and unless you have kids like mine who do not have volume control nor do they appreciate sleep that much, you will not fully know the value of waking up to a quiet house. I did sort of miss my family Friday night as I watched movies and I sort of missed my family when I climbed into my friend's guest bed for the night. But the confession is that I really didn't miss them at all when I woke up the next morning to a quiet house. I was able to spend some time praying beyond just the usual "Lord, help me get through today" or "Lord, give me patience to not lock my kids in their rooms" or "Lord, please give me one more year before Ben figures out how to use matches..." It was so wonderful to spend that time with the Lord and with my really strong, bad coffee (I cannot make coffee but Ryan is a barista as well as pastor so why do I need to learn?).

I had enjoyed some good bread, salami and bruschetta the night before for dinner and then on Saturday morning I headed to a crepe shop to meet up with some girlfriends for a late breakfast. After a lovely time with them ("Lovely" seems like the appropriate word after time with girlfriends eating crepes, doesn't it?), I headed to an outdoor mall to window shop.

When I was all window-shopped out I went home for a quick snack and changed for a date night with Ryan. He actually came to pick me up from the house I was staying at, and then at the end of the evening he dropped me back off there, "just as if we were back in college!" as Ryan put it. We went down to San Clemente to a little shop that specializes in flavored olive oils and balsamic vinegars - called Oliver's. We tried every one, and had them combine oils and vinegars for us, and then we were so confused that we left empty handed because they all tasted good. At least we live close. :) After Oliver's we went down to the pier to watch one of the prettier sunsets I have witnessed in a while and then to the Vine restaurant that has a decidedly French menu.

After Ryan bid me au revoir (that's french for goodbye, of course) for the evening I watched two more movies, the final movie being "Julie and Julia." I liked the movie but didn't love it. But I had just finished Julia Child's autobiography "My Life In France" which I loved and it is rare to find a movie that I like as much as the books on which they are based. I finished the movie and of course wanted to cook something but since it was midnight (about three hours past my bedtime) I hit the hay.

The next morning I looked through my friends cookbook by Julia Child - Mastering the Art of French Cooking - which of course I need to have that cookbook now. I packed up my things and made sure that the made up guest bed was just rumpled enough that my friend couldn't accuse me of making the bed, and then headed straight for our local farmer's market. I picked up two pounds of mushrooms to saute, some salad greens, some fresh fruit and a huge potted purple heather plant. After such a "french" infused weekend away I couldn't help myself and felt very urban and cool with my reusable bags, fresh produce and huge purple flowers under my arm. Not a soul noticed but I definitely had a spring in my step as I left the market.

I headed home feeling refreshed and happy. Every mom should be so lucky as to take a weekend away. And an introvert like myself needs more than a "girls retreat" - I really need time alone. It was a blessed time of eating, shopping, mindless movie watching, time with friends and hubby, praying, reading and sleeping. Ahhh.

I walked through the door of my house at 9:30 am on Sunday morning. The older the boys were playing a video game rated for teenagers which I had told them not to play. Laundry was tossed about the living room floor. Dishes were on the counter and in the sink. Two year old Ben was eating marshmallows, and Ryan was on his computer. He looked up and said "oh...I thought you wouldn't be back so soon!" Fortunately for them, I only gave them each a kiss and hug and headed to the kitchen to get some good coffee.

Productivity

People who say that having children means the end of all productivity do not know my children. Let me just use last Wednesday as an example of what I mean. Last Wednesday by 6:45 am, while I poured myself a cup of coffee, Isaac had painted a picture of a Japanese woman in front of her authentic Japanese home in acrylics. Ian had played two games of bowling and had gotten past two new levels of Indiana Jones on our Wii. While I attempted to put some clothes in the dryer, Ben climbed up on the counter and took out every vitamin, cough drop and chocolate chip from the cupboard. He also took all the candy canes off the tree and ate two, while stashing the others in some secret spot I have yet to discover - I only know it exists because he keeps showing up with candy cane sticky face at random times throughout the day. By 8 o'clock a.m. in the time it took me to use the restroom and splash my face with water, the older boys had made a pillow fort, thrown about 1000 verbal insults at one another, pushed, shoved, stuck stinky feet in each other's faces and had broken the sound barrier while telling me through the bathroom door the injustice of having brothers. Ben in that time had quietly gone outside in his feetie pajamas and had watered all the plants with his squirt bottle, getting his feet-ie pajama - clad feet all wet and muddy and had also found the time to pull some stuffing out of an old pillow in the garage and rummage through some bags to find an old piece of Easter candy from last year.

I could go on. But I am exhausted just recounting the day to you. Let me just sum up. I believe by the end of the day I had (I think I remember this correctly) gotten dressed and eaten at least one meal although most likely standing up - unless Ben was on my lap eating it off my plate before I could get a bite. The boys had continued on pace. Isaac invented a couple things, searched for gold with his metal detector, created a new Indian tribe complete with it's own language, made a tornado - sized wreck of his room, lost his shoes at least 10 times, and managed to get more food on the floor than in his mouth for all three meals, putting his 2 year old brother to shame. Ian found a way to push every single one of Isaac's buttons, played more video games than I care to write in case this would incriminate me as a bad mother (although this blog is called "confessions,,," after all and it IS Christmas break). He rode his bike and went back and forth to the neighbor boy's house every five minutes for about 5 hours and managed to suck a little bit more of my sanity while he worked his weird reverse-psychology meets manipulation- meets overly emotional and overly sensitive middle child- magic on me. Benjamin jumped on the bed where I had neatly folded and sorted the laundry just moments before, helped me wash the windows by spraying an entire bottle of windex on the kitchen french doors, spilled his hot chocolate all over the livingroom carpet, organized the cupboards next to the refrigerator where I keep anything even sort-of resembling a sweet, and had made paper airplanes out of our pile of bills on the computer table.

Like I said, our family should be proud. Three young boys in the house could mean that not a thing gets done all day long. Thankfully that is not the case around here. We are one highly productive crew.