Friday, August 7

A New Chapter

I began this blog back in 2007, at the very end of senior year at BYU.  With the exception of a few months here and there (...and the past year), I was a pretty faithful blogger.  This blog carried me through living in Los Angeles, moving back home to Texas, moving to Austin and attending UT, moving back to Dallas, the start of my teaching career, the death of a friend, engagement, marriage, pregnancy and baby.  Circle of life, am I right?

Anyways.  This blog has served me well during both very low times and very happy times, and I am grateful for the support of so many as I have poured out a little of my heart and soul through these posts.

Now, however, I have decided that it is time for a fresh start, a clean slate, a blank page.  I will now be embarking on a new chapter on my new blog, A Run in the Park.  I invite you to follow along through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or an RSS feeder. Comments, follows and likes are always appreciated!

If you have been a reader of Some Sort of Crazy for a while, I thank you so much for allowing me to share a little bit of myself with you.  I hope you will continue to follow me on this new adventure!




Sunday, April 5

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

Baby J is thisclose to crawling.  Any day now, he's going to start motoring all over the place - the beginning of the end, I'm told.  As I watch him, though, I see his frustration in his inability to coordinate both arms and legs.  For all his efforts, he is still stuck in the same spot, unable to move forward or backward.  It hurts my heart to hear his cries of distress and disappointment.

As I reflect on the importance of this Easter Sunday, I know that I am very much like my baby boy.  There are many things that I am trying to do - or would like to do - in order to be a better mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, teacher, follower of Christ.  Yet I am unable to coordinate my motivation, my time, my energy and my circumstances to actually accomplish my righteous desires.  I feel stuck, static and stagnant.  But just as my baby's tears do not go unheard or unanswered, I know that my cries of distress and disappointment do not go unnoticed by my Heavenly Father.

I know that my prayers are heard because I know that Jesus Christ is my mediator with the Father.  I know that He is my advocate, my friend and my greatest support.  He knows my frustrations and my heartaches.  He also knows my joys and my triumphs.  All of my weaknesses and shortcomings will be made strong through His atonement.  I know He suffered and died for my sins and my sorrows.

And I know He lives today.

My favorite account of that resurrection morning is found in Luke 24:5-6.  When the disciples found the empty tomb, two angels made this powerful statement:

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?  He is not here, but is risen."

I know that through Jesus Christ, I will live again after this mortal life.  I know that I will be reunited with family and friends.  And I know that my little family that M and I have started in this life will be together forever.


To learn more about the Savior, please visit this link to watch a special Easter message from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. #BecauseHeLives

Saturday, February 28

(Not Yet) Ready to Run

Cowtown 2012, 2013 and 2014

For the past three years, Dad and I have shared the experience of running the Cowtown.  Last year, I jogged the 5k (4 months pregnant), while Dad rocked the 10k.  At the time, I committed to running the 10k with him the following year, with all the good intentions of beginning my training right after baby was born.  

Well, you know what they say about good intentions.  With trying to be mom, wife and teacher, sadly being a runner has eluded me these past 7 months.  As the 10k date came closer and closer, I resigned myself to walking 6.2 miles.  I had made a commitment, plus, I didn't want to miss our yearly tradition.

As fate would have it, though, this week's winter storm meant the Cowtown races were all cancelled. I'm not gonna lie - I was more than a little happy that I got out of walking/jogging in the snow and sub-freezing temperatures.

So while I am not yet ready to run a 10k (or heck, even a 5k - any distance at this point would probably be the end of me!), I realize that I've been given a second chance to lace up my running shoes and hit the pavement in preparation for another race.

From experience, I know a few tips and tricks that should get me going:
  1. A good pair of shoes will work wonders. Asics were my previous brand of choice, but pregnancy made my already wide feet a little but wider.  I now really like the pair of Brooks I bought from the great people at Luke's Locker.
  2. The early bird gets the worm. This is my biggest challenge, but I know it is the best way to git 'er done.  Get out of bed, go on a run, and get on with the day.
  3. Hydrate or die. I've been indulging a little too much lately with soda and juice.  Water is and always be, though, my beverage of choice.
  4. Running slowly is still running. I too often have the mindset that it's not even worth getting off the couch because my current pace is not going to be earning me any PRs anytime soon.  But something is better than nothing.  Just do it.
If you have any helpful hints or words of wisdom to motivate a lapsed runner, I'd love to hear them!

Wednesday, February 25

That Scar

I've always been fascinated by scars.  I love that scars have the ability to tell a person's life story - where they've been, what they've done, what risks they've taken.  I love it even more when people proudly wear and display their scars, like a nature-made tattoo.

I have my fair share of scars, memories of past lives and experiences: falling on the dance floor on a high school choir trip to Atlanta, being hit by a cyclist on BYU's campus, falling down stairs in Sevilla at the end of my 18-month mission to Spain, fighting for (and winning!) the bouquet at a friend's wedding.  Most of the marks have faded, but every now and then I enjoy reminiscing over my battle wounds because from each scar and each experience, I have gained or learned something new.

Of course, physical scars are not the only type of scars we carry with us.  Those emotional scars sometimes cut much deeper and leave an even more permanent mark on our hearts and souls.  I am equally fascinated by these unseen scars.  They tell more than just a person's life story; rather, they speak volumes on a person's character and strength.

Lately, though, I've been dwelling on a very particular scar, one I was not ever planning on having.

In the week or so before Baby J's birth, I knew he was in a breeched position.  Intellectually, I knew a C-section was a possibility, but I guess when the moment finally arrived, emotionally I was not prepared for the reality of what a C-section would mean.

Having never experienced contractions or having never actually "given birth," I don't know how the recovery periods compare.  All I know is that the recovery from a C-section is brutal.  It's a good thing my baby is so cute because Oh. My. Heavens.  My whole body is aching just remembering it.

Seven months later, I am doing much better... except for that scar.  C-section incision scars are weird, to say the least.  I've done a little research, and apparently the skin around the scar never fully heals.  Ever.  It will always be numb.  It will always be itchy.  And it will always be there.

I had a moment last week that inspired the thoughts in this post.  For whatever reason, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of pure anger and hate directed towards my incision scar.  That scar was the reason for my constant exhaustion.  That scar was the reason for my not being able to lose weight and feel healthy.  That scar was the reason for my house being a mess.  That scar was the reason for my inability to feel like a normal person.  All of a sudden, that scar had become the source of all my problems (or, rather, what I perceived to be problems).  If I only I didn't have that scar, everything would be better.

Then, after the wave of rage had passed, my baby's face came into my view.  And I remembered why I am fascinated by scars.  I realized that that scar is the reason I am now a mother.  That scar is the reason I finally understand love.  That scar is the reason why I don't mind that I am exhausted.  That scar is the reason for everything I do.  That scar is the source of all my blessings.

Because I have that scar, everything is better.

Sunday, February 1

6 Months of Baby J

A few days late, but my Baby J is 6 months old.  Seriously.  He just keeps on getting cuter and cuter.

Nothing could have prepared me for motherhood.  Sure, it's hard and sometimes it's lonely, but it is the best feeling in the world (and that is not hyperbole).  Especially in the last couple of months, I know he knows me.  He knows that I am his mommy.  He turns at the sound of my voice and smiles when he sees my face.  He holds my fingers and puts his fingers in my mouth.  He grabs my nose and pulls my hair.  He puts his arms around my neck and falls asleep on my shoulder And best of all, he loves me for me.

He is growing more curious and independent every day.  He smiles and laughs at everything.  He is a happy and healthy baby boy, and I could not be more grateful to my husband and my Heavenly Father for giving me this gift of motherhood.

Here are some of my favorite moments from the last half year...

 

Sunday, November 23

Worth the Weight

A year ago today, I found out I was pregnant. I'm sure I felt the expected mixture of emotions: joy, fear, excitement, anxiety. But, because I needed time to process, and because we would be spending the Thanksgiving holiday in OK with M's family, I decided to wait to tell M until after the holiday. That's the feeling I remember most of all - having this HUGE secret on the tip of my tongue for a week and not saying anything to anyone about it.  When I finally told M that we were having a baby, the weight of what we were embarking upon fell fast and heavy on my heart.

Baby J is now almost 4 months old. When he was only a few a weeks old, maybe one month, I realized that I had conditioned him to only fall asleep when I was holding him in my arms, on top of my chest, laying right over my heart.  All these weeks later, the only thing that has changed is how heavy he feels when I am holding him. Unfortunately, his heavier little body has wreaked havoc on my left side, all the way from my neck and shoulder, down to my elbow and wrist.  But it's totally worth it.

He was worth the wait of a few months for us to get pregnant.  I recognize now how blessed we were to be able to start having children right away.  The impatience that I felt then seems silly now.  No matter how long the wait, though, the blessing is always worth it.

He was worth the emotional weight I felt while I was pregnant.  I spent many days and nights worrying about finances and security and being a good mother.  The truth, of course, was that I was scared out of my mind to have a baby.  But all of the tears and fears were worth it when he was finally here.

He was worth the physical weight I gained while I was pregnant.  The swelling and water retention were out of control, but thankfully I was still able to move my body and be productive.  He was healthy, I was healthy, so it was all worth it.  (I'm not gonna lie - I am struggling to lose that weight, and most days I hardly recognize myself.  But, again, he's worth it.  The pounds will come and go, but he is forever.)

He is worth the weight I feel now, every day and every night.   I would not trade his tired little body on my shoulder every night for anything.  I would not trade the love I feel bursting out of my heart when I see his little smile, hear his little laugh.  I would not trade the sleepless nights, the stressful days, the frustrating moments.  He is worth everything because he is my everything.

Sunday, October 5

Baby J


You are so cute, I could just eat you!

I've never liked this comment from well-meaning individuals in reference to babies and small children.  It just seems like a weird thing to say.

But I totally understand it now.  Whenever I look at Jackson, I almost can't stand it.  He. Is. So. Cute.  At two months old, his little personality is coming out.  He found his smile and is starting to find his laugh.  He is trying out new sounds everyday, and I can't wait for the day when he will start telling me what's on his mind.  He is almost able to support his head on his own, and just recently started testing out his leg strength to support his body.  He loves his bottle and hates wet/dirty diapers.  I think he is starting to enjoy bath time more - kicking the water is a new thing as of a couple of nights ago.  He has beautiful blue eyes and long lashes, just like his daddy.  He's starting to chunk up in his legs, cheeks and tummy.  Yes, he is going slightly bald and his hair in general is out of control, but somehow that just makes him even cuter.  It's still a gamble whether or not he will sleep through the night, but we're hoping he figures it out soon.

Mitchell and I are just in awe of how much we love this little boy.  I sometimes can't even believe that he is ours.
For forever and ever, he is ours and we are his.

My beautiful Baby J.  I love him so much, I could just eat him.
(Jonathan Swift would be so proud.)


Seriously, though.  So cute.  I can't stand it.