Hey All!  I’ve got a big, sad announcement – sad to me anyway.  I’m going to be taking a few month’s-long sabbatical from blogging.  With Lukus working three jobs and needing my help, plus my on-line teaching job, home-schooling and all the other craziness of life (like getting strep throat twice in two months, then getting the flu), blogging has become just one more thing on the to-do list rather than the joy that it once was.

I’m all dried up right now.

And I’m wanting to make some major changes to my blog for when the time comes to pick this baby back up again – or make a new baby all together (blog-baby, that is).

So I know I’ll lose some of you, and that makes me sad, but I get it.  I hope you return someday, and I hope to come back better than ever – like the awkward girl in high school who’s now a super-model.

Until then, enjoy your journey!

Love,

Wannabe Gypsy Girl

There are days when nothing I do is good enough – in fact, it’s almost every day.  I can recall maybe 4 or 5 days that I’ve pulled off something pretty close to perfect; an intense work-out, time with Jesus, enduring patience and a loving tone with my girls, inspired home-schooling, a witty blog post, an immaculate house, a tasty dinner, and a good listening job as Lukus tells me about his day.  That day is usually followed by a day of me lying in bed for most of the morning as the aches take over my body, exhaustion steals all my inspiration and I lie in bed wondering why I bothered to clean the house at all since it’s now only 10 a.m. and there are already banana peels tossed under Taytem’s art table.

I’ve come to accept that perfection is not the goal.  God doesn’t expect it of me, and you wouldn’t even need omniscient powers to know I can’t pull it off.  I’ve learned to accept grace for myself.  Unfortunately, other people are not quite as generous.

Kun, our Korean student is moving out.  Because of me.  Because I failed to make dinner every night, even though I provided easy do-it-yourself options for those occasions.  I hate cooking, so admittedly, those nights were pretty frequent.  But I didn’t leave him to starve.  One Saturday, Lukus and I came home at night from the grocery store and asked the guys how they were doing.  ”We’re starving!” they cried.  I was shocked.  Starving?  Really?  Two grown men with cell phones and the number for Dominoes Pizza were starving?  Two grown men with legs who can walk to the pantry to find Mac ‘n Cheese, PB&J, soup, and well, that WAS all there was since it was the end of our grocery week, but they were starving?

Kun was angry.  He was so angry he wouldn’t even look at me and would hardly speak to me.  On the one hand, I knew dinner had been really sporadic, but there was no reason for, again, A GROWN MAN, to “starve”.  Rusul, our Saudi student, explained that I know when Taytem is hungry, so I feed her.  Why don’t I do the same for them?

Hmm, let me see.  Taytem is five and isn’t allowed near the stove.  Also, Taytem doesn’t sit in her room with the door shut all day waiting for me to bring her a tray of food.  She comes and asks for something to eat, or, like a big girl, she just grabs her own snack.  I cook for her, yes, but she doesn’t act helpless at least.  Could I have done better on the food-front?  Sure.  But just up and leaving after five months of living with us without having ever tried to communicate a problem just feels like a slap in the face.

And today:  Today, Rusul called spur of the moment asking me to pick him up from school 2 hours earlier than usual.  I was in the middle of fixing lunch for the girls, was sweaty and in inappropriate clothing (for a Muslim male) from my work-out, and told him I couldn’t be there for another hour.  After several poorly communicated texts, and him basically nagging me to hurry up, I go pick him up.  He has the audacity to ask me if I had been sleeping and that’s why I couldn’t come?  Seriously?

Then there’s Taytem and Eisley.  Eisley, at only two, argues with everything.  EVERYTHING.  ”No!  I’m NOT Eisley!”  ”No!  I’m NOT a girl!”  Every offer of affection from me is rejected.  The requested food I prepare goes uneaten.  And all the while, Taytem is correcting everything I say and do.  I set a kitchen timer for 30 minutes for her to clean her room.  A little while later, I notice that I never pushed start, so I do.

“Mom, why are you stopping the timer?”

“I’m not Taytem, I hadn’t ever started it.”

“What?  How could you forget to start the timer, Mom?  That’s just ridiculous.”

Because I forgot, Taytem.  Because I forget things when I’m hurried, stressed out, busy.  Because I’m a failure Taytem.  Not words I speak aloud, but they ring in my own head.  The voices from every direction – from Kun, from Rusul, from my girls, sometimes from Lukus, from other moms who don’t say anything but whose homemade bread and lasagna say it for them, from other bloggers who post 47 amazing DIY projects and loving thoughts every single day – they all tell me I’m failing.  Maybe not failing at everything, maybe not failing at any one thing all the time, but all the time I’m failing at SOMETHING.

And they’re right.  I am failing.  And I don’t need some pep talk to remind me that I’m a great mom, that even though I haven’t officially done any schoolwork in three months that Taytem is reading at a 4th grade level, that I’ve done some great projects around my house so that mountain of laundry is understandable, that I’ve been generous in opening up my home to international students, so I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.

The truth is, I am failing.  And the truth is, I’m okay with that.  And I’m telling you that simply typing out that sentence for anyone to see was like the lid being taken off a pressure cooker, and I sit here with tears stinging my eyes and fury in my fingers as I internally shout to an oblivious world, “I’M OKAY WITH FAILURE!!!”

I’m okay with failure because…guess what?  I’m not being graded.

I used to have nightmares that I’m back in school, it’s the end of the school year, and I don’t know where my finals class is, or even what class it’s for.  I begin to freak out in my dream, not knowing what assignments are due, or who my teacher is.  It is the worst.moment.ever. My whole future is on the line, and I am standing on a totally foreign campus feeling completely blank and helpless.  And sometimes I’m also naked.

And that’s exactly what we are.  We are blank, lost, helpless and naked.  But the thing is, the thing I always forget in that dream, is that I signed up for a group project – you know, those annoying group projects where two people sit confused and talk about what they’re going to do, but then they screw it all up, one person just lounges in a chair and lets everyone do the work for him, and one person gets stuck doing the entire project by himself?  Yeah, I’m one of the confused people, and Someone Else had to pick up my slack.  Someone Else earned my “A”, and I still get full credit for it.

And now that the pressure for the grade is off, I can learn for the joy of it.

And right now, I’m learning how to combine the intricate pieces of doing my best and living in grace, and it’s complicated, and confusing, and sometimes I go way off course.  And if there’s anyone who can’t understand that, or accept that, well, I don’t answer to them, do I?  And if they tell me that I’m wonderful, that I’m doing just fine, that they think I’m doing an A+ job as wife, mommy, home-maker, ____________, well I still don’t answer to them, do I?  Whether it’s international students, my kids, my husband, my friends, that faceless “society”, or just voices in my head, whether condemning words or words of praise, none of them are my graders.

I answer only to One.  He knows I didn’t do my work.  He knows I slacked off.  He and I both know I deserve an “F”.  But I’m really good friends with His Son.  His Son did all of the work for me, turned it in on time, really stellar work.  And since he put my name on the assignment, I get the “A”.  There is a catch.  The “A” doesn’t come free.  The grades are off, but I still have learning to do.  He tutors me, he shows me how it’s done, I practice, I mess up, sometimes I get it right, sometimes I don’t pay attention, sometimes no matter how much I pay attention I’m still confused.  And others may look at me and think, “Wow, she’s really dense,” or “Huh, she’s got that stuff down,” but they don’t realize that I’ve already gotten my grade and all the rest, well, it’s just extra credit.

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t want to do a regular blog post.  I wanted to do something that mattered here today.  It’s been nagging at me all day, but I haven’t known what it is I should do.  Then I got this e-mail from my friend Jenny.  She volunteers at a women’s refuge home called All Things New here in Oklahoma City.  All Things New is a safe-haven for women and girls who have been rescued from the sex trafficking industry, and sadly, OKC is at the crossroads of this horrific industry.  Jenny wrote in her e-mail of a woman, now in her 40′s, who was sold for $2,000 by her own father, and has only ever known abuse and sexual slavery.  She has been rescued from that life (if you can call it that), and been given a new life: a home, job skills, and most importantly, eternal life through Jesus.

This home runs off of donations from regular people – people like me and you, who can’t even stand to watch the commercials for Law & Order SVU; people who sleep next to loving husbands at night; people who can’t even begin to relate, but nevertheless, we care.  All Things New has a list of needs for their home.  Please read this list and see what you can contribute.  Please give your best.  Please offer something to make these women feel cared for and beautiful and valued – perhaps for the first time in their lives.

Along with the list of smaller items below, they are also in the process of looking for an additional property that has five or six bedrooms either in the city with proper zoning or in the country.  Must have central heat and air.  For all of these needs, please contact Linda at 405-921-0703 or email her at allthingsnew09@yahoo.com.  You can also spread the word by liking their All Things New Campaign Facebook page.  And BE the change you wish to see in the world.

TV/DVD player in good condition family and Christian movies and dvds
magazines
cleaning supplies, paper towels, toilet paper
detergent
feminine hygiene products
blankets-new
twin sheet sets-new
towels and washcloths-new
pillowcases-new
We are in need of the following clothing items and they must be new with tags on them:
underwear from small to queen size
bras of all sizes
socks
jackets and coats of all sizes
long sleeved knit tops, blouses and sweaters (all sizes)
pajamas and robes of all sizes
hats and gloves

I’ll never forget the look on Taytem’s face as I walked down the stairs on Saturday morning.  When I had told her earlier in the week that I would be leaving for a blogger’s conference on Thursday, she broke down into tears – but to be honest, her display of emotion didn’t seem entirely genuine to me.  For one, she was already stalling on eating her dinner and the chance to cry in my lap would stave it off for another 5 minutes.  For another, she already has a dramatic flair, and hadn’t had a nap that day, heightening the possibility for drama.  Besides, she’s usually pretty elated when we travel to get to spend so much time at her grandma and grandpa’s house.  So I comforted and reassured her, but didn’t really think it would bother her that much when I left.

Sure enough, Taytem rallied and cheerfully waved goodbye to me as I pulled out of the driveway on Thursday morning, the start of a 12 hour drive to Nashville.  I was fairly nervous about driving so far alone – my longest solo drive having been a measly 5 hours on a familiar route.  But this route wasn’t familiar, it was over twice as long, and I have a tendency to get drowsy when I drive long distances.

My excitement about attending the conference had waned dramatically since I had first bought the tickets.  It had sounded independent and adventurous to travel on my own to go to a conference that might enhance my blogging vocation, but as the day drew nearer, it started to just feel like a big hassle.  For one, I started having nightmares about driving alone.  Then, our transmission started acting up and we were going to have to get it fixed before I left, which didn’t leave me with a whole lot of confidence about the condition of our car.  Then, when I received the conference packet, they didn’t have any workshops on the specific things I was needing help in.  Not to mention that Lukus had just learned that Ron Paul would be coming to OKC and Lukus was going to be one of the event organizers!  How could Ron Paul come the weekend I’d be gone after all the work we’d done for him?  But I figured I’d already spent money on the conference tickets, and Lukus was urging me to go have an independent, restful weekend.

Armed with a thermos full of coffee, some snacks, and The Hunger Games on my Ipod, I started my trek to Nashville.  I’ve never tried listening to an audiobook before, but thank God I’d had the idea to give it a try – and not having read the book yet, The Hunger Games was the perfect choice.  Suspenseful without being too scary, and just enough description to give me a clear mental image without lulling me to sleep with flowery language, I was so engrossed in my story that it was at the last minute that I noticed the highway patrol car parked on the inner bank of the highway.  I was doing 90.  In a 70.  AND my license was expired.  And after he pulled me over, I realized that I also didn’t have our up-to-date insurance card in the glove compartment either.  Fortunately, the officer was really nice, and when he asked me what my hurry was, and I told him that I had just gotten caught up in my audiobook, he just smiled and asked how good my driving record was.

“It’s good.  Really good!”  I got off with a warning.

At the speed I was going, I managed to turn the 12 hour trip into an 11 hour one, completing the first book in the trilogy.  But I still didn’t get to the conference in time for the newcomer’s meet-up, and without that, well, let me just say that it was incredibly hard to meet people among the 3,000 attendees.  I’d also consumed enough caffeine during my drive that I was still in ample supply though the night, and didn’t sleep a wink.  I was starting to feel really grumpy, and, as pathetic as it may be to admit, lonely.  Even when I did manage to meet some people, my head was so fuzzy that I just didn’t feel like myself.  I had just driven 11 hours, had a sleepless night, got up, had breakfast and attended 1 photography workshop, grabbed a sandwich with a couple of nice girls with whom I felt like I was leaking negativity, when I decided I’d rather go home.  So I re-packed my stuff, paid my roommate for my half of the room, and left at 3 p.m. for another long drive.

Let me tell ya, the best place to take a nap while alone on the road is the front parking spaces of an IHOP.  It’s open 24-hours, it’s well-lit, and always full of people.  It was only 7:00 p.m. when I started feeling drowsy, not having had a good night’s sleep for the last two nights.  I ate, bought a soda to drink when I woke up, and fell asleep on a full belly.  When I awoke an hour later, I chugged the soda and was ready for another long trek in the night.  It was 2 a.m. with another 183 miles to go when my eyes wouldn’t stay open anymore.  The caffeine still had my brain going full-speed, but it was my eyes that couldn’t take it anymore – no matter how fascinating book 2 of my trilogy was.  But there was no IHOP, not at the first town I tried, not at the next or the next.  All the stops looked like the perfect, eerily lit places where serial killers just sit around waiting for lone travelers to pull-off for some shut eye.  But I could go no further, and parked myself in front of the lobby of a Motel 8 – because motels aren’t creepy at all.

I rested for about 10 minutes – opening my eyes every 2 minutes to look out the windows for bug-eyed creeps – and realized there was no way I was going to get any rest at this place.  Fortunately, those 10 minutes were just enough to get my eyeballs rested enough for home.  In the pitch-black of 5 a.m., I pulled into our driveway, stumbled up the stairs, and fell into bed next to Lukus.  I’d only get 5 hours asleep before the Ron Paul rally, and then I’d get to see my girls.

But Lukus had hired a babysitter to come over and watch the girls during the rally, so while I was still getting ready, my in-laws came in to drop off the girls.  I began to sneak down the stairs to surprise my girls and realized that Taytem had been crying.  She heard my steps, turned around, and the most desperate look of relief came over her face and she burst into tears and a sprint to get to me.   I don’t think I’ve ever felt more loved in my whole life than in that moment of Taytem wrapping herself completely around me.  She had seen my car in the driveway, but knew I wasn’t supposed to be home for another day.  The car upset her, but now that I was here, she was able to release all of her fear, her lonesomeness for Mommy, and her concern for me.  She cried in my arms for a solid five minutes before she finally smiled and was ready to at least let me go to the rally.

And I did.  It was so much better than the conference.  Being home was so much better.  I don’t know why I insisted on going to something I wasn’t all that excited about when so much of what I’ve been working for and the people I love and miss after just 18 hours were right here.  But three things made it worth it I guess: 1) Knowing I can do it; 2) getting to listen to the entirety of The Hunger Games without stopping; 3) the look on Taytem’s face and that feeling of being needed so badly.

It was worth it.

Today is a nerve wracking day for me.  I may or may not be leaving at 6 a.m. to drive from OKC to Nashville for a blogger’s conference.  Problem is, I haven’t heard back from my friend about whether she’s coming with me or not, which is a deal breaker on the trip for me because I can’t stay awake driving for 12 straight hours – well, at least not without the help of some illegal substances anyway.  It’s okay if I don’t get to go to the conference though, because an almost equally exciting opportunity is happening this Saturday that I’d get to be a part of if I stayed.  Ron Paul is coming to town, and Lukus will possibly be speaking at the event, and I’d get to help out and meet one of my heroes.  Either way is a win-win.  It’s the not knowing if I need to be packing my suitcase, or just cleaning the bathrooms like a normal Wednesday that’s the itch.

So until my head is un-whirlwinded, I wanted to share a project I did back around Christmas that I keep forgetting to post.  This corner of our bedroom, which is Lukus’ side, was feeling a bit ho-hum, and not masculine and stylish enough for my guy.

Plus, it’s the first view one sees when walking up the stairs, and it just didn’t get my motor runnin’.  I wanted a big, dramatic statement piece on that wall and to fill in some of the blank space along the bottom part of the wall.

I’ve gradually been adding pieces of natural wood all around my house (being a tree-lover and all), and when I noticed a huge piece of pretty plywood in our garage from a project we decided not to do, the vision came to me.

I set up the plywood in the living room, grabbed my paints and paintbrushes, and got to work.

I love the simultaneous playfulness and drama of woodgrain.  I think it’s beautiful art in it’s own right, but I wanted to add my touch while high-lighting the natural beauty of the wood.  I took some black paint and a fine-tipped brush and began tracing the lines of the woodgrain in black.

It took me about an hour and a half, and when Lukus came over to take a look, he was purdy impressed, and he’s not easily impressed.  I was feeling quite thrilled myself, but I knew it needed some color to give it that “pop” that I wanted to see when walking up the stairs.  Lukus likes purple, and our wedding was done in multiple shades of purple and blue, and I wanted our bedroom to have that romantic hint to our wedding day.  But I also love the look of stained wood, as well as raw.  Sorry I don’t have any more in-progress shots, but I think you can tell what I did in the next photo.  Now THIS is what I see when I walk up the stairs:

I also switched out Lukus’ end table for our former entertainment center which was serving as storage space in our bathroom.  Now the end table is in our bathroom, and Lukus has more shelf space for his 47 million books that he always has by his bedside, and there’s no more awkward blank space between the table and chair.  I also bought him that little green flask with the print of a bike on it (since he used to be a bicycle mechanic and loves biking), and told him I’d RATHER him leave his incredible brown leather boots right where he likes to take them off.  I love those boots, and don’t mind having that hint of Lukus on display, as well as getting to be the cool wife who doesn’t bug her husband to put his shoes away.

I love my new, personal art!

I just attached some hanging brackets to the back, and the whole project only cost me about $5 since I already had the wood, paint and stain just sitting around.

Lukus loved it from the beginning, and every day I enjoy it more and more.

It’s chaotic and abstract, and yet it’s calming and reminds me of rivers and maps.  It’s modern and rustic at the same time, natural but with a human touch.  Is it weird that I’m going on and on so much about my own project?  I mean, I’m really more astounded by what was already there, and just feel privileged to have had an artistic idea that brought it out further.  I used to want to be a painter, but just didn’t have the talent for it.  Tracing however, is right up my alley.

Have you pleasantly surprised yourself with a project lately?  Do you have a favorite “big statement” piece in your home?  Does your husband like purple?  Yeah, I’ve kinda got a one-of-a-kind – both in art and in my husband.