The Researcher

It’s amazing what I’ve learned about myself by discovering what I’m not. And most of the things I’m not, I’ve learned from watching my husband.

Before we were even engaged, my future husband helped me on this process of self-discovery. I had my first job teaching students American literature, and I had decided I wanted to buy a desk and bookshelf. I hate shopping, so I had planned to find a desk that I liked at the first store I went into and then go home.

Matt, however, had a better idea. He took me to every store that carried desks in the entire state of Georgia, causing my eyes to blur and stomach to feel nauseous. And in the end, I bought a desk from the first store I went into. But as Matt so wisely stated, now I could be sure that I had the desk I really wanted.

Matt is always informed. Whereas I decide I want something and get it right then and there, Matt whips out his computer or phone, looks up all the reviews, compares prices between this site and that, orders a background check on the store owners, etc.

When I said we needed to get our chimney inspected, I found a coupon in one of our mailers and called that number. Matt, however, e-mailed me the number of an inspector he had found online after reading 10,000 reviews.

When Matt and I were going out of town so that I could attend a conference and have a night away together in the process, I showed Matt the list of hotels provided by the conference. Matt looked up every hotel on that list and off, spent three days equating the walking distance from the hotel to the convention center divided by the driving time to local restaurants times the access to Wi-Fi…so we could stay in the room for a total of nine hours.

Matt researches everything. When he was preparing to leave for a business trip, he Google-searched how to iron and pack a shirt–apparently Martha Stewart knows more about this topic than I. When I said the meat in the refrigerator was fine, Matt had to ask the online community how long meat stays fresh. And before beginning his workout routine, Matt read an entire book on the subject and cross-referenced all the sources in the back to determine what actually was the most effective way to get healthy.

I kidded with Matt that if he spent half as much time working out as he did reading about it, he would already look like this man.

While Matt’s propensity to rely on the internet before making a decision can drive me a little crazy, I have to admit that I always feel better about our decisions knowing Matt’s thoroughly investigated them. I trust him and his judgment, and I appreciate that he cares enough about the choices we make to ensure we’re making the right choices.

There is one choice that he didn’t fully investigate, though…

…me.

He didn’t realize how nasty I can act when I’m tired. He didn’t know how a countertop strewn with papers can turn his wife into a raving lunatic. He didn’t imagine how ugly his bride could appear without makeup and sleep.

And, yet, if he’s suffered from buyer’s remorse, he’s never tried to return the original for a better model. Matt’s committed to this purchase, and for that, I will always love him.

I’m joining Mama Kat today for her Writer’s Workshop.

And don’t forget to join me tomorrow and link up with your own journey on faith!

I’m Thankful Today Because…

It’s the little things….

Kids sleeping in on a Friday morning when we don’t have to be anywhere….

Getting four or so hours of alone time with my husband as we take a mini road trip….

Anticipating a night without little visitors sneaking into bed and boring holes in our back with their heads and little feet (because these visitors only sleep sideways, of course)….

Winning a ticket to a conference and getting a chance to meet in person those faces that have flashed through my Twitter feed countless times….

And one big thing…

Sitting alongside 12,000 other women as we learn and worship our God together…

For this ‘Focus On It Friday’ I am thankful for (in)courage by DaySpring who hosted the giveaway to win a ticket to the Deeper Still conference, and I look forward to meeting some of their wonderful writers and the six other ladies who were as lucky as I. And I am especially thankful for my in-laws who are taking the three munchkins so that I can attend this conference, Matt can catch up on some work, and we can reconnect for a couple of hours each day on our mini road trip.

My Allergy

I was in a bad mood for two-and-a-half days straight, and I blame my mood completely on one ill-conceived plan by my well-meaning husband.

It was Saturday, and I had said that perhaps we could go to this furniture consignment store that Matt had driven past the other day. I wanted to see if they had any inexpensive furniture for my quest to reorganize the playroom. What I meant was that I wanted to go to this furniture consignment store in my quest for furniture to reorganize the playroom. Then I wanted to come home. What Matt heard was, “Blah blah blah blah furniture blah blah blah playroom blah blah blah.” He came up with the brilliant idea to breakfast at Ikea and then traverse the store for ideas.

“Big deal!” you say. Yes, it is a big deal. Perhaps I should enlighten you with a very important tidbit of information about myself: I despise shopping. I literally have physical reactions to shopping. I can remember in high school shopping for homecoming dresses in multiple stores and having to sit down next to a rack of dresses so that I wouldn’t pass out. Nearly every Christmas season, I get faint and dizzy and have to sit down (probably because the temperature of the stores is 107 degrees). I get pounding headaches. I get crabby. Very crabby. And I start to dislike people.

I didn’t date a lot, but if ever a boy suggested roaming around the mall as a date, that would have been our last. I am sure that sometime in the course of the evening I would have blurted out, “You’re stupid,” merely because I am allergic to shopping, and my allergy causes me to become very mean.

I don’t like looking for great deals or shopping at stores with clothes thrown all over the place. I like neat. I like clean. I don’t like to search. I like to walk into a store and immediately walk out with my purchase. If I go to hell, I will be placed in a mall and told to window shop for eternity. My allergy is a pain, and I hope a researcher develops a shot or something someday.

So when Matt suggested Ikea, my heart started beating at an irregular rhythm. I know I’m supposed to love Ikea–it’s its own amazing little country–but I hate Ikea. First of all, I rarely like any of their furniture, (I have discussed previously that I am not cool or trendy, so their stuff just doesn’t do it for me) so the thought of walking around a store that is the size of a little country just to search for ideas makes me want to poke a pencil through my eyeball.

I know I’m supposed to love Ikea–it’s kid friendly! It is extremely kid friendly–they even have their own little daycare; however, I’m not comfortable leaving my children with people I don’t know, so we end up dragging them around with us. Yes, Ikea has bottle warmers, extra diapers, baby food, family changing rooms, and a family parking lot, but none of that changes the fact that the layout of their store is a non-shopper’s nightmare! And therein lies the problem.

In their evil-genius marketing plan, Ikea has planned their store so that everyone must walk in the same direction through each little department until reaching the end and thus being given the chance to exit the maze. A person can’t simply jump to the bedroom area; that person must walk the maze through the preceding departments first.

Unless, of course, that person is part of the Davis family. Then that person would have somehow started at the end of the store in the children’s area and then decided to walk in the opposite direction of the arrows on the floor with three children, struggling like a family of trout swimming upstream, doing his best to avoid the onslaught of people walking the right way. For most of the trip I kept imploring Matt, “PLEASE…why can’t we walk in the same direction as everyone else?!” But evil Ikea didn’t plan simple turn-around points. There is no turn-around. One must walk the whole store if one wants to turnaround. And that wasn’t happening.

Keeping up with our children in this kid-friendly store was a nightmare. All of the kid rooms were super cute, and of course, our children wanted to jump on every bed, read every book, and travel through the little tunnels connecting one room to the next. Yes, there were holes in the walls, and we kept losing our children through them. And the random streamers hanging from the ceiling that had some sort of electro-magnetic field that children were highly susceptible of falling victim to–we lost our kids to those, as well.

While I was prepared for the challenges of kid rooms with beds and toys all available for kids to touch and try out, I wasn’t prepared for sofa after sofa after sofa leading to sofas that were somehow anchored to the wall. Performing an amazing leap reminiscent of my gymnastics days, I managed to catch hold of the leg of one of my children before she successfully mounted this red couch hanging from the ceiling. I also managed to smash my shin against the bottom rail of one of the floor couches in the process. I think I hit the most important nerve in my body, causing my shin, foot, and back of my thigh all to throb.

So even though Ikea had a special where we could deduct our lunch (yes, lunch; we were one minute late for breakfast and thus had to pay $4.99 a plate instead of $1.99) total from our purchase of $100 or more, we left empty-handed. We were just getting ‘ideas’ that day. Yeah, I came up with a few ideas on that trip, but I’ll save them for myself.

As I hobbled to the car, Matt announced that we were going to Pottery Barn Kids at the mall to get more ideas, and I swear I went into anaphylaxis shock. I would have paid more attention to the hives had my leg not hurt so darn badly. So on we went to another store where we would leave empty-handed but full of ideas and more symptoms of an allergic reaction. And for good measure, Matt took me to Target, too. Finally, we ended the day with a fifteen minute stop at a certain furniture consignment store.

We got home at five o’clock that evening, and my allergic reaction lasted until the middle of Monday.

My apologies to Ikea. You really do have an impressive and innovative store. If it weren’t for my condition, I’m sure I would love it.

Love Is…

Love is falling asleep in his arms on the couch. After days of going and going and going, constantly moving past one another, our minds moving even if our bodies are not, a moment of embrace on the couch, struggling to fit with a dog who refuses to share, warms my heart that can run cold. Even though the universe doesn’t count the three hours of sleep in the den, and we both face insomnia in our beds at one in the morning, I have found rest.

Love is doing the mundane to preserve something beautiful. A mop to the dirty floor because he said he would, even though he was tired, and the day was long. A mop to the dirty floor while I washed clean in the shower, a gesture that spoke volumes, sacrificing his own rest so that I could.

Love is our hands clasped across the body of our daughter who snuggled her way into our bed and found rest. Love is a warm breakfast on a rainy morning. Love is the giving and receiving, the sacrifices and the blessings, the mundane and the extraordinary, the simple pleasures and the precious treasures. Love is looking in his eyes and finding rest.

It is so good to be in love.

The Conversation

I woke up the other day with a heavy heart. My husband had left for a week-long business trip, and I already missed him. I was tired from many days of going without rest, and many nights of turning out the lights a little too late.

I began to pray because I knew that I would need the kindness of God to help me this day; I would need his patience and compassion as I dealt with my kids on a day when I had none of my own. If the past were any indication of what this week would look like, the kids would test the limits, and I would go to bed feeling regret for losing my temper, especially since I felt so tired already. I prayed for wisdom and strength in my parenting and for them, and then I moved on to pray for Matt.

As I started to pray for my husband to have a safe trip, I also prayed for forgiveness. I had said something the night before that I shouldn’t have said, or at least should have waited to say until we had the time to converse. Immediately upon praying, I felt God say to call him right then. I paused but continued praying asking for Matt to do well on his trip, but again, I felt God say to my spirit, “Stop praying, and call your husband.”

I felt weird abandoning my prayer, walking away from the God of the universe, but I grabbed my cell phone and called Matt. Matt answered, and I could hear in the background that his flight was boarding–I caught him just in time. After I apologized, Matt admitted that my words had really upset him, and hearing him say so pierced my heart. True to his nature, Matt offered kindness and forgiveness as I cried over the phone.

I thought to myself, “What if I hadn’t called right then?” Matt would’ve left for this trip with a heavy heart, an unnecessary burden as he tried to do his job to the best of his ability. And I immediately thanked God for interrupting my prayer.

This past Sunday during my small group I had shared that prayer was my weakness. I pray many times during the day, but I don’t always feel that it comes naturally to me. I tend to recite a list–a list of thanks, concerns, contritions, and then ‘amen.’ I wanted to learn how to take part in a conversation instead of a list; I wanted to learn how to listen.

And true to the nature of God, always bestowing more kindness on me than I deserve, He showed me that I do know how to listen. I am capable of having a conversation with Him. But more importantly, God showed me that when I get carried away with my list, He’s not afraid to interrupt.

For this ‘Focus on it Friday,’ I am thankful for a God who knows how to get my attention and who is more interested in relationship than formality. For what are you thankful? Leave a comment or a link to your own post below!

A Week of Tender Blessings

Sometimes writing a ‘Focus on it Friday’ post is difficult as I try to pinpoint one specific experience during the week for which I am thankful. It’s not that I can’t think of a moment, but I’m not sure how to capture the experience through my writing or convey it in a way that sounds eloquent and thoughtful. As I was struggling for ideas and words this morning, the thought hit me that the point of this exercise is not to improve my writing or write an awe-inspiring post but to cause me to reflect and bend my knees in thanks. And if that’s the point of this post, I have no problem writing today, whether or not my words reach anyone else.

I want to remember that this week I felt hope. Matt and I are attending a small group and working through Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. As I sat next to Matt and watched him prepare a detailed budget on Monday night, agreed or disagreed as he input the numbers, I actually felt excited. For one of the first times in our marriage, we had a plan for the month that didn’t end in an argument or frustration. And even though I knew in my heart that life would throw us curve balls to screw up our beautiful plan for the month (three, to be exact, before we even got to October 1), I knew that we were on the right track. And finding hope after it was lost for a time is something for which to be thankful.

I want to remember that this week I felt loved by my little boy. Nothing amazing occurred yesterday, but I went to bed with a heart that was ablaze. For the whole day, Caleb went out of his way to listen, to please me. Anything I asked, he answered, “Yes, Ma’am,’ and was the most helpful four-year-old a mother could imagine. I told him how much I appreciated his help, and he hugged me multiple times throughout the day, which is rare because Caleb is not overly affectionate with hugs and kisses.

As the day went on, I noticed that Caleb felt very warm. When the thermometer flashed the numbers indicating Caleb had a fever, my first thought was “So he’s sick–no wonder he’s behaving!” But I quickly scolded myself–Caleb normally responds to sickness by acting whiney, and I was wrong to discount the effort he was making.

My children are determined to bring on winter, and they went to bed in the warmest pajamas they could find. As I finally made my way to my own bed, I tiptoed in Caleb’s room and began pulling off his warm clothes, knowing he needed to dress lightly if he had a fever. In a semi-conscious state, Caleb allowed me to lift his shirt over his head and pull his pants over his feet, and then he lay his head back on his pillow. I whispered, “Goodnight, Caleb,” expecting the grinding of teeth or smacking of lips to serve as a reply. Instead, the sweetest little voice responded, “Goodnight, Mommy.” And for some reason, when the word “Mommy” hit my ear, my heart warmed.

I know my son loves me, but I heard it in his voice last night. And feeling love, especially from one’s child, is something for which to be grateful.

For what are you thankful this Friday? Leave a comment below, or include a link to one of your own posts. Have a great weekend!

Getting an Alarm Clock

Six a.m. comes way too soon every morning. As much as I want to convert to a morning person, my mind will never be alert while it’s still dark outside. Unfortunately, that rule is also becoming true for when it turns dark outside at night, and if I want any time to pray or write or just to enjoy an hour while the kids are sleeping, I have realized that my best bet is to embrace that early morning hour.

No longer having infants keeping me from a full night’s sleep, I decided to enlist the help of my husband with my morning goal. “Please set your alarm for six,” I would politely request most evenings. Matt has the alarm clock on his side of the bed and, therefore, all the alarm clock responsibilities. When I asked this request, I hadn’t anticipated not getting woken up at six.

Apparently, Matt doesn’t always set the alarm. Other times, his hand immediately slaps it off upon hearing the buzzing noise while the rest of his body lies motionless in bed, not giving my mind the chance to register that an alarm has gone off. Sometimes Matt does set the alarm, pushing the button that illuminates our wake-up time, but our alarm chooses to act like our children on a bad day, refusing to obey and perform its job. And my absolute favorite is when Matt gets ambitious and sets his alarm for five and proceeds to hit snooze until seven, during which time my mind ignores the alarm because I have no intention of getting up at five. And when Matt finally rolls out of bed at seven, he walks straight to the shower, letting me sleep soundly under the covers until our children bounce in the room.

On days when the alarm clock (or my husband) malfunctioned, I would get furious! That was my time that was stolen from me! Don’t they understand that I will not get this alone time again until six tomorrow morning!!! I need time to PRAY if I have any chance of succeeding at NOT LOSING MY TEMPER TODAY!!! I need to WRITE BEFORE I LOSE MY MIND!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

Ahem.

It hadn’t occurred to me until a couple of days ago that perhaps I wasn’t getting my time because it hadn’t become important enough to me. “That’s crazy,” I told myself until the part of my brain that controls my minimal amount of logical thought chimed in and inquired, “Why haven’t you purchased your own alarm clock?”

Crickets chirping

Well…to be honest…I don’t want to use my spending money on an alarm clock!!! And, well, if the alarm goes off at six, and I happen to hit snooze, I can’t blame Matt anymore.

Sometimes it’s easier for me to blame everyone else in the world than to take action and fix the problem myself. It’s easier to lament that we would have more family time if we lived closer to Matt’s work and better dates if we had more money instead of taking the time to think up something creative. It’s easier to complain that my children are out-of-control instead of getting on the floor, rolling around and helping to control their energy through a wrestling match. It’s easier to get angry at my misfortune of sleeping past six instead of buying my own stupid alarm clock.

It wasn’t until my time became important enough to me to warrant my action that things began to change. The day I decided to alleviate Matt’s burden of setting the alarm and actually waking up is the day six a.m became my time again.

Thankfully, I joined the 21st century and realized that my cell phone has an alarm clock feature before I went out and bought one. Who knew? And I’m now excited to face the dark mornings before my family opens their eyes (unless of course my husband does hop out of bed at five) and take some much-needed me time.

Now if only I could remember to charge my phone by my bed instead of downstairs.

Unblurring the Line

Jennifer lip-syncing — Jennifer Vignola Davis and Jennifer Escoe Holt--Feb. 24, 2000

It all started on February 24, 2000. A silly girl and her friend, donning black leather and leopard print pants and sparkly shirts, performed moves of which no one thought they were capable while lip-syncing to the band Heart. A silly boy, packing up his guitar and Power Point slides after a night of leading Worship, drove an extra hour back to college in the hopes of seeing this silly girl in her moment of glory. He missed the performance, but he saw her face light up after winning first prize.

And thus began their first date, a night when they went out with friends but only noticed each other in the room…

…if you’d like to read more about that blurry line between friendship and romance, commitment and existence, click here and visit me as I share my first guest post at the sweet SomeGirl’sWebsite.

The Master’s Course

Last night I missed my husband and began thinking about our marriage. In two weeks we will be married eight years. Eight years. I tried to think how long eight years really is, and my mind wandered to my college days. I will have been married long enough to get two college degrees.

I remember how I felt when I started college. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up because too many occupations were appealing. I was overwhelmed at the idea of picking a major, and then in four years, acquiring enough knowledge to put into practice what I had learned. I was excited at the possibility of leaving school as a mini-expert in my field (even though I didn’t know what that field was at the time) ready to dive into the career I had chosen and show the world what I had to offer.

Except it didn’t happen that way. When I graduated with my degree in Education, I quickly realized I didn’t know nearly what I thought I would upon graduation. Yes, I left school with a fire, a passion for changing the world one student at a time, a healthy idealism that all new teachers should have, but I only had the beginning of knowledge in my field.

As a literature teacher, I had many classics still unread, grammar lessons unpolished, and classroom management techniques and organizational skills still to be discovered. I had just enough knowledge to get a job and enough drive to prove that, after a year, I was worthy to keep it.

I decided I wanted more. I wanted to hone the skills I had and learn more techniques to improve as a teacher. I wanted to fill my head with more theories and concepts and decide for myself which were actually garbage and which would work in the classroom. I was satisfied no longer with having just enough knowledge to get the job–now I wanted to have knowledge at the Master level. So I re-enrolled in school and began the coursework.

After a semester, I evaluated what I was doing. I was spending time and money on something that wasn’t my passion. I didn’t continue in the Master’s program, and I left teaching.

I entered marriage with the same zeal and earnestness I entered teaching, and I couldn’t wait to begin the program. I originally thought that after four years of marriage, I would’ve known all I needed to know. In four years, I’d earn a degree stating I was a mini-expert on Matt and knew how to live as a good wife, how to handle any problems that came our way. Instead, I found that we were just getting started.

The first four years were years of exploration. We struggled to find out who we were as individuals, had a couple of career changes between the two of us, and tried to bring those two confused halves together to make a solid whole. We stuck those two pieces together, like two pieces of a wood that didn’t quite fit, and did our best to smooth over the rough patches. Our marriage was a little messy, but we wanted more. We had just enough knowledge to keep the marriage going but even more drive proving we were worthy of each other’s love.

We stuck with the program and immediately signed up for four more years of coursework. We took classes in parenting and finance and found out quickly just how much we didn’t know. We were still discovering ourselves as individuals but settled into the roles that fit, that seemed to make sense, as we worked together as a whole. We sanded away at the rough patches in the wood, working to make a smooth whole. It was now harder to see where one piece ended and the other began. And no longer were our decisions solely about the good of our marriage but, instead, the good of our family. At the end of another four years, we have just begun to settle into a routine.

We are a couple of weeks shy of earning our Master’s. Except I know now that I haven’t mastered anything. I’m ready to continue my coursework because I know there is more to be learned. And after eight years, the one thing I have learned for sure is that I am not worthy of my husband’s love and can never prove that I am, but I am continually thankful for the daily grace he gives me.

Marriage is a course that I will never master, but I will stick with it because Matt is my passion. We have come together as one, and while that one piece gets more nicks and scratches over time, we continue to sand and make it smooth. It can never go back to the two it was before.

And so we will re-enroll again and find, in the midst of the program, that there are more classes we need to add. And we will look to the true Master for the guidance and grace needed to continue the program with the same zeal and earnestness with which we began.

Sleep

“Daddy, the sun’s outside!!!” she hollered in excitement from the top of the stairs. “It’s morning!” Little feet began to scamper down the steps.

In fact, it was 7:40 p.m., and yes, outside was still light, but the sun was not shining. Hannah Grace was doing her best to avoid bedtime. Her brother and sister were already tucked away for the night, sleeping peacefully, but this little girl had no interest in sleep.

“I’m not tired!” she insisted, as I walked her back up the stairs her hand in mine. She probably wasn’t tired. She had snuck away with her sister’s pacifier into her own room at 11 a.m. that morning and proceeded to take a three hour nap. I thought about waking her up, but I knew she was exhausted, having still not recovered from her overnight visit a few days ago to her grandparents followed by dinner at her other grandparents the next night. She reminded me that night of why I no longer allow her to take naps.

I joined Matt again at the table, and we tried once more to enjoy our bowls of baked ziti. I pushed around my pasta and noticed my own tiredness creeping in. Perhaps I would go to bed early that night.

We talked a little bit about our days and what we wanted to accomplish with our evening. I was beginning to enjoy the quiet when we were interrupted once more.

“I see the MOON!!! It’s time to wake up!”

Clearly, if seeing the sun wouldn’t get her out of going to bed, then seeing the moon had to be the answer. Matt pushed back his chair as I let out a sigh. And so the bedtime game would continue.

I cleared the table while Matt stayed in Hannah Grace’s room, using his body to barricade the door. As I rinsed our bowls spotted with red sauce, I checked the time. 8:40 p.m. I pulled out the bottom tray in the dishwasher while doing a mental inventory of all the tasks I needed to complete before 24 and those I could accomplish while watching the show.

The truth is, I had no interest in the show anymore, but 24 had become somewhat of a tradition in our marriage. After our first Christmas as a married couple, watching the season one box set while spooning on the couch, we had continued to watch every season together. I wasn’t going to abandon the ritual with three hours left in the series.

The dishes rattled as I pushed in the tray and quickly moved to the laundry room. I just needed to throw the clothes in the dryer, take a quick shower, and then we could sit together and watch our show. I could upload pictures while 24 was on and write my blog. My mind was blank, but I knew I wanted to write; I hoped inspiration would hit once I started typing.

I finished the chores and swiftly went up the stairs, allowing a huge yawn to escape my mouth. I met Matt in the hallway.

“I don’t think she’s asleep,” he said, “but she’s quiet.”

“Okay, I’m just going to take a quick shower before 24.”

I started to walk away when,”Daddy, don’t leave. I’m not asleep, yet,” came from the two-year-old’s room. I kept walking, not wanting to get sucked into the bedtime drama before getting my shower. Thank goodness for DVRs–it was already 9:00.

Hannah Grace eventually went to sleep, and Matt and I eventually made it to the couch to watch TV. I, half-heartedly, listened to 24 while uploading pictures to Flickr so that I could order them from Snapfish. I really only wanted our most recent family picture from Easter to send to our sponsored child, but my gift card would cover a lot more prints.

“Okay,” I thought. “I’ll just order a few more prints and then call it a night after 24. I’m too tired to write.”

I didn’t want to leave a job half-finished, and I did need to print our daughter’s first birthday pictures–no, not Chloe’s. Hannah Grace’s–the daughter who turned one almost two years ago.

24 was over, and I only had $10 worth of prints uploaded. My gift card was for $20. I proceeded to spend another hour selecting each picture that would find a spot in my half-empty photo album, empty slots that begged to be filled with images of laughter and babies, birthdays and loved ones. I sipped the chai tea Matt had made for me, knowing it was decaf but wishing it would help pry my eyelids open.

Why did I insist on continuing? Couldn’t I go to bed and finish tomorrow?

“No!” I scolded myself. “That’s exactly why I don’t have any pictures of the kids in albums–it always gets pushed off until tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll still have chores, and I want to write. I can’t keep letting days go by without writing. And I can’t get any of this junk done during the day because the kids don’t nap. I don’t get free time. This is my free time. Midnight.”

I felt my blood pressure rising as I argued with myself, the good angel telling me to walk up the stairs to bed, the little demon pressing me to continue. After all, Matt had been trying to get the wireless printer to work for the last two hours, too. Neither one of us was ready to call it a night.

I finally made my last selection, confident that I was close enough to that $20 mark. Tax and shipping should get me there. I scratched off the back of the gift card, little silver flecks falling in my lap, revealing the coupon code. I carefully entered the numbers in the box and hit enter.

Snapfish did not recognize this coupon code.

Okay. I tried again, pushing each number key with my index finger, double-checking my entry as I went along.

Same error message.

I flipped my gift card over. Shutterfly. The gift card was for Shutterfly, not Snapfish.

At that moment, the fatigue knocked me down like a wave crashing to meet the shore. I had spent two hours, arguing with myself the whole time, in an attempt to accomplish this task. Just something. I wanted to accomplish one thing that wasn’t related to housework or kids, yet I had nothing to show for my effort.

I angrily packed up my laptop and woke up Matt. He had snoozed next to me on the couch, giving up on his own venture a few minutes before.

As I wearily walked up the stairs, I thought to myself, “Why do I do this? Why do I fight sleep? I’m no different than Hannah Grace….”

I, just like my daughter, had searched for every excuse to stay up when my body was begging sleep:

“The sun’s shining!” ” There are dirty dishes!”

“The moon’s out!” ” I must print some pictures!”

“I’m not tired!” “I’m so tired…but”

I fight sleep in a quest to feel productive, in a quest to elevate my worth. The more things I can check off my to-do list, the more examples I can cite for my excellence as a mother, as a wife.

I fight sleep so that the next day I can fight with my children and my husband, my body full of fatigue, my mind empty of patience. I fight sleep so that I can fight with God about the way I should act, about how hard my life is, about why I can’t concentrate when I pray…yawn…

I fight sleep…when really…I should just go to bed.