I've Become A Circus Act

Since I haven’t had any time at all to sit down and write, I thought I’d give you a quick update on what is taking up the hours of my life.

It goes by the very exciting, and equally exhausting and overwhelming name of . . . work.

Yes.  I’m officially a working mama now. 

I got my real estate license late last spring and started getting my feet wet with a few clients during the summer and fall.  In January, things began to kick into high gear, and my feet are no longer a bit wet.  These days, life’s a deluge.  I’m soaked from head to toe, my hair hanging  damp and stringy in front of my eyes as I hunch over to block the piercing rain shooting darts on my back.

Working is hard, y’all.

Having a job where people need you to perform duties that are still new to you, and therefore take much more time than they probably should, means all those other duties you’ve been performing quite efficiently for the last twelve years get pushed waaaaaay down to the bottom of your to-do list.  And let’s face it.  Many of those items on my to-do list for the last decade or so were to-do’s.  My list now includes a multitude of activities that can’t really be called to-do’s.  They are must-do’s, and there’s a difference. 

Working is a juggling act, as life often is, but suddenly I’ve added all these balls to my act.  Things are flying around all over the place and here’s the thing . . . I was never any good at juggling.  I’m dropping balls left and right and most of them involve the duties that are old hat, the things that were once second nature, almost automatic – the people I know will love and forgive me despite the fact that I’ve dropped their ball and it’s rolled so far away I can’t even see it anymore.

What I very clearly didn’t realize is that all those things I’ve been doing for so long – the ones that have suddenly been relocated from their position of top-priority to one of the many things that have to be done today -  those age old duties are not just going to automatically take care of themselves.  Those long juggled balls are not going to stay up in the air on their own, my friends.  I have to keep them there. 

I’ve been trying to explain to my friends and family that I could really use their patience and understanding right now, as I’m going through a major period of adjustment trying to settle into my new existence as a working mom, but no one seems to get it.  I’m sure you’re doing fine, they say.  You can handle it, they tell me.  I, on the other hand, am pretty sure I’m not doing all that fine.  In fact, I’m rather certain I’m not handling it at all.  I could give you many reasons why I believe this to be true, but for the sake of time, I’m just going to share one with you today.

Last week, I FORGOT TO PICK UP MY DAUGHTER.

Yep.  You absolutely read that right.  Libby’s cooking class ended at 4:30.  At 4:45, a wonderful friend of mine sent me a text offering to bring her home from said cooking class the following week.  Thank goodness for that interruption, because I was knee deep entering a listing and there was nothing breaking my working mama concentration.

It was fine.  There were contractors putting in new lights at my house and they had to move their truck so I could get out, but thankfully, we only live about a mile and a half from school and I arrived by 4:56. 

I cried the whole way there.

The worst part about it was that this wasn’t the first Libby ball I’d dropped that week.  Honestly?  It wasn’t the second either.

So . . .

How do you feel about my juggling now?

I know I will get the hang of things, and so will my children.  Women all over the world manage to be excellent wives and mothers while simultaneously having a career.  There will be many positives to this new adventure – I believe that.  It will be good for my kids to witness their mother learn the value of time management.  It will be good for my husband to have some financial support.  It will be good for me to contribute to our family in new ways.  It will all be good, because God is good.  I have asked Him into this endeavor and I have faith that He will show up in it.  In fact, He already has.

I saw his hand when things recently worked out with a deal I wasn’t sure had a chance of working out. I saw his hand when I received my first paycheck in over twelve years and instantly felt a deep new appreciation for my husband.  I saw his hand in the generosity of a colleague who supported me every step of the way.  I saw his hand in the friend who texted me at just the right time, offering a reminder that my top priorities must remain just that – above everything else.  And I see his hand each day in the faces of my clients, who have trusted me enough to help them buy or sell a home, and who make me smile while doing it.

To all the working mamas out there - bravo, well done, nice job, and hang in there.  You are a true inspiration to me, and no doubt to many others trying to turn their own circus acts into successes. To all the mamas who are working at home – I have a newfound awareness of just how much important work you do on a daily basis.  Keeping children safe, fed, clothed, educated, healthy and happy are life’s greatest and most difficult calls, and they require endless amounts of kindness, energy, and grace.  I pray we can all support one another as we juggle the balls in our lives, and that we can forgive one another when we drop a few.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might . . .

Ecclesiastes 9:10

Good Friday 2014

Then the governor's soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole company of soldiers around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand and knelt in front of him and mocked him. "Hail, king of the Jews!" they said. They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again.  After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him. From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land.  About the ninth hour, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"  And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. 

From Matthew 27 

Good Friday.


All I can think about is that he knew what was coming.  He knew his friends would betray him.  He knew they would leave him all alone in the garden of Gethsemane.  He knew the crowd would strip him, spit on him, strike him.  He knew there would be a crown of thorns on his head, nails in his hands, pain, pain, so much pain. 


Hours of pain.


He walked toward it.  He didn’t flinch.  He didn’t falter.  He knew what was coming and he went there to die.


He knew God’s will and he fulfilled it. 


He was the perfect lamb, without blemish.  The perfect man completing the perfect plan.  And he hung on that cross in my place, and in yours.


Good Friday.


Grace Friday.


Grace . . .


Thank you, Jesus.

Windy City Love

I don’t travel well.  It’s not that I’m scared of flying or get carsick, although I am and I do.  It’s that my fear of . . . contamination, we’ll call it, makes it hard for me to enjoy a trip more than a few miles out of my greater Atlanta bubble.  I think airplanes are the most disgusting things on the planet, and are only equal in nasty dirty grossness to cabs, hotels, and public restrooms. And handrails on escalators.  And doorknobs.  And elevator buttons.  And . . . I should probably stop there.

The truth?  I love the idea of seeing the world.  I want to go to London and Paris and Australia and Northern Italy and Yellowstone National Park.  I’d just like to drive in my own car and stay in my own house when I get there.  My husband says there might be an RV in our future and I’ll admit . . . I kinda dig that idea.  London, Paris, Australia, and Northern Italy are out, but Yellowstone, here we come!

The thing about traveling is that it makes me hate myself.  I want so badly to enjoy it.  I want so desperately to overcome my OCD and rid myself of my irrational concerns and set foot on an airplane and in a taxi and in a hotel like a normal person, but I can’t . . . yet.

I am working on it.  I’ve gone back to my past to sort through what has caused my intense need to control every aspect of my surroundings, and it’s been a wildly intriguing process, as fascinating as it is disturbing.  But I have a long way to go, and so when my mother-in-law offered to take Libby and me to Chicago for a few days in honor of her upcoming eighth birthday, I took a deep breath, smiled, thanked her for such incredible generosity, and told her my daughter would be thrilled.  Then . . . I worried about the trip for weeks as we prepared to go.

I'm not completely distressed when I travel, but there is always an underlying current of anxiety limiting my ability to fully embrace the experience.  I find joy when I visit new places and discover all that makes them unique, but the joy comes with a hint of grief over what could be, if I was able to focus on the fun and not the foreign, if I could ignore my insatiable longing to be home. 

We stayed in my aunt-in-law’s beautiful new downtown condo in Chicago, so that helped.  Libby is older now, so that helped too.  She knows her mom is nuts and patiently uses the disinfectant wipes I doll out to her throughout the day without complaining.  She did, at what might go down as the lowest point in our relationship, ask when we could get in a cab again because, “Mama, they smell so good.” 

I was shocked, stunned, speechless . . . even slightly offended by such a preposterous declaration from a child who is supposed to have my blood running through her veins.

Our next cab ride cured my daughter's insanity within seconds.

We had a great trip.  Everything went smoothly and Libby relished in being on a girls’ excursion in which she was largely in charge of choosing the adventures.  We hit Lincoln Park Zoo, Navy Pier, Shedd Aquarium, and of course, our main event – we dined and shopped at the amazing American Girl Store on Michigan Avenue.  Libby had popsicles before lunch and ordered Sprite at dinner.  She had her doll’s ears pierced and went swimming in a rooftop pool overlooking the city.   It was a whirlwind forty-eight hours, and I believe we created some very special memories.  I’m sure Libby will remember dipping her toes into Lake Michigan, touching a stingray, riding the ferris wheel.  What I will remember most, however, took place after all the activities of day one had ended.

My daughter and I were lying in the bed we shared on the seventy-first floor, showered and clean and worn out, reading books before turning the lights out on our first day of travel.  My elbow ached from holding my book, so I stretched my arm over the expanse of bed between us.  Her little hand instantly covered mine, warm and soft and unexpected.  And in that moment, it didn’t matter that I hated myself.  It didn’t matter that while she was flitting about the city fulfilling her role as the center of attention, I was secretly counting down the hours until we returned home, to the one and only place I feel comfortable and safe and right.  It didn’t matter that I have OCD and I don’t travel well and I might never go to Paris and London and Italy.  In that moment . . . that precious, unforgettable moment . . . nothing else mattered.

She rubbed her fingers over mine, gently, reassuringly . . . as though she understood everything she never will about me . . . as if she realized how hard I worked to keep her unaware.  One day, she might look at me and past me and blame me and maybe even hate me because of the way my issues have caused her own.  One day, the space between us might be too wide to cross with the silence of an outstretched arm.  But on that day, in Chicago, my daughter reached for my hand across the bed, and covered it with grace.