Musings

Zac's working nights for the next couple weeks, which means, I put Cohen to sleep alone and hop into my own bed alone. Though I hate him gone at night, I do enjoy the quiet alone time I am able to have. I cherish catching up on documentaries I have added to Netflix or getting my hands on a good book.

I'm a deeply reflective person. I am happiest staring off into space.... wondering, dreaming and reflecting on the world I see and perceive.

I began to imagine tonight a dream for my family. A hope has been ignited and a dream has been kindled. My watched Cohen sleep and wondered...

Who is this little boy? What will he do with his life? How can I be the greatest mother to compliment his destiny?

There he sat. Snored. Moved around.

He's his own little person, independent, fully capable without me in so many ways now...

I watch him try to tie his own shoes, pour his own milk, put his dishes away in the sink, brush his teeth, pick out the clothes he wants, articulate his needs and wants...

It's foreign to me. I remember nights of nursing this little person every hour and a half.... nuzzling into my chest... rocking him into a slumber.

Now, I can hardly pick him up without falling over and "umphing" a bit.

I sat tonight amazed at this little person. Amazed at his heart, his tenderness and compassion. I watch him introduce himself to everyone on the playground, help pick up the toys when no one else will and make jokes that seem too sophisticated for his age.

My baby.

I can hardly believe I could ever love another child as much as I love him.

But I will.... and life will be different.

Thought it's been a bit rough, I've been loving this pregnancy. It's my last one and I'm focusing on cherishing every moment.

I'm sure this is nothing but rambles but even after midnight, one can stop to reflect on the precious nature of life.

Week 14

How Far Along?

I am almost 14 weeks along! I suppose that means I right in the throws of the 2nd trimester which has been suchhhh a huge relief from the first one.

Size?

Baby is the size of an orange and is roughly 4 inches. When we had the 12 week ultra sound it was unreal to see that something so tiny could dance that much. 

Movement?

I haven't felt any yet. There was some intestinal bloating and I thought FOR SURE it was some fluttering... but nothing yet. It's the best part.... I can't wait.

Changes in Body?

My body is definitely preparing for nursing.... which has been a real treat! I feel softer and thicker around the legs but a few of my jeans still fit. I look like I ate one too many slices of pie. It's like when you grow your hair out... it's that awkward stage.

Discomforts?

I am starting to feel more uncomfortable when I sleep on my stomach or lay on my back for long periods of time. This is going to be a challenge for me as I LOVE sleeping on my back. I am still tired a lot and my energy drains quickly. I took Cohen to the grocery store and I swear, I finished and I needed a nap.

Cravings?

Salt and juice. I used to never want to eat a whole bag of chips... but you put some lime or bbq chips in front of me? Gone.

What I Miss?

I miss beer. It is cold outside and I want a nice brew. Zac has been so nice and gets beer I don't really like so I'm not even tempted. I have become QUITE the homemade hot chocolate drinker. I miss my energy, still!

What I'm Looking Forward To?

Getting our health insurance issues settled so we aren't stuck with horrendous debt. Getting bigger and actually showing!

Keeping Myself Human

Had one of those nights tonight.

It consisted mostly of whining, complaining, and being hormonally (is that a word?) emotional.

I have spent most of this week, er, two weeks, without a husband as Zac has been leaving by 7am each morning and home super late each night. He's been sick so it's a lot of hard nights for the two of us.

Cohen isn't in school anymore, so, not sure if this makes me a bad mom (I really hate saying that) but I miss my few hours of alone time. I feel like I have to stay busy with him constantly. I am the sole playmate so everything we do, we do the two of us. What do I do with a four year old from 7:30am until 9:30pm... have I mentioned bedtime has become a nightmare recently?

My body is changing. Well, duh, I'm sure you're thinking. When you're pregnant your body changed. Right now though, I feel fat and uncomfortable. My jeans don't fit and my "bump" looks like I had one too many slices of meatloaf and potatoes. My face looks like a pubescent thirteen year old girl and everything on me seems unusually "soft."

After a long (don't get me wrong, productive) day with Cohen, I was wiped. We are moved into my moms house finally, we are adjusting to a new routine and things seem to be normal. Tonight though, not so much.

Zac spent the day snowboarding which I absolutely encouraged (anyone who works that much and that hard deserves a day of fun). When he came home though, he came home to a very disgruntled wife.

I pulled teeth to get Cohen to bed early and then started organizing and cleaning....

I was sad, mad, angry, moody and annoyed.... at what? I wasn't sure. Probably everything.

After huffing and puffing for a good half hour (Zac usually just ignores me, smart man), I sat down next to Zac and just started to cry.

I've lost my home. I've lost my body. I've lost my sense of direction. I've lost my passion for parenting. I'm losing it!!!

I knew I sounded ridiculous as I sobbed, cried and laughed my way through explaining how ugly, lame and useless I felt.

I wish I could tell you I had some sort of "aha" moment there bawling my eyes out... but I really didn't.

Zac just kissed me, told me I was beautiful and that he was proud of me.

That usually is enough but tonight it just wasn't. I smiled, wanting to affirm his sweetness to me, however, I still felt like I was floating.

When you die to yourself you're doing exactly that... dying.

I felt like I was dying today... picking up God knows how many dirty socks and underwear, giving a cranky boy a bath, driving around aimlessly trying to find some way to entertain a four year old, putting away laundry and disciplining a tired Cohen who threw a couple fits.

I guess it was just one of those days. I kept looking for the joy in the mess but couldn't find it.

So here I sit at the end of the day. Bitching and complaining. It's probably the last thing you want to read but sometimes I like to know that other people have shitty days.... and they end shitty.

No light at the end of the tunnel, no rainbows, no beacon on sunshine... just crap.

A day like this every once in awhile keeps you human.

I embrace that.

Anniversary: Three Years

This is how our relationship started.

Well I guess, back up. It started years ago when we were a couple of kids in 6th grade. Zac said I never noticed him (partially true) and he just stood in awe of me (love it). We went "out" in 8th grade. He was cute but more than that... he was edgy. The seemingly bad kid that could keep you laughing and doing things you never thought you'd do. I found myself etching our names together on the cardboard side of my notepads. He liked me but wasn't clingy. Never tried to more than he was for me... I loved that. He would hold my hand and we would run up and down the school street. I never got in trouble but I loved that he always did. We were always the two kids left waiting for our parents to pick us up. We would talk about silly stuff, interesting stuff... then deep stuff. He dumped me for a church skank... but hey, I understand, we were only 14. :)

The above picture is from senior year summer. A bunch of us went to Elitches one Saturday and on the way home, Zac made a move. He held my hand while we were dozing off to sleep. It felt natural yet when I got home that night... I couldn't believe it.

Throughout the years, Zac has been the guy my other boyfriends told me I couldn't hang out with. "I don't know Mackenzie, you guys just have a history and chemistry and stuff" is what I would hear nagging all the time. Zac made me comfortable. He made me laugh. I never changed myself to be with him. I told him everything. I would call him (or IM him...ha, member that?) and we'd talk about boyfriends, girlfriends, parents, school, stupid stories, funny stories... he created such a longing in me, even when I didn't know it.

We would spend hours talking on the phone even as young as 14. I would plug my phone into the fax line at home and we would talk until we fell asleep... often for 5 or 6 hours. It was innocent and whimsical. 

Then college.

For those of you who know my story. I won't bore you with all the details. Zac and I weren't dating when I got pregnant, we weren't "in love" when I got pregnant... we were just "having fun."

So I thought.

I always feared the love Zac had for me, even at the young age of 14. There was something that he possessed that longed for me in a deeper way that I wasn't used to. It made me uncomfortable. Can you believe this is still something I struggle with? 3 years into being married to him?

Being pregnant with Zac created a distance at times between us. Our friendship was based on laughter, excitement, random adventures and deep chats.... and suddenly.... life became really serious. It was about appointments, responsibilities, duty... we were a couple of teenagers who weren't ready for all that seriousness, and yet, we remained friends with one another.

We loved each other. We just didn't know how that would look now.

Life gets complicated. So you grow.

We started to bond.

For maybe the first time in our lives together, which at that point was about 8 years of friendship.

We had Cohen Michael on August 26, 2007. The day our lives changed forever.

There we were. A couple of 19 year old kids trying to do life together.

It was raw. Super raw.

We wanted to build a life together but not really sure how. We argued... a lot. I cried... a lot. We dug through a lot of crap together. It was the most painful and wonderful thing I ever did.

We started to create new memories as a family.

Memories that were meaningful and healthy.

First Christmas together as a family.

Then. Marriage talk. I felt that we started over after we had Cohen. We both agreed that getting married just because we had a child together would be a mistake and unfair to Cohen. We loved each other but could we live a life together? We weren't sure. We desired to see growth in one another. Maturing needed to happen.... And then....

Engaged. Happy. Zac surprised me with a diamond. One of the best days of my life.

Then...

Marriage. Beautiful.

Now, let me just tell you, that the first year sucked. Honest to God it was so stressful and I feel like I blocked most of it from my mind. HA. We always say that each year gets better and better. And it does. We rode a lot of huge waves but truthfully, staying consistent and current with one another has kept us as close as it does. He embraces my sensitivity and I embrace his need for freedom. 

Then... TRIPS! Zac and I believe in time together taking adventures. We need time just the two of us. And a lot.

Breckenridge. 3 days of Ghost Adventures, sexy time and hiking in the snow.

Chicago trip together as a family.

Estes Park hiking. Drinking way too much at the hotel and finding ELK!

Family pictures.

Wedding as a family.

Love this man.

You and me baby.

My Birthday 2011.

My Zacy has given me the gift of two children, of encouraging my growth, listening to my dramatic sorrows, itching my legs, rubbing my back, creating new memories and being consistent in his ways.

Three years we celebrate tomorrow but truly most of my life, I have had Zac there. My friend. My buddy.

That's what marriage is... someone you like to do life with. It's more important than any other relationship besides the one with God.

I can't think of anyone in the world to do life with...

Happy 3 years Zac. I would do it all over.

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Lao Tzu

Life: Moving

It began when I huffed and puffed organizing the millions of books that were on the shelf. Zac instructed me that some of them were to go to Goodwill; however, I felt that even Great American Revolutionary Stories, British Literature during WW2 and How To Educate the Young books were relevant to my life. So far, the only thing I tossed in the Goodwill pile was an old devotional book I got when I graduated high school. 

I read it, I swear.

I have a thing about books. I love the smell, the touch, the thrill of telling myself Ok Mackenzie, you have to read this one this year. I love retracing my highlighted notes with my fingers and sitting quietly, puzzling over why I thought a particular quote was critical enough to underline.

I love rediscovering. That was until I stumbled upon some old journals. I have spent most of my life, even since I was about five, journaling. I struggled a lot with finding my way growing up and often felt the heaviness that comes with being an ENSF (Myers Briggs). I needed reflection time... constantly. Even as a little girl with pigtails, I would sit on the top bunk in the room I shared with my sister and write. I would write what I did, what I ate, who I saw, where we went... it was precious, timeless, effortless and my thing. 

It was the one thing I did for me.

Yet unlike my ocean and starfish journal of my much younger youth, This journal outlined 2006. A turbulent year and tumultuous year. 

A surprising year.

I opened the first few pages of the journal, skipped a few paragraphs, then skimmed the rest of the journal. It was about halfway full. In my every messy cursive I saw dates, March 3, May 17, almost everyday that summer and then nothing until December.

The paradox in reading an old journal is creating a safe place to do it. It’s like looking at a very old scab that has scarred over and trying to rip it back open again. It’s like walking the halls of the library to the scary back section where all the files are hidden. I felt myself walking in that direction.

I read the first couple pages. Mostly about the love of my life at the time, my high school boyfriend. About the joys and desires of wanting to go to CSU with my best friend Kellie. The magnificence of being a senior in high school. 

Blah blah blah.

But then. April.

I began to write on dysfunction I sense in my house. The unbelievable urge I had to get away all the time. The disdain I felt toward my friends who drank all the time... they obviously were not sensitive to the situation in my life. The fear of going to college and leaving my family behind yet I desired to be engulfed by an entirely different life. My words are messy and don’t make sense. I find myself reading the words fast as the sentences are short and caustic. Harsh even. 

Summertime. Broken up with boyfriend who I loved more than anything. Dad is moved out of the house. I’m going to start a new scary life and feel ill equipped and unprepared. My handwriting is messier reflecting the wee hours I would spend journaling and even at times wake up in the middle of the night to express my thoughts so my head would stop spinning. I didn’t know it then but I was drowning in grief.

I put down my journal and felt uncomfortable. It was an odd sensation considering it’s been almost six years since a lot of this happened...

But I do believe that the Enemy has a way of reminding us of pain. Now, I’m not talking about some silly old devil that laughs and pokes fun of us. No, I truly believe that if you have the hand and favor of God on your life, he’ll do anything he can to remind you of your pain. To literally grab you head and stick it in your old shit. 

My head... glued to the pages.

I continued flipped the pages and found myself longing to talk to this Mackenzie, encourage her, uplift her and give her some amount of strength to press on and keep fighting.

On July 16, 2006... I stopped trying to fight the battle. In my eighteen year old mind, I had lost my dad, my serious boyfriend, my identity, my mother, my family, my life, my school, my friends and my joy.

The only thing it said on the page was “I don’t give a f*** anymore.”

And I didn’t. Why should I? I was simply tired of pretending to be a sweet Christian girl who seemingly had her life all zipped up.

I read that statement over and over and over.

I didn’t write in my journal until December. I announced that I was pregnant and that I wanted an abortion. I wrote about how much I hated my life and how I’ll never get out of the “hell hole” I was in. 

I closed the journal. It felt like a trap in so many ways.


I looked around at the boxes of stuff, the pictures of my little family on the wall, the albums of weddings and birthdays, the dishes, the clothes.... memories.

Zac, Co and I are moving into my moms for 6 months. We are saving some money for the new baby as I will stop working when he/she comes. We are paying off debt and honest to goodness it’s just really expensive to live right now between everything.

I’m grateful for a place to go and for a healthy relationship with my mom.

That moment however, my mind let me relive a lot of the pain of those years long ago. Of feeling out of place and out of touch. Here I am... pregnant... again.... living at home... again! It felt cyclical. 

My day today reflected a less than happy Mackenzie. I moved 14 boxes, packed a dozen more, cleaned clothes, swept up crap, picked up, cleaned out... 

Moving... home.

I thought about packing up that journal. I thought about my face as I sat cross legged retracing and re-imagining my life. I thought about July 16. It seemed illogical and ill fitting but alas, it felt like that today.

I reminded myself of the lie that can so easily influence me. The lie that I’m just not enough and nothing will ever really change.

Yet, so much has.

And then there’s a part of me that’s still in grade school in my patten leather shoes climbing on top of my bed, sitting next to my polly pockets and writing in my journal... escaping.

Fifteen years later and now I can just type it all faster.

It’s always imperative to remember. To document. To express the extent of the circumstances that you find yourself in.

2006 journal found itself sandwiched between an old Bible and a novel titled Regeneration. I thought that seemed fitting. 

Closed the box, put it away and continued to go about my day.

Life stops sometimes, you remember, grieve, cry, get angry, then laugh...

I guess life doesn’t actually stop. That in fact it is just that.

Life.

No make up day, the best

How Your Life Feels

I was browsing through pinterest tonight and came upon this quote:

I couldn't help but be moved by this. I was moved by the way we often see ourselves as removed from ourselves. That our stories are "better" if we can put them on display rather than actually live them out. If we can spend two hours on pinterest pretending to be crafty but never leaving the computer. To research and talk about graduate schools but never ask for an application. To create a whole life that "seems" fitting. That seems "right" and "comfortable." 

How does your life look?

I have been on this emotional journey and granted some of it is hormonal but alas, I feel as if I am coming into my own. As my therapist says, "Mackenzie, you're getting to know yourself for the first time in your whole life, give it time." I have learned through my own process with her and my own reflection that I am really good at telling the story of my life. I can nonchalantly tell about my parent's divorce, about my unwed pregnancy, my sexual escapades, my poor choices, my great choices, my incredible opportunities all with the right Christian bells and whistles attached. My own verbiage often nauseating me. Is it real?

You get the picture.

What stunned me the most is when my therapist said to me (in my mine so cliche), "Now Mackenzie, how does that make you feel?"

Make me feel?

Um.... (searching for the right answer)

Good... bad... I guess. I'm doing great now though! I graduated school.... blah blah blah.

You see.... when we talk about our life as a status update, a step by step process or a detached action... we fail ourselves. 

You see.... I then retold my story using my feelings. How it made me feel. How it hurt. Where it hurt. Why it hurt.

Not just WHAT hurt.

You see... life is full of ideals. Everyone wants to have a decent life with little conflict, marry someone you love, have kids who behave, have money for vacations and die at 96 in your bed.

Right?

You see.... I'm still a seven year old kid who hides underneath her covers with a flashlight and a book. I'm a little girl who escapes the peril of the outside world. I'm a little girl who closes the door to true feelings, intimacy and trust. I locked myself in a metaphorical closest to escape the chaos of the world, I tried so desperately to control. A girl reluctant to speak her mind in fear of rejection or pain. A girl so intuitive and aware it brought tears to her eyes often. A girl burdened by her own personality and giftings. A girl who felt tolerated and judged for never being what everyone wanted her to be.

A little seven year old girl who grew up but never lost that mentality. 

A little girl who often saw her life as status updates.... "What can make me look good now? Because God forbid I actually feel...."

I get letters from girls all of the time who thank me for just being real. It saddens me. It saddens me that realness is equated with courage.

Sometimes my life feels in ways I wish it wasn't.

Another life altering discovery?

It's ok to feel bad about hard things that have happened. It's ok to feel sorry for yourself.

Yes, I said it. It's OK to feel sorry for yourself.

It's ok to not have it all together and do not ever believe the lie that "keeping it all together" equates to wholeness in your life. It doesn't. And that's ok. 

Feel it all. Soak in it all. Get up when you feel ready. As I told my therapist, "I just want to sit in my shit for awhile." 

Don't be superwoman. Don't make superwoman your ideal. You are perfect where you're at.

You're in the right place for the right reason. Don't fight it or pretend to be anywhere else. Authenticity creates peace. Even if your authenticity reflects a place that is difficult to be. 

Bread, Brownies and Baking

So I am weird about a couple things. One of them is healthy food and the other I'll explain another day in another blogpost. :)

I believe that we should all be able to eat healthy, nutritional food without added crap to it. Yes. Homemade brownies will always be better for you than boxed brownies. Homemade bread will always be better for you than bought at the store refined flour bread.

So, alas, I bake!

The first recipe came while I was looking in my cupboards for things I had. I am an avid bread maker.

It was freezing cold last night and the smell of baking bread was ever present in my mind as I watched How I Met Your Mother. So I grabbed a standard bread baking recipe and added steel cut oats, molasses and honey and out came the most delicious bread ever.

YUMMY RIGHT!!!! Here's the recipe....

Eat Your Heart Out Honey Molasses Bread

1/2 cup of steel cut oats

1 cup warm water

dash of sugar

1 packet of yeast (2 1/4 tsp if you have it in a jar)

3 tablespoons of unsulfured molasses

3 tablespoons organic honey

1/4 cup unsalted butter (I don't fudge with REAL butter on bread recipes)

1 teaspoon kosher salt

~4 1/2 cups organic and/or fresh ground whole wheat flour

Glaze:

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon honey

handful of oats for sprinkling

Make steel cut oats according to directions. Usually it's 1 1/2  cups water boiled with 1/2 cup steel cut oats for about 25 minutes in a saucepan. Set aside when done.

Pour 1 cup of warm water (100-110 degrees) in a 2 cup measuring cup. Sprinkle yeast and dash of sugar over the warm water and stir. Let stand until yeast dissolves. About 10 minutes.

Mix together molasses, honey, cooked oats and butter. Add yeast mixture and continue to mix. Add flour one cup at a time until dough is moist. In my opinion it's better to underflour than overflour at this stage. You want the bread to pull away from the sides of the bowl. Beat on medium speed for about 3 minutes. 

Pour dough out on floured surface and knead dough until it is nice and elastic. Add more flour if you need to. About five minutes. Make dough into a large ball and place it in a buttered bowl. Cover the bowl with a wet towel and put it in your oven with just the light on to rise. I find putting it in a slightly warm oven (like turn your oven to 200 and then turn it off before putting your dough in) helps it rise faster. Let it rise for an hour or until it has doubled in volume.

Punch it down and knead it again for a couple of minutes. Butter (or crisco/flour) two bread pans. Cut the bread in half and place in pans. Spray the tops of the loaves and put wet towels over them. Let rise for another hour in the oven.

Bake bread at 400 degrees for 10 minutes. Then lower temperature to 350 degrees and bake for an additional 15-20 minutes. 

Top bread with butter/honey mixture and throw some oats on it.

DONE!

Ok. Brownies. Again, with the baking on cold nights. I'M HORMONAL AND CAN'T HELP IT.

Eat What You Want Brownies

2/3 cup raw sugar or splenda (if you don't usually cook with splenda, I don't recommend... only because there is a taste difference in my opinion)

1/3 cup olive oil, earth balance spread or yogurt butter

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 free range egg

1/3 cup cocoa powder (preferably dutch processed organic or all natural)

1/2 cup whole wheat flour

1/4 cup yogurt (I used blueberry, you can obviously use plain) or lowfat sour cream (I substitute these in almost all of my baking!)

1/3 cup finely chopped cherries or raisins (optional, gives it a chewy factor)

Mix wet ingredients until well blended. Add dry ingredients. Mix well. Put into greased pan (a smaller one) and bake at 350 for 15-20 minutes. Don't over bake!

I hate the dishes.

Final product. Amazing quality picture with my 3G iPhone. LAME!!! (hint hint Zachary....)

I love baking and more importantly I love eating healthy! I love taking a bite of the brownie knowing it's not all sugar and saturated FAT. Amazing.

This is my evening tonight.....

... no the Jim Beam is not mine. Just the ginger infused tea to help my ever present nausea. HA.