Thursday, November 5, 2015

Margarita Lips

This past week of handling issues and having to be a grown up has KICKED MY A$$. If my mom were still here, I’d have western unioned (is this still a thing?) her some dollars to have her fly out to save me. I'd pass the baton of being an adult on to her so I could crawl into my closet with ice cream and fuzzy blankets and just pretend it all isn’t happening. (And, for the record, she’d have totally taken that dang baton and then still found me in the closet to give me a neck massage.She was so FANFREAKINGTASTIC) I literally closed my eyes several times over the past 7 days and whispered “find your happy place,” “this will be over soon,” and “just do the next right thing here.” At some point as I sank firmly into defeat, I got on to Facebook and saw someone had posted that little inspirational quote that basically said something about how God has created us to be JUST the person our own children need. Lord, please let that be true. Because I worry often that my children got really screwed.

I feel like we are just stepping out of the muck now, and it’s weird how badly, how instinctually, I want to return to Shannon and Jeremiah of 2002. As in, go out, drink and eat and drink some more, laugh with friends— like throw my head back and laugh my size 8,husband-getting bootie off, play shuffle board, come home whenever and only have to be responsible for myself. Back in the day of having time to put on liquid eyeliner, going grocery shopping and ignoring the prices, and having a shoe selection that included more than flip flops.  No drama over nasty child-driven illnesses, no worrying about whether my child is is struggling, no feeling like an incompetent mess of a mother because I keep forgetting to sign forms and return them promptly, no stressing over an electric bill. NONE. OF. THAT. Just endless buckets of chips and salsa and lips that are speckled with sugar from a margarita glass and jeans that fit perfect and dancing to Ja Rule with my girls in a questionable little place until the lights came on and laughing and smiling that came so dang easy it resulted in permanent lip and forehead wrinkles. (That I am now stressing about. How flipping ironic.)

—Y’all know I love my babies fiercely. They are, without a doubt, my heartbeat and my purpose, and the reason I try to be better every single day.  It’s just every now and again, I miss that carefree, figure it out minute by minute, worry about the consequences later girl I was B.B. (before babies). I firmly believe that God lays out every season (some longer than others) before us to teach us, to grow us, to have us hunker down into His Peace, His Promise, His Mercy. My husband can attest to this— when things (little or big) pile on top of me, I always say “what is HE showing me here? I am supposed to be learning something here, I am sure of it…” It’s sort of funny, actually, because often I wish God was just a little more obvious and quick about these lessons. Like, a billboard that says “YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL SHANNON AND YOU NEED TO LET GO. NOW.” Which is obvs exactly why He isn’t like that. It would be too easy. 

I am still digging to find the purpose of this past week. It could be as deep as giving myself more to Him, or maybe as heart-stirring as reminding me how blessed I am to be surrounded by such a loving bunch of people who were on standby this week, ready to help. 

Or maybe I just need a margarita-fueled night with my cute husband.

I will let you know if I figure it out.

p.s we are okay and the issues were totally minor. but you know how sometimes the small things feel like mountains. that. 

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