Sunday, February 27, 2011

Janis Joplin

I was inspired by Janis earlier to compose a song to sing to Jesus about my prayer for my baby girl to turn head down. It went a little something like this.

Oh, Lord. Won't you turn my baby girl head down?
I'm counting on you, Lord! Please get her head down!
Prove that you love me, and turn her around.
Oh, Lord. Won't you turn my baby girl head down?

When I was a junior in high school, my American history teacher (Mrs. Peeples) gave us a writing assignment. We were to write a paper on a person who had an influence - any influence - on American history. I chose Janis. My mom had a fit (she was worried that my teacher would think that I was a druggie, sexual deviant like Janis). Mrs. Peeples loved my paper (and the fact that I wrote about someone who wasn't a president or an astronaut). I love Janis. She's bizarre and she can't sing worth. . . well, she can't sing. But man. What a wacko.

So Lord? Please. Some head-down news from the doc in the morning would be more than swell. Thanks for listening.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

How things change

As I stood at the stove making our homemade pizza this evening, I had a moment of clarity (or something like it). I was imagining what my 20-year-old (or heck, even 25-year-old) self would have said had you told her that by 31, she'd be a blissfully happy full-time mom who delights in making homemade hummus, managing her household on a less-than-shoestring budget, and making a lifestyle out of raising her family. Then-Sheri would have likely - make that *definitely* - thought you were nuts. Then-Sheri would have also thought that such an existence was a waste. A waste of education, of talent, and of time. Then-Sheri, clearly, was an idiot.

Now-Sheri has (obviously) had an awakening. I now recognize the value of kids raised well, especially since I've been exposed to kids who haven't been. I have always appreciated manners, but until I was the one fully responsible for teaching a child everything - EVERYTHING - did I truly appreciate others who have nice manners. I'm no more forgiving of those who don't have nice manners, I just appreciate those who do have manners even more.

When I say EVERYTHING, I really, truly mean ev-er-y-thing. When making the decision to leave my high-paying, goal-oriented, deadline-driven career, I had NO idea the extent of the breadth and depth (to steal an old industry term) of this lifestyle. It had never occurred to me that had I returned to work, someone else may teach my child how to say his own name. I never considered the implications of having many (too many) completely different rule-enforcers (and the confusion this would cause) for a very young, very spirited child. I just knew in my heart that God had intended for me to raise this child and that couldn't possibly entail working 50 hours and giving my best to somebody else.

I knew then that I would love being with Daniel. I knew that I was making the right choice. I prayed about it, I cried about it, I lied to myself about it (trying to convince myself that I was cut out to be a working mom). I knew that I was in for a challenge. But having never been a mom before, how could I possibly be prepared for what lay ahead? What I didn't know was how completely and fully satisfying this role would be. What I hadn't considered was that this could be my calling. I had so fully immersed myself in my career that it never even so much as entered my mind that I could possibly be cut out for something other than what I was doing. Thank God for subtle messages.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

One year



One year ago today, I decided to grow out my hair for Pantene's Beautiful Lengths. In that year, my husband finished school, "Beth" beat cancer, I got pregnant, we found out we're having a girl, and many, many other wonderful things happened. One year later, my hair looks like this:


Well, sometimes it does. Sometimes it's in one pony tail. Sometimes (although not often), it's down. This weekend, my dad and Doug *both* commented on how much they liked my hair long and they really thought I shouldn't cut it. Too. Bad. I did this for Beth, not for style! It's approximately 7.5 inches at its shortest - mere millimeters from being long enough to whack it and go!

My plan is to visit my stylist one last time before Lia arrives to have it cleaned up. Six weeks or so after little lady gets here, WHACK! Stay tuned for more beautiful lengths, a final measurement, and a new do for mama.