The story of Us

You may be surprised at how Chris and I met. 

In retrospect, I am.  It's an odd story, really.  We celebrate 7 years of marriage in a week and if we are counting blessings, well then this would be the first one; the foundation of all the blessings I've received. 
In order to tell this story, I have to embarrass myself beyond recognition.  I need only to return to this memory in order to humble myself.  But here goes. 

Chris and I met when I was a junior and he was a sophomore in college at the University of Puget Sound.  He played football and I played volleyball.  It was the fall season and both of us found ourselves at the Hawaiian party on campus.  I had just come home from Eastern Washington and I was exhausted.  But I went to the party and ended up sitting on the porch.  A few minutes in, a male friend of mine put his arm around me.  His big, muscle-filled, slimy arm. 

He put his arms around a lot of girls.  I wasn't ever hoping to be one of them.

I was not a fan of this.  But he was my friend, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.  So I sat there and quietly panicked.  I decided to speak to whomever was in front of me and potentially find my way out of this situation by distraction. (This is just about 1000 ft outside of my comfort zone, FYI.)  I looked up, and there leaning against the wall was a boy.  He had a hat on, and he couldn't have been more uninterested in what I had to say.  It took a few minutes for him to actually interact with me, but he told me his full name (Chris Garland) and I found out that he was the son of the coach that I worked for as part of the work study program.  I don't remember anything he said.  My heart was pounding.  What I do remember is that he was nice, and he didn't try anything shady, even when I eventually was freed of the arm of my friend.  I went home early, but found myself seeking Chris out to say good-bye.  He barely looked up.

Two weeks later, my good friend complained that there weren't any nice boys around.  I remembered Chris and replied that I had met one (literally just one).  It was in this moment that I impulsively chose to call security on campus and find his number.  Before I could change my mind, I called and left a message with his roommate...something to the tune of "Hi.  Can you tell Chris to call me?  I'm Jess Davis and we met at the Hawaiian party a few weeks ago.  He won't remember me, but have him call me."  He didn't call.

Can you believe that?  Also, another kicker to this story is that I couldn't remember what he looked like.  He wore a hat, and essentially I walked around campus wondering if I was standing next to somebody that I was looking for.  Very bizarre. 

Then September 11, 2001 came.  My volleyball team was scheduled to travel to Missouri, but travel was canceled.  The next day, as I was running through my house to get ready for practice, my roommate briefly mentioned that "some guy called for you." She couldn't remember his name.  She didn't get his number.  After some badgering, she agreed that "it could have been Chris Garland".  I went to practice, got sweaty and earned myself a very unattractive sweaty hairdo, and went to dinner at the campus cafeteria.  I had finished my meal when I recognized Chris walking by.  I couldn't help myself.  I leaped out of my chair and followed him out into the parking lot.

I heard myself yell "Chris!" and ran to catch him.  He stopped, turned around and I caught up to him.  Then I was speechless.  I just stared at him.  (Seriously.) I don't do this...probably for this exact reason.  Shyness steals my words and I end up looking ridiculous.  Luckily, he filled the awkwardness of the situation.

Chris: "I called you.  You're Jess, right?"
Jess: "Yes.  Right.  That's me. (4 hour pause..okay, more like 15 seconds)  Ummm...I was wondering if you would like to hang out or something someday.  Or whatever.  Or not.  Or I just...you know."
Chris (with a breezy tone, as if  he doesn't recognize my awkwardness): "Sure.  How about tonight?"

And literally, we've been together ever since. 

Literally.  More than a few times, I thought to myself early on that I could not end up with this boy because this story could not live on for eternity.  But now, I have three lovely children and a life built on impulsive action and finding my soul mate amongst craziness. 

Don't judge.  Nobody likes a judger. 










I'm a lucky girl.

Reflections

2010.  In this present moment, I'm fighting to find time to reflect on this year.  An 8 month old baby is wrestling with her nap that she doesn't see as necessary today, and two preschool boys are battling each other in their rest time that they would also endorse as unnecessary.  This is my loud reflection time. 

Things that I have learned this year:

• I'm in control of nothing.  At all.  Literally nothing. 
• Three kids are a lot of kids. 
• It's better to have stuff you are indifferent about as compared to stuff you love.  Both get colored with blue marker, but your response is remarkably different. 
• A stance of anything other than humility is arrogance in essentially all categories. 
• It is completely possible to work all day long without a break and accomplish nothing.
• Receiving help is much better than not receiving help. 
• I think I'm my best person when I'm financially broke.  (I'm so not a fan of this fact.)
• I can change a diaper while gagging and continue on. 
• I can, will and have survived a two year old throwing a tantrum in a grocery store while several people walk by and give very poor parenting advice without punching anybody. 
• Church is my favorite place.
• Being a grown up is even more lame than I ever imagined. 
• Reconciliation is so much more amazing than I ever imagined.
• Marriage is more about sanctification and less about being right. 
• Screaming in stereo does not have to break me. 
• 5 minutes of believing that my son is dying does not have to break me.
• Jesus loves me, this I know...for the Bible told me so.
• It's not really that great of an idea to give your children a pretend hammer for Christmas. 

So here's to 2010.  So glad it's over, but in all likelihood my life will likely be divided by this year - before 2010 and after 2010.  I'm pretty sure that if I sat next to the person I was on January 1st 2010, we wouldn't really even recognize each other.  We don't have much in common anymore.  I'm really okay with that though.  I still have her bills, her reputation, her stuff, and her history...but that's what 2011 is for. 

Peace out 2010. 

Toothbrushes, Underwear and Socks, Oh My!

I'm convinced that toys are created to ruin the hopes and dreams of parents.  And when I say "convinced", what I really mean is that I just thought of that, and it sounds right.  Then I wrote it, and convinced myself.  Must be true. 

In my trip from my bedroom to the couch that I'm sitting on, I stumbled on no less than 3 toys, briefly saw my life flash before my eyes when I got my shoelace caught on the baby gate, and stepped on the arm of a (likely very depressed) superman figure who has been dismembered.  This wonderful piece of plastic was perfectly positioned so that it felt like I was being stabbed.  I don't like that feeling. 

What's more, toys teach kids to be never-ending bottomless pits of want.  Once they have it, they don't want it anymore.  What they have accumulates and slowly takes over the home.  Of our modest home with 5 human souls, 3 kitty souls and 1 dog soul, at least 500 sq ft is devoted to toys.

I know what you are thinking.  Throw it out/donate it/figure it out and stop whining.  Welcome to one of the many debates of the Garlands.  It goes something like this:

Chris: Let's get a garbage bag and toss it all out.
Jess:  Dude.  Haven't you ever seen Toy Story?
Chris: You have got to be kidding me.
Jess: Sadly, I'm not.  What if that dismembered Superman is really sad?
Chris: He isn't.
Jess: What if?
Chris: He isn't.
Jess: Well what if a kid somewhere out there really wants to have this toy?
Chris: He doesn't.  Nobody wants to play with a toy that has no arms, no legs and no head. 
Jess: But I have a bag full of heads, bodies, legs and arms.  I could put them back together.
Chris: No.  That would take forever. 
Jess: Toy Story, honey.  Toy Story. 
Chris: Seriously?
Jess:  And garbage dumps full of plastic.  And polar bears. 
Chis:  deep sigh. Alright.
Jess:  As soon as (fill in the task here) is done, I'm gonna do it. 

Twelve months later...nothing.  Nada.  The days blur together, the kids scream in stereo, I spend most of the time drinking coffee and dreaming of Maui.  Dismembered Batman lives on. 

We celebrated Christmas with my mom this week.  (Hi Mom!)  She was dead set on bringing practical gifts for the boys, and brought an outfit for each kid, 10 pairs of matching socks each, underwear, several toothbrushes and toothpaste for the kids.  As a parent, I was overjoyed, if not giddy.  However, I watched my boys closely...ready to pounce on the first child to show dissatisfaction.  She was warned by others that the kids would be deeply disappointed. 

Never happened.  Gifts are gifts.

My boys have obsessed over their toothbrushes.  They love their clothes.  They danced around all morning in their new underwear.  One thing is for sure.  Not a single one of those underwear will be dismembered and forgotten.  Weird to consider, but true nonetheless. 

Maybe my number one assumption should be that children (especially preschoolers) enjoy excitement.  You get excited about broccoli?  Eyes light up.  You get excited about cake?  Eyes light up.  You try to make them happy with what they identify as making them happy?  You follow the trail of never ending distraction.  You get excited about underwear and toothbrushes?  Suddenly, nothing exists on this world that surpasses the desire and delight with toothbrushes.

Chase actually slept with his new toothbrush.  I'm not kidding.

Dear Toys R Us.  I want my thousands of dollars over the course of 4 years back.  I should have gone outside, grabbed a couple of rocks and called them "Awesome 1" and "Awesome 2".

Broken Pitcher

Today, my dear sweet Adelai had a cold.  The day finally arrived where she realized the bulb syringe is not a chew toy.  (The bulb syringe is the booger sucker thing to those who don't know...it goes straight up the nose and sucks out the business.)  Sometimes I've wondered if the bulb syringe is a better way to go as compared to blowing your nose, but ultimately all you have to do is watch the startled look on a child to know that obviously blowing your nose is preferable. 

She has always loved to chew the bulb syringe on her teeth.  It must do something lovely...it's even motivated her to lunge from a seated position into a crawling position.  Why would Adelai cuddle a stuffed animal when she could love the bulb syringe?  She fits in this family just fine. 

So.  Welcome to reality, my dear daughter.  She's playing sweetly with her toys and struggling to breath through her nose as I prepare the towel and wash the syringe.  She has startled to babble and I can hear her talking to herself as I'm running her beloved chew toy under the warm water.  I know I'm about to break her heart.  I don't like that, but what else can I do?  I'm her mommy.  Mommy's get involved when boogers are present.  She smiles a giant smile as I enter the room, revealing two budding teeth on her lower gums.  She loves me.  I really love her too.

I pick her up and she's excited.  I lay her down on the couch and she's making eye contact and cooing.  She's also blowing snot bubbles.  The mission must continue on.  I approach with the syringe, but at 7.5 months old, she's a squirmer.  I can't get it in her nostril, so we have to switch to more restrictive measures.  I hate this.  But I love her.

I reposition so that I can hold her between my legs and keep her head from moving.  (Long legs come in handy.  Wish I could have told my awkward 13 year old self that?) She starts to look a little frantic as I put the syringe into her nose. The suction goes and I can tell that for a moment, she thought something really bad was happening to her.  She doesn't cry (because it's Adelai and she doesn't do that.)  She makes eye contact now, and she looks startled, frantic, confused, scared. I am successful with the first suction and one of her nostrils is now clear.  However, now she knows what is coming again.

She's moving more.  I have to hold her with more grip.  She is now essentially immobile so that I don't poke her in the eye and really harm her.  Here is her mommy, the one who loves her the most in this world, holding her most treasured toy and she's afraid.  I look at her and say "Adelai.  I love you.  I know you're scared, but I would never hurt you honey.  This will help you, even though it's scary.  Don't be afraid.  Trust me."

Then a small voice said "I've waited for so long....that you would know that from me, Jessica."

The way God uses these children to mold me every day is breathtaking.  It literally takes the air away from me.  He refines my heart so gently, but with such a firmness.  Like big strong hands taking clay and moving it intentionally, but with such love for the art that it is becoming.

I'm a slab of rough, unworthy clay that looks out of place and crusty.  And there was some time where I thought I was already art, but with a missing piece.  Like a pitcher that couldn't hold water and it ran everywhere and I just pretended that I wasn't trying to be a pitcher anyway.  So there. 

But now I'm held in big strong hands.  It's much better here. 

Merry Christmas.  The Garlands love you. 

Oasis

Chris and I are approaching seven years of marriage in January.  We've had some obvious blessings over the years.  The list is quite normal...including the usual like the kids (which feels like a blessing about 57% of the time), housing, employment, and each other.  We've also had some good pets.  And we've only lit the house on fire once (*we* meaning...a certain husband of mine.  He'll quickly point out that one time I burned bacon for so long on the stove that it disintegrated into nothing and filled the house with smoke, all because I was watching an episode of Cribs on MTV.  However, I'll counterpoint with the fact that there were certainly no flames.  He made flames with a car seat and a stove.  Long story.)  We've also maintained our health and have been blessed with healthy children. (In all seriousness, I do not take an ounce of that for granted.  Healthy children are miraculous.) 

We've seen the Seahawks go to the Superbowl.  I think Chris would include that.  (Don't talk to him about that though, because he'll go on and on and on about some bad call or whatever.  I've further been blessed with the ability to nod and tune out this tirade.  See?  The blessings rain down.)

All this is well and good, but 2010 has really brought an unexpected blessing to the Garland family in the form of Oasis Community Church.  I would be remiss to call this blog a place to discuss our blessings without referencing our church. 

It struck me recently that we began regularly attending Oasis just 12 months ago, and now Chris and I can't really imagine our lives without the church body.  I've never belonged to a church, so I had no idea what I was missing.  Given the mix of Chris and I, the joining of the Garlands to a church body would prove to be very difficult.  Chris likes Sunday football and small talk.  I hate crowds, and can barely manage small talk before getting to the grit of stuff, which freaks people out.  Consequently, I hover around groups of people and struggle to join.  Chris jumps head in, but quickly departs to look at the ESPN website or something.  And for whatever reason, I have an aversion (or shall I say, I had an aversion) to being recognized.  As a mental health counselor, you quickly learn that being recognized in public is not really all that wonderful.  We've tried to attend church over the years, but they were either too big, too small, too boring, too old, too young, too religious...blah blah blah.  I remember saying out loud to Chris one day that for us to find a church, somebody is going to have to hunt us down and seek us out.  Never happened.  Perfect excuse.  And also, as a side note, if anyone actually did try to hunt us down, I'm sure we would have freaked out and said they were trying too hard.  (*we* meaning me.  I'm difficult like that?  Chris likes everyone.)

Then Oasis happened to us.  They didn't hunt, but they sort of noticed us standing on the outskirt of the congregation and started to circle around us.  Super slow, so as not to startle us (meaning me).  They invited Chris to play sports (the perfect invitation).  They nonchalantly invited us to community group, as if it wasn't anything big.  They dedicated our boys when we weren't all the way dedicated ourselves. They accepted me with open arms when I fell apart after Justin's seizure.  They taught me how to pray.  They brought us meals in support of Adelai's birth (still as mostly strangers, mind you).  They were consistently available and pretty awesome.  And, they let me cry whenever I want without pointing out how awkward it is, even when I'm reading scripture in front of 150+ people.  That's nice. 

Chris and I have lived in this town for 7 years and yet we've never really considered it home.  We've always wanted to return to the Seattle area, yet circumstance after circumstance has made it impossible to go.  It was never bad stuff that kept us here, but rather opportunity after opportunity after opportunity.  We couldn't really ever say no...but it felt like an island.  Chris and I against the world without ever asking for help because really, there wasn't anyone lining up to offer it.  After joining Oasis, I honestly think this is the first time I feel like we are home.  Suddenly there is a whole host of people lining up, and they are all pretty amazing.  In so many ways, I think God kept us here knowing full well that we wouldn't find Him unless we stayed.

And the Seahawks get DVR'd.  Seriously. 

This is the first Christmas that Chris and I are planning our entire holiday around the Christmas Eve service. 
We are in a good place.  We're starting new traditions, banishing old ones and it's good.  Really good.

Adelai

Every time I start to write an entry about our little girl, I can never finish it.  It's not that there is nothing to report.  She is growing, she is beautiful, she is delightful, she is amazing.  I guess I probably stop myself because I'm afraid that if I really wrote about this adorable little girl, it might sound like I love her the best. 

Mommy guilt is a tough one sometimes.  If I post something about the joy that is Adelai, you'll be able to scroll through this blog and see that I write all the time about crazy Justin and sensitive Chase, but you'll see me gush about this girl and I can barely contain myself.  I'll just keep going and going.  And going.  She is seriously wonderful.

I am realistic though.  I've been around a few blocks as a mother, so I know that realistically she just hasn't developed the ability to voice herself.  Therefore, she's untainted.  She has plenty of years to join the ranks of her brothers and I'll be ready.  Maybe.  Okay, it'll take me off guard.  But for now, here is a little information on this lovely girl.

Adelai (pronounced Ad-duh-lye...rhymes with pie...for the 99% of the world that can't pronounce her name) is a girl.  I know right?  Who knew the Garlands could have one of those?  Did you know they are different than boys?  I think God gave her to me because he saw my life and said "Dude.  This is hysterical, but it's time to give this girl a break."  Adelai is patient.  She can wait a good 5 to 10 minutes for whatever she needs.  It's as if she came into the home and spoke Chinese and the rest of us just don't get it.  Patient?  What the heck?  Is there something wrong with her?  Why isn't she crying? 

Not only is she a girl and patient (and yes, Chris, you can have both- I just don't), but she is mostly content with whatever.  The boys came out and were pretty much on the move.  Both sat up by their 6 month check up, both were crawling by 9 months (Justin was actually running at 9 months), and Chase was walking at 11 months.  I knew Justin was way early, but I thought that was pretty much normal.  Adelai, on the other hand can't be bothered with physical stuff.  She is 7 months old and I'm still trying to encourage her to sit up.  She falls often, and it's a bother to try and get her interested in anything besides people.  She loves to watch her brothers and she's pretty happy with constant eye contact. 

But if you can't do that, it's okay.  Just whenever you return, she'll be delighted. 

It's almost creepy. 

What else can I say?  She kinda likes food, she loves to cuddle and she has an enormous rear end.  For the record, I know that is thoroughly inappropriate, but seriously if you know anything about our boys, you know that having junk in the truck region is unheard of.  I wonder if she is really my kid?

She loves to sleep and she loves her feet.  I think that covers it. 

She's a bright warm light in my life, and I'm just overjoyed that I get to be her mommy.  I hope I do her justice.  I'm a little worried that we're going to struggle, mostly because she seems to be my exact opposite and I think maybe I should be the student in this situation...but nevertheless, being on the other side of a mother-daughter relationship feels full circle.  Before she was born, I didn't really think I was missing anything.  I think it was about 4 seconds after her birth that I realized exactly what I had gained.  It's safe to say that I'm a huge fan of Miss Adelai Makena. 



A Letter to the American Culture...from a ticked off Mom

Dear American Culture,

I fell for you last Christmas.  I thought it was a deep profound love.  Your commercials, the way you enticed my child to want every single toy made...I bought it hook, line and sinker.  Last year, Chase wanted "a big green rocket".  This, of course, was a figment of his imagination.  I spent 60 days searching every story and online retailer before finally finding it.  I remember distinctly thinking that this gift would make my child "happy", the ultimate joy of a parent. 

And Santa Clause....boy, does Chase adore Santa Clause.  And I admit, I used Santa Clause to get Chase to behave and follow the rules for 30 straight days.  It was AMAZING.  The answer to all my problems.  I filled two separate carts with presents and stood proudly at the check out at Toys R Us with proof that I loved my kid.  I'm sure that you were proud.  I did it right, by your standards. 

Low and behold, I...or should I say we...were right! Chase was happy.  For about 3 days, Chase was delighted.  He played with that green rocket and was seriously grateful.  But then more commercials came on, and I soon began hearing "Mom! I want that for Christmas."  And the green rocket started to get piled under a bunch of other toys.  Soon enough, the green rocket lost it's luster.  I think it's now buried under a box of other forgotten toys.  And now I have a bunch of broken toys in a playroom that don't speak much to my love for my child.  I find myself rather annoyed by that.  I was snookered.  (Is that a word?)

And now I just want to tell you that I think maybe it was just a crush.  And I'm sort of over it.  I'm not falling for it this year, much to the future (and brief) dismay of my children.  I refuse to buy in to the commercialized view of this holiday.  I detest the idea that you have placed a face of an old man who brings presents to the deserving kids all over the place.  I detest the fact that my children recognize this face as an image that inspires them to think that they might wake up in a few weeks to a mountain of gifts. 

And more than anything, it deeply breaks my heart that I asked Chase yesterday about what he knew about Santa, and he referenced praying to him about the toys he wanted.  I think there is something in the 10 commandments that is getting confused here.  I think as a mother, I dropped a ball that I didn't even know I was holding back then.  I am responsible for this.  But so are you.  Do we really have to write letters to a pretend person who will deliver all that we want, but nothing that we need?  What's with the absolute glee that my children get from seeing that guy? Who says we don't have "golden calfs" anymore?  Sure, it's possible to not make that guy a big deal.  My point is this...really, I took the lead from culture and not from truth. 

I seriously messed this up.  And to backtrack with a 4 year old who has an excellent memory is eventually going to have to come to a head, wherein I face up to my child as a fibber.  So I'm going to navigate this muddy water with a heavy heart because I know the truth now.  Will they have presents on Christmas?  Yes.  Will they have something from Santa?  I don't know.  But will they live their childhood with the expectation that this holiday is a commercialized festival of greed and consumerism?  Not on my watch. 

Or at least, not anymore.

My bad.  And your bad. 

And now, if you'll excuse me, my sons are jumping in the crib with the baby.  I gotta run.  But for the record, we are officially broken up.

Sincerely,

J. Garland
Consumer in Recovery