On Turning 30 and Being Socially Awkward

     Yea, I know.  I turned thirty almost exactly one year ago, but I'm just now getting around to writing this story.  One name has been changed to protect the innocent.  I asked for permission to use the other names.

     One year ago, my friend Erik and I turned thirty.  His birthday is the day before mine, so I always wish him a "Happy Katy's Birthday Eve."  After 15 years, he still thinks I'm hilarious puts up with me.  Anyway, Erik planned his birthday party for the night of January 22.  For reference, to celebrate my birthday, I invited some ladies over on a Tuesday night to eat and play Pictionary.  Everyone left by 9:00.  Erik's party would start at 9:00 at Under the Volcano (a bar) in Houston.  (Bedtime, *gasp*!)

[Here is our little eclectic group at the party.  Friends since high school!  When I see this picture of myself, all I can think of is this:] 

     Dave and I decided that he would just stay home with the kids because we're too cheap to hire babysitters, and this didn't sound like his cup of tea anyway.  Works for me.

     Earlier that week, my friend Casey called to ask, "Don't you think we can just skip this and take Erik to lunch or something?  It's so annoying to try and talk to people in a bar where you can't even hear anything."

     "No," I told her, "it's just one night.  It's Erik's birthday. We can do this!"  (i.e. I will rope you into this so I don't back out of it myself).

     On the night of the party, I drove to pick up Casey because she doesn't enjoy driving at night. (I can't make this stuff up, people).  On the way, "When We Were Young" played on the radio, and I sang at the top of my lungs with Adele while pondering the mysteries of getting older.

     That's when the evening changed from a coming-of-age film into a comedy.  There were about five people there when we first arrived, so we all sat around a table shouting greetings to each other.  Thankfully, I'm not as shy as I used to be, so I introduced myself to the one person I didn't recognize: Steve*.

     "How do you know Erik?" I asked.  We exchanged stories of how we met our mutual friend, then Steve said, "You know what?  You look like you need another drink."

     "That's ok, I'm driving." I told him.

     "I'm going to buy you a drink and come over there where we can hear each other better."

     Casey looked at me and said "Well that escalated quickly..."  We all had a good laugh at my expense while I tried to figure out how I let this happen.  My wedding rings aren't exactly Kardashian-sized, and I did come alone, so I can't fault Steve for not realizing my relationship status.

But, WHAT DO I DO NOW???

     Our friend Susan, somehow not realizing what was going on, saw Steve at the bar and told him he should buy me a drink, because she probably thought, "Free drink!"

     Next thing I know, Steve sits down next to me with a fresh drink, and I assume my classic smiling-yet-terrified face.  I'm pretty sure the expression has looked the same for at least my entire life. I think it looks something like this:

     Since I am awkward and it seemed presumptuous to announce my wife-hood, I made small talk with Steve and asked him what was the funniest or most interesting thing that has happened during one of his court cases.  (He and Erik are both attorneys, and I remember Erik telling me once that he prosecuted a guy who stole 37 boxes of Crest White Strips.  I'm guessing lawyers are storehouses for quirky stories, but I don't remember what he said because I was contemplating how this all would end).

     Then he asked the big question: "So what do you do?"

     Me: (Terrified Pause).

     "Like, what would you say your life is all about?"

     And I wanted to shout, "JESUS!  My life is about Him!"  (But I didn't, because that seemed like it would increase the level of awkwardness exponentially, and Katy, why did you even think this?  It couldn't have gotten that much weirder).

     But instead I said, "I stay home with my kids." (Insert awkward smile).

     "Oh, really? How many kids do you have?"

     "Three." (Now I saw the flash of fear in Steve's eyes).

     "So, you're doing it all on your own, huh?"

     "Well, actually, my husband is an engineer, and I stay home with our kids..."

     And with that, Steve moonwalked away.  Not really, but praise the Lord, an old friend happened to walk up and start chatting with me at that point.  Steve disappeared into the crowd, and I never saw him again.

     When I arrived home that night, I woke Dave up and recounted the story of my evening.  Dave patted me and groggily said, "You've still got it, Babe."

     A few days later, when I told my Dad about it, he responded, "It's like I always say: I can't blame the guy for having good taste."

     With those two in my corner, being awkward didn't seem so bad anymore.  But just to play it safe, I'm back to my old stomping grounds.

Myla Turned 6! (A few days ago...)

(Birthday skating in the house!)

Dear Myla,

      I blinked, and you're another year older.  I cannot even begin to sum up the past year, so I'll keep it short.  Myla, you are going to conquer the world.  But you're going to do it in your own time and in your own way.  As you and your siblings have grown up, I have tried to not get too wrapped up in my expectations of when you will reach milestones.  Things like riding a bike will just happen when they happen.  But girl, you still manage to surprise me.  After seeing your friend ride a bike this weekend, you spent 30 minutes by yourself with your bike on the driveway and just figured it out.  I have learned that if I give you time and encouragement, you accomplish things when you're good and ready to do so.  (You did not escape the biking adventure completely unscathed, but the injury seemed to be cured by an ice pack and television.  I fear for the day when TV bribery is unable to ease the pain).

                              

     Unsurprisingly, you love school, your teacher, and chatting it up with the girls all day.  I told your dad that the worst thing about Kindergarten is that right when you are reaching this age that can be downright pleasant much of the time, we have to send you away for 7 hours per day.  Don't get me wrong-- I love your siblings, but sometimes life with littles can be difficult.  There are so many things to carry ALL the time-- both literally and figuratively.  You turning 6 has made me excited for when Piper and Jon David will get older.  I am only wiping one butt in this house in addition to my own right now, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel where Glory! people can handle themselves.  Thank you for making me appreciate these days.

     Thank you for being my first, for making me smile, and for keeping me on my toes.  I love you BIG.  

Love, 

Mom

[Let's take a moment to smile at this bonus baby and her preciousness.  Both Piper and Myla have mentioned recently that they want us to have another baby, so if you see Dave anywhere, tell him to come back home.]

 [In lieu of a real birthday party, two friends spent the night. I let them play arcade games to their hearts' delight.  You know, without ever giving them a quarter.  Contact me for other ideas in dirt-cheap child-rearing].

 [Shooting tip from E: just stick your blanket and stuffed animal between your legs so you can make that shot].

 [When the Polar Express falls around lunchtime, lunch = popcorn and teddy grahams.  Let's just all take a moment to marvel at the fact that these girls carried their own popcorn and drinks without incident.  It's the little things.]

 [Another unexpected brave moment: getting the ears pierced with NO tears.  Granted, Kristen blurted out that she'd give Myla five bucks if she didn't cry, and you better believe Myla expected her to pay up].

 [Nestle Tollhouse smiles]

 [Y'all, there is a first time for everything.  My kids have never taken a photo with Santa. Ever.  I don't have anything against the big guy, but we haven't really done the Santa thing in our family.  Surprisingly, at the shopping center, we walked by this Santa with no line, so we asked if the girls wanted to say "Hi."  Can you tell which two were interested?]

 [I can't help but laugh at the two Santa skeptics on the right.  Such natural smiles!]

 [I am so thankful that kids can still be kids and just play, because I surely did not have a bunch of pinteresting things planned for the little ladies.  Bless those girls.  They made our first "sleepover party" experience easy].

So, I Have a Two-Year Old...

...and I'm not pregnant.  And I am not nursing a baby.  So, life is different for me right now than it has been in a while.

Dear Jon David,

     Today, you turned two.  Other things are happening in the world, so your birthday seemed to sneak right up on us all.

     You are the Baby Genius we always dreamed of having.

     Back when we were waiting for your arrival and didn't know your name, I was nervous about the possibility of having a boy.  I'll never forget one comment from my pastor's wife saying, "But boys LOVE their mama."  I didn't understand it then, but I treasure it now.  In the  midst of wandering into the terribleness that is age two, you still have affections for me.  I have found a hidden and unexpected patience at your insistence to call, "Mom! Mom! MOM!" every few minutes just to check on me.  We're in the same room, Bub.  I haven't gone anywhere.  

     

     You have definitely taught me a lot.  First, you have taught me that kids really do grow up fast.

      You like art.  And banging on things.

 

     Mothering you means that I need to expect the unexpected (and make sure that we always have insurance...)

      You may be the most doted-upon child in the world.  The beauty of it is that this isn't something we planned.  This is something that naturally came from welcoming you as "our baby" into the family.  Myla and Piper have been your helpers since the very beginning, and it gave them pride and purpose to do it. (Let's just hope that we eventually teach you to do some things for yourself one day, but whatever.  One thing at a time).

      Third kid=lowered standards.  I know television isn't good for your brains, but this is probably my favorite thing that has ever happened:

     

     Even though you hear it from other people, you don't realize until you experience it that things are different this time around.  I always mention to your dad that so many things now just don't bother me the same way they did the first (and second) time around.  You want to lie down on the floor and scream and cry?  Well, ok.  That's a cute effort. I'll be over here when you need me.

     Your front-left tooth is starting to move forward because of your beloved thumb, and once again, I think it's cute because we haven't yet footed the bill for any orthodontic work.  

     Every night, we look at the print on your wall, and I pray for you to grow up and "be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid.  Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

     And if one day, you want to become a chef who wears a lot of bling, that's cool with me, because it has obviously worked out for Guy Fieri.

 

     I  love you, Jon David.  I'll kiss you right on the lips for as long as you let me.  Happy birthday!

Love,

Mom

All I Really Need to Know I'm learning in Kindergarten

     When I was a kid, I loved school.  I loved every teacher I ever had in elementary school.  I can't remember a moment of stress throughout my academic career until high school.  All I'm saying is: I am now on my second round of Kindergarten, and this is definitely harder than my first rodeo.
   
     Myla just finished her third week of school, and for the most part, she loves it.  But three weeks in, and I still have to promise every day to stand by the crosswalk until she gets to the front door of the building so I can wave to her whenever she turns around to look for me.  About a week ago, she told me that she walks into the front door every day and begins to cry because she can't remember where her classroom is.  Talk about mama sadness.  (Note: there is always a teacher to help her, and the principal herself has been the one many times to help show her the way.  Some of them just point when they see her coming now.  Bless them). She had the knowledge, but her fear overshadowed it.  Dave started practicing with her by pretending our house is the school and simulating the walk.  She still does that every day "for fun," saying, "Walk in, turn right."

     I feel like I'm nudging Myla out out onto the edge of the branch while gripping Piper's hand so she doesn't walk off the edge (and tying Jon David to the freaking tree so he doesn't kill himself).

     Parenting is weird.

     One of the weirdest things about this phase is that it so clearly reminds me of some of my worst qualities.  I'm not sure if you know this, but I am one of the most forgetful people in the world.  I cannot be expected to do or remember anything unless it is written down on a post-it at eye level in my house.  My house sometimes look like the set of A Beautiful Mind, only without all the beauty.

     I have always been this way.  In high school, I somehow made it to a dance competition without packing part of my costume (despite years of hearing Jon Kemp's life lesson: Always pack your uniform first.  You can buy everything else at Walmart).  I couldn't find it for the life of me, and if I didn't wear that white scarf, the other 7 dance officers would have to perform without the scarf as well.  I called Dad in a panic and asked him if he could find or buy a white, silk scarf that was 1 ft by 4 ft.  He loves to tell this story, but it goes something like this: Dad walked into a Jo-Ann Fabric, held up his both hands and said loudly, "I have a drill team emergency!"  In his version, fabric angels immediately flocked to him and began to help him in his time of need.

     Dad bailed me out of that one.

     The problem now is that I am supposed to be the one who has it all together!  I could laugh it off as a mom of babies when I'd show up somewhere with a diaper bag with zero diapers in it. Now though, I'm concerned I will forget to pack my kid a lunch, or forget to drop her off, or forget to sign her daily folder, or forget that it's her freaking birthday and I'm supposed to bring treats, or forget that it's parent night, and I really don't want to leave the house after I'm already in my pajamas.

     Basically, this new phase has me facing new challenges and reminding me of the old ones, so the next 12+ years should be fun!
   

Motherhood and the Ugly Cry

    I have been wondering about the strangeness of motherhood lately.  Raising our kids is a weird combination of desires for your children.  On the one hand, you think, "I hope I can...

...foster an open and loving relationship with them,

teach them about Jesus,

model gratefulness, kindness, and respect on a daily basis,

help them understand their inherent worth as uniquely created people,

teach them to be strong and to use that strength for good, 

show them the value of hard work,

(and a hundred other things)."

    On the other hand, there is the most basic overshadowing hope:

Please, God, just keep them alive.

     Maybe it's the season I am living right now, and maybe I need therapy.  I don't walk around everyday paralyzed by the fear that my child might die, but I hear tragic stories everyday where my gut reaction is: "Yep, that could have been us."

     A few months ago, the kids and I were staying at my parents' house while some work was being done at ours.  Piper, Jon David, and I were under the weather with fevers, and it was resting time.  Myla spends resting time in my parents' bedroom.  As I was rocking in the recliner with a fussy JD, Myla started hollering, "Mommy! Mommy!" and crying from the bedroom.  To be honest, I ignored her for a minute, because it resembled the kind of reaction she might have to seeing a bug (or some similar non-emergency).  When she didn't stop, I went back to find her pinned from the waist down by an overturned chest of drawers.  My risk-averse 5-year-old with no history of climbing just "wanted to see what it was like" to climb this new furniture.  You guys, this thing was so heavy that I could only lift it for a few seconds while telling her to quickly pull her legs out from under it.  It stayed flat on the floor until my dad came home from work.  Once I checked her body for any visible trauma and realized she was ok, enter: the ugly cry.  Because everything from that moment on felt like, "Well, you almost died today, so..."  She had bruises down her leg and even on her forehead, but no serious injuries.  A random plastic Ozarka container filled with coins that my dad keeps on his dresser seems to have held it up off the floor a few extra inches (i.e. the size of her legs).  She wanted to watch tv, and my thought was, "Well, you almost died today, so I guess we can watch 3 hours of television right now."  When she needed some correction later in the day, I thought, "Can I discipline her when she almost died today?" (Sidenote: I think the answer is "yes," but I tell ya, it really makes you think about the manner and tone in which you discipline in that moment. But still, ask the experts instead of going with me on this one). 

     Even more recently, we went to a pool party with some close friends.  Every parent has their safety thing, and mine happens to be swimming.  Despite this, the kids have never used Puddle Jumpers or life jackets on a regular basis, because I only do the pool thing when I have enough reinforcements to cover my crew.  My girls are taking lessons but still not swimmers, but they have become pretty proficient holding a little ring floatie around their waist.  While my sister was on Jon David detail in the pool (a full-time job), I sat on the side chatting with some moms and watching the girls.  I was more nervous than usual because I know things can happen at parties where everyone is comfortable with each other. I was chatting with a friend (about Puddle Jumpers, no less) while Piper was kicking around and playing a ball game with her friend.  I saw her lean over once to reach the ball, and thought it was a little bit too far of a reach, then I saw her reach again and tip over upside down with her feet wildly kicking in the air and her head underwater.  I went in after her and came out, heart pounding and swim cover-up sopping wet. Dave was by the side as soon as I got her there. She was probably only under for a few seconds, and one of those nasty water coughs plus 5 minutes of resting had her asking to get back in.  "It was just because I was weaning, Mom," she said. (Still working on pronouncing those L's).  But you guys.  The only reason I saw her tip over was because I happened to be watching at that very moment.  Can I honestly say I was watching both my girls every single second? No, I can't.

    I guess the art of motherhood is realizing how close to death your children always are without completely losing your ever-loving mind.

    (Ask me in 20 years or so if I've accomplished this).

Dear Piper,

Today you are four!

Let's be honest-- you are going to wake up on the morning of your birthday, and I won't be there with you.  You girls had an impromptu sleepover at Nana and Paw Paw's though, so I'm pretty sure no tears will be shed (until I come to take you home).

Pipes, this year with you has been so full.  You have experienced ALL of the feelings.  With you, my passionate little girl, the highs are so high, and the lows are low.  One of my favorite memories from this year is a conversation we had after Myla's birthday party.  The kids all painted pictures, and I showed you yours the next morning.

     "Piper, this is a great painting!" I told you.

     "What?! That's not mine!" you replied, horrified. 

     "Yes, it is.  It has your name on the back.  I like how you used so many colors." I said.

      Through genuine, crocodile tears, you blubbered, "But I was twying to make a wainbow, and this just wooks wike scwibble, scwibble, scwibble.  That's NOT mine!"

Seeing the heartbreak over your real picture not resembling the one you had in your mind was just the funniest thing.  I had to hold back my laughter, because to you, it was a big deal.  (And besides, what adult doesn't deal with disappointment over unmet expectations in themselves and others?)

Piper, you hold such a special place in our family-- the only one who gets to be the little sibling AND the big sibling, and it looks like no easy feat.  I love watching how you run right alongside the big kids but can also take care of your little brother with your softer side.  You are starting preschool in the fall (*tear*), and my hope for this year is that you can have something for the first time in your life that is your special "thing." You are special and unique, and I want you to have the same confidence and strength standing alone as you do standing in the middle of our family.

Piper Joy Livingston, you are a force to be reckoned with.  I love you like you love your yummy thumby.  Let's keep this thing we have going for another year, ok?

Love, Mom

P.S. I'm going to start taking you to auditions for commercials or something so that you can become small-time famous enough to pay for future dental work (since you informed me that this isn't the year you'll be giving up the thumb).

2015: A Year in Review

     It's 2016 already!  Last year was filled with fun and a handful of firsts.  Here are some of the highlights of 2015:

• Our church kicked off the year with a BOLD campaign focusing on generosity and giving (with a goal of purchasing a property within the next two years).  It became an exciting time of talking about how we can use the money God has entrusted to us over the next few years. Nothing excites David Livingston like talking about giving, so this was a sweet time of good conversations for us.
• We entered 2015 with no plans to move, but through a whirlwind of events ended up purchasing our first home together in October. (Dave purchased our former house before we started dating). Though there is a laundry list of work to be done in this older house, it already feels like home and just feels "right."  Dave is enjoying his much shorter commute to the office.
• Myla began school!  She is attending a homeschool co-op kindergarten class even though it's technically her Pre-K year.  As I expected, she loves it.  We will most likely send her to our local elementary school next year, which is within walking distance of our house.
• We took a road trip to Tennessee and North Carolina over Thanksgiving, and it's amazing how a 15-hour drive seems way quicker than the 20-hour drives we take to Wisconsin or Minnesota.  We had fun, but this vacation also confirmed the fact that if we leave town, one or more of our children will get sick.  (Thanking the Lord that this time it was a sinus thing and not the pukes).
• I completed a Beachbody Challenge group and kicked the last few pounds leftover from my fatty baby.  I came thisclose to posting my "Before" and "After" pictures but ultimately chickened out.  You're welcome.  

Those are the big ones, but the photos show a few more tidbits from the year.

 We ventured to the rodeo with much less fear and trepidation of the goats.

 Some cute guys took a cute walk.

 I continued to let these goobers dress themselves, and it doesn't really bother me at all that we go out in public like this.

 Jon David is learning the important lesson that sometimes a boy who follows two girls will have to use a pink toy every now and then.

The "First Day of School" photos were a family affair.

Starting with my dad's generation, our family has a traditional one-year portrait taken.  Though Dave and I are not on the ball for most things, this is one area where we have managed to come through!  Since we were unable to locate the outfit my dad wore for his photo, Dave's mom and aunt once again created an outfit that mimics the style that he wore. (They also replicated the dress that Kristen and I wore from seeing a cell phone picture of the picture).  It's been fun maintaining this tradition while also adding this extra sentimental layer.  

 Here's a poor quality example of our photos. (From left to right: Me, Myla, Piper, Jon David).  I plan to add a copy of my dad's portrait soon.

One of the most exciting moments of home buying is picking out a key of champions.  (Or in this case, former/future champions).

Start 'em young.

First haircut for the little man.

Porch swing fun in Tennessee