Lists within lists, AKA my brain in parenthood

I really do want to blog more this year, but here's the thing: most of what I spend my mental energy on is so specific that I doubt many of you would be particularly interested in it. But I'm also proud of myself for a lot of these things, so today you're getting a list of some lists I could easily turn into entire blog posts but realistically won't ever. If you're wondering where my time and energy go when I'm not actively chasing around a small child, here's a large portion of the answer.

Clothing that actually fits well over cloth diapers

This one is a little older now, since we finally (mostly) potty trained last summer, but I spent so many hours buying pairs of pants online, looking for something that would work for my child. Plus, I went to every secondhand store and flipped through all their pants, comparing them to the one pair I knew did work. It was ridiculous, and time-consuming, and my child's pants stayed up and covered his bum without dragging on the ground or tripping him so it was totally worth it.

Outerwear for being outside every day in every kind of weather

Very early on in parenthood, I made it a goal to get outside every day that I possibly could. Which, it turns out, can mean every single day if you dress right, at least where we've lived. No matter whether it's 90 degrees or 9 degrees, I have an outfit and a plan for it - which is a butt ton of work, by the way. Lately my kid has taken to asking why no one else is out playing when it's cold and windy, or when it's raining, or when the weather is otherwise less than ideal. And I tell him the truth - it wouldn't be fun to be out if you didn't have the right clothes. But we do, so we're good to go!

Durable barefoot/minimalist shoes that my child will actually wear

When my kid started walking, I did some research and made the decision to outfit him with minimalist shoes as much as possible. My goal was to find shoes he liked wearing that didn't cost an arm and leg, especially when he was going through a shoe size every two months! Now, at almost four years old, he has definite opinions about his footwear, and shoes I've been really excited about haven't always gone over so well with him... It also turns out he has somewhat expensive taste in shoes, but I've gotten to be an expert at hunting for deals and navigating the crazy world of BST groups.

Affordable and not ugly toy storage that can also hold a child

For a while we were using old diaper or wipes boxes, but I just hated seeing them all over my living room - attractive they most definitely are not! Also, it's amazing what qualifications you find yourself thinking about as you shop for stuff as a parent. Seriously though, I think my child has fit himself inside every single box and basket that we own, or at least worn them on a foot or on his head. Now if only I could get him to regularly put away his toys in the proper baskets instead of just chucking them wherever...

Weaning

Last month marked the end of an incredibly special relationship for me: after 3+ years of breastfeeding my child, we've had our last snuggle for milkies. It was time - he was losing interest and I was ready to have my body back - but I also miss starting every day with that unique closeness, and having a dedicated time for my daily Wordle...

As some of you know, breastfeeding wasn't something that came easily or naturally for us. First, we were separated when he wasn't even two days old, and even when we were reunited I didn't always have the strength to hold him for a full nursing session (I do not recommend postpartum preeclampsia to anyone - it really sucks). Plus, he was born with tongue and lip ties that went undiagnosed for two months of excruciatingly painful latches and continually bloodied nipples. And even when the ties were finally dealt with, it took us two more months of various appointments and exercises (so. many. exercises) to get to the point where he could latch and nurse close to normally. I dealt with milk supply issues thanks to his decreased ability to nurse, he dealt with weight gain issues, and I ended up pumping every single night for a long time to get him the extra milk he desperately needed.

There were many days in the beginning when I thought it would be a miracle if we made it two months, or six, much less the year I was originally aiming for. And I never dreamed I would get so good at cleaning pump parts and washing bottles. But eventually things got to the point where nursing stopped being a chore and became a very special time to slow down and just BE, together. I don't know when I realized we weren't going to stop at a year, or even at two, but I'm so glad we got as long as we did. And while I still struggle sometimes with the fact that my milk alone wasn't enough to get his growth back on track when he was little, I do give our continued breastfeeding into toddlerhood at least some of the credit for his crazy fast growth over the past couple of years.

Hobbes sharing in the nursing snuggles.

I haven't gone around broadcasting the details of our breastfeeding journey to the world, but as I've mentioned to people that we've stopped, I've gotten one question that I don't quite understand: more than one person has asked me if we're planning to have more biological children. And while I do understand how they might think this connects to breastfeeding my current kid, it just doesn't compute for me. Whether I breastfeed more children or not, I'll never have that level of intimacy with THIS child again. And that's the hardest thing to let go.

His hand wrapped around mine, his body relaxed into me, his belly filled with my milk, his breath on my breast, his life fed by mine. That's what we fought for, what we literally bled for, what we started each day with for all of his life until we suddenly didn't anymore.

I'm going to be processing that loss for while. I'm okay with that.

And yesterday I got to stay in bed until 8AM. And I'm okay with that too.

A few of my favorite things: Jan-Mar 2023

Life is a lot right now, and it can be easy to get lost in the things that pull me down. To combat that, I've decided to do a quarterly round-up of things that are making me happy. And yes, you can expect to see a lot of books, movies, and TV shows - I love me some good storytelling. Anyway, in no particular order, here are some things that have lifted my spirits in the last few months.

1. tick, tick... BOOM! on Netflix is everything I could ever ask for from a movie adaptation of a musical. Andrew Garfield is incredible, and Lin-Manuel Miranda's vision as director is perfect (and yes, this makes me a little sad he handed over the directorial reins for In the Heights). It also doesn't hurt that I love the energy and emotion in Jonathan Larson's music, both in this and in Rent.

2. I wasn't sure I was ready to read anything that touched on Covid, but it turns out John Green was the perfect person for me to read on that subject, and on a lot of other subjects too. We should probably never be friends in real life because his neuroses are too similar to mine, but when he finds the ability to hope in the middle of the mess that is our world, it helps show me how to do the same. I'm now slowly listening to the audiobook because it's just so soothing.

3. Speaking of neuroses, Elementary is fast becoming my favorite version of the character of Sherlock Holmes. I know this show has been around for a while, but I hadn't seen past season two, so I'm having fun watching it through from start to finish (well, to season five so far). Jonny Lee Miller plays Holmes with so much nuance, the dynamic between Holmes and Watson is spot on, and there's something strangely relaxing about a good procedural.

4. This isn't new to the last few months, but as an adult I've rediscovered the joy of building LEGO sets. So far this year I've built the Microfighter version of Boba Fett's ship, a mini X-wing, and (with my toddler's help) a shark and crab from the Creator series. It's also been fun handing them off to the toddler when I'm done, because he loves playing with the completed builds.

5. And when it comes to doing things with the toddler, his newest hobby makes me incredibly happy: he LOVES doing jigsaw puzzles. And not just ones for kids; in fact, he prefers what he calls "long puzzles." He's still learning how to figure out where pieces go, but if you point out where to put them, he'll assemble the whole thing himself. Our latest was a 750-piece puzzle, which took us three days, but we can do a 300-piece puzzle in a single day sometimes, especially if it's his favorite one.

Books, packing tape, and lessons in letting go

I know there are many people who regularly blog, journal, or otherwise note down their thoughts while simultaneously raising small humans. So far, that has not been me. This year I'd like to change that, at least a little.

And I can't think of anything better to write about than sharing with you my toddler's love of books, which brings me so much joy. My child will happily sit and be read to for as long as someone is willing to read - I generally tag out after 30-40 minutes, but he'll go longer if I will! Plus, he'll read whole stacks of books to himself, quoting large portions as he goes (and often filling his diaper at the same time...) I love reading - it's one of the very few things I've kept up with since becoming a mother - and it's just wonderful to see my child falling in love with books as well.

Of course, like anything with a toddler, it's not all sunshine and roses. Part of instilling this love of reading has meant leaving books where my kid can access them, which in turn has meant quite a few ripped pages and broken spines. I believe wholeheartedly that books should be treated with great respect - no dog-eared corners or facedown paperbacks here! - but even when my toddler is doing his best to treat his books gently, accidents happen. And then there are the days where he has purposefully torn out pages, bent books in half, or eaten chunks of them (teething is ridiculous).

It takes a definite effort on my part to hand precious books over to my child and then not get angry when they get beaten up, but it's been a good way to practice on a small scale something that applies on a much larger scale: I can give him good things, and teach him good practices, but I cannot control what he does with any of it in the long run.

I can, however, get really good at using packing tape to reconstruct mangled reading materials, and that will have to be enough for now.

To the mamas who don't have it all together, today or any day

If your FB newsfeed looks anything like mine in the week leading up to Mother's Day, you'll have seen lots of posts from friends celebrating motherhood - questionnaires about pregnancy and birth, ultrasounds or newborn photos contrasted with pictures of the kid now, old photographs of people's mothers and grandmothers, and a lot of sentimental captions from children thanking their mothers, husbands celebrating their wives, and mothers reflecting on the wonder of their journeys. Along with these, there are also the posts acknowledging that Mother's Day is a hard day for many people - for those who want to be mothers but are once again meeting this day childless, for those who've lost a child or those who've lost their mother and are feeling that loss more keenly again today, and for those with difficult or broken mother/child relationships, among others.

I'll be honest: I really enjoy seeing people's posts this time of year, both the celebrations and the struggles. But this year I realized that despite all the posts I've seen, it felt like something was missing. No where did I see posts recognizing the drastically contrasting emotions that have defined these past two years for me, no where did I see anything allowing mothers with healthy children and no losses to admit that they're really struggling with this whole motherhood thing, no where did I see people acknowledging that this day can be emotionally difficult even for those without a big reason making it hard. Let's change that, shall we?

Happy Mother's Day,

To the mother feeling guilty because you have friends who want kids so badly and have gone through so much trying to get there, while you got pregnant easily but have so many days where you feel ambivalent at best about motherhood, and a decent few days where you just want to return the kid to sender.

To the mother whose worst fear was realized when you were separated from your newborn, who now frequently feels like a terrible person for how much you want a day where you could leave behind your child and also turn off your mom-brain for a while.

To the mother reading the same book aloud for the forty-seventh time this week, faking enthusiasm while inwardly wondering yet again why you ever set aside an intellectually stimulating job for the tedium of dealing with a small child.

To the mother whose heart thrills with joy when your little one snuggles on your shoulder and pats you while repeating, "Mama," over and over again, while simultaneously being so tired of them being clingy and wishing you could put them down without having them scream bloody murder.

To the mother holding your teething toddler for yet another nap, listening to their little breaths and gently shushing them every time they whimper and get close to waking, wondering when you will hold them like this for the last time, as you savor the closeness and also long for a day when you won't end up nap trapped by an increasingly heavier baby.

To the mother who was told you would feel differently about kids once you had them and who now knows that's true in some very important ways and oh-so-wrong in others.

To the mother doubting yourself at every step of the way and moving forward anyway, feeling lost and overwhelmed and also so in love with your child, crying one minute because of how much your life has changed and then over the moon with joy the next for exactly the same reason.

I see you. I am you. And I will be here for you if you need a friend to come alongside you for a moment or a season or a lifetime, because while I'm pretty sure we mothers must be braver and stronger than we think we are, we're also braver and stronger together than alone. You're welcome in my life anytime, and feel free to bring your mess with you - it will pair perfectly with mine.

Birth = exhaustion and exhilaration

1) I'd heard that pregnancy was like a marathon, but people forgot to mention that at the end of that marathon, you have to run an Ironman. Or at least that's what it felt like to me, and I didn't even have a particularly long labor! The level of exhaustion on all fronts was like nothing I've ever felt before, and I'm incredibly glad that both Trevor and our doula were there, because I depended on their physical and emotional support so much to keep me steady as things progressed. Of course, the reward at the end of all that hard work was one hundred percent worth everything it took to get there - my baby boy finally in my arms after months of anticipation.

2) Whenever people heard I'd had multiple kidney stones during pregnancy, they would then tell me I'd have no problem with giving birth. If only that had been true... Everyone experiences pain differently, and I honestly found labor pain to be much more difficult to cope with than kidney stone pain. It didn't necessarily hurt more, but it hurt differently, and in a way that I couldn't compartmentalize nearly as well. On the plus side, labor pain leads to an adorable baby, rather a tiny chunk of nasty looking minerals. I also found myself craving Trevor's encouraging words and reassuring touch during labor, which was pretty much the opposite of how I feel with kidney stones, and was good for connecting as a couple in those moments.

3) Everyone says that when you first hold your child in your arms, you discover a level of love that you've never felt before, but that wasn't the case for me. Granted, I was ridiculously happy to finally have him in my arms, and snuggling him has continued to be one of my favorite things. But I don't feel like the depth and intensity of the love I feel towards my little boy has changed with his birth - it's been constant since week eight of pregnancy, when I had some bleeding and thought we might be losing the baby. I realized in that moment how much I loved this child that I'd never seen, and while gazing into his eyes right after he was born was a moment of intense joy, it didn't magically increase that love. It simply reaffirmed it, and I'm guessing my understanding of what that love looks like will change and grow as my little boy does - I'm excited for that.

Stay at home? I'm good with that

It has been forever since I last posted, but with all the craziness right now in the world I felt like writing again, and thought I'd share a very random selection of thoughts and observations from the past week and a half.

1. Somehow, none of the pregnancy books I read had a chapter on giving birth in the middle of a pandemic.
2. I keep opening doors into my pregnant belly, because I'm not used to it sticking out this far!
3. Organizing baby clothing and supplies is very calming.
4. Also baby clothes are tiny and adorable.
5. Technology is awesome when you can't be with people in person. So far we've had a girls' movie night, a church devotional, caught up with family, and played board games, all via the internet.
6. I started reading Knowing God at the beginning of the month, and it's been so encouraging and reassuring in the midst of all this mess.
7. Also I've found Isaiah 40 very comforting.
8. There aren't many rom-coms that I like to rewatch, but Hitch has the right mix of humor and likeable characters to be hilarious every time.
9. Please never treat a food allergy by drinking a bottle of Benadryl.
10. Contrary to some of the memes I've seen circulating, my cat is very happy to have his humans home all day.
11. Speaking of memes and such, there's a lot of great stuff out there. I think I'll end with one of my favorites:

That cat life

When it comes to contentment, there's not much that can beat a happily sleeping cat. I often wish I could achieve that level of relaxation, and today I sat down and thought about what life as a cat would be like.

If I imitated my cat, I would...

• Walk around the house yelling at the top of my lungs any time I was hungry. Or bored. Or lonely. Or just felt like it. Especially if it was the middle of the night.
• Steal people's seats any time they got up. Even they were gone for less than a minute. And even if my original seat was more comfortable.
• Take a poop, and then run around the house at top speed for the next minute or two. Maybe I'd flush, maybe not; predictability is overrated.
• Spend a lot of time sleeping in sunbeams. Bonus points for chasing other beings out of the sunbeam if they were there first, even if there was plenty of space to share.
• Bathe obsessively, and forcibly drag other beings into the bath with me if I decided they smelled bad.
• Have an all-consuming desire to eat sugar, bread, mayonnaise, and tuna fish, and lick out all the dishes in the sink, even if it made me puke.
• Run and hide under the bed any time I heard the doorbell, because strangers are the worst.
• Put my butt wherever I felt like, whenever I felt like, and then look offended if forced to move elsewhere.

No wonder my cat is so relaxed - he doesn't worry about anything except his next meal, doesn't feel any obligations regarding social interactions, and couldn't care less what people think of him! What a wonderful life that must be. Unfortunately, I don't think I should imitate his behavior, so I guess I'll just have to find the secret to contentment elsewhere. Maybe I should try imitating the dog...

Third time's the charm?

The day before my first semester of teaching, I was incredibly nervous. I'd never taught a real class before, and it had been more than ten years since the last time I took an economics class. The material was unfamiliar, the job was brand new, and I was unsure whether I'd actually be any good at the whole teaching thing. But I ended up with an excellent group of students, and that first semester, while a stressful learning experience, was confirmation that I really could do this job.

The day before my second semester of teaching, I was optimistically excited. I felt comfortable with the material, I'd figured out the lecture style that seemed to work for this course, and I was looking forward to making the course my own. While I did enjoy being able to rework things to help the students focus more on the core material of the course, that second semester ended up being stressful for a whole new set of reasons, mostly related to student dishonesty and immaturity.

Today, which is the day before my third semester of teaching, I'm just hoping things go smoothly. I know I can give the lectures well, and I have a decent grasp of how to determine which concepts this particular group of students might struggle with, but I don't want a repeat of the dramatics of last semester. I also have a larger class than any of my previous sections, so I'll have to work a bit harder to give everyone opportunities to actively participate, and I'll have to streamline assignment grading if I don't want to be swamped. It's all doable, I'm sure, but I just want it to be a decent semester, with students who remember that they're on their way to becoming adults and act accordingly. Here's hoping.

Chuck Versus the Junior Year

After an amazing time at Wizard World Pittsburgh this past weekend, where I got the chance to meet actors from multiple TV shows I really enjoy, I wanted share the impact that one particular show has had on my life. One of the actors at Wizard World was Zac Levi, who has been a favorite of mine for about ten years now. Most recently, he was Shazam, and among other things, he's also done Broadway shows, voiced Flynn Rider, and played the title character on the TV show Chuck. It's that show I want to talk about.

I was introduced to Chuck during my junior year of college, while it was airing its second season, and I loved it right away. The main character was such a nerd, and the show itself was funny, and had great depictions of both family and romantic relationships, and awesome stunt sequences, and a clever plot. But the more I watched it, the more I came to realize that I loved it for something more than just being an excellent show.

You see, my junior year of college was also the year my life started falling apart, and it was a mess for a while. I was dealing with both depression and anxiety, to the point where my mental health issues were causing physical health issues, and I was unable to maintain the facade I'd been building for most of my life. The real me was not pretty, and having my friends see that felt like the end of the world.

Enter Chuck, which I watched and rewatched obsessively for the next several years. Every show means something a little different to each individual viewer, but if I were to sum up what I took away from Chuck, it would go something like this: embrace your strengths, and don't hide your weaknesses; start where you are right now, and move forward from there.

In other words, if you're a geeky nerd who loves science and math and obsesses over fictional entertainment and struggles with depression and anxiety and is fiercely loyal and too smart for your own good, that's okay. Be honest with yourself and others, and don't be afraid to chuck your carefully constructed persona out the window, because the people that matter won't run away when you let them see the real you. Keep going even when it seems like your life is a mess, and have the courage to ask for the help and support you need to face life's struggles.

All of that from one TV show, you ask? Yes, and more as well - watching TV has always been more than just an escape for me.

Of course, God, in his providence, gave me more than one lifeline to cling to in the midst of everything, and I don't want to discount how grateful I am for the promises in Scripture, or for the people he put in my life. However, I really do believe he gave me Chuck as well, because it was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time. And since the convention this weekend got me thinking about this again, I wanted to write it all down, because that's how I process things. I don't think I could have written this a few years ago, but now, with some distance, it feels right to look back at where I was, and rehearse the lessons I've learned. Even if those lessons came from fictional characters.

Tempered patriotism

Today is July 4th - Independence Day, if you live in the USA. Strangely, this is probably the major holiday that has me feeling the most ambivalent right now. You'd think I'd love a holiday that involves pyrotechnics (and I do love a good fireworks display), but it's hard to feel very patriotic these days.

You might think that having a mother who chose to immigrate and become an American citizen would mean I was somehow instilled with a stronger sense of patriotism as a kid, but I'm pretty sure the opposite was actually the case. I grew up knowing that every country has its own set of strengths and weaknesses, and while some countries definitely provide a higher standard of living than others, no country has all its shit together.

And you might think that being a military spouse would cause me to feel more patriotic, but that hasn't been the case either. I'm not part of the military community because I feel strongly about America, but because I feel strongly about one special guy who chose a military career, enough so that I chose to follow him on that adventure despite my initial misgivings.

Am I glad to live in a nation where I have a voice in the political process, and can worship God freely, and use my education to pursue my dream of teaching others? Most definitely.

And do I have respect and gratitude for those who fought to create the nation I live in today, whether soldiers or activists or anyone who refused to sit back and accept the status quo without question? Without question.

I am very grateful for my life, and the privileges I enjoy. But I'm also not blind to this nation's flaws, and that tempers any sense of patriotism I might have. I'd love to live in a nation where I could unhesitatingly proclaim my love of country, without qualification. Instead, I live in this flawed nation, in this broken world, waiting and working toward the only kingdom that has my unceasing loyalty - the kingdom of our Lord and of Jesus Christ.

A revolutionary summer of rest

Okay, who wants to party? (Or, more realistically, play board games, or go to the lake, or watch movies, or hang out doing nothing...) After making it through a long semester and the inevitable post-semester illness (seriously, does anyone ever not get sick when the school year ends?), I finally have time to breathe, and it's wonderful.

I'm being a responsible adult and doing my best to keep on a regular sleep schedule and not just sit around watching TV until the wee hours of the morning, but I have free time again! Of course, some of that time is set aside for taking care of all the things that got left by the wayside during the busyness of the semester. And some of that time is for catching up on my reading and TV shows, since my backlog is tremendous at this point. And some of that time is reserved for course prep, to smooth out kinks for when I teach again in the fall. But that still leaves plenty of time for friends and family, for contemplation, and for enjoying the beauty of creation.

I feel like that should be sufficient to silence everyone who's asked me how I'll be keeping busy this summer. I think they're worried I might get bored without work, or something like that? Obviously, they've never experienced the power of a good book, but I really do have lots to keep me busy when I want to be going and doing, and a nice bit of downtime sounds absolutely lovely right now.

You could call this a lazy summer, or you could say I'm spending my summer fighting against societal pressure to always be doing more and racking up achievements, whichever sounds better to you. Either way, I can guarantee I won't be bored. And now I'm off to play mini-golf with the husband.

The little rebellions of adulthood

When you're a kid, your parents make the rules, and you follow them (or figure out ways to get around them). Eventually, though, you grow up and go off on your own and make your own rules, or even throw out the rules altogether. Maybe it's because we had a lot of strictly enforced guidelines growing up, about things both large and small, or maybe it's because I've always gotten a thrill out of doing things that I'm not supposed to, but leaving my parents' rules behind has brought me inordinate amounts of pleasure over the years.

For example, I distinctly remember the moment in college when I realized I could eat as many Ritz crackers as I wanted; there was no six-cracker limit anymore! Of course, the thrill of eating ten or twelve or twenty crackers wore off eventually (although it lasted much longer than you might expect), but breaking old rules is still a giant plus of adulthood for me. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's one of the first things that really made me feel like an adult.

As an adult, I understand the reasoning behind most of my parents' rules, but that still doesn't mean I want follow them all. I've enjoyed being free to pick and choose which things to keep (hanging up the bath mat, or tracking MPG for my car) and which things to discard (rules about snacking, or how to stack the dishes). And while I can still be very picky at times about things that don't really matter (just ask my poor husband), I think reevaluating the rules that were drilled into me in my childhood is an important piece of determining what my priorities are for life.

My hope is that this will allow me to create a different home environment than the one I grew up in, where the focus isn't on meeting strict standards, but I know that's still a work in progress, even after years of independence. It's hard to move past twenty years of ingrained patterns of thinking and behavior. But for the moment, I'll savor the little things, like leaving lights on to make the house feel less lonely late at night, or keeping the kitchen stocked with delicious snacks that can be eaten at any time. It may not seem like much, but it's a start, and it makes me happy.

Kicking ass and taking names, AKA productivity

I've been making an effort to journal regularly for the past couple of years, for two main reasons. First, it's a good way to process what's going on in my life - putting things on paper usually makes them feel more manageable. Second, I find reading back through my most recent entries every month or so to be very helpful in doing some introspection. For example, when most of my entries for a significant length of time contain some variation of "I'm so tired and I hate my life," that's a warning sign of depression, and means I should really talk to someone about how I'm feeling.

Lately, according to my most recent survey of my journal, I've been very focused on whether my day was productive or not. The vast majority of my entries from the last six weeks are either listing my accomplishments or bemoaning how much time I wasted, expressing pleasure at a job well done or annoyance at life getting in the way of my plans. (This, by the way, is a noticeable transition from the previous few months, where I got so tired of writing about being tired and exhausted that I mostly just listed the TV I'd watched in a vain attempt to make myself happy. Thankfully, we're past that for the moment.)

I'll admit, I was a little surprised to find myself focusing so much on productivity - I guess Trevor is starting to rub off on me, or maybe it's all those hours of lecturing on economics! In all seriousness, though, given how happily unproductive I've been in the past, it seemed advisable to give proper consideration to this shift in my thinking. After some thought, I've concluded that being more concerned with using my time productively is both a good thing and a bad thing.

The good: Given how unmotivated I'm often inclined to be, there's something to be said for a desire to use my time wisely and well, rather than squandering it on internet quizzes and mindless games. This is particularly true now that I have a job, with all the responsibilities and expectations which go along with being a professor. Being intentional about productivity during the day is thus more necessary than it was previously, especially if I want to have time available in the evenings for social events and for the husband.

The bad: When I'm depressed, I frequently don't have the mental energy to be as productive as I would like to be. There are days when simple things like getting dressed, making food, and caring for the pets take all my energy, and plans for grading or shopping or laundry go out the window. Measuring my days by the things I accomplish is great, until I get that sinking sense of failure when doing the best I can with the energy I have doesn't seem like enough.

I think there's a middle ground in there somewhere, though, where a concern for using my time well is matched with an understanding that sometimes, a productive day is one where I put on pants, eat food, and am kind to my husband. Distinguishing between being patient with myself and being lazy can be a challenge, but it's a crucial piece of finding a good balance in my expectations for productivity day to day. And someday, maybe I'll actually achieve that balance on a regular basis - that would be an accomplishment well worth recording in my journal!

There and back again: A reader's tale

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."

Thus begins the tale of Bilbo's adventures, and thus begins the story of how I became a reader. Let me be clear here: my parents made sure to introduce all of us kids to books at a very young age, and I don't remember a time when I didn't love being read to. However, I can recall quite distinctly the moment I first experienced an irresistible desire to read for myself, and it all began with The Hobbit.

We were two chapters in, with Mum reading to Becca and me, and the dwarves had just narrowly escaped being eaten by trolls, thanks to Gandalf's cleverness and the rising sun. It was a good stopping spot, and the book was put away until the next day. I knew very well that I was supposed to wait and not read ahead, because Becca couldn't read well enough yet to tackle the book on her own. And yet I couldn't resist.

There was something about the world Tolkien had created which drew me in, calling to me throughout the day, until I found myself sneaking off with the book to find out what happened next. It wasn't always easy going - I was young, and there were some big words I wasn't sure about - but that didn't stop me. My imagination fully captured, I followed Bilbo across the Misty Mountains, through the depths of Mirkwood, all the way to the Lonely Mountain and the dragon inside.

Bilbo's journey there and back again left him changed, and it left me changed too. I'd found a new world full of wonder and joy and pain and sacrifice and beauty, a world that reflected the real world back to me in new ways, and made me more than I was before. Of course, I didn't fully understand this at the time, since I was only six or so. But in the years since then, as I've visited so many worlds, and looked at our own world from new perspectives, and lived a thousand lifetimes in less than one, I've come to appreciate how important that experience with The Hobbit was in shaping the person I am today. And I will be forever grateful to J.R.R. Tolkien for crafting the story and the world that transformed mine.

Life is good, and life sucks

My life is pretty good right now. I have a job that I like, one that challenges me in good ways, and gives me a reason to be productive with my time. I have Trevor, who works hard to provide for our family and is a wonderful and caring husband. We're living close to my siblings, and living somewhere with trees and hills and creeks, near a city with lots of fun stuff going on, and with a great public library system. We've found a good church, and have started to both make new friends and reconnect with old ones. We're financially stable, and decently healthy, and not currently doing any renovations on the house.

And yet my life feels kind of miserable right now.

It's hard to explain that to people. If your circumstances are tough, people understand when you're depressed, but when life is good, a lot of people don't get it. If you admit to feeling down, oftentimes people start asking questions about what's wrong in your life, trying to find a cause. Are you unhappy with your job? Family stress getting you down? Maybe the winter weather is making you depressed? Are you lonely? Struggling with a sense of self-worth? Any health problems? (Well, yes, there's a health problem. But people rarely mean mental health when they ask that.)

Now I'm not saying these aren't things that contribute to depression - I've definitely struggled with depression in the past that was strongly connected to identifiable causes. But sometimes you just feel down because your brain isn't working quite like it's supposed to. I get that it's hard for someone who's never dealt with that sort of depression to understand it, but I really wish more people would realize that those sort of questions can be more harmful than helpful when my life is actually good, but I'm still depressed.

Because let's be honest, I tend to be my own worst critic in that situation. Even though I know how this works, I get frustrated when I can't just will myself into feeling better about life, especially when life is actually fairly decent. So I don't need other people pointing out all the good things in my life and asking what there is to feel depressed about - I get it; my life is pretty good all round. Doesn't make a difference right now.

In time, I'll be able to enjoy those good things in my life again, but for now, what I really need is people who, when I say I'm feeling depressed, will say, "I'm sorry; that must suck," or, "Want to hang out and watch a movie and distract yourself?" or, "Here's a cookie." (Okay, not that last one right now, but that sort of sentiment at least.) I need people who don't make me feel guilty about myself or try to fix something that isn't fixable, but instead let me know that it's okay to feel whatever I'm feeling. I need people who will wait patiently with me until life starts feeling less miserable again. Which it will. It always does.

That's what counts

Back in college, I was having a conversation with a friend about a boy that I liked, who I thought might like me back, but I wasn't sure. My friend, being a great friend, told me he'd be an idiot if he didn't like me, and proceeded to list off my positive qualities - I was smart, funny, didn't have a unibrow... I stopped her there, laughing, to point out that the only reason I didn't have a unibrow was because I plucked out those stubborn hairs on a regular basis. Then she said something that stuck with me, because it applied to more than just unibrows. She said, "That's what counts."

And she was right, both about my unibrow and about the other more significant things I struggle with on a regular basis. What counts is the fact that I got out of bed this morning and did what needed to be done today, even though all I wanted to do was curl up under the covers and never come out. What counts is the fact that I read my Bible and attempt to pray every night before bed, even when I'd rather be watching a TV show or reading a book. What counts is the fact that I'm working on being kind and patient with others, even if I keep slipping up and having to apologize and reset and try again.

What counts is not the existence of brokenness and sin in my life, but the fact that I don't give up or give in. Like those frustrating hairs that keep coming back, my life here on this earth will always contain its share of struggles, ones that crop up over and over again. But having struggles doesn't mean I'm a failure, any more than having hair follicles in annoying places means I have a unibrow. It's how I live in the middle of the rough patches (and the high points) of life that matters. That's what counts.

And that boy, the one that I liked? Turns out he did like me back, and we've been married for seven and a half years now. I guess my lack of a unibrow was sufficiently appealing to him.

The invisible beauty of my bookshelves

It makes me happy whenever I see my friends posting pictures of their artfully arranged bookcases, which look rather lovely. I can appreciate the way they stack some books and stand others upright, with spaces on the shelves for framed pictures and other decorative items - the end result is quite appealing visually. And then I think to myself, I have a good number of bookcases; I should try arranging mine like that as well. It should be an easy way to combine functionality and beauty, right?

Then I go and actually look at my bookcases, and realize that's probably never going to work for me. I might be able to fit some small decorations on the front edge of the larger shelves, since my books aren't stacked two deep everywhere at the moment, but that's about it. My bookcases will always be organized, because that's important to me, but they will likely never be particularly beautiful décor.

Part of my SFF collection, complete with LEGO
spaceships, because I am totally a mature adult.

Let me be clear: I love my books. I love reading them, and rereading them. I love standing in front of my shelves, running my eyes (or sometimes my fingers) over the spines and remembering the best bits of each book as I pass over it. I do not love packing them all up for a move, but I love unpacking them and figuring out how to arrange them in a new house. I love knowing that no matter where I go, my books come along to keep me company and open doors to worlds beyond this one. I love my books very much. I just have a LOT of them, and a limited amount of shelf space.

Every book lined up on those shelves tells at least two stories, though. First, there's the story inside it, the one that anyone can access. But there's also the story of what that particular book means to me - how it changed the way I see the world, or how it made a bad day a bit better, or how it came to be mine in the first place. Even the unread books point to future stories, to where I could go from here. They may not be decorations by the standard definition, but they're just as lovely in my eyes.

So, while I may not have space in my bookcases to create a Pinterest-worthy arrangement, I'm okay with that. There's a beauty there that's invisible, but real nonetheless, something only I can fully appreciate. And any time I find myself wanting to admire a visually beautiful bookcase for a moment, I can just visit those friends who have a knack for creating that sort of thing, and enjoy their talents on display.

Routine maintenance

Life has settled into some semblance of a routine lately, and even though that hasn't necessarily decreased the amount of stress I experience when working on course prep or fitting in the things required to keep the household running smoothly, at least I know when to expect those stresses. For example, Wednesdays are crazy, but I have a chance to breathe and reset on Fridays (and watch way too many episodes of the new season of Daredevil - I definitely took advantage of that dropping on a Friday). Figuring out a routine has also allowed me to make sure things like regular exercise don't fall by the wayside, crowded out by other demands on my time or by the fact that some days I just want to crash.

Routines aren't very exciting, though, and they don't make for great blog posts. I doubt any of you care which days are for which chores, or which evenings are set aside for time with Trevor, or which mornings are ones where I can sleep in. Routines are also a bit mind-numbing - it's easy to settle into them and not think too much about life. And yet there's also beauty in routines, especially if you don't run through them completely on autopilot.

Starting the day with a healthy breakfast and a chapter of a good book helps me find the focus I need to be productive from there on out, and ending the day by reading the Bible helps me put everything in perspective and sleep soundly. Taking the dog for his evening walk is a chance to enjoy some fresh air and connect with Trevor, and making the bed or doing the laundry brings a little bit of order into a chaotic world. Even course prep can be an opportunity to expand my knowledge and understanding, improve my communication skills, and find joy in a job well done, all while appreciating the work of skillful musicians.

Every little part of my daily and weekly routines is a chance to redeem that tiny piece of life, to practice holiness and pursue peace and glorify God. And that transforms my ordinary, everyday routine into something that can be truly beautiful.

Have I mentioned today how lucky I am?

My life right now is crazy. And my life right now is wonderful. There are so many things I'm grateful for, and I thought I'd share some of them.

First of all, top of the list, I'm thankful for an awesome husband. I'm pretty sure Trevor's life is even crazier than mine at the moment, but he's been an incredible encouragement as I've tackled my new job. He's been patient with me when I'm stressed (which is a lot of the time), and his confidence in my abilities was pivotal in my decision to take the job in the first place. I think I can honestly say that without him, I wouldn't have had the courage to take this risk.

And speaking of my job, I'm also very grateful for my dad. He's the one who told me about the job in the first place, and kept pushing me to consider it even though it was outside my area of expertise. Without him, I definitely wouldn't have this job. He also patiently answered a million questions about the details of setting up and running a course, letting me take advantage of his years of experience and relieving a small part of the inevitable stress.

Because let's face it - prepping and teaching a course is crazy. Listening to musicals and movie soundtracks is great for stress management, though, and one of the other things I'm oh-so thankful for. I've had a select few on repeat since I landed the job, and they've made lecture prep, grading, and long drives so much better. The Last Five Years, The Fellowship of the Ring, and Come From Away have been instrumental in keeping me sane this past month, even if I might occasionally lose my voice in the car on the way home after lecturing for over an hour and then singing along at the top of my lungs for another hour.

My other form of stress management, and the next thing I'm very grateful for right now, is binging good TV shows. I started a rewatch of Bones on the weekend I found out about the job, and survived the insanity of the next month by escaping to the Jeffersonian to solve murders every evening before bed. There's something about coming back to old seasons of a favorite show that's wonderful for making stress disappear, and I will freely admit to grinning like an idiot many, many times at the antics of these characters I love. I am a hopeless romantic, and anyone who has ever watched Bones will understand perfectly why I love it so much.

And last, but definitely not least, I'm incredibly thankful for a job that I love, even with all the stress that comes with being a first-time professor. I have a wonderful class of students, and after four weeks, I'm no longer freaking out every time I stand up to lecture. In fact, the opposite happened this past Thursday - I went into class feeling massively stressed out, but once I got rolling I felt much better, and my students were engaging with the material, and I came away from class feeling great! So there's that. I honestly couldn't ask for a better opportunity than this at this point in my life, and I'm so glad it came my way.